By: Ahana Sarkar
Diego Garcia is an island in the Indian Ocean, and for most people, it’s just a dot on the map. They’ve never heard of it and will never visit, and it seems like a dystopian parcel of land in most cases. But for the United States (US) military and its geo-strategists, this tiny atoll is a powerhouse, a silent force behind America’s global reach. From the Gulf War to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Diego Garcia has been an essential yet invisible part of America’s military might.
The United States has leased the island from the United Kingdom (UK) since the late 1960s, and it’s situated at a geographical sweet spot. Midway between Africa and Southeast Asia, it’s a hub for surveillance, rapid deployment, and deterrence. Here, bombers are prepped, naval vessels resupplied, and intelligence gathered far from the eyes of the world. But behind this strategic brilliance is a story of injustice that’s all too familiar in the history of empire: the forced removal of the island’s indigenous Chagossian people to make way for a military base.
Again, Diego Garcia isn’t just an asset; it’s a chess piece on the global board. Its location at the crossroads of vital shipping lanes and hotspots is crucial, and its remoteness is a strength, providing the United States with unparalleled security for its operations. Close enough to the Strait of Hormuz or the Strait of Malacca, it allows for rapid response to crises while maintaining the cover of invisibility that America’s strategic ambitions often demand.
The base itself is a logistical and military marvel. The deep waters and protected lagoon are perfect for aircraft carriers and submarines; the airstrip can handle everything from B-52 Stratofortress bombers to cargo planes. Diego Garcia is not just a staging ground; it’s a launch pad for global action. During the Gulf War and the post-September 11, 2001, campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq, the island was critical, providing a secure and stable base from which operations could be executed without the messy politics of host-nation approvals or public scrutiny.
But this tidy narrative of strategic necessity can’t really erase the ugly truths buried beneath Diego Garcia’s surface. The Chagossians, forcibly removed from their homeland to make way for a base, are a ghostly reminder of the price of power. Their displacement, brutal, uncompensated, and unresolved, looms large over the island’s successes. As America continues to use Diego Garcia as a silent enabler of its global reach, we should ask: at what point do strategy and morality meet, and at what point do they crash?
To be very fair, Diego Garcia is more than a dot on the map; it’s the engine behind some of America’s biggest military operations. It rarely gets mentioned in public, but this remote island in the Indian Ocean has become the backbone of United States logistics and rapid deployment. Stockpiles of military equipment, munitions, and fuel are pre-positioned here so American forces can respond quickly to crises around the world. For aircraft and ships in the region, Diego Garcia is a lifeline, a place to refuel, repair, and extend their operational ranges without the logistical headaches of mainland bases.
After all, its isolation is its trump card. Far removed from populated areas and volatile regions, it’s a fortress of security. Its remoteness makes it less vulnerable to sabotage or missile strikes, a reliable and well-equipped outpost in an era where mobility and maritime power are the dominant strategic thinking. Diego Garcia isn’t just a base; it’s a launchpad for global influence. Time and again, it has proven itself. During the Gulf War, it was a staging ground for devastating air raids on Iraq. B-52 Stratofortress bombers took off from the airstrip and delivered precision strikes that showed the base’s reach and importance. Its secrecy ensured the missions could proceed unimpeded, shielded from the public glare and political wrangling that often accompany operations from allied territories.
After September 11, 2001, Diego Garcia was at the centre stage again. In Operation Enduring Freedom, it was a base for bombers targeting Taliban and al-Qaeda strongholds in Afghanistan. Its location allowed the United States to act quickly, without having to negotiate permissions or face the resistance of allied nations’ citizens. The same pattern repeated in the 2003 Iraq War. The island was a launch point for airstrikes and a logistical hub for pre-positioning weapons so sustained campaigns could be fought without overwhelming mainland infrastructure.
Despite its anonymity, Diego Garcia is the unsung hero of American military power. Its logistics, location, and isolation make it indispensable. But as its quiet contributions continue to underpin United States global operations, questions remain about the ethics and accountability of exercising such unchallenged power from an island shrouded in secrecy.
Diego Garcia’s role in modern warfare goes beyond launching bombers or being a logistics hub. Over the years, it has become a nerve centre for surveillance and drone operations, watching over vast areas of ocean and land. From counter-terrorism to maritime security and anti-piracy missions, it covers regions like South Asia, the Horn of Africa, and the Middle East. But its real power is in something intangible: its operational invisibility. Unlike bases in sensitive political areas, Diego Garcia operates without the public scrutiny or backlash that often accompanies American military presence overseas.
