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The Strait of Hormuz, a narrow waterway once carrying roughly a fifth of the world’s oil and gas, remains effectively closed after the United States and Iran imposed competing blockades.

Naval blockades are one of the oldest weapons in warfare, requiring no ground troops or invasion, just the ability to cut off what an enemy needs to survive. These blockades have reshaped economies, societies and alliances across generations, sometimes with instant shockwaves, sometimes with effects only seen later.

From Israel’s ongoing siege of the Gaza Strip to blockades during World War I, here are some notable naval blockades in modern history:

Israel’s siege of Gaza (2007-present)

Israel’s complete land, sea and air blockade of the Gaza Strip is one of the longest sieges in modern history.

Launched in 2007, Israel has limited the entry of goods and essential supplies, causing a prolonged humanitarian and economic crisis for the Strip’s 2.3 million people, who cannot travel freely.

Before Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza began in October 2023, fishermen were restricted to 6-15 nautical miles (11-28km) from shore, well below the 20-nautical-mile (37km) zone guaranteed by the Oslo Accords.

After 2023, with Israel’s policy of starving the population, fishermen have taken extreme measures to feed their families, leading to many being killed by Israeli fire.

Since 2008, several Freedom Flotilla vessels have attempted to break the Israeli blockade. Since 2010, all flotillas attempting to break the Gaza blockade have been intercepted or attacked by Israel in international waters.

On April 30, Israel raided 22 out of the 58 vessels in the most recent Global Sumud Flotilla campaign in international waters more than 1,000km (620 miles) from Gaza.

Blockade of Biafra (1967-70)

During the Nigerian Civil War, which began in July 1967, the Nigerian federal government imposed a land, sea and air blockade on the secessionist Republic of Biafra shortly after it declared independence.

The blockade led to widespread starvation, widely seen as a deliberate wartime strategy, transforming a territorial conflict into a global humanitarian crisis. Death tolls vary, but it is estimated that one to two million people died, the vast majority from hunger and disease rather than direct conflict.

The nearly three-year-long blockade ended with the Biafran surrender in January 1970.

Beira Patrol blockade (1966-75):

The Beira Patrol was a nine-year-long blockade by the British navy to prevent oil from reaching Rhodesia, present-day Zimbabwe, through the Mozambican port of Beira, enforced under United Nations sanctions following Rhodesia’s unilateral declaration of independence.

The blockade largely failed its strategic goal. Rhodesia continued receiving oil via South Africa and other Mozambican ports, which the UN resolution did not authorise the British navy to intercept.

Additionally, the cost to the United Kingdom was substantial. The operation tied up 76 naval ships over nine years, with two frigates required on station at all times.

The blockade ended in July 1975, when Mozambique’s newly gained independence from Portugal allowed it to credibly commit to blocking oil transit to Rhodesia, rendering the naval patrol redundant.

Cuban Missile Crisis ‘quarantine’ (1962)

In October 1962, the US ordered a naval “quarantine” of Cuba after US U-2 spy planes discovered Soviet nuclear missile sites under construction on the island.

The US deliberately called it a “quarantine” rather than a blockade, which would have been legally an act of war, aiming to prevent the Soviets from bringing in more military supplies and to pressure them to remove the missiles already there.

The quarantine drew a line 500 nautical miles (920km) from Cuba’s coast, with US warships authorised to stop, search, and turn back any vessel carrying offensive weapons if necessary.

The crisis brought the world to the brink of nuclear war. The then-Soviet First Secretary Nikita Khrushchev called the blockade “outright piracy” and an act of aggression, and initially ordered ships to proceed. For several days, Soviet vessels steamed towards the quarantine line as the world watched.

The most dangerous phase of the standoff lasted 13 days. An agreement was reached in which the Soviets would dismantle their offensive weapons in Cuba in exchange for a US public declaration not to invade Cuba, and a secret agreement to remove US Jupiter missiles from Turkiye.

The naval quarantine was formally ended on November 20, 1962, after all offensive missiles and bombers had been withdrawn.

Blockade of Wonsan (1951-53)

During the Korean War, UN naval forces led by the US imposed a blockade of the North Korean port of Wonsan in February 1951, lasting nearly two and a half years.

It aimed to deny the North Korean navy access to the city, which was strategically significant for its large harbour, airfield and petroleum refinery.

The blockade was preceded by a dangerous mine-clearance operation in October 1950. North Korean forces had been well supplied by the Soviet Union and China with sea mines, and during the clearance, the sweepers USS Pledge and USS Pirate were sunk, killing 12 men and wounding dozens.

The operation successfully constrained North Korean and Chinese forces on the east coast, forcing them to divert thousands of troops and artillery pieces away from the front line. UN forces also captured several harbour islands, which strengthened the blockade’s grip on the port.

The blockade ended after 861 days with the signing of the Korean Armistice Agreement in July 1953. By that point, allied naval fire had almost levelled Wonsan.

US submarine blockade of Japan (1942-45)

The US imposed a submarine blockade against Japan during the Pacific War.

The blockade began taking shape in 1942, combining US naval submarine attacks on merchant shipping with minelaying operations to cripple Japan’s war capabilities, disrupt shipping and cut off vital supplies such as food and fuel.

As an island nation, Japan was especially vulnerable, almost entirely dependent on imports of oil, rubber and raw materials. Its economy and military could not function without open sea lanes.

Over the course of the war, US submarines sank some 1,300 Japanese merchant ships and roughly 200 warships. By 1945, oil imports had effectively ceased.

Food imports collapsed, causing significant shortages and malnutrition across Japan by 1945, though the extent of civilian starvation is disputed.

After the US dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima on August 6 and Nagasaki on August 9, 1945, Japan announced its surrender on August 15, bringing the blockade and the Pacific War to an end.

Blockade of eastern Mediterranean (1915-18)

In August 1915, during World War I, the Allied forces imposed a blockade of the eastern coast of the Mediterranean to cut off military supplies and weaken the Ottoman Empire’s war effort.

The declared area ran from the intersection of the Aegean Sea and the Mediterranean Sea in the north to the Egyptian frontier in the south. The blockade was initiated by Britain and France, later assisted by Italy and other Allied powers.

The consequences were devastating. Military supplies, munitions, oil, food and medicine were all targeted. The food crisis was compounded by a locust plague in 1915 and a severe drought, contributing to severe famine across Lebanon and Greater Syria.

Reports suggest the famine led to 500,000 deaths by 1918, mostly civilians, with Mount Lebanon losing an estimated one-third of its population. Mass migration followed.

The blockade remained in place throughout the war and lifted only when Allied forces occupied Beirut and Mount Lebanon in October 1918.

Allied blockade of Germany (1914-19)

The British navy began blockading Germany almost immediately after the outbreak of the war in August 1914.

The naval blockade extended from the English Channel to Norway, cutting off Germany from the oceans.

Britain mined international waters to prevent ships from entering the ocean, creating danger even for neutral vessels.

Germany responded by declaring the seas around the British Isles a “military area”, prompting Britain and France to ban all goods to and from Germany.

The blockade’s most devastating consequence was famine. The winter of 1916-17, known as the Turnip Winter, marked one of the harshest years in wartime Germany.

The blockade had cut off food and fertiliser imports, a failed potato harvest left little to fall back on, and a breakdown in food distribution compounded the crisis. It is estimated that between 424,000 and 763,000 civilians died from diseases related to hunger and malnutrition.

The blockade was not yet fully lifted until July 1919, after the Treaty of Versailles had been signed.

In an era of 150-page novels in 14-point font, and books on Venezuela’s recent history that feel like overly long opinion pieces, Ulises Milla’s Editorial Alfa opted for something entirely different: a chronicle of how chavismo took over the Venezuelan State between 1999 and 2004, the product of ten years of research, divided into two volumes totaling more than 1,400 pages.

It is titled La oscuridad no llegó sola (no English translation yet), taken from a line by a Colombian poet, and has a subtitle that speaks volumes: “chronicle of a Venezuelan tragedy.” Yes, it is a chronicle in the broadest sense of the term, a systematic and multifaceted account that protects a series of events from oblivion in a specific era. It is also a Venezuelan tragedy, one among many, in which everything leads to an unhappy ending that seems inevitable, as in those of Aeschylus or Sophocles.

There is a classical feel to Mirtha Rivero’s new work, not only because she has drawn on literary genres that are over two millennia old, but also because it is a book that took a long time to write, one made to transcend time. For this reader, it is another essential text about our past, like José Domingo Díaz’s chronicles of the First and Second Republics or Lisandro Alvarado’s Historia de la Revolución Federal, and certainly like Rivero’s previous work: the bestseller La rebelión de los náufragos, published in 2010. It does not attempt to impose a personal thesis, defend one side or one figure, or propose a solution to the nation’s ills. It is an effort to understand how things happened, on a scale vast enough to allow the patterns of behavior developed by political actors over those years to emerge.

For those of us who experienced these events firsthand, through the media, La oscuridad no llegó sola still reveals aspects of the story we didn’t know, thanks to the quantity and quality of its sources. For those who were too young, it is an unparalleled document on how the traditional political class underestimated chavismo, how chavismo took advantage of the negligence and frivolity of its adversaries to seize control of institutions, and how the anti-politics we saw explode in La rebelión de los náufragos helped demolish what little remained of that democracy, which committed suicide, or allowed itself to die. A tragedy that, with its variations, has happened before. And that will very likely happen again. La oscuridad no llegó sola by Mirtha Rivero is available on Amazon and in bookstores in Spain. From Monterrey, Mexico, where she has lived for several years, the economics journalist who is showing how Venezuela’s contemporary history must be written spoke with Caracas Chronicles.

I want to start with the moment when La rebelión de los náufragos was published, had the impact it did, and you began the journey that led to these two volumes. You addressed this in the preface to La oscuridad no llegó sola, but what was the process like for defining not only the 1999-2004 timeframe, but also the questions you wanted to answer?

After La rebelión de los náufragos was published, I didn’t immediately consider any other topics. It was the third book I had written, but it was the first one that was published, and its reception changed my way of working. It was like a shock. For a year and a half, I couldn’t think about another “topic” because I was adapting to that new reality. It was in mid-June 2011 that another topic emerged. I wanted to answer a question: What happened in the 2004 recall referendum? For me, it was personally very important because, as a result, my husband and I began looking for a new place to live. Did voting fraud occur or not? What was it like? How did we get to that point? So I marked the period: from Chávez’s inauguration on February 2, 1999, until the day of the referendum, August 15, 2004.

It wasn’t so much that chavismo was pressuring the Supreme Court, but rather that a large part of society favored a Constituent Assembly.

I had to go back quite far because Chávez didn’t appear out of nowhere. Nor did other figures: the architects who helped him set up his political machine, those who accompanied him from that day forward, and those who had been with him even before the 1992 uprisings didn’t appear out of nowhere. They all have a past and a reason for being there, just like the people who kept appearing in my research. I confirmed along the way that during those years, the foundations were laid and the entire structure that allows chavismo to endure was built. As I guide my narrative, I realize that I not only have to look back, but that I often force myself to project into the future. For example, I look back when I discuss the oil industry, which is an important topic in my chronicle, but I also look forward when someone talks about the changes in the judicial sphere that the 1999 Constitution imposed, and I’m going to the trial against Judge Afiuni in 2009.

I see. For me, La oscuridad no llegó sola is a twin of La rebelión de los náufragos, in its structure, its tone, and its intention: first, you show how the political class sacrificed democracy with Carlos Andrés Pérez and paved the way for chavismo, and now we see how it overestimated its own strength and underestimated Chávez. Was describing this hall of mirrors the plan, or did it emerge during the research?

It wasn’t the plan. I didn’t see it as a continuation, nor as a hall of mirrors: it turned out that way, the story led me there. Exploring the recall referendum was actually a pretext for me to delve into that era, which I was afraid of. What was important was what happened before the referendum. How the referendum was repeatedly postponed until Chavismo had all institutions and powers under its control, which culminated in the expansion of the Supreme Court, and how it was able to regain popular support through direct subsidies via the social missions. How the opposition promoted the recall referendum without having a candidate to challenge Chavismo if Chávez lost and elections were held.

What did you learn, while writing this book, about the ability of the various opposition leaders to interpret reality? Do you share the common opinion that popular support for Chávez was underestimated in 1998 and 1999?

I was very surprised by their inability to see what was right in front of them. We had already seen how short-sighted the political parties were, their reluctance to form and renew themselves, since the 1980s. This is evident in the conspiracy against Carlos Andrés Pérez in 1993, based on a check from the secret fund that had been annulled in 1989 and was used against him in 1992; in the corruption accusations made by (future chavista minister) José Vicente Rangel; in the resistance to the reforms of the Presidential Commission for State Reform; and in the insistence of the old leaders on remaining political bosses.

There were people who knew who this Hugo Chávez they were opposing really was, but even so, there were those clumsy last-minute maneuvers in the 1998 campaign, and they weren’t prepared for the scenario in which Congress would be eliminated, as Chávez himself had said would happen. They acted with great carelessness in the face of Chávez’s rise: society, the political parties, and even a political animal like Teodoro Petkoff underestimated him. I was very surprised that they didn’t know how to confront the lieutenant colonel, the authoritarian tendencies that came with him, the power-hungry Left that accompanied him, the people who applauded the military coup attempts of 1992. They offered no resistance when Chavismo abolished Congress, taking advantage of the anti-political sentiment that had also been brewing since the 1980s. The lack of vision, and even of any statesman-like discourse, on the part of the politicians, did surprise me greatly.

One of the book’s many achievements was to unearth and trace a somewhat forgotten but key episode: how the Supreme Court accepted the Constituent Assembly’s suspension of the Legislative Branch. Did that also surprise you, how they paved the way for the dissolution of the separation of powers? How much pressure was chavismo exerting on the Supreme Court?

It didn’t surprise me that much, because we experienced it firsthand. The chavistas had just come to power and were barely learning how to use it, and they couldn’t exert pressure before Chávez took office on February 2, 1999. It wasn’t so much that chavismo was pressuring the Supreme Court, but rather that a large part of society favored a Constituent Assembly, even though a constitutional reform would have sufficed. Many people believed that this Constituent Assembly would save the country, to create a new, bright, efficient nation. Everyone was riding that wave. As Simón Alberto Consalvi said, we cannot absolve the people of their decisions.

Some of your interviewees, as expected, fall into hindsight bias: assigning to certain moments a meaning that we see today but that wasn’t easy to discern then. For example, everyone in your book says they knew the 2002-2003 strike was a bad idea, but that “the majority decided”: Didn’t you yourself fall into hindsight bias? Because when I write about those years, I have to tell myself, “Remember what you thought then about the 2002 general strike, not what you think today.”

One can always fall into that bias because one isn’t objective, pristine, but I was very careful about that and made an effort to compare the accounts. Because many interviewees told me things that didn’t happen as they said; they were mixing what others had told them with what they would have liked to have happened. My own interpretations of a particular moment fell apart as I investigated. Sometimes the same scene had six different testimonies, and I had to cross-reference them, sometimes going back to the witnesses to confirm or discuss parts of their story. The good thing is that I encountered very little reluctance from the interviewees, although of course there were people who didn’t want to talk, who stood me up, and I even made trips for nothing. 

Both the oil workers and the dissident military officers were convinced they were right and that they could convince some people, while these people already had a plan in place.

With those I did talk to, I sometimes confronted them, because now it turns out, for example, that nobody agreed with the national civic strike, or as we called it then, the “oil strike.” But the investigation was able to determine who truly resisted, and how society pressured for a repeat of what happened on April 11, even though it was so unlikely to have any effect.

April 11, 2002, is like the novel Rashomon; the same event is seen differently depending on many perspectives. But it’s quite well documented; much less known is what happened within PDVSA, and you contributed a lot to those of us who aren’t familiar with the oil world. How do you see today the role played by the oil executives when they decided to step outside their bubble? 

Within that bubble were people like Edgar Paredes and Juan Santana who, having been involved in university politics, were politically savvy. They knew their place and what might happen, but also what they needed to do. They created that protest movement to rescue PDVSA. Society joined them because, in reality, it used the PDVSA conflict as an excuse to protest many other things, but the oil workers were trying to defend their company because, ever since Chávez was elected in ’98, they saw him as a threat. Naively, they believed they could change the policies because they came from a school of thought where debate and consensus were reached. But even during the 2002 strike, they continued fighting to rescue PDVSA. They were fighting for the country too, but to rescue the country, they believed, PDVSA had to be rescued. The same was true for the soldiers in Plaza Altamira. Right or wrong, they wanted to rescue the FAN (National Armed Forces) where they had made their careers, without understanding that they couldn’t, because the first political prisoners of chavismo were military personnel.

The idea that Chávez also provoked the April 11th march, or the movement to crush it, is a narrative he fabricated after those events.

Both the oil workers and the dissident military officers were convinced they were right and that they could convince some people, while these people already had a plan in place. They thought that the truth would prevail and that the people would act for the good of the country. But that wasn’t meant to happen. They suffered a lack of understanding of the country’s political history, of what the 1992 coups meant. Because they were caught up in their own business, in what they knew. In fact, not all the oil workers or the military saw Chávez as a threat and voted for him in 1998, like a large part of the country.

Reading the book, I came to feel more empathy for what the oil workers and even certain military personnel, did than for what the politicians did.

Because they actually did more than the politicians in terms of trying to rescue their respective organizations. With all their naiveté, the oil workers and the military did force others to act. They gave their all to try to save not only their professional world, but democracy itself.

The book makes it clear that Chávez sought out conflicts, he provoked them. Even the massacres, not to mention the strikes: he sought out battles because he saw them (and he was right) as opportunities to wipe out pockets of resistance. Right? Do you see this as a pattern that connects everything from the 2001 enabling legislation to the recall referendum?

Chávez sought out battles because it was his way of life. He always said, like Pinochet, that he was a soldier. I believe he launched the enabling legislation package in 2001 to impose his agenda, not to provoke, because I don’t think he knew it would generate such strong resistance, even though there had already been protests since 2000. He introduced those laws at the last minute and without consulting anyone because he was an authoritarian who believed he was the center of the world. The idea that he also provoked the April 11th march, or the movement to crush it, is a narrative he fabricated after those events. He knew there were disaffected military officers and expected a classic coup, which he planned to counter with civilians, but he didn’t provoke it, because in fact, his intelligence services ultimately failed him. Just as there are people who, after the strike failed, said they never agreed with it, he rewrote history to impose the narrative that everything was his agenda. But many things surprised him, even though he eventually managed to navigate each situation. However, after April 11th, he did dedicate himself to provoking conflicts, now with the advice of Fidel Castro, and surrounded by radicals like Alí Rodríguez Araque. 

Another pattern I noticed is the persistence of anti-politics, how distrust of political parties shaped different situations. And you get the feeling that this still resonates with people, that three decades after the 1990s, anti-politics continues to define us, right?

The parties were already badly weakened, following a decline that began in the mid-1980s, and even more so after what happened with Pérez II. Their crisis became impossible to hide by the second year of Chávez’s presidency, but anti-politics was very much present during Chávez’s election itself, before that night of April 11, 2002, when decisions were made driven by the desire to remove politicians from important matters. Although politicians met, participated in discussion groups, and sought solutions on their own, such as promoting Adán Celis as transitional president, anti-politics was pervasive across all sectors and prevailed among the main actors who attempted to remove Chávez from power in 2002. The book includes testimonies from politicians who recount how the media favored the opinions of emerging civil society actors who viewed politicians as corrupt and stuck in the past. And yes, as you say, this continues today. Those in power still promote this idea of ​​politicians as a corrupt caste that led the country to ruin. Because it’s very easy to blame politicians for something in which the citizenry also played a part.

US President Donald Trump has issued a direct ultimatum to Iran: reopen the Strait of Hormuz by 8pm Eastern Time in the United States on Tuesday, April 7 (midnight GMT on April 8), or face the destruction of national power plants and bridges.

This echoes an earlier March 21 ultimatum in which he threatened to attack Iran’s power plants – “the biggest one first” – if the strait was not fully reopened within 48 hours.

President Trump has since extended that deadline several times, citing progress in negotiations he claims the US is having with Iran to end the ongoing war. Iran denies it is holding direct talks with the US.

While Trump has made grand statements such as “they’re going to lose every power plant and every other plant they have in the whole country”, he has not mentioned specific targets.

The US president has also threatened to destroy the country’s bridges. Over the weekend, a US-Israeli strike hit the B1 bridge in the city of Karaj, west of Tehran. The major highway link, described as the tallest bridge in the Middle East, had been scheduled to be inaugurated soon. It sustained significant damage in the strike.

Legal experts say that targeting civilian sites amounts to “collective punishment”, which is prohibited under the laws of war.

Where are Iran’s power plants?

Iran operates hundreds of power plants which, together, form one of the largest electricity systems in the Middle East, supplying energy to 92 million people.

Most of the country’s power plants are close to major population centres and industrial hubs. The majority of Iran’s population lives in the western half of the country, with Tehran, Mashhad and Isfahan the three largest cities.

Iran has a mixture of gas, coal, hydro, nuclear and oil-fired power plants, but most are gas-fired. In the north and centre of the country, clusters of gas-fired plants supply electricity to the country’s largest population centres, including Tehran, Karaj, Isfahan and Mashhad.

Another major concentration of power plants lies along the Gulf coast. These plants sit close to major gasfields and ports, allowing large thermal stations to run on abundant natural gas.

The coast is also home to the Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant, Iran’s only nuclear power facility, which has a capacity of 1,000MW. The US and Israel have repeatedly hit this nuclear power plant, raising risks of radioactive contamination far beyond Iran’s borders, the state-run Atomic Energy Organisation of Iran (AEOI) has warned.

Iran also operates a handful of hydropower dams concentrated along the Karun River, the country’s most important source of hydroelectric generation.

Electricity generated from all these plants is fed into a national transmission network operated by Iran Grid Management Company, which distributes power to cities, industries and homes across the country.

The map below shows all of Iran’s power stations with a capacity of 100MW or more.

A 100MW power plant can typically supply electricity to roughly 75,000 to 100,000 homes, depending on consumption patterns.

Iran’s largest power plant by capacity is the Damavand Power Plant located in the Pakdasht area, roughly 50km (31 miles) southeast of Tehran, with a capacity of some 2,900MW, enough to power more than two million homes.

Which are Iran’s most important power plants?

Iran’s largest power plants include:

• Damavand (Pakdasht) Power Plant – Near Tehran.
  Fuel: Natural gas (combined-cycle).
  Capacity: 2,868MW.
• Shahid Salimi Power Plant – Neka, along the Caspian Sea coast.
  Fuel: Natural gas.
  Capacity: 2,215MW.
• Shahid Rajaee Power Plant – Near Qazvin.
  Fuel: Natural gas.
  Capacity: 2,043MW.
• Karun-3 Dam – Khuzestan Province.
  Fuel: Hydropower.
  Capacity: 2,000MW.
• Kerman Power Plant – Kerman.
  Fuel: Natural gas.
  Capacity: 1,912MW.

Other smaller but strategically important power plants include:

• Ramin Power Plant – Ahvaz, Khuzestan.
  Fuel: Gas.
  Capacity: 1,903MW.
• Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant – On the Gulf.
  Fuel: Nuclear.
  Capacity: 1,000MW.
• Bandar Abbas Power Plant – Near the Strait of Hormuz.
  Fuel: Oil.
  Capacity: 1,330MW.

How does Iran generate its electricity?

Iran’s electricity system relies heavily on large thermal power plants fuelled by natural gas. The country has one of the world’s largest natural gas reserves, and this fuel forms the backbone of its power system.

In 2025, 86 percent of Iran’s electricity came from natural gas.

Oil-fired plants provide a smaller share, generating roughly seven percent of electricity. Some power stations switch to diesel or fuel oil when natural gas supplies are tight, especially during winter demand peaks.

Hydropower accounts for about five percent of electricity. Large dams on rivers such as the Karun River generate power by using flowing water to spin turbines.

Nuclear energy contributes around two percent of the country’s electricity, mainly from the Bushehr Nuclear Power Plant, Iran’s only operational nuclear reactor.

Renewables such as solar and wind play a very small role, together accounting for less than one percent of electricity generation.

Overall, more than 90 percent of Iran’s electricity comes from fossil fuels, making it one of the most gas-dependent power systems in the world.

The United States-Israeli war on Iran has hit critical liquified natural gas (LNG) supplies in the Gulf, triggering the most severe disruptions in recent years to the global energy market.

Shipping through the critical Strait of Hormuz, which accounts for 27 percent of the world’s maritime oil trade and 20 percent of LNG, has been brought to a near standstill, with oil-producing nations such as Saudi Arabia rerouting oil through alternative pipelines and Qatar halting LNG production.

Natural gas makes up about a quarter of global energy consumption, raising concerns about how much the disruption to LNG will affect those most reliant on gas.

What is LNG?

Natural gas is formed over millions of years from decomposed organic matter subjected to intense heat and pressure beneath the Earth’s surface.

LNG is natural gas cooled to -162 degrees Celsius, known as cryogenic processing, shrinking it to a 600th of its gaseous volume.

In its liquid state, LNG is colourless, odourless and non-flammable, making it safe and efficient to transport across vast distances.

Composition and purification

Before liquefaction, the gas is purified through water-based solvents and molecular sieve beds to remove impurities including carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulphide, water and mercury.

Heavier hydrocarbons are then separated from methane and ethane through fractionation, and stored, used or sold as byproducts. The result is a fuel typically composed of 85 to 95 percent methane, with small amounts of ethane, propane, butane and nitrogen.

Storage and transport

LNG is stored in large insulated tanks without the need for high-pressure infrastructure. It is then pumped onto double-hulled carriers and shipped to terminals around the world.

Regasification

At its destination, LNG is heated using seawater or a warm water bath until it vaporises, a process known as regasification, before being moved through pipelines for consumption. It is sometimes blended with nitrogen or propane to ensure compatibility with local gas networks.

What is it used for?

Once LNG is returned to a gaseous state at import terminals, it is dispersed through pipelines for use in homes, businesses and industries around the world.

Residential uses include cooking, heating and generating electricity. In many parts of the world, LNG also supports hot water systems in homes and heating for commercial buildings.

It is used for power generation broadly, offering a comparatively low-carbon alternative to coal and oil.

In industry, it is used for fertilisers, plastics, paints and medicines. It is also used in transport to fuel heavy-duty vehicles and ships.

Gulf nations export close to half the world’s traded urea – commonly used in fertilisers globally, leaving international agriculture deeply vulnerable to any interruption in the LNG shipping lane through the Strait of Hormuz.

The disruption has already forced fertiliser producers across the region to suspend or reduce operations, since natural gas is both the primary feedstock and the fuel that powers the manufacturing process.

QatarEnergy’s decision to halt gas production following attacks on its LNG infrastructure brought the world’s single largest urea plant to a standstill. In addition, the Omani port of Salalah on the Arabian Sea has been closed, which holds an ammonia storage terminal. The port was hit in a drone attack on March 11.

What are the by-products?

While LNG is primarily valued as an energy source, the processing and liquefaction of natural gas yield a range of by-products with industrial and medical applications.

The most notable by-product is helium, which is extracted during cryogenic processing at LNG facilities using distillation to separate the concentrations of helium from the gas.

Global helium production is estimated to be about 180 million cubic metres annually. The disruption to LNG facilities in Qatar means some 5.2 million cubic metres of helium is taken out of the market each month, accounting for about a third of global monthly production.

Helium is used primarily as a cooling agent for superconducting magnets in MRI and CT scanners, with the average MRI machine needing about 1,700 litres of liquid helium, and some older MRIs needing replenishment every two to three years.

Helium is also critical to the data centre industry, where it is used to conduct heat away from silicon, preventing parts of semiconductors from being damaged.

The natural gas value chain generates petrochemical derivatives that also form feedstock for manufactured goods.

For example, ethane and propane are cracked to produce ethylene and propylene, which are materials used in plastics such as IV bags, syringes and other medical-grade plastics.

Which countries supply LNG?

According to the International Gas Union (IGU) 2025 World LNG Report, some 411.24 million tonnes (mt) of LNG were traded in 2024.

The largest exporter of LNG is the United States, which in 2024 exported a total of 88.4mt, followed by Australia (81mt), Qatar (77.2mt), Russia (33.5mt) and Malaysia (27.7mt).

Together, the top five countries account for more than three-quarters of global supply.

Which countries import it?

China was the largest importer of LNG with 78.6mt imported in 2024, followed by Japan (67.7mt), South Korea (47.1mt), India (26.1mt) and Taiwan (21.8mt). The top five importers accounted for nearly 59 percent of all global LNG imports in 2024.

South Asian nations such as Pakistan and Bangladesh are also at high risk from the current conflict.

Pakistan’s primary energy source is natural gas, which accounts for 28 percent of electricity generation for the country of more than 250 million people.

In Bangladesh, with a population of about 176 million, gas accounts for half of all electricity generation.

Qatar and the United Arab Emirates supply about 99 percent of Pakistan’s LNG imports and 72 percent of Bangladesh’s, according to trade intelligence firm Kpler.

Earlier in the month, Pakistan introduced emergency measures to tackle the energy shock, including moving to a four-day workweek for government employees and announcing spring holidays for schools from March 16 to the end of the month.

As a precautionary measure, the Bangladeshi government has also reduced gas supplies. Bangladesh is seeking nearly $2bn in loans from international lenders in a bid to fund energy inputs and keep prices stable.

Some petroleum gas tankers heading to India have managed to pass through the Strait of Hormuz despite the conflict — at least one Pakistani tanker has crossed the strait, too. In India, where 5 percent of electricity generation comes from gas, they are now relying more on coal as LNG disruptions continue. India gets about half of its LNG from the Gulf.

On March 9, an Indian government order redirected natural gas and regasified LNG to priority sectors, with curtailments affecting consumers and the petrochemical industry, according to S&P Global.

The war launched by the United States and Israel has killed more than 1,500 people in Iran.

This number is considered conservative, as actual calculations are yet to be released by the authorities.

But the devastation from the war has also triggered mass displacement in the country: the United Nations refugee agency, UNHCR, estimates that 3.2 million people – more than 3 percent of the population – have already been displaced within Iran since US-Israeli strikes began on February 28.

Twenty-seven days into the conflict, aid agencies and countries bordering Iran are bracing themselves for a potential refugee crisis as civilians begin to flee the violence.

Cross-border flows have been limited and largely economic or short-term. In Afghanistan, most arrivals are Afghan returnees from Iran, citing insecurity or forced returns. Pakistan reports only authorised entries by citizens or traders, with no refugee inflows.

Turkiye, Turkmenistan and Azerbaijan report stable borders, limited authorised crossings, and occasional evacuations of third-country nationals.

Iraq has seen small-scale returns and 325 Iranian nationals crossing the border, citing the crisis. Within Iran, people have been forced from the ruins of their homes, and several hospitals, nuclear facilities, refineries and desalination plants have been hit.

However, pressure on the ground in Iran is mounting as more than 85,176 civilian sites have been damaged since the war began, including 282 healthcare facilities, 600 schools and 64,583 homes. In Tehran alone, the city administration said to local media that nearly 14,000 residential units in the capital have been damaged and at least 6,000 people have been accommodated in municipal hotels.

The growing risks of disruption to essential services are driving complex mobility patterns.

More than one million displaced in Lebanon

But Iran is not the only country where the rapidly expanding war has led to a displacement crisis.

The Israeli army has expanded its forced displacement orders for residents of southern Lebanon – from the Litani River to north of the Zahrani River, about 40km (25 miles) north of the Israeli border.

According to the Norwegian Refugee Council, Israel’s sweeping evacuation orders now cover more than 1,470sq km (568sq miles), or about 14 percent of the country’s territory.

The map below shows more than 100 towns and villages across the country that are under forced evacuation orders from the Israeli military.

Israel’s ground troops are also now increasingly expanding their de facto occupation of parts of southern Lebanon, with Israeli authorities claiming that they want to create what they describe as a “buffer zone”.

Nearly one in five people in Lebanon – or 18 percent of the population – have been displaced over the past two weeks.

According to the International Organization for Migration, the total number of registered displaced people has reached 1,049,328, and the number of displaced people residing in collective shelters is 132,742.

The pace of displacement has outstripped the country’s shelter capacity. Many families have been unable to secure accommodation and are spending nights in streets, vehicles or public spaces as collective shelters fill up. For many of them, this is not the first time.

More than 250,000 people have left Lebanon over the past two weeks, a 40 percent increase compared with the last two weeks of February.

Much of the outward movement has been towards neighbouring Syria. As of March 17, more than 125,000 people had crossed the border. Nearly half are children. Most are Syrian nationals, with about 7,000 Lebanese among those crossing.

Southern Lebanon’s bridges attacked

Israel has struck several bridges in southern Lebanon, connecting the country through the Litani River.

Israeli forces have attacked:

• Qasmiyeh Bridge.
• Coastal Highway Bridge.
• al-Qantara Bridge.
• Khardali Bridge.
• al-Dalafa Bridge.
• Zaraiya-Tirseflay Bridge.

Footage and photos of the locations, verified by Al Jazeera, show each bridge specifically bombed, making them impossible to use. These were key crossings linking Lebanon’s south.

Israeli Defence Minister Israel Katz had last week ordered the military to destroy all crossings over the Litani River and homes close to the border between the two countries.

The areas in Lebanon near the Israeli border to the Litani River are the same locations where at least a million people have been pushed out.

Lebanese President Joseph Aoun has said the attacks on the bridges are “an attempt to sever the geographical connection between the southern Litani region and the rest of Lebanese territory”.

He said they fell “within suspicious schemes to establish a buffer zone along the Israeli border, solidify the reality of the occupation and seek Israeli expansion within Lebanese territory”.