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“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”
Howard Zin (Jewish American Historian 1922-2010)
I came across these words some years ago when a USA-led international coalition was engaged in a fruitless search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Howard Zin was a vocal opponent of that war. He would probably have been a vehement opponent of his county’s complicity in Israel’s assault on Gaza and the West Bank. What I am pondering this month, however, are the complexities created by “the flag” when seafarers are caught up in wars.
Warfare is often viewed through the lens of nation-states, each represented by its flag. However, in an increasingly globalised world where identity is frequently rooted more in ethnic or cultural characteristics than political borders, this view has become outdated and problematic. Conflicts like those in Myanmar, Yemen, and Israel highlight how violence can transcend the boundaries of statehood, revealing deeper divides within and beyond national borders. In Myanmar, civil unrest reflects long-standing internal fault lines. In Yemen, commentary is careful to ascribe violence to “the Houthis” rather than the Yemeni state itself. Similarly, conflating the actions of the state of Israel with Judaism, Jewishness, or the Jewish diaspora is both wrong and a hazardous oversimplification.
These blurred lines become especially significant when considering international shipping and the lives of seafarers. Seafaring is perhaps the most globally entangled profession. Ships travel through international and territorial waters, owned and operated by multinational corporations, flagged in various countries (some even landlocked), and crewed by people from around the globe. A single ship might be owned by a Greek company with multiple shareholders from other countries, flagged in Panama, crewed by Filipinos, Ukrainians, and Russians, and carrying goods owned by companies in entirely different countries. When war breaks out, untangling the allegiances and responsibilities becomes nearly impossible. Unless it is a very unusual vessel and a very unusual crew and a very unusual cargo, a ship cannot simplistically be said to be of any specific state and therefore a target for any other state.
This complexity is not just theoretical; it has real-world consequences. Seafarers often find themselves caught in conflicts in which they, and their countries, have no stake. Yet they bear the brunt of violence at sea, often with little recourse or protection. A recent example is the deadly attack by the Houthis in the Red Sea, where innocent seafarers lost their lives. Whatever political justification the attackers may claim, the killing of non-combatants engaged in essential, civilian work is indefensible.
“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”
In response to this threat, The Philippines—a country that supplies around 20% of the world’s seafarers—has taken steps to protect its nationals. Its Department of Migrant Labour has imposed a ban on shipping companies and crewing agencies that place Filipino seafarers on ships entering war zones or vessels previously attacked. If a ship is headed into a dangerous area, affected seafarers must be flown home immediately, and companies failing to comply face sanctions. While it is uncertain how impactful this policy will be—especially outside public or high-profile incidents—it is a significant move by a relatively poor country to leverage the dependency of the world upon its workers, and assert protection over them when working far from home.
This attempt to extend the reach of a national flag beyond borders is noteworthy. It acknowledges the vital role of seafarers in global trade and the disproportionate risks they face in wartime. It also reflects a broader truth: seafarers deserve special status and protections, much like medical personnel during war. Their expertise and courage sustain global trade, ensuring the flow of essential goods that sustain life around the world. Just as the world recognises the neutrality and importance of healthcare workers in conflict zones, so too should it protect seafarers.
Ultimately, there may be no perfect solution to the dangers faced by seafarers in times of war. However, mitigating these risks through policy, international cooperation, and recognition of their unique status is not just ethical—it is essential. Seafarers are not merely workers at sea; they are linchpins in the fabric of global wellbeing. Their safety should be a priority, and no flag should ever be asserted as an excuse for their exploitation or death.
