America: forever at war

For eighty years, America has been waging war almost continuously. From
Korea to Iraq, from Afghanistan to Somalia. What was once called
"defense" has become a business model: Forever War. More profitable
than peace, anyway!

Trump didn't need a long speech. The Pentagon is getting its old name
back. No longer the Department of Defense, but simply the Department
of War. According to Trump, "Defense" sounds far too woke. Like holding up a
shield and only sending your troops across the border when you absolutely
have no other choice. While history tells a completely different story.

A kind of water pistol, but still different
No more soft rhetoric, says The Donald. Just say it like it is: war is good for the
economy and good for the state: DEPARTMENT OF WAR. Capitalized, please,
without apology or shame. The era of defense is over. "WAR" has a nice, raw
sound, like a battering ram. A word you feel in your gut.

Soldiers listen to a speech by US President Donald Trump.
The United States may not have officially declared war on a country since 1941,
but they do fight relentlessly. Sometimes openly, mostly secretly. And all over
the world. The list of countries is almost endless: Korea, Vietnam, Grenada,
Panama, Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Libya, Pakistan, Syria,
Yemen, and parts of Africa. And possibly Venezuela, soon.
The new name finally honors that continuity, Trump believes. He has a point.
For decades, war has been to the average American what rain is to us: a
nuisance, but it's simply a part of life.
While Americans clash over almost everything—from abortion to road taxes—
there's one thing they always agree on: the Pentagon will get its money no
matter what. For 63 years in a row, Congress has overwhelmingly approved
every defense budget submitted, regardless of whether the Democrats or
Republicans are in power. While in other countries you see lengthy political
debates about defense spending, the National Defense Authorization Act is
nothing more than a rubber-stamp bill. A "must-pass" bill that always passes
without major obstacles. After all, it's about "national security."
So money is no object. Not even for Trump's proposed rebranding of the
"Department of Defense" as the "Department of War." The cost? An estimated
$1 billion for changing a single word! That sounds insane, but it's also
refreshingly honest. For eighty years, the United States has pretended its wars
are defensive. As if it always defends and never attacks. As if there's no arms
industry, only a defense industry.

From discomfort to lifestyle
There was a time in the US when war still evoked discomfort. During the First
and Second World Wars, the country reluctantly went to war. Generals stared
glumly at their maps, politicians wrestled with their consciences, and the
people reluctantly sent their sons across the ocean. War was a necessary evil.
After 1945, that changed. World War II had become the new benchmark: a
conflict so delightfully black and white that no one could oppose it. With
diabolical enemies like the Nazis and cruel Japan. And a triumphant outcome.
America as the noble victor. The land of the brave!
But after that, no conflict fit that pattern. Korea ended in a draw. Vietnam in a
defeat, followed daily on television. Iraq and Afghanistan began with a rapid
offensive brimming with triumph, but ended in roadside bombs and sectarian
violence. The departure from Kabul – chaotic, humiliating, broadcast live on
every channel – is still fresh in our memories. Even the Cold War, officially won
in 1991, proved not to be a final chord, but a stepping stone to new wars.
In a normal country, all of this would be discouraging. In the US, the opposite
happened. The system organized itself around war. Politics, economics,
culture: everything became intertwined. War was no longer an exception, but a
constant.

Because why not? All those wars were fought outside the US; it was always
other people's villages burning and (for the most part) other people's deaths
that filled the statistics. In America, the malls remained open and the sports
stadiums full.
Thus, war became an abstract concept. A distant concern. That abstraction
provided a sense of security. Presidents could boost their popularity with an
intervention in any Latin American country. Members of Congress kept their
constituencies happy with new jobs thanks to additional capital injections into
the American arms industry. And so the idea became ingrained that war is not
temporary, but permanent. The Forever War. Because wars never just happen;
they are manufactured. Launched like a soft drink brand. With a PR campaign,
market research, and an exotic backdrop.
And you see this experience of living with war everywhere. Veterans receive
standing ovations in baseball stadiums. Drones shine in commercials. Fighter
jets soar over stadiums while the national anthem plays. Army recruitment
stands are set up in schools. Hollywood films like Top Gun are in theaters.
Everything is saturated with it. War now, war tomorrow, war forever.

Preventive war
And then came 9/11. The attacks in New York and Washington were the direct
impetus for putting this "new normal" in black and white. In September 2002,
the National Security Strategy was published, a document that reads like the
manual for perpetual war. It officially established the principle of "preventative
warfare" for the first time: the United States granted itself the right to attack
countries that might one day pose a threat.
This marked a radical break with the logic of the Cold War, when deterrence
was the holy grail and you only fought if you were actually attacked. From 2002
onward, the opposite was true: waiting was no longer an option; attack always
had to come first. America became the policeman who shoots first and asks
questions later.
The document also set the tone for what was euphemistically called
"democracy promotion." The text sounded noble: spreading democratic
values, because democratic countries are less belligerent. In practice, this
meant that America exported democracy with the help of bombers and viewed
the Marines as a kind of ambassador. This peculiar reasoning—that war brings
peace because democratic countries are less belligerent—masked the true
purpose: preventing any rival from ever again matching American power. After
the Cold War, the US had the world to itself and wanted to keep it that way.
War became a permanent state of being. No longer one enemy or one conflict,
but a globally applicable strategy.
Thus, war became a permanent state of being. No longer a single enemy or a
single conflict, but a globally applicable strategy. Iraq, Afghanistan, and later
Syria: the argument of prevention could be deployed everywhere. And
otherwise, drugs, nuclear ambitions, or terrorism were reason enough. Every
war was thus not only legitimized but also expected.
This new doctrine made it clear that war was no longer an aberration or
exception, but the core of America's global position. The US granted itself the
right to intervene whenever and wherever it pleased. Under the guise of
freedom. Or oil. Or both.

