Trump Threatens to Destroy Iran's Desalination Plants, Raising Humanitarian Concerns

On March 30, 2026, President Donald Trump posted on social media that if a deal to end the month-old U.S.-Israeli war on Iran was not "shortly reached," the United States would conclude its military operations "by blowing up and completely obliterating all of their Electric Generating Plants, Oil Wells and Kharg Island (and possibly all desalination plants)" [1]. The threat to destroy Iran's desalination infrastructure—plants that convert seawater into drinking water for millions of people—immediately drew condemnation from human rights organizations and international law scholars, while the White House insisted the U.S. would act within "the confines of the law" [1].

The statement came on Day 31 of Operation Epic Fury, the U.S.-Israeli military campaign launched on February 28 with surprise airstrikes across Iran that killed Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and dozens of officials, along with more than 170 civilians at a girls' school in Minab near Bandar Abbas [2][3]. Over the course of the conflict, more than 2,300 people have been killed across the region, at least 18 hospitals have been hit, and the Strait of Hormuz—through which 27% of global oil transits—has been closed [2].

Trump's desalination threat is the latest escalation in a conflict whose targets have progressively expanded from military and nuclear sites to civilian energy and water infrastructure. It raises urgent questions about international law, humanitarian consequences, strategic logic, and the security of U.S. allies who depend on the same technology.

Who Depends on Desalination—And Who Would Suffer

Iran is not the Middle East's most desalination-dependent country. Only about 3% of Iran's drinking water comes from desalination plants, compared to 90% in Kuwait and 70% in Saudi Arabia [4][5]. But that national average obscures a sharp regional divide.

Source: CSIS / IEA

Data as of Mar 30, 2026CSV

Over 92% of Iran's desalination plants are concentrated in four southern coastal provinces: Hormozgan, Bushehr, Sistan-Baluchistan, and Khuzestan [6]. Hormozgan Province alone accounts for 50% of Iran's desalinated water output, with 41 plants processing roughly 230,000 cubic meters of seawater per day to serve its 1.6 million residents [7]. Before the war began, Iran had been racing to expand desalination along its southern coast to pump water inland, but international sanctions and energy costs sharply limited that effort [4].

Destroying these plants would not cut off water to all 90 million Iranians. But for the populations of southern coastal cities—Bandar Abbas, Bushehr, Chabahar, and dozens of smaller communities—desalination is the primary or sole source of potable water. Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi has already accused the U.S. of striking a freshwater desalination plant on Qeshm Island, saying the attack disrupted water supplies to 30 villages [8].

A Country Already in Water Crisis

The military threat arrives in the context of Iran's worst water crisis in modern history—a crisis decades in the making that has nothing to do with bombs.

Iran is in its fifth consecutive year of drought, with average rainfall roughly 45% below normal and 19 provinces classified in significant drought [9]. An estimated 28 million Iranians—about 35% of the population—live in regions facing high or very high water stress [10]. Lake Urmia, once one of the world's largest salt lakes, has largely dried up. The Zayandeh Rud River in Isfahan, historically the city's lifeblood, frequently runs dry [9][10].

The causes are primarily human. Over 70% of Iran's major aquifers are overdrawn, drained by decades of dam construction and agricultural irrigation [10]. Four of the five reservoirs supplying Tehran have experienced steep declines, with two—Lar and Latyan—shrinking by more than 70% [11]. According to the World Bank, Iran withdraws approximately 72% of its total renewable freshwater resources annually, a rate that classifies it as severely water-stressed [12].

Source: World Bank Open Data

Data as of Dec 31, 2022CSV

Reports from late 2025 warned that if rainfall did not improve, Tehran—a city of 10 million—might require water rationing or even partial evacuation [9]. Against this backdrop, destroying the desalination plants that serve Iran's driest regions would compound an existing humanitarian emergency with an engineered one.

What International Law Says

The legal framework is unusually clear on this point. Article 54(2) of Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions explicitly prohibits "attacking, destroying, removing or rendering useless objects indispensable to the survival of the civilian population," listing "drinking water installations and supplies" by name [13][14].

"Desalination facilities are oftentimes necessary for the survival of the civilian population and intentional destruction of those types of facilities is a war crime," said Niku Jafarnia, a researcher at Human Rights Watch [1]. The Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court classifies the intentional destruction of civilian objects essential to survival as a war crime [14]. Human Rights Watch issued a broader statement on March 26 noting that "rhetoric and actions" by multiple parties to the conflict "flout laws of war" [15].

