On Friday, Donald Trump signed an executive order restoring the Department of Defense to its original name, the Department of War.
That name “had a stronger sound”, Trump told reporters in August. “As Department of War we won everything,” he added, “and I think we’re going to have to go back to that.” In June, at the Nato summit, he called Pete Hegseth, the defense secretary, his “secretary of war”.
In the Department of War, Trump and Hegseth see the embodiment of a revived “warrior ethos” purportedly lost to overweening “woke-ness” in the armed forces. Hegseth has opined that women don’t belong on the battlefield and DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) has rendered American fighting forces “effeminate”. Introducing a bill last week to the same effect as Trump’s order, Greg Steube, a Florida Republican senator, said the new-old name would “pay tribute” to past fighters’ “renowned commitment to lethality”.
And the president, who fashions himself a dealmaker for peace, now has a department named to reflect his excellence as warrior king.
In a way, an administration that habitually calls things the opposite of what they are – the 20 January executive order Ending the Weaponization of the Federal Government; the waste-and-chaos-generation “department of government efficiency” – is, for once, speaking truth. The Department of War, created in 1789, became the defense department in 1949, with an amendment to the National Security Act of 1947 unifying the branches of the military. But the Department of Defense has never been a department of defense. It is a department of war.
The last time the US declared war – or had to defend itself, for that matter – was in 1941, when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. Still, since it’s been the “defense” department, the Pentagon has waged at least four undeclared wars. Trump is right: we haven’t won much. The Korean War was a draw. In Vietnam, we lost outright. And after hundreds of thousands of deaths, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan left those countries and the region more unstable and plagued by terrorism. The US has engaged in more than 200 military interventions, more than half of them since the end of the cold war in 1989.
Trump was going to be the peace president. “I’m not going to start a war,” he promised in his 2024 victory speech. “I’m going to stop the wars.” It didn’t take long to break that vow and keep totting up those interventions.
Ten days into his second term, Trump undertook the next chapter of the war on terror, launching airstrikes in north-western Syria and, a day later, in Somalia. In March, he initiated strikes in Yemen against Houthi militants, who had taken control of shipping routes in the Red Sea. The operation – blemished by the inadvertent deaths of dozens of immigrants in a detention center and the loss of a $67.4m fighter jet, which fell off an aircraft carrier into the sea – was halted 51 days later. The Houthis, Trump allowed, didn’t “want to fight anymore”, an allegation a Houthi leader disputed soundly.
In late June, after Israel shot missiles into Iran and Iran responded in kind, the US bombed three Iranian nuclear enrichment facilities. The president, who had withdrawn the US from the multilateral – or, as he put it, “one-sided” – 2015 Iran Nuclear Agreement during his first term, had weeks earlier entered into new nuclear negotiations with that country. Over bipartisan objections, he attacked anyway.
Hours later, in a televised address from the White House, Trump claimed that the objective of the strikes had been the “destruction of Iran’s nuclear enrichment capacity”, and pronounced the salvo a “spectacular” success. At the same time, he warned on Truth Social that any Iranian retaliation that killed Americans would “BE MET WITH FORCE FAR GREATER THAN WHAT WAS WITNESSED TONIGHT”. While the world braced for a region-wide conflagration, Trump boasted to Nato: “Now this incredible exercise of American strength has paved the way for peace with a historic ceasefire agreement late Monday.” July clocked in as the deadliest month of the Gaza war. In August, as Israel continued to starve the Palestinians, UN-backed experts declared Israel’s “man-made famine” engulfing northern Gaza.
A few weeks after the attacks, US intelligence concluded that they had barely made a dent in Iran’s nuclear capability. Needless to say, this displeased the commander-in-chief, and in August, Hegseth fired the general whose agency made those assessments.
This summer, the US “war on drugs” was unofficially militarized, including incursions into other countries. Last week, the president announced that a navy ship – one of three deployed to waters outside Venezuela – had “shot out” a vessel originating there, carrying narcotics and piloted by members of the Tren de Aragua trafficking gang. Eleven people were killed. Nicolás Maduro, the Venezuelan president, whom the US has charged as a narco-trafficker, called the ships an “extravagant, unjustifiable, immoral, and absolutely criminal and bloody threat”, and put his own military on alert for attacks closer to home. Last month, Trump directed the military to pursue drug cartels inside Mexico, which Claudia Sheinbaum, the president, called an “invasion”. And then there’s Greenland, which Trump has vowed to annex, one way or another.
To realize “peace through strength”, Trump’s 2026 budget proposed more than $1tn for defense, a 13% increase from the previous year. Even the defense department requested less: a mere $961.6bn. The $831.5bn war chest Congress finally approved includes funding for the project closest to Trump’s, um, heart – the continent-wide Golden Dome space defense system, which he said last week would protect the “homeland” for “hundreds of years”. Talking it up in May, Trump and Hegseth said the system could be built in three years and cost $125bn; Congress allocated about $13bn for initial development. But other calculations put the figure between $2.5tn and $6.2tn. And aside from its dubious feasibility and cost, experts warn that the project would accelerate the arms race. Strength, maybe. Peace, not so much.
In a 1936 speech justifying his reluctance to join the war in Europe, Franklin Delano Roosevelt insisted that the US “could best serve the cause of a peaceful humanity by setting an example”. FDR had served as assistant secretary of the navy during the first world war, and the trauma was fresh in memory. He had seen “blood running from the wounded”, “cities destroyed”, “children starving”, “the agony of mothers and wives”, he said: “I hate war.”
By contrast, Trump, who takes credit for ending seven wars and believes he deserves a Nobel prize, skirted military service and has seen war only on television. Yet he relishes it – and, most of all, revels in being commander-in-chief. His first military self-celebration – which marked the ceremonial birth of a new American fascism – was a bust, so now he’s planning another one.
Trump’s Department of War burnishes his vanity, but it is not just a vanity project. It is extravagantly expensive. It will occupy US cities. And now, in word as in deed, it celebrates the nation and the president as aggressor, conqueror, unrestrained international lawbreaker and flouter of anything so “woke” as peace.
Judith Levine is Brooklyn-based journalist, essayist and author of five books. Her Substack is Today in Fascism
Source: US Politics - theguardian.com
