The Iranian drones and missiles that struck airports in Dubai, Doha, and across the Gulf in the opening days of Iran’s retaliation against American and Israeli strikes were notable for hitting the passenger terminals, not the runways. Conventional air-denial doctrine would suggest Iran do the opposite. Crater the tarmac and you prevent the military conversion of civilian airstrips into ad hoc airbases, a real concern given that American forces stationed across the region were also subject to attacks.
Yet when Iran launched its response to Operation Epic Fury and the killing of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, it targeted the passenger concourses. Terminal 3 at Dubai International was hit by a drone and evacuated. Abu Dhabi's Zayed International was struck too, killing one person and injuring several others. Kuwait International was also hit, while thick smoke rose over the southern skyline of Doha.
A plane that cannot land cannot circle indefinitely. Diversion airports fill up fast. Insurers reprice or pull coverage.
The scale of disruption to international air travel that followed cannot be overstated. One of the world's busiest and most important route networks ceased overnight for the first time since the Covid-19 pandemic shutdown. Emirates, Etihad, and Qatar Airways quickly suspended flights. The UAE, Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar and Iraq all closed their airspace. This stranded tens of thousands of passengers and threw the travel plans of many others into disarray.
The only comparable disruption to global air travel in recent memory is the 2010 Eyjafjallajökull eruption, which wreaked havoc across Europe and the North Atlantic. But unlike the pandemic and Eyjafjallajökull, this disruption was targeted and deserves closer reading than it has received.
Start with geography. The Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly a fifth of the world's oil supply passes, has been one of the most strategically consequential chokepoints in history. Empires from the Persians to the British built and lost fortunes trying to control it. In modern times, Tehran has leveraged the implicit threat that it could, if sufficiently provoked, choke the global economy by closing a narrow strip of water. The Gulf states know this intimately and their entire modern security architecture has been shaped, in part, by the need to keep that strait open.
But the world's most important connector airports also line the Gulf's southern coast, well within range of Iranian ballistic missiles and drones. The terminal strikes suggest that Iran now intends to gatekeep the skies above the Gulf much as it has long threatened to gatekeep the waters below. And as a chokepoint, aviation may prove even more acute than the strait. When tanker traffic is threatened, ships can slow-steam, loiter, or reroute. It is painful and expensive, but there is slack in the system. Aviation has no such slack. A plane that cannot land cannot circle indefinitely. Diversion airports fill up fast. Insurers reprice or pull coverage. The disruption cascades faster than any maritime blockade and reaches further than most observers appreciate. A hospital in Bangkok or a distributor in Dar es Salaam that depends on cold-chain pharmaceuticals routed through Dubai does not have a contingency plan for this scenario, because until last week, nobody thought one was necessary.
The target selection also carries symbolic weight. In the Gulf, civil aviation has become a conspicuous projection – extension, even – of the state and its national ambition as much as it is a commercial enterprise. The Gulf states have spent decades constructing the proposition for the international community that they are stable, safe, open, modern, and neutral. Their aviation assets are the most visible expression of that proposition. Dubai International and Hamad International have become showrooms for the state and are home to some of the world's most awarded airlines.
Some of these carriers have airplanes that carry portraits of their rulers on the fuselage. A missile through a departure hall certainly destabilises the story these countries have been telling the world.
Iran is now testing that story directly. Whether the intent is to pressure Gulf capitals into leaning on Washington for restraint, or whether this represents something closer to an implosion by a cornered regime that has just lost its Supreme Leader, the effect is the same. Consumer behaviour may be short-sighted, but memories are not, nor are those of multinational firms and family offices deciding where to base their regional headquarters. The carefully constructed image of the Gulf as an oasis of stability has become clouded with smoke.
It is the broader precedent, however, that is most concerning. If terminal strikes prove to be an effective coercion tool, one that imposes real economic and reputational costs akin to hitting an oil facility or an American base, other actors will have noticed. What Iran may be demonstrating, perhaps inadvertently, is that prestige civilian infrastructure constitutes a target class ideally suited for actors seeking to inflict maximum pain at minimum escalatory risk. Airports are the most conspicuous and symbolic example, but the logic extends readily to ports and iconic landmarks, such as the Burj Khalifa. That should concern anyone operating in an interconnected world.