There are precedents. During NATO's 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia, allied forces struck power plants and water-processing facilities to coerce President Slobodan Milosevic. NATO spokesman Jamie Shea explicitly stated that depriving the Serbian population of water and electricity was a means of forcing Milosevic to accept NATO's terms [16]. The International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia reviewed NATO's target selection but ultimately declined to prosecute, a decision that remains controversial among international law scholars [16]. In Gaza, Israeli strikes on water systems have been the subject of formal criticism from UN bodies and human rights organizations, with some legal scholars arguing they meet the threshold for war crimes [17].

The Counter-Argument

Not all legal scholars agree that striking Iran's infrastructure is categorically unlawful. Charlie Dunlap, a retired Air Force major general and professor at Duke Law School, has argued that Iran's power plants qualify as legitimate military targets because the IRGC relies on the civilian electrical grid, and that Iranian forces operating from populated areas cause those locations to lose protected status under the law of armed conflict [18].

Dunlap also raises the doctrine of reprisal: since the United States, Iran, and Israel are not parties to Additional Protocol I, he contends that reprisals against civilian objects may be permissible when an adversary commits egregious violations of international law and other options have been exhausted [18]. He frames the closure of the Strait of Hormuz—which threatens food and energy supplies for over 100 million people—as the greater humanitarian catastrophe, arguing that neutralizing power infrastructure is more proportionate than direct ground combat in populated areas [18].

This argument has limits. It applies to power plants, not desalination facilities specifically, and most international law scholars maintain that the proportionality analysis must account for the foreseeable cascading effects on civilian water, healthcare, and sanitation systems when energy infrastructure is destroyed [15][19].

The Humanitarian Timeline

If desalination plants serving Iran's southern provinces were destroyed, the humanitarian timeline would be measured in days, not weeks.

Desalination-dependent communities have no alternative freshwater source. In a region where summer temperatures regularly exceed 45°C (113°F), dehydration becomes life-threatening within 48 to 72 hours without water access. Hospitals, which depend on clean water for sanitation and treatment, would face immediate operational crises [4][20].

Historical precedent from other infrastructure destruction events is instructive. After the destruction of Ukraine's Kakhovka Dam in June 2023, the WHO warned of rapidly escalating waterborne disease risks and deployed emergency response teams within days [20]. In post-earthquake Nepal, cholera outbreaks followed water infrastructure destruction within weeks [20]. In southern Africa, flood-driven water contamination produced nearly 5,000 cholera cases in months [20].

For Iran's coastal populations, the sequence would likely follow a grim pattern: immediate water shortages, followed by reliance on contaminated alternatives, followed by outbreaks of cholera, dysentery, and other waterborne diseases. Mass displacement inland—toward cities already struggling with water scarcity—would compound the crisis.

The international community's capacity to deliver emergency water relief under active military tension in the Persian Gulf would be severely constrained. The Strait of Hormuz closure already restricts maritime access, and humanitarian corridors would require negotiation between belligerents. UNICEF and WHO have response frameworks for water emergencies, but deploying them into an active warzone at the scale required would be without recent precedent [20].

The Strategic Logic—Or Lack of It

The question of whether threatening desalination plants serves any coherent military or coercive purpose is separate from the legal question, and the evidence is thin.

No credible defense analyst has publicly articulated a specific theory by which destroying water infrastructure would change Iranian nuclear or proxy behavior. The Hudson Institute's Can Kasapoğlu has noted that desalination strikes represent "a different category of risk" from energy infrastructure because they "directly threaten daily survival" [8]. But threatening daily survival has historically entrenched public support for regimes rather than undermined them.

The track record of coercive escalation against Iran supports this assessment. The 2018-2020 "maximum pressure" sanctions campaign devastated Iran's economy: oil exports fell 90%, the rial lost over 50% of its value, and GDP contracted sharply [21]. Yet maximum pressure produced no diplomatic breakthrough and no change in Iran's nuclear trajectory. Iranian proxy funding in Iraq dropped by roughly half, but the broader campaign generated what the Atlantic Council described as "far too much needless violence" without the desired behavioral shifts [21][22].

The January 2020 assassination of IRGC Quds Force commander Qasem Soleimani—the single most consequential U.S. coercive act against Iran before the current war—prompted a deliberately limited Iranian retaliatory strike designed to avoid American casualties [21]. It did not halt Iranian proxy operations or nuclear enrichment. Iran's response to the killing of Soleimani demonstrated that escalation produces counter-escalation managed to avoid direct confrontation, not capitulation.

