Trump's Coalition Of The Unwilling: A Long Time In The Making

A decade later, the model had already begun to fray. The coalition assembled by President George W Bush Jr. for the second Iraq War was numerically larger - 49 countries - but qualitatively weaker. Dubbed the 'coalition of the willing', it was marked by the conspicuous absence of a clear UN mandate and by deep divisions among major powers. While countries like the United Kingdom and Australia provided substantial military support, many others offered only symbolic participation. The Iraq War exposed a crucial paradox: coalition size does not equate to coalition legitimacy. Indeed, it signaled the beginning of a credibility erosion that would haunt subsequent US interventions.

By the time of President Barack Obama, coalition-building had become more selective and issue-specific. In operations against ISIS in Syria and Iraq, the US worked with a broad but functionally differentiated coalition, combining NATO allies, regional partners, and local militias. The intervention in Libya in 2011, though initially multilateral and UN-backed, quickly revealed the limits of Western cohesion. European allies depended heavily on US capabilities, and the instability of the aftermath of regime change deepened skepticism about interventionism itself.

Under President Joe Biden, coalition politics took yet another turn during the Russia-Ukraine war. Here, the US succeeded in mobilizing a vast network of support - over 54 countries through the Ukraine Defense Contact Group. But this was not a traditional war coalition. There were no unified combat operations under a single command. Instead, it was a diffused, layered system of military aid, sanctions, intelligence sharing and diplomatic alignment. This model reflected a world where consensus exists on principles - such as territorial sovereignty - but not on direct military engagement.

It is against this evolving backdrop that Trump's current predicament must be assessed. His call for a naval coalition to secure the Strait of Hormuz comes at a moment of acute geopolitical tension with wars becoming normalized. Yet, unlike in 1991, there is no UN mandate to anchor legitimacy. Unlike in 2003, there is not even a symbolic rush to align politically with Washington. And unlike in Ukraine, there is no shared perception of a clear aggressor that galvanizes collective action.

Instead, what we see is a pattern of calibrated distancing.

The closest of American allies in Europe - including key NATO members the UK, Italy, Germany, France - have expressed reluctanc to join military strikes on Iran and stopped short of committing naval forces. Their hesitation reflects both strategic caution and domestic political constraints. The memory of Iraq looms large, as does the fear of being drawn into a wider regional war. Trumpian tantrums have shaken their confidence.

In Asia as well, traditional US partners such as Japan and South Korea remain highly dependent on Gulf nations from which they respectively import 90 per cent and 70 per cent of their crude oil. They have reasons to avoid escalation. They have preferred de-escalation and diplomatic engagement.

Even more striking is the position of China. As the world's largest importer of oil and a major beneficiary of Gulf stability, Beijing has a direct stake in keeping the Strait of Hormuz open. China, therefore, not only has no inclination to join a US-led naval coalition, it has resorted to bilateral dialogue with Iran and criticized US strikes.

Russia is seen leveraging this crisis and mocking US miscalculation in Iran, criticizing US unilateralism while benefiting from American distraction and also from higher prices for its energy exports.

Across the Middle East as well, the response remains equally cautious. Gulf states, while concerned about Iranian strikes, are wary of becoming battlegrounds in a US-Iran confrontation. No leaders from these nations have supported American military strikes. A few such as Oman, Qatar, Egypt, Turkey and India actively speak of restraint and dialogue.

What unites these disparate responses is a shared recognition of countries' shared stakes. The Strait of Hormuz is not merely a geopolitical flashpoint; it is a lifeline for global energy markets. Disruptions there translate into immediate price spikes for oil and liquefied natural gas, with cascading effects on fertilizers, food production, and inflation worldwide.