Weapons transfer and the gospel of peace

In 2018, a bus full of children on a school outing was bombed in Yemen. Of the 51 casualties, 40 of them were children. The only survivor was a teacher. The 500-pound laser-guided bomb was made by Lockheed Martin, which is headquartered in Bethesda, Md., fewer than 20 miles from my church.

In 2017, while in Bethlehem, West Bank, Occupied Palestinian Territories, I was shown tear gas canisters and rubber bullets that had been used on peaceful protestors. These protesters, who were objecting to a stifling military occupation of their lives, were seen as a threat. Printed on the side of the canisters: “Made in Jamestown, Pa.”

Even before Oct. 7, 2023, yearly military aid from the US to Israel was approximately $3.8 billion. Some of this is in the form of direct transfers, while other is funding that must be spent on US-made equipment.

When I met with villagers in Iraqi Kurdistan a few years ago, they implored us to tell the US government to stop supporting Turkey in bombing their fields. Their villages were emptying, as people found the situation unbearable. While they did not specify whether the bombs were made in the US, they were clear that the continuation was supported by the United States.

War and matters of war-making continue to evolve, to morph, to change. We need to continually discern how to live the gospel of peace in a perpetually changing geography of war. Not only do we need to evaluate our direct participation in war, but we must understand the less obvious ways: How do our ignorance, lack of focus, or inertia support war?

While driving a tank in a land invasion is explicit, there are a spectrum of less overt modes of engagement with war-making—say, a policymaker authorizing the invasion, or a company manufacturing the shells that were fired, or an employee working at a plant manufacturing bolts for the tank, but which can also be used for search-and-rescue machinery.

War-making—broadly defined—requires community discernment. Weapons transfers and production should be seen as part of war-making and thus subject to ethical reasoning.

Responsibility for this cannot simply sit with the highest levels of government. Peace churches (especially those in the US) are not separate from this. We must disentangle ourselves from participation and live a radical call to peacemaking, which requires justice, healing, care for creation, and care for all people.

The expansion of weapons production during the industrial revolution and growth of the “military-industrial complex” since World War II have led to private enterprises that provide weapons of war and related supplies to the military. These businesses have a vested interest in supply and demand for their products, ranging from food for troops to missiles to the attack helicopters I see advertised on the sides of buses while I bike to my office in Washington City Church of the Brethren on Capitol Hill.

Weapons transfers via sales and general “support” functions carry lethal consequences and are not a value-neutral function of diplomatic relations or economic activity. They are part of war-making.

A significant concern is that sales proceed because of “diplomatic” and geopolitical considerations. Typically this is framed as, “If we don’t sell the weapons, someone with fewer concerns about human rights will sell to them.”

Another concern is that Congress must indicate disapproval rather than approval. While this presumably reduces administrative hurdles, it means that matters of war-making functionally bypass Congress.

As a peace church, the Church of the Brethren does not rely on Congress to make ethical determinations for us. But we do affirm measures that slow and potentially impede acts of war.

The church needs to renew its theological and ethical reflection in the face of today’s realities: the intentional expansion of US military presence and influence globally; the dramatic expansion, industrialization/privatization, and decentralization of weapons production; and the blurring of the lines between military and non-military actions.

For the Church of the Brethren, our official understanding of war and peacemaking can be found in our Annual Conference statements and resolutions. For example, the 2013 Resolution against Drone Warfare gives this brief overview:

The Church of the Brethren follows the teaching and example of Jesus Christ, whose willingness to die was unaccompanied by a willingness to kill. In line with our Brethren heritage, we believe “that war or any participation in war is wrong and entirely incompatible with the spirit, example and teachings of Jesus Christ” (1918 Statement of Special Conference of the Church of the Brethren to the Churches and the Drafted Brethren) and that all “war is sin . . . [and that we] cannot encourage, engage in, or willingly profit from armed conflict at home or abroad. We cannot in the event of war, accept military service or support the military machine in any capacity” (1934 Annual Conference Resolution on Peace and Goodwill).

Such statements are part of our tradition of reading scripture in community. That is how we go about theological and ethical discernment.

Because the making of weapons is dispersed over many sectors, it is difficult to determine who is responsible. The question of responsibility is an important part of Christian discipleship, as well as a matter of legal accountability and transparency.

The decision to fire a weapon is far removed from its sale and even more distant from the production of its component parts. While ethical and policy decisions are made closer to the point of killing, all parts are necessary to support this action.

Additionally, there is a disaggregation of responsibility. In “War Crimes Inc.,” Elizabeth Beavers argues that, given the crimes in Yemen, corporations knew or should have known their complicity and, as such, are legally liable.

Along with the objection to the use of violence—especially against noncombatants—Christians should challenge the notion that economic activity and weapons production, use, and transfers are neutral, that they are a tragic but necessary reality.

Anabaptists believe that theology is not separated from ethics. Claims about God cannot be separated from how we live in the world. Economics is not separated from wellbeing. Intent in action cannot be separated from impact. The sale and production of weapons is not separated from their intended use. Peace churches then, are opposed to both the use of weapons of war and their production and distribution.

It would be easy to say that responsibility sits with the policymaker. However, given the nature of the military-industrial complex, these questions are neither straightforward nor easy to untangle.

Theological arguments aim to describe truth but also may serve several practical purposes. They may “mobilize constituents” or shape moral imagination, as Paul Lederach says. That is, church-goers are also political constituents who have ways to engage and shape policy. When, for example, the Church of the Brethren asserts in official policy that “all war is sin” and we cannot participate, this invites reflection and action on what not participating means—and also how we are called to actively work for peace.

As such, while we speak theologically and prayerfully, we use “regular” modes of action as well. For example, we can and should partner with those far beyond our faith tradition. We also can (and for practical reasons should) use languages and modes of engagement such as human rights.

Legal arguments and restraints can be embraced and used as a tactic. However, just because something is legally possible or the legal framework is technically met, this does not preclude the need to challenge this action ethically and theologically. I was recently in a high-level meeting at the State Department, where people gave detailed assurances that they were meeting all legal and policy requirements in relation to weapons going to Israel for the destruction of Gaza and death of innumerable civilians.

When it comes to weapons transfers, reflection and practical action should lead to strategic withdrawal of support or active resistance. We must challenge the assumptions that “this is just how things are.” We can’t be content with simply not joining a fighting force, but we must examine our commitments to “our standard of living” or to job stability. Otherwise, we are passing off risks and costs. Yemeni children bear the lethal weight of my so-called way of life.

As Christians, our lives are oriented toward God and toward others. Our theology and worship should shape our understanding of primary good, idolatry, economics, and violence, both direct and indirect.

Christ, the incarnate one, invites us to walk into suffering. The crucified and risen Christ is both a comforter to the suffering and a goad to the comfortable. That the system is complex does not alleviate our responsibility.

There is much work to do: To challenge assumptions of necessity, normality, neutrality, inevitability. To build communities and economic systems that do not benefit from violence wrought on others. And to boldly proclaim the gospel of peace in our words and actions.