The U.S. Navy has long embraced the principles set out by Alfred Thayer Mahan: control the seas, protect trade routes, and use maritime dominance to influence world affairs. Now, more than a century after Mahan’s theories shaped global naval strategies, the United States finds itself in a hard test of sea power’s limits — battling an asymmetric enemy in the Red Sea while trying to uphold freedom of navigation across one of the world’s most vital maritime corridors.

This reality came into sharp focus again this week when the USS Harry S. Truman, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier deployed to the Red Sea, lost an F/A-18E Super Hornet and a tow tractor overboard. According to the Navy, the mishap occurred during an aircraft move inside the hangar bay. A sudden hard turn, reportedly made to evade incoming Houthi fire, contributed to the loss.

It was a stark reminder: maintaining command of the seas today often means fighting an elusive enemy whose tactics defy conventional naval operations.

A String of Mishaps Under Pressure

The Truman’s recent accident is not an isolated event. In December, the carrier lost another F/A-18 fighter jet — this time shot down accidentally by the USS Gettysburg, a cruiser operating alongside it. The incident forced two aviators to eject, fortunately with only minor injuries. In February, the Truman collided with a merchant vessel near Port Said, a congested gateway to the Suez Canal, resulting in the removal of its commanding officer and urgent repairs in Souda Bay, Crete.

Each incident reveals more than human error; they expose the punishing tempo and dangers of high-stress naval operations under real-world combat conditions. With adversaries adapting faster and operating from the shadows, even the world’s most powerful navy faces vulnerabilities that Mahan himself might not have foreseen.

The cost is mounting. A single Super Hornet fighter jet costs between $60 million and $70 million. Beyond hardware losses, however, the strategic cost is growing: a drain on readiness, morale, and U.S. maritime influence.

Operation Rough Rider: Proving Sea Power’s Utility — and Its Limits

The Truman’s deployment, originally planned to conclude earlier this year, was extended by Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth in March to sustain pressure on the Houthis. This extended campaign, dubbed Operation Rough Rider, has resulted in more than 800 U.S. airstrikes against Houthi targets across Yemen.

According to U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM), the strikes have significantly degraded Houthi capabilities: ballistic missile launches have dropped by 69%, and kamikaze drone attacks by 55%. Hundreds of Houthi fighters and key leaders have been killed, and crucial facilities — such as missile depots, radar sites, and command centers — have been destroyed.

Yet even as the military touts tactical success, the broader strategic picture remains stubborn. Shipping companies remain wary. The Red Sea is not fully secure. The Houthis, battered but unbroken, continue to adapt and attack.

This echoes a fundamental Mahanian principle: sea power is not just about striking blows, but about sustaining influence over time. Success is measured less by spectacular victories than by control of the economic arteries of the world — and by denying that control to adversaries.

The Houthi Threat: A New Kind of Naval Challenge

Emerging from the mountainous regions of northern Yemen, the Houthis — formally known as Ansar Allah — have mastered asymmetric warfare. While the United States commands aircraft carriers and stealth bombers, the Houthis rely on relatively cheap drones, ballistic missiles, and fast attack boats to threaten global trade.

Their tactics are simple but effective: swarm attacks, maritime mines, anti-ship missiles, and saturation drone strikes. They don’t need to win a battle at sea — they need only to raise the cost of shipping to unsustainable levels. In this, they have partially succeeded: since late 2023, global trade through the Red Sea has plummeted, forcing vessels to reroute around the Cape of Good Hope, adding weeks to transit times and billions to global shipping costs.

Moreover, Iran’s backing has allowed the Houthis to sustain and evolve. Smuggling networks transport drones, missile parts, and sophisticated electronics into Yemen. The Houthis have even refined their own weapons systems, demonstrating ingenuity with limited resources.

This resilience is precisely why airstrikes alone, no matter how intense, may not fully neutralize the threat. And it explains why, despite massive firepower, the U.S. Navy remains locked in an exhausting game of cat-and-mouse.

Sea Power Today: A Test of Strategic Patience

Mahan’s vision of sea power emphasized more than just battleships and blockades; it stressed the broader economic and psychological effects of maritime dominance. Sea control was not simply about sinking enemy ships — it was about securing global commerce, ensuring political influence, and shaping the world order.

