Iran International
Iranian officials and commentators are increasingly portraying control of the Strait of Hormuz not just as a strategic advantage but as a financial asset that could help offset the costs of war.
According to international media reports, including Bloomberg and Lloyd’s List Intelligence, Iran has begun charging oil tankers for safe passage through the Strait of Hormuz.
Iranian outlets such as the state-owned Mehr News Agency and Tabnak—affiliated with Mohsen Rezaei, senior military adviser to Iran’s new leader—had previously reported that Tehran was considering the strait as a potential source of revenue for the Islamic Republic.
News reports say Iran is charging around $2 million per tanker. However, because U.S. sanctions prevent Iran from conducting international banking, it remains unclear what currency is being used and who ultimately receives the payments.
Earlier, Iran’s Foreign Ministry announced that various countries and oil companies should contact Tehran directly to coordinate safe passage.
The idea of monetizing control of the strategic waterway has also been echoed in Iranian political commentary. The IRGC-linked daily Javan wrote that it was Iran’s new leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, who first introduced the concept.
“He revived a forgotten historical truth in the geopolitics of the Persian Gulf,” the newspaper wrote on Tuesday, March 24.
In an editorial titled “The Strait of Hormuz: Iran’s Winning Card in the Post-War Order,” Javan argued that the waterway should become a strategic lever for the Islamic Republic and “the most important fund to compensate Iran’s losses in the war.”
According to the paper, this framework was outlined in Mojtaba Khamenei’s first message to the nation.
Under the heading “A Strategic Package for Compensation of Losses,” the editorial said Iran now needs a comprehensive, multilayered doctrine to prevent circumvention of its new arrangements. Taxes, it said, would be based on “the nature of the cargo” and “the degree of cooperation between the ship’s country of origin and the aggressors.”
Javan estimated that under such a framework regional states would need to pay $50 per barrel to compensate Iran’s losses and contribute to reconstruction efforts.
Ships belonging to Israel and the United States, it added, would be barred from the strait even under a different flag.
Under a section titled “Redefining Negotiations,” the paper said Israeli and U.S. vessels could use the waterway only if one sanction on Iran were lifted for each passage.
The argument rests on the claim—advanced by Iranian commentators—that international law allows states to levy fees to ensure the security of waterways under their control.
With control over several islands and strategic points in the Persian Gulf, and full control of the waterway’s northern shore, Iran holds a uniquely strategic position, the IRGC-linked daily argued.
The paper concluded: “This package sends a clear message to all players inside and outside the region: the era of imposing sanctions on Iran is over, as no country can benefit from Persian Gulf security for free.”
Whether the United States, regional states, or their partners in South Asia would accept Tehran’s unilateral framework and comply with its demands remains uncertain.
The decisive moment in a regime’s collapse is often not the formal end, but the tipping point before it: the moment when the state’s aura of inevitability breaks.
Borders may still be guarded, television may still broadcast, officials may still issue decrees. But something more important has changed. The system no longer functions with confidence.
That pattern runs through modern history. Regimes die when authority thins out, and the forces meant to preserve the system begin to hesitate, fracture, defect or simply wait.
In Russia in 1917, the monarchy’s fate was sealed not only by crowds in the streets but by the refusal of troops and Cossacks to suppress them.
In Iran in 1979, the Shah’s regime effectively ended when the armed forces declared neutrality.
In Romania in 1989, Nicolae Ceaușescu’s fall accelerated when the army switched sides.
In East Germany, the Berlin Wall lost its political meaning the moment the border opening made it unenforceable.
In each case, the end came after something deeper had already broken: the state’s confidence in its own ability to command obedience.
The sequence before collapse
This is why a tipping point is best understood not as a date but as a sequence.
First comes long erosion: economic decline, loss of legitimacy, social anger, distrust inside the ruling camp.
Then comes a catalytic shock: a massacre, a fraudulent election, military defeat, a failed coup, or the death of the ruler around whom the system had been built.
