For five weeks this summer, the largest naval exercise in the world is anchored off our islands. Thirty-one nations sent forty gray hulls, five submarines, and aircraft that cross our sky from June into July. The drill has a storyline, and the storyline involves an enemy fleet. The Navy is too polite to say whose, but everyone watching knows it is China.
It is a strange thing to watch a wargame from your own lānai, stranger still to do it while the shelves are full and the children have soccer practice. But RIMPAC poses a question that has nothing to do with the Navy. What do you trust to keep you safe?
A generation ago, a clever man thought he had the answer. The Soviet Union was folding and the Cold War was ending. Francis Fukuyama wrote that liberal democracy had become the final form of human government. The argument was over. The West had won, and the rest was paperwork.
The headlines have not cooperated since then. Iran is run by clerics who believe history bends their way. After American and Israeli bombs fell this spring, they closed the Strait of Hormuz.
In Venezuela, a long experiment in socialism had already emptied the shelves. Two earthquakes forty seconds apart killed close to a thousand people, and the digging is not done.
China keeps spending, patient and sure of itself, buying ports and roads from Africa to the South China Sea. And in Washington, the government that supposedly won the argument at the end of history can barely pass a budget.
Each of these countries has made a wager. Tehran trusts its missiles, Caracas trusted its strongman, Beijing trusts its ships, and we trust ours. Every government asks for a single arrangement of power to last forever.
From the middle of the Pacific, all the news can feel like someone else’s weather. Prices have climbed here too — gas, eggs, the usual. But the stations still pump and the warehouse stores still stack the pallets high. Ours is a rich country, with land and oil to spare. We are heirs to ordered liberty and markets freer than most, though never quite as free as their champions liked to claim.
A man may enjoy fine weather, but he gets into trouble when he begins to believe he arranged it.
This December marks 85 years since the bombing of Pearl Harbor. One morning, a great many certainties vanished, and Hawaiʻi was plunged into a World War. We are not the quiet edge of the map. We are the middle of it — the center of somebody else’s plan.
The families on base do not need a columnist to tell them this. They