Seven hundred military bases
A permanent war requires a permanent front. So the US (which accounts for
less than 5 percent of the world's population) built a global military
infrastructure that covers nearly every continent. The Americans now have over
700 forward operating bases, manned by hundreds of thousands of troops.

So wherever you are in the world, there's always an American base nearby. The
United States is already present in the region before anything happens. Always
a foot in the door. That's the physical embodiment of the forever war.
A close look at the world map reveals a pattern. American military bases aren't
randomly scattered across the globe, but are located precisely where raw
materials can be mined, where trade routes intersect, and where cheap labor
beckons. A striking detail: while the US has hundreds of bases outside its own
territory, Russia has fewer than twenty, and China has just one.
Many countries now understand the meaning of the American military
presence: anyone who doesn't voluntarily surrender their oil will receive a visit.
All those bases aren't there for defense. They are the forward posts of an
empire unwilling to share its power. And that's precisely where Dwight D.
Eisenhower's warning fits. On January 17, 1961, he retired as president. He
wasn't a pacifist, far from it. But as Supreme Allied Commander during the
Normandy landings, he knew the military inside and out. That's precisely why
he warned about the interconnectedness of the military, industry, and politics:
the military-industrial complex. Eisenhower foresaw that war would change
from a temporary derailment to a permanent reality. After all, previously,
people always returned to "normal" after a conflict, but after 1945, the
American war industry simply kept going.
Sixty years after his speech, he appears to have been chillingly right. Today, the
term "military-industrial complex" primarily refers to the world's five largest
arms manufacturers: Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, Northrop Grumman,
General Dynamics, and Boeing. All American. All dependent on conflict. All
more profitable the longer wars last.
But there's also an intellectual wing: the think tanks. In Washington alone,
there are more than a thousand of them, with neat names like RAND
Corporation, CSIS, and the Atlantic Council. They look academic, and their
reports are full of tables and graphs, but the conclusion is always the same:
Russia will be at our door tomorrow, China is already halfway in, and Iran is
sneaking through our backyard. So, we need more weapons.

Whoever pays determines what the think tank thinks. But who those generous donors are remains secret. More than a third of the largest think tanks simply refuse to name major donors. Other, supposedly transparent think tanks accept anonymous funding. Meanwhile, their experts appear on CNN, in The New York Times, and during Congressional hearings. They write bills and pose questions
that allow senators to mask their own ignorance. In fact, many US members of Congress own shares in major defense contractors.
And all this while voting on defense budgets, legislation, and
contracts that send billions more to these companies year after year. It's
no coincidence. The entire system is designed so that there is virtually
political opposition to the ever-increasing military budget.
To this end, US defense contractors strategically distribute their factories
across the US, so that almost every senator has a vested interest in securing
new defense contracts. Because they keep the voters in his constituency
employed. That's why almost all senators almost routinely
advocate for higher defense spending.
And then there are the American four-star generals. More than half
within five years of retirement, they move to the defense contractors they already did business with as
high-ranking military personnel. In Washington, this is called the "revolving door": uniform
off and suits on, from the Pentagon to the boardroom. There they are given an
advisory position or a title like "strategic consultant." Sounds like a lot, but
in reality, it means they call their former colleagues to
snag new defense contracts. Eisenhower feared at the time that the military-industrial complex would not only
swallow up many billions of dollars, but also erode democracy itself. And that's precisely where we've arrived. In the US, there's fierce debate about abortion or climate change, but hardly any about war. And even less about defense budgets. The military-industrial complex is no longer a side effect. It is the system. A vicious cycle in which the think tank writes the story, the arms industry supplies the weapons, and politicians nod in agreement.

Credit Card War
Anyone who thinks this is rhetoric only needs to look at the financial statements. Since 2010, Brown University has been tracking the true costs of America's
wars. Their Costs of War project presents the raw numbers. Tables, graphs
and footnotes, formatted as if it were the annual report of a
multinational. Their conclusion: since 9/11, all wars have cost the American
taxpayer more than $8 trillion (8000 billion). That's an 8
with 12 zeros after it. Converted, that would be about $50,000 per
American taxpayer. And that money didn't just go to bombs
and tanks. A quarter disappeared directly into the Pentagon's pockets, an
eighth went to homeland security and counterterrorism. The biggest separate
bill, however, is yet to come: veterans' care and benefits, estimated at
$2.2 trillion by 2050.
But that's not all. Interest will be added to all that. Because all wars since 9/11 have—for the first time in American history—been largely financed with borrowed money. So no higher taxes for citizens, as during World War II, but simply war
on credit. Harvard economist Linda Bilmes gave it a name: the credit card war. The bill is being passed on to future generations.
According to Trump, there is now also a "war within." A new domestic market has been tapped.

