If you want to understand the future of global power, do not look at Beijing or Delhi. Look at the Indian Ocean—ideally through a live marine traffic map.
Dozens of shipping routes arc across its expanse, a circulatory system for the world economy. Four of the planet’s six most vital maritime chokepoints sit within this vast body of water. Through them pass roughly 80% of China’s oil imports and 95% of India’s trade. The stakes are high. If control of Europe once depended on the Rhineland and control of Asia on the Himalayas, then control of the 21st century may turn on what happens at sea.
The Indian Ocean may be named after India, but increasingly China is asserting its own claim. In the last two decades Beijing has invested billions into a sprawling necklace of ports, railways, surveillance systems and industrial zones stretching from the East African coast to Southeast Asia. The Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), China’s geopolitical megaproject, has acquired a distinctly maritime hue. Its “string of pearls” includes deep-water ports in Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Djibouti and Mauritius, many of which—though billed as commercial—can accommodate naval vessels. Critics call it encirclement by infrastructure.
India is rattled, and not without reason. Even as the two Asian giants have repeatedly sparred over Himalayan ridgelines, their rivalry is increasingly taking to the high seas. In 2020 a deadly skirmish in Ladakh revived memories of the 1962 border war. But what really keeps Indian strategists awake is not a repeat of land conflict. It is the spectre of maritime vulnerability. The narrow Strait of Malacca, through which most of India’s energy imports and exports pass, could be strangled in times of crisis. That the hand tightening the noose might be Beijing’s only sharpens the anxiety
Delhi has responded in kind, though less flamboyantly. In recent years it has expanded naval exercises; inked military access agreements with countries like Oman; and funded strategic infrastructure of its own. Most notably India is building a military airstrip on the Agalega islands—part of Mauritius but now the site of Delhi’s most ambitious overseas defence project. Officially it is to support humanitarian missions. Unofficially it is a forward base to keep tabs on Chinese naval activity.
Mauritius is a case study in the geopolitics of small states. Known in travel brochures for sugarcane fields and sapphire waters, the island nation sits atop a 2.3m square kilometre exclusive economic zone, squarely in the middle of the Indian Ocean’s shipping lanes. Once considered too remote to matter, it is now being courted by giants. China has built highways and telecom infrastructure; India, metro lines and digital connectivity. Both call their support development aid. Locals call it influence.
The contest is not limited to infrastructure. In Djibouti China established its first overseas military base in 2017, right next to America’s Camp Lemonnier. In Cambodia it is developing facilities at Ream Naval Base, giving it a toehold in the Gulf of Thailand. Taken together these ventures amount to what one analyst described as “naval hopscotch”, a way for China to project power across the Indo-Pacific without ever calling it so.
For America, historically the region’s dominant outside power, this should be a wake-up call. But in recent years it has looked distracted and increasingly inward. Under President Donald Trump, foreign aid was slashed. Diplomatic missions hollowed out. And defence commitments trimmed. Programmes that were designed to bolster civil society and democratic governance across the Indian Ocean littorals have been shelved. That has left a vacuum: one China is more than willing to fill.
Yet not all of China’s bets have paid off. The much-hyped Jin Fei development zone in Mauritius, intended as a gleaming hub of commerce and leisure, is still little more than an empty expanse of roads and unfinished buildings. For every polished Huawei-built surveillance network, there is a half-baked port or white elephant airport. Some Indian Ocean states have learned to play the game, accepting investment with one hand while keeping their autonomy with the other.
India meanwhile hopes to provide a more measured, palatable alternative. It touts its aid as non-extractive, its cultural links as fraternal rather than strategic. Mauritius is called “Chhota Bharat” (Little India) in some circles, an affectionate nod to its large ethnic Indian population and historical ties. But sentiment only goes so far. What matters is delivery and here India is catching up. In Oman it has built its first overseas logistics facility. In the Maldives and Seychelles it is funding radar networks. Silently but resolutely, it is threading its own pearls.
Still the race is asymmetric. China’s economic weight allows it to outspend and outbuild and outlast most rivals. Its naval modernisation is dizzying. In sheer shipbuilding capacity, China already outpaces every other country. According to the Pentagon, the Chinese navy is now the world’s largest by hull count. It has not fought a war in decades—but it is preparing for the possibility that one may come.
For all the talk of a “rules-based international order”, the reality in the Indian Ocean is one of competition and cautious deterrence. Chokepoints like the Strait of Hormuz, Bab el-Mandeb and Malacca are not only transit zones but pressure points too. A single blockade or miscalculation could upend global commerce and provoke wider conflict. India knows this. So does China.
The region’s smaller states—Maldives, Sri Lanka, Seychelles—have their own calculations. For them the influx of attention is a windfall rather than a threat. Loans, grants, infrastructure deals and satellite coverage are eagerly accepted. But the strings attached are increasingly visible. As one Mauritian official put it: “We used to be ignored. Now we are indispensable. But also, we are watched”.
And what of America? Although it still maintains more military bases globally than any other nation, its strategic patience is wearing thin. Its main Indian Ocean outpost, Diego Garcia— located on territory claimed by Mauritius—remains critical to its Indo-Pacific posture. But if Washington continues to retreat from the diplomatic and developmental field, its hard power may no longer suffice. Soft power, like unused port facilities, tends to rust quickly.
Thus the great game at sea is accelerating, though with no clear winner. India believes it offers a more humane model of influence. China believes its investments speak louder than Delhi’s entreaties. The US believes—when it bothers to think about it—deterrence alone will do. Meanwhile global trade continues to churn through the ocean’s narrow corridors, blissfully unaware of the sabres rattling beneath the waves.
The Indian Ocean has seen empires before—Portuguese, Dutch, British. What is new is the players rather than the pattern. As China’s ambitions grow and India’s anxieties deepen, the question is not will the ocean be contested but will it remain navigable: for trade, diplomacy and peace.
The 21st century may indeed belong to Asia. But first it must figure out who controls the water. ■