In the Red Sea today, the U.S. is attempting precisely that. Keeping carrier strike groups on station is not about fighting decisive battles; it’s about keeping trade flowing, reassuring allies, and denying the Houthis — and by extension Iran — a strategic victory.

Naval power acts as an invisible hand, quietly regulating commerce and exerting pressure. But such a strategy requires time, resources, and a public willing to support long, ambiguous campaigns. In the age of instant results and limited patience, this is a harder sell than it was in Mahan’s day.

Operation Rough Rider’s results — a decrease in Houthi attacks, but no outright defeat — perfectly illustrate the slow-grind nature of maritime influence. It’s not about winning in a month; it’s about wearing down adversaries over years, until their strategic position collapses.

Strain on the Fleet: Hidden Costs

Maintaining two carrier strike groups — the Harry S. Truman and the Carl Vinson — in the region is an extraordinary commitment of military assets. Usually, such a deployment signals preparation for a major war. Instead, it is now necessary simply to protect commercial shipping from insurgent threats.

This deployment is draining American resources that might otherwise be positioned to deter China in the Indo-Pacific. It is burning through precision munitions stockpiles already strained by commitments in Europe and other theaters. Some in Congress are openly questioning whether the U.S. Navy can sustain this operational tempo without long-term degradation.

Meanwhile, CENTCOM’s limited public disclosure about the campaign — citing “operational security” — has raised questions about civilian casualties, financial costs, and the broader endgame. Unlike previous operations, such as the 2023 task force Operation Prosperity Guardian, there has been less visible effort to rally international support, further isolating the U.S. in the court of global opinion.

Mahan taught that control of the seas must be part of a broader national strategy, aligned with political, economic, and diplomatic efforts. The risk now is that U.S. naval power is achieving tactical victories but losing strategic momentum.

A Modern Maritime Dilemma

The situation in the Red Sea represents a classic maritime dilemma: how to project overwhelming power against a dispersed, irregular opponent who needs only to disrupt, not defeat, a superior navy.

The Houthis have shown adaptability, ideological commitment, and a willingness to absorb punishment. Their partnership with Iran extends their endurance. Their successes — relative though they may be — validate Mahan’s warnings about the dangers posed by even small forces operating against vulnerable trade routes.

Moreover, their campaign illustrates how non-state actors can today contest control of strategic chokepoints once thought secure. In doing so, they challenge not only American maritime dominance but the assumptions underlying globalization itself.

Sea Power’s Enduring — and Evolving — Importance

The ongoing confrontation between the U.S. Navy and the Houthis reveals much about the enduring relevance of sea power — and its evolving challenges.

Mahan argued that whoever controls the seas controls world commerce and, ultimately, world power. Today, control looks different: it’s about ensuring the safe passage of tankers and container ships against drone attacks and hidden missiles. It’s about sustaining presence, absorbing losses, and demonstrating endurance longer than the enemy can resist.

The USS Harry S. Truman‘s misfortunes are part of that larger story: proof that command of the seas remains vital but is no longer uncontested. It demands constant vigilance, adaptability, and strategic patience.

In the Red Sea, the United States is not fighting to win a traditional war. It is fighting to uphold a system — the free movement of goods, the economic lifelines that bind the world together. It is fighting, in other words, to preserve the very conditions Mahan believed were essential to global leadership.

Whether that leadership can be sustained against a determined, resilient enemy remains an open question — one that will be answered not in a single battle, but over many months, and possibly years, of persistent naval presence.

In an age of technological marvels and space exploration, humanity still clings to one of its darkest inventions: the nuclear bomb. As of 2025, there are more than 12,500 nuclear warheads across the globe, with the majority held by the United States and Russia. Despite decades of arms control treaties and public movements calling for disarmament, the world remains haunted by the threat of annihilation.

The devastating consequences of nuclear weapons are not theoretical. They are written in history, etched in the ruins of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In August 1945, the United States dropped two atomic bombs that instantly killed tens of thousands of people — around 70,000 in Hiroshima and 40,000 in Nagasaki — with death tolls climbing higher in the months and years that followed due to radiation sickness and injuries. Entire cities were reduced to ash, and survivors, known as hibakusha, bore physical and psychological scars that lasted a lifetime.

Nuclear destruction was not limited to wartime. During the Cold War, over 2,000 nuclear tests poisoned environments and devastated communities. The Soviet Union’s Semipalatinsk Test Site in Kazakhstan exposed generations to deadly radiation, while the U.S. tests in the Marshall Islands left vast areas uninhabitable. In these places, survival often meant living with cancer, birth defects, and forced displacement.