And then the casualties. According to Brown University, the American-instigated
wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen, and Pakistan
cost the lives of between 4.5 and 4.7 million people. One million by direct
violence. Another 3.6 million die from hunger, disease, and the collapse of basic services. On top of that, there are the 38 million civilians who had to flee their homes, often with no hope of ever returning.
Even in the US itself, war is not disappearing. Thousands of former soldiers live with amputations, PTSD, and other psychological scars. Suicide among veterans is an epidemic: between 1999 and 2010, an average of 22 per day, or more than eight thousand per year. In 2012, even more veterans committed suicide than soldiers killed on active duty.
Washington experiences many political quarrels, but—as mentioned—there is rarely disagreement about one thing: the defense budget. Every year, the National Defense Authorization Act is passed; a tome thicker than the Bible, in which hundreds of billions of dollars flow to the Pentagon year after year. By 2024, it had already reached $886 billion.
All of this would be manageable if all those billions yielded a robust defense. But that, too, is an illusion. Look at the F-35, the most expensive fighter jet ever built. It spends more time in the workshop than in the air. Maintenance costs are a bottomless pit. Meanwhile, work is underway on its successor. A fighter jet that is already being called the F-47. A reference to the 47th president: Donald Trump. It can't hurt, they must have thought. And then there's the 'Golden Dome,' a futuristic missile shield that is supposed to intercept hypersonic missiles. Forty years of development, hundreds of billions of dollars in investment, and precisely zero test successes.
Moreover, history shows that technological marvels rarely decide wars. Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan: the US had the weapons, the drones and precision bombs. Yet they were forced to leave again. The enemy had less, but was more persistent.
Meanwhile, the money keeps flowing. For the arms industry, it doesn't matter whether a defense project is successful. Nor does it matter to Wall Street. As soon as a new program is announced, the shares of the top five defense companies rise. Setbacks don't matter: contracts, after all, always run for decades. In Washington, they call that "security," but on Wall Street, it's called "growth."
The Pentagon, the bureaucratic heart of the American war industry,
is so immense and so entangled that it struggles to withstand
financial audits. Let that sink in for a moment. An organization with
an annual budget of hundreds of billions can't fully explain where
its money goes. If it were a corporation, it would have been declared bankrupt long ago.
But there are more winners. ExxonMobil, Chevron, BP, and Shell marched
into Iraq, following the tanks. Where there wasn't a
Western oil company to be found before the fall of Saddam Hussein, they suddenly found themselves at the forefront after the invasion.
Alan Greenspan, chairman of the US Federal Reserve for many years,
wrote it bluntly in his memoirs: the war in Iraq wasn't about
weapons of mass destruction, but about oil.
The privatization of war also created winners. Companies like Blackwater
(now Academi) supplied mercenaries who earned three times as much as
professional soldiers. But for the state, they were cheaper: no pensions,
no health insurance, and no aftercare. And perhaps the biggest
advantage: voters find it easier to accept that mercenaries die than their own
soldiers.
So yes, there's a profit. For arms companies, shareholders, oil companies, and
mercenaries. But not for the soldier who returns. Not for the
taxpayer who watches the bill rise year after year. And also not for their children and grandchildren, who will soon have to pay off the sky-high credit card debt
from these wars.
Even the countries that were supposedly 'liberated' are left with nothing.
Afghanistan is once again in the hands of the Taliban; The women's rights that once graced
American reports have long since evaporated. Iraq is
torn by sectarian violence.

Business model
And so, war is the only constant America still knows. Presidents come
and go, but the light is always on in the Pentagon. Congress votes
year after year for more, never less, billions for Defense. Citizens
applaud veterans at baseball games and momentarily forget
the millions of dead and the $8 trillion that will soon be paid by their
(grand)children.
The United States no longer wages war to win. It's a
business model. So yes, give Trump his way. Put "DEPARTMENT OF WAR" in
large, gold letters above the Pentagon entrance, right next to the
waving flag. It's a name change that shouldn't surprise anyone. In a country where satire and policy have been intertwined for decades,
it only makes sense that the Department of Defense should be called
what it always was: the Department of War.
Time for what Pete Hegseth (Trump's current Secretary of War) calls
"warrior ethos." A word so pompous that you'd almost forget
that in practice, it means soldiers sending drones against
the Houthis in Yemen. Or the Navy blowing up boats in the Caribbean
allegedly carrying drugs. In his view, the warrior ethos is
primarily: more bombs, more frequent shots. Hegseth and Trump believe not only
in God, but also in violence. In the healing power of military might.
The military as the answer to everything.