By John Q. Hosedrinker 
President Donald Trump twice deflected questions regarding the status of the Strait of Hormuz, which Iran recently closed following the end of a ceasefire agreement. Trump asserted the strait remained open but stated he did not wish to discuss the matter further out of respect for the late Senator Lindsey Graham. Critics, however, argued that the president’s decision to initiate conflict with Iran was a subject pertinent to Graham and should not have been avoided by journalists.
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The directive to journalists to cease reporting on the Strait of Hormuz, following yet another disruption, suggests a rather familiar tactic: the ostrich strategy. When faced with an inconvenient truth or a developing crisis, the approach seems to be to simply declare it nonexistent and instruct others to do the same. This mirrors past instances where challenges, like those posed by the COVID-19 pandemic, were met with a similar refusal to acknowledge or engage with the reality of the situation. The rationale, it appears, is that if one simply doesn’t talk about a problem, it will magically disappear.
This strategy is particularly problematic when the issue directly impacts the lives of ordinary citizens. The Strait of Hormuz is a crucial artery for global oil transport. Any interruption there invariably translates into higher prices at the pump, increased costs for consumer goods, and broader economic instability. While those in positions of wealth and power might be insulated from these immediate financial burdens, the average person must bear the brunt of such disruptions. The idea that simply ignoring the issue will alleviate the economic pain for millions is, to put it mildly, disconnected from reality.
The pronouncement that the Strait of Hormuz is “open, and I don’t want to talk about it” echoes a pattern of deflection. It’s a way to attempt to control the narrative by shutting down inquiry, particularly when the journalist is perceived as being unfair or overly persistent. The implication is that the topic is somehow off-limits, perhaps to avoid discussing uncomfortable geopolitical or economic realities. This approach is not new; it has been applied to various sensitive issues in the past, often with the hope that the media will simply comply and move on to less challenging subjects.
The notion that the Strait of Hormuz is a “hoax” or something that can be wished away through silence is a dangerous form of denial. History teaches us that ignoring critical international flashpoints rarely leads to their resolution. In fact, it often allows them to fester and escalate. The fear is that this approach could set a precedent, where future generations of politicians might retroactively claim that certain conflicts or crises never occurred, or that their impact was negligible, simply because they were never adequately addressed at the time.
The suggestion that the Strait is “open” because one wants it to be, and the subsequent plea to stop talking about it, highlights a disconnect between official pronouncements and on-the-ground realities. The economic implications of a blocked or disrupted Strait of Hormuz are too significant to be dismissed with a wave of the hand. The global economy is intricately linked, and such disruptions send ripples through markets worldwide. It’s not a matter of personal preference or a desire to avoid difficult conversations; it’s a matter of tangible economic consequences that affect everyone.
This directive to journalists to “stop talking about the latest thing I’ve fucked up” encapsulates the underlying sentiment of the “don’t talk about it” approach. It’s a clear indication that the focus is on protecting personal or political standing rather than addressing the actual problem. The instinct to silence critics or reporters who bring up failures is a well-worn playbook, aiming to prevent inconvenient truths from reaching the public consciousness.
The plea for journalists to instead focus on other matters, such as the Epstein files, when faced with difficult questions about the Strait of Hormuz, illustrates a desire to pivot to topics that, while controversial, might be seen as less immediately impactful or more easily managed through silence or distraction. It’s a tactic to redirect attention away from current, pressing issues that have significant geopolitical and economic ramifications.
Ultimately, the instinct to tell journalists not to ask about major international issues is counterproductive. Such directives rarely lead to silence; instead, they often amplify the very questions that are being suppressed. The public has a right to be informed about events that impact their lives and the global landscape. Dismissing these concerns and demanding silence is not a sign of strength or effective governance, but rather an admission of an inability or unwillingness to confront and address complex challenges. The “don’t talk about it” approach may provide temporary relief from uncomfortable scrutiny, but it does little to resolve the underlying problems, and often exacerbates them in the long run.