Then comes the most important stage and the hardest to measure: the failed restoration of authority.
The regime still projects continuity, but no longer convincingly. It can still threaten, still punish, still broadcast. But it no longer reassures. Its command no longer feels unquestioned.
Only after that comes the formal end.
Iran’s compressed crisis
Iran’s recent trajectory fits that sequence with unusual force, appearing to compress into weeks the kinds of shocks that in other systems were spread over months or even years.
The country entered 2026 already weakened by deep economic distress and nationwide protest. Then came the January 8-9 crackdown.
More than 36,500 were killed, according to classified material Iran International reviewed. Other reporting and rights group assessments also describe the episode as mass killings on an extraordinary scale.
Mass killing can restore fear for a time. It can also destroy legitimacy more deeply and more permanently.
The next shock was even more consequential.
On 28 February, joint US-Israeli strikes killed Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, abruptly removing the central figure around whom the Islamic Republic had organized authority for decades.
That alone did not prove regime collapse. Systems can survive the loss of a leader if they can replace him quickly and credibly. But that is precisely where the next problem began.
The succession that followed looked less like a confident transfer of power than an emergency move under pressure.
Iran International reported that the IRGC pushed to install a successor outside normal legal procedures amid disarray in the chain of command and fears that people could return to the streets.
Mojtaba Khamenei’s elevation preserved the office, but did not clearly restore authority. A succession in such a system is meant to reassure the Islamic Republic’s core that command still exists and that the center is still holding.
Yet Mojtaba has remained unseen in any ordinary sense. His messages were still being issued only in writing or read by state television anchors over still images, with no direct public appearance or recorded voice.
In a system built around the symbolism and physical presence of supreme authority, that matters. A ruler who does not appear can hold a title, but cannot easily project command.
That, in turn, changes how the growing centrality of the Revolutionary Guards should be read. If the IRGC now appears to dominate more of the state, that does not necessarily mean the system is stronger. It may mean the opposite: that the wider governing structure has hollowed out and power has narrowed to its coercive core.
Even that core shows signs of strain.
Reports of disrupted chains of command, internal criticism of senior commanders, personnel failing to report to bases, and diplomats seeking asylum do not yet prove a terminal fracture. But they are the kinds of signals that often appear before loyalty begins to shift more openly.
What can appear as consolidation may, in fact, be contraction.
The moment before the streets
This is also why the absence of a full-scale uprising does not necessarily mean the Islamic Republic has restored confidence.
In collapsing systems, people do not always move at the first sign of weakness. They wait until repression looks less certain, until command appears thinner, until they believe the next confrontation may end differently from the last.
The decisive moment often comes not when society becomes angriest, but when the security forces are no longer sure they can, should, or will do what they did before.
That memory matters in Iran. January showed what happens when the state still has a functioning command structure and is prepared to kill on a massive scale. But the present moment is not January.
The command structure has been hit. The top leadership has been decapitated. The succession has not visibly restored confidence. The war has intensified military, political, and fiscal strain.
Quiet streets, in such a moment, do not necessarily mean submission. They may mean waiting for the right threshold.
What history suggests
None of this means the Islamic Republic’s end is settled. Regimes can survive extraordinary shocks, especially when coercion remains lethal and opposition forces lack a unified organizational center inside the country.
But history suggests a useful distinction. A system is often most vulnerable when it has been reduced to force alone.
That is often the stage at which the outer signs of continuity become misleading. The offices still function. Orders are still issued. Missiles may still fly. But the wider architecture that gave those acts political meaning has begun to fail.
The question is no longer simply whether the Islamic Republic still exists on paper. It does.
The more important question is whether it still functions as a regime in the full sense: with authority that travels clearly, loyalty that holds under pressure, and institutions that do more than keep violence in motion.
History suggests that when those things begin to fail together, the tipping point is no longer far behind.