Threatening to destroy water infrastructure follows this same pattern of escalatory signaling without a clear theory of how it produces the desired outcome.

The Precedent Problem for U.S. Allies

The Gulf Cooperation Council states—Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Kuwait, Qatar, Bahrain, and Oman—are among the most desalination-dependent countries on Earth. More than 400 desalination plants line the Arabian Gulf coast, and GCC nations account for approximately 60% of global desalination capacity [4][5].

Kuwait derives 90% of its drinking water from desalination. Oman relies on it for 86%. Saudi Arabia, 70% [5]. Major cities including Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Doha, Kuwait City, and Jeddah are almost wholly dependent on desalinated water [5]. And critically, most of these plants sit within 350 kilometers of Iran—well within range of Iranian missiles and drones [4].

The conflict has already demonstrated this vulnerability. Bahrain accused Iran of damaging a desalination plant in a drone attack, and Iran has signaled that Gulf water infrastructure is a legitimate retaliatory target precisely because it represents the region's greatest vulnerability [8]. As Foreign Policy noted, Iran is "the least reliant on desalination plants" in the region, giving it asymmetric incentive to establish water infrastructure as a legitimate target category [8].

Source: FRED / EIA

Data as of Mar 23, 2026CSV

Oil prices have reflected the broader instability, with WTI crude surging from $55.44 in December 2025 to $98.71 in March 2026—a 28.6% year-over-year increase [23]. But as multiple analysts have observed, water poses a more immediate existential risk than oil. Bahrain, Kuwait, and Qatar lack sufficient water storage capacity to buffer significant supply interruptions. Only the UAE, with 45 days of strategic water reserves aligned with its 2036 water security strategy, has meaningful contingency capacity [5].

For the United States to normalize targeting desalination as a tool of coercion creates a precedent that directly threatens the infrastructure its closest regional allies depend on for survival. Every future adversary—state or non-state—would have the same justification for striking Gulf desalination plants that the U.S. is now claiming for itself.

Deterrence or War Crime?

The strongest case that the threat constitutes legitimate deterrence, rather than an illegal threat against civilians, rests on two arguments.

First, proponents argue that Iran's closure of the Strait of Hormuz and its continued missile and drone attacks constitute the greater humanitarian threat. If 27% of global oil and 20% of liquefied natural gas transits through Hormuz, its closure disrupts food systems, fertilizer production, and energy access for hundreds of millions of people [18]. Coercing Iran into reopening the strait, on this view, prevents a larger catastrophe than the one caused by infrastructure strikes.

Second, some analysts contend that Iran's military-civilian infrastructure integration—the IRGC's deep involvement in the economy and its use of civilian facilities—blurs the distinction between civilian and military objects in ways that make traditional protections less applicable [18].

International law scholars largely reject these arguments as applied to desalination specifically. The proportionality principle requires weighing anticipated military advantage against foreseeable civilian harm, and the foreseeable harm from destroying water infrastructure—mass dehydration, disease, displacement, death—is difficult to justify against any military advantage when the target is not itself a military object [15][19]. The Geneva List of Principles on the Protection of Water Infrastructure, a systematization of applicable international rules, reinforces that water systems receive heightened protection precisely because of the severity of consequences when they are destroyed [14].

The distinction matters. Striking a power plant that incidentally affects water supply raises different legal questions than explicitly threatening to destroy desalination plants. Trump's statement specifically named desalination plants as targets, removing the ambiguity that might otherwise support a dual-use infrastructure argument.

What Comes Next

As of March 31, 2026, Trump has framed the desalination threat as conditional—dependent on the failure of ongoing negotiations and Iran's refusal to reopen the Strait of Hormuz [1]. Secretary of State Marco Rubio told Al Jazeera that the administration "prefers diplomacy" [24]. White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt stated the U.S. would act within the law [1].

But the threat itself has already altered the strategic landscape. Iran now has explicit incentive to treat Gulf desalination plants as reciprocal targets. Gulf states face the reality that the precedent being set by their primary security guarantor undermines their own infrastructure security. And the populations of Iran's southern provinces—already coping with the country's worst drought in recorded history—face the prospect that their water supply has become a bargaining chip in a conflict they did not start.

The laws of war were written to prevent exactly this: the use of civilian survival infrastructure as an instrument of coercion. Whether those laws hold depends on what happens next.