Yet from this destruction, powerful voices for peace have emerged. Hibakusha like Setsuko Thurlow transformed their personal tragedies into global activism, advocating tirelessly for a nuclear-free world. Thurlow’s emotional testimony helped inspire the creation of the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) in 2017 — the first international treaty to comprehensively ban nuclear weapons. Although none of the nine nuclear-armed states have joined the TPNW, over 90 countries have ratified it, marking a crucial moral and legal stand against nuclear arms.

However, the journey toward disarmament is riddled with challenges. The Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), effective since 1970, committed nuclear states to eventual disarmament while allowing civilian nuclear programs. Over the years, it has helped prevent the widespread spread of nuclear arms, but the “nuclear club” has not shrunk. Instead, modernization programs continue: the U.S. plans to spend over $1 trillion upgrading its nuclear arsenal, while China and Russia invest heavily in new delivery systems.

Recent global events have made the risks even clearer. Russia’s nuclear threats during its 2022 invasion of Ukraine demonstrated how easily the nuclear card can be played in modern geopolitics. Meanwhile, North Korea’s expanding capabilities and tensions between India and Pakistan keep the nuclear threat alive across Asia.

Despite the grim reality, there are reasons for cautious optimism. Arms control treaties like New START (signed by the U.S. and Russia in 2010) have helped cap deployed strategic warheads, maintaining a fragile balance. Though under pressure, these agreements show that dialogue and compromise are possible.

Moreover, emerging technologies offer new opportunities. Satellite monitoring, blockchain verification, and artificial intelligence could revolutionize how disarmament is tracked and verified, reducing mistrust that has long paralyzed negotiations. Civil society organizations such as the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) continue to push boundaries, winning the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize for their efforts.

Public opinion is also shifting. Surveys show that majorities in Europe, Japan, Latin America, and Africa favor the complete abolition of nuclear weapons. In Germany and Belgium, public pressure is mounting for the removal of U.S. nuclear arms stationed under NATO’s nuclear-sharing agreements.

Still, dismantling the doctrine of “Mutually Assured Destruction” will require political courage rarely seen in today’s polarized world. Security policies built on nuclear deterrence are deeply entrenched, and arms manufacturers profit enormously from keeping them that way.

Some skeptics argue that nuclear disarmament is naive — that humanity will never give up its deadliest weapons. But history provides hope. Atrocities like apartheid, colonialism, and slavery — once viewed as permanent — were abolished through relentless activism and shifting moral standards. Likewise, biological and chemical weapons, once staples of warfare, have been largely outlawed and stigmatized.

As we mark 80 years since the devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, we must listen to the hibakusha, who call for a future where no one suffers as they did. Their survival is not just a testament to human resilience but a reminder of our responsibility. The dream of a world without nuclear weapons is not fantasy. It is a choice — one that demands imagination, effort, and above all, courage.  The future is unwritten. It is up to us to decide whether we continue living under the shadow of mushroom clouds or step bravely into the light of peace.

Despite the spectacle of headlines and battlefield theatrics, insurgents seldom win. History is littered with the remains of rebel movements that seized territory, dominated news cycles, and briefly terrified governments—only to collapse under overwhelming military pressure. From Colombia to Chechnya, from Mali to the Philippines, insurgents have often found themselves outgunned, outspent, and eventually outmaneuvered. Their violent challenge to authority ends in a predictable pattern: repression, regrouping, and repetition. This cyclical reality is at the heart of what might be called the insurgent’s dilemma.

At its core, this dilemma is existential. An insurgency, by definition, seeks to upend established political authority, often through force. Yet the very act of challenging a powerful state tends to provoke a massive and often brutal counter-response. Whether through airstrikes, drone campaigns, raids, or proxy militia, states usually respond with enough force to “mow the grass”—a phrase borrowed from Israeli strategy to describe periodic military action meant not to eradicate a threat entirely, but to keep it contained and manageable. For insurgents, this means starting over, again and again, under increasingly hostile conditions.

This is not merely theoretical. Two stark examples from the Middle East—Gaza and Yemen—underscore how insurgencies are struggling to assert sustainable power under the pressure of superior military force.

