Highlighting the lede, below, to a NY Times article on "just how unprepared European militaries" have been in arming Ukraine against Vladimir Putin's naked aggression poses a problem for the non-jingoistically inclined writer, which I most definitely am. Unlike some men, I have never been fascinated by things that go boom; I wrote for 10 years of the imbecility of Bush II's militarily adventurous neoconservatism; and I see large military expenditures for what they are: a waste of national resources.
But I'm also a realist, as well as one who believes the West should offer military assistance to any free, democratic nation under the oppressive belligerence of despotism. Large military expenditures are a waste — until they're not; that is, until the hard realities of twisted, authoritarian thinking morphs into war and the murder of tens of thousands of innocents. Hence large military expenditures also reveal themselves as a grossly unfortunate reality — the written defense of which can be misinterpreted by readers as the thinking of just another moronic armchair general who loves vast spending on things that go boom — and loves the even more moronic "thrill" of war. I'll risk such misinterpretation.
The Times' lede:
Nearly a month after Berlin gave European allies permission to send German-made tanks to Ukraine, the flow of tanks so many leaders vowed would follow seems more like a trickle.
Some nations have discovered that the tanks in their armory don’t actually work or lack spare parts. Political leaders have encountered unanticipated resistance within their own coalitions, and even from their defense ministries. And some armies had to pull trainers out of retirement to teach Ukrainian soldiers how to use old-model tanks.
The struggle to provide Leopard tanks to an embattled Ukraine is just the most glaring manifestation of a reality Europe has long ignored: Believing that large-scale land war was a thing of the past and basking in the thaw of the Cold War, nations chronically underfunded their militaries. When Russia launched the largest land war on the continent since World War II, they were woefully unprepared.
The Times' reporters note that the "irony of this situation is not lost" on Germany's Chancellor Olaf Scholz, who for weeks "resisted an intense public pressure campaign from Ukraine’s leaders, European politicians and security experts to supply Kyiv with tanks, and to permit other nations to send some of their own Leopards." Yet after relenting, Poland has offered Ukraine only 14 Leopard tanks; Finland has offered three "Leopard mine-clearing vehicles — but none of its estimated 200 Leopard main battle tanks; Sweden, merely "up to" 10 tanks; and Spain, six. "Germany has offered 18" — the total of which falls pathetically short of the 300 to 500 tanks that the Ukrainian military requested.
"The trend across the board in European armies has been cutting, cutting, cutting," said defense expert Christian Mölling, of the German Council on Foreign Relations. "But at the end of the day, many were on the same track as Germany: War is a theoretical thing. So we have theoretical tanks."
Germany, of course, had good historical reason to initially demur. Its 20th-century hypermilitarization still haunts, to make a very long story short. So Germany rejected the redevelopment of hard power, which, observes the Times, "offered sometimes comical glimpses of [its military's] shortages. Commandos conducted water training at local public pools, because their own facilities were shut down. Planes could not fly. Soldiers trained with broomsticks instead of rifles."
In 1919 and throughout the 1920s, Army Major Dwight Eisenhower would have recognized not modern Germany's irony, but the U.S.'s similarity. In that decade he was assigned to assess America's defensive capabilities, and he too saw "comical glimpses" of military shortages. In 1919 he participated in the Army's Transcontinental Motor Convoy, a traveling circus of organizational mishaps and execrable road conditions for numerous military vehicles and nearly 300 officers and enlisted men.
The convoy started its engines at the White House and completed its transcontinental journey two months later, in San Francisco. Memories of just how impossibly awful was the swift movement of war matériel in a potential time of international crisis compelled President Eisenhower to propose the construction of today's interstate highway system. In the U.S. Army's 1920s training maneuvers, Eisenhower was also forced to supply recruits with wooden rifles at the "firing" range, so short was the army of actual weapons.
All this official shortsightedness — brought on by America's disgust with having expensively involved itself in a European war to end all wars, but which actually ended in other victors' squabbling and grab of colonial territory — caught up to the United States in the late 1930s, when President Roosevelt had to beg Congress to rearm the country and, for starters, supply Great Britain with the military means to retard Nazi Germany's aggression.
The U.S. never stopped its often-extravagant military spending, but Western Europe came to nearly a full stop. Now it hasn't the war matériel that Ukraine needs. The free and democratic continent became complacent. It ceased imagining the kind of Hitlerian ghastliness that had decimated Europe decades earlier.
And I shall never cease recalling British-American poet W.H. Auden's poignant reflection of the 1960s: "We shan't, not since Stalin and Hitler, / trust ourselves ever again: we know that, subjectively, / all is possible." But Europe did trust itself again; it trusted in the extreme unlikelihood of another Stalin or Hitler. Europe didn't see Vladimir Putin coming, even though centuries of despotism's oppressive belligerence is but a hard, immovable fact of worldly reality.
And Ukraine is paying the price.