In an era of great power competition, Diego Garcia has become the key to the United States Indo-Pacific strategy. It’s not just firepower but strategic positioning, allowing Washington to stay in the game in one of the most contested areas of the world. With China’s growing presence in the Indian Ocean and its “String of Pearls” strategy, establishing ports and bases from Pakistan to Djibouti, Diego Garcia is the counterweight, keeping the Indian Ocean a theatre of competition, not domination. Plus, the United States’ “Free and Open Indo-Pacific” means Diego Garcia is at the heart of that vision. Its location gives it unmatched reach for surveillance and response quickly across key waters, from the South China Sea to the Horn of Africa. And its isolation means Washington doesn’t have to worry about the diplomatic complications of having bases on the Asian mainland, so it can act when needed.
But India isn’t forgetting Diego Garcia, which it sees as a rising power in the Indian Ocean. Worried by China’s naval expansion and ports in Gwadar and Djibouti, India has increased its naval capabilities and deepened its defence ties with the United States. Malabar exercises and logistics-sharing agreements have strengthened this partnership, with Diego Garcia at the centre of shared security goals. As India and the United States converge on their strategic priorities, Diego Garcia is the key asset in their joint effort to balance China.
In this great power game, Diego Garcia is more than a military base; it’s a statement. It reassures allies and partners of America’s long-term commitment to the region and tells adversaries loud and clear. As the Indian Ocean becomes a battleground for influence, Diego Garcia is the United States’ declaration of intent to shape its future. Diego Garcia is where geography meets power, tucked away in the Indian Ocean, where it sits at the crossroads of some of the most volatile and strategic regions in the world. Far from being a remote outpost, its isolation is an asset; the United States can monitor, intervene, and project influence without having to ask permission from host nations or navigate the complexities of regional alliances.
Plus, situated near the Strait of Hormuz, the Horn of Africa, and the Strait of Malacca, Diego Garcia allows for rapid response to threats in multiple theatres. This geographic advantage was critical during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, where bombers and naval ships could operate seamlessly with minimal logistical friction. The island’s infrastructure is designed to be versatile, supporting everything from heavy bombers and surveillance aircraft to nuclear submarines and aircraft carriers. The deep lagoon and extensive facilities mean it can be an airbase, naval base, and communications hub all at once.
But Diego Garcia isn’t just a powerhouse of military logistics; it’s a symbol of dominance. Massive stockpiles of fuel, ammunition, and equipment on the island allow for extended deployments, while pre-positioned ships mean the United States military can get into the region in days. But its strategic genius can’t wash away the stains of its dark past.
The price of Diego Garcia’s transformation into a United States defence hub was paid by the Chagossians, the people of the Chagos Archipelago. In the 1960s and 1970s, they were forcibly removed from their homes to make way for the military base. Families were split up, pets were killed (reportedly), and livelihoods were destroyed, all in the name of geopolitics. The Chagossians were dumped into Mauritius and the Seychelles with no support whatsoever, left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, broken by colonial and strategic calculations. For decades, the Chagossians have been fighting for justice in British and international courts. The 2019 International Court of Justice (ICJ) ruling that the United Kingdom’s administration of the Chagos Islands was illegal was a big moment. The ICJ’s opinion, backed by a near-unanimous United Nations (UN) resolution, called for the islands to be returned to Mauritius. But despite international condemnation, both the United Kingdom and the United States have doubled down on their military presence, citing security over ethics.
This is the problem: in the global power calculus, strategic necessity trumps moral responsibility. Diego Garcia’s continued occupation is a contradiction for countries that claim to support human rights and international law. The Chagossians are in exile, their situation a reminder of the price of unchallenged power. As the world moves towards a multipolar order, Diego Garcia is more than a fortress; it’s a test of the great powers’ moral fibre. Can the United States reconcile its strategic interests with the changing norms? Can it maintain its power without addressing the injustice at the heart of its Indian Ocean base?
Diego Garcia’s dual legacy, of unmatched strategic value and unresolved colonial wrongs, poses a question that the United States and its allies can no longer avoid: Is enduring power truly sustainable when built on the foundation of unresolved injustices? How this contradiction is addressed in the coming years will shape not just regional security but the moral authority these powers claim to uphold on the global stage.
