Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Here we are again, apparently living in a country where the definition of “not a war” is apparently whatever the president says it is while American ammunition stockpiles quietly look like the pantry of a college student who just discovered DoorDash.

We are told that what is happening with Iran is not a war. Absolutely not. War is such an ugly word. This is merely an extended disagreement involving aircraft, missiles, bombs, military strikes, exploding things and enough ammunition to make the Pentagon accountants start sweating through their uniforms.

But don’t call it a war.

Because if you call it a war, people might start asking uncomfortable questions.

Like: Where did all our ammunition go?

Well, according to Donald and his loyal chorus of political elk, this is apparently Biden’s fault. Naturally. Because nothing says 2026 quite like discovering that the United States has ammunition shortages and immediately blaming the previous president.

The explanation goes something like this:

“If Biden hadn’t given all those munitions to Zelenskyy, we’d have plenty!”

Except that’s not really how this works.

A significant portion of what Ukraine acquired from the United States consisted of older weapons and ammunition that were already sitting in American stockpiles. Ukraine didn’t magically empty America’s weapons closet and leave us standing there in our underwear. Those older munitions were used as part of a broader process in which the United States replenished and modernized its own inventories.

In other words, we sent old stuff, Ukraine paid for some of it, and we used the money and the opportunity to build newer stuff.

But apparently that doesn’t fit neatly into the “Biden gave everything away and now we’re defenseless” narrative, so naturally we skip that part.

And then there’s the even more fascinating question:

Why do we have to keep making so damn much of this stuff in the first place?

Think about the absurdity of it.

We spend enormous amounts of money developing incredibly sophisticated technologies whose primary purpose is to travel somewhere and destroy something.

Then we manufacture them.

Then we store them.

Then we maintain them.

Then we spend more money replacing them because they age.

Then somebody decides they need to be used.

Then we launch them.

Boom.

And they’re gone.

That’s the entire business model.

Imagine if every other industry operated that way.

Imagine spending $10 million developing the world’s most advanced toaster, manufacturing 50,000 of them, putting them in a warehouse, and then eventually throwing every single one into a volcano because the toaster’s primary function was to cease existing.

And then Congress comes back next year and says:

“We’re running low on toasters. We need another $40 billion.”

And everyone applauds.

This is the part of the defense conversation that seems to get lost behind the flags, the chest-thumping and the endless parade of politicians insisting that somebody else’s president is responsible for whatever happens to be happening today.

Yes, America needs a military.

Yes, America needs ammunition.

Yes, deterrence matters.

Yes, there are legitimate reasons to maintain enormous stockpiles of weapons.

But somewhere along the way we’ve managed to create an economic ecosystem where spending money on things designed to be destroyed is treated as inherently productive.

And somehow questioning that gets interpreted as questioning the military itself.

It isn’t.

It’s questioning whether “we spent another $37 billion on things that go boom” should automatically be considered the pinnacle of fiscal responsibility.

Because here’s the truly bizarre part:

When Ukraine buys American weapons, that money can help replenish American inventories, modernize production lines and create jobs.

When America uses those weapons, they don’t come back.

They’re not reusable.

They’re not recyclable.

They’re not sitting somewhere waiting for their next shift.

They’re gone.

And then we get to buy more.

Again.

And again.

And again.

It’s the world’s most expensive subscription service.

Defense Plus: because apparently the previous missiles have expired by exploding.

And now, when our stockpiles get strained by actual military operations, we’re supposed to pretend this is some shocking mystery caused entirely by the guy who occupied the White House before the guy currently occupying it.

No.

Maybe the bigger question isn’t “Who used too much ammunition?”

Maybe it’s:

Why have we built a civilization where we devote extraordinary amounts of our collective wealth to creating increasingly sophisticated ways of turning perfectly good materials into very expensive explosions?

Imagine what that money could look like if we weren’t constantly preparing to destroy things.

Infrastructure.

Education.

Water.

Energy.

Research.

Healthcare.

Housing.

Technology.

Actual things that remain useful after you use them.

What a radical concept.

A missile can destroy a target once.

A bridge can serve people for generations.

A school can educate thousands of children.

A water system can provide an entire community with something it desperately needs.

A medical breakthrough can save lives indefinitely.

But apparently those things don’t make the same satisfying BOOM.

So here we are.

Arguing about whether Biden used too much ammunition, whether Trump has enough ammunition, whether Ukraine bought too much ammunition, whether Iran is technically a war, and whether the president can find a sufficiently creative synonym for “we are conducting military operations.”

Meanwhile, somewhere in a warehouse, an American taxpayer is looking at an empty shelf and thinking:

“Wait a minute. Didn’t we just spend billions filling that thing?”

Yes.

We did.

Then we built some more.

Then somebody used them.

Then we bought some more.

And we’ll probably keep doing it.

Because apparently the greatest achievement of modern civilization isn’t figuring out how to stop needing so many things that go boom.

It’s figuring out how to manufacture them faster.

What a world it would be if our national imagination was just as enthusiastic about developing things that don’t disappear when we use them.

Imagine investing billions in things where the objective isn’t:

“Congratulations, you successfully destroyed it.”

What a concept.

Maybe someday we’ll discover that the most powerful thing a country can build isn’t another weapon.

Maybe it’s a future worth defending.