In Gaza, Hamas continues to function under a brutal blockade, subject to near-constant surveillance, precision airstrikes, and a form of total warfare that leaves little room for conventional resistance. Israeli military doctrine regards Gaza as a grass field: each time militants regroup or launch attacks, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) respond with overwhelming air and artillery power, degrading infrastructure and eliminating leadership figures. The cycle is relentless. After the Hamas-led attack on October 7, 2023, Israel launched one of the most intense military campaigns in its history. Though Hamas remains defiant, its ability to govern, let alone expand influence, is constrained to a narrow strip of devastated land. Every attempt at insurgency is met with overwhelming retaliation. The grass is mowed.

Yemen provides another compelling case. The Houthis, backed in varying degrees by Iran, have shown remarkable resilience and innovation in asymmetric warfare. They’ve used ballistic missiles, weaponized drones, and information warfare to disrupt Saudi and U.S. interests in the region. However, even as they seize territory and launch attacks on Red Sea shipping or Saudi oil installations, they too are subject to airstrikes and special operations that sap their capacity to expand. The recent U.S. airstrikes in 2024 and 2025 targeting Houthi launch sites and command centers are a case in point. These retaliatory strikes neutralize capabilities in the short term but rarely address the ideological and political drivers of the conflict.

In both cases, the dilemma persists: insurgents can temporarily seize initiative or attention, but they rarely transform such moments into lasting, institutionalized power. This raises the question: if insurgency in its classic form no longer works, what’s next?

The answer may lie in the changing nature of conflict itself. In an age defined by hyperconnectivity, digital disinformation, and deep societal polarization, insurgents are increasingly shifting toward subtler, more strategic forms of influence. The most forward-looking insurgent groups now operate with a hybrid model—fusing kinetic violence with non-kinetic warfare in the realm of information, perception, and narrative manipulation.

Rather than taking and holding ground, insurgents aim to take and hold minds. They amplify grievances, distort truth, and blur the lines between civil discontent and armed struggle. In doing so, they exploit democratic vulnerabilities and political polarization. Through deepfake videos, doctored social media posts, AI-powered propaganda, and targeted campaigns, they sow discord and undermine legitimacy. The battlefield now includes Telegram channels, TikTok reels, and coordinated troll farms. In this new insurgency, a meme can be as powerful as a mortar.

Consider how the Houthis have crafted narratives of resistance and sovereignty—branding themselves as defenders of Yemen against imperial aggression, while sidestepping questions about their Iranian backing or internal repression. Or how Hamas frames Israeli attacks not merely as military actions, but as existential threats to Palestinian identity and nationhood, appealing to audiences far beyond Gaza. These groups understand the modern information environment, and they manipulate it with alarming skill.

This shift is already forcing a rethink in counterinsurgency doctrine. Traditional models—focused on “clear, hold, and build”—may no longer be sufficient in an era where perception shapes reality. Counterinsurgency today must include narrative control, digital hygiene, and proactive measures to prevent radicalization online. The lines between domestic and foreign operations are blurring, as insurgent messaging spreads virally across borders and continents.

Yet this is not to say that kinetic force has become obsolete. Indeed, both Israel and the United States continue to rely heavily on airpower to keep insurgent threats in check. Precision strikes remain an essential tool in the counterinsurgent arsenal. But these strikes rarely win wars on their own. They buy time, they reduce capacity, but they do not erase ideas.

This is the paradox of modern insurgency. Violence remains the means, but information is increasingly the end. The insurgent’s dilemma now includes a digital frontier—a realm where legitimacy, influence, and ideology are shaped, contested, and sometimes won. And for state actors, the challenge is equally daunting: How do you counter a movement that thrives not only in bunkers and tunnels, but in hashtags and livestreams?

The solution may lie in a new kind of strategic patience—one that combines traditional military strength with a long-term investment in governance, narrative, and digital resilience. Airstrikes can flatten a weapons depot, but they cannot rebuild trust in a fractured state. Drones can take out a commander, but they cannot stop a tweet from going viral. The insurgent may be mowed down, but unless the soil of discontent is addressed, the grass will grow back.

In Gaza, in Yemen, and in other flashpoints across the globe, the insurgent’s dilemma continues to evolve. But so too must our understanding of insurgency itself. It is no longer just a contest of arms—it is a contest of stories, symbols, and sustained perception. And in that arena, both insurgents and their adversaries are just beginning to learn the rules.