Security at sea is impossible without security on land

This bred armed groups that engaged in piracy to such an extent that it once rattled global trade. That came about as a direct outcome of the deep vacuum, which allowed armed actors to assume some of the state functions that national institutions in Mogadishu simply could not perform.

Lack of enforcement

Fast forward to today, and even with modest improvements in governance, key questions remain. Who controls the coast? Who enforces state law? Approaches that work around the centre, or trade legitimacy for short-term expediency, do not solve the crisis—they recreate it, leaving the sea open to threat. A similar concept is seen in Sudan, where a brutal civil war is having effects beyond its borders.

Sudan is one of the world's biggest countries. The fragmentation of a state this size, with this span of coastline, creates a strategic gap on the African shore of the Red Sea. This then leads to a scramble for power. If the state prevails, there is a single national authority. If it does not, a country has parallel armed forces with their own arsenals, their own economic networks, and their own command structures.

The consequences of the Sudanese state's failure are not confined to the land. They have reached the coast, undermined maritime security, and unsettled regional balances that were already stretched to their limit. When the state is absent or weak, geography stops being an asset and becomes a trap. This applies to Sudan just as it does to Yemen or Somalia.

The sea becomes an open arena for confrontation, and any drift towards partitions or zones of control turns into a threat not only to the interior but to neighbouring states as well. In this region, there is no such thing as local disorder, and no conflict is ever neatly contained within borders. Every vacuum on land quickly spills over and out, into the sea, and every unchecked weapon becomes a cross-border threat.

No viable alternative

Despite repeated experiments with different models of governance, the central fact remains stark and blunt: there is no workable substitute for the state. Far from a sentimental plea for centralism, the urge to strengthen the state is an acknowledgement that it is the minimum structure needed to prevent collapse.

A functioning state brings the guns under one roof, with a monopoly on the use of force given to a single recognised authority, making unified sovereign decisions within its territory, with the capacity to secure resources and coastlines. Alternatives to the state all lead to arms proliferation, fragmentation, disorder, a war economy, and wounds so deep that several generations are required to heal them.

Against this backdrop, the growing international militarisation of the Red Sea appears to be an effort to treat symptoms rather than causes. Warships may shield shipping for a time, but they do not rebuild the states that are needed to keep the threat from returning. It bears repeating: the security of the sea does not begin on the water; it begins on land, with cohesive states able to enforce the law and assert control over their coastlines.

In our February cover story, we ask whether the Red Sea has become an organised space shaped by capable states, or a grey zone defined by recurring disorder. There is no middle ground between the two.

Each delay in restoring the state's authority is an acceptance of fragmentation. This is not a neutral position. It is, by default, consent to the vacuum. In a region this sensitive, the vacuum is not a passing phase. It is the making of a crisis that only awaits its moment. Those regional states with both will and initiative cannot afford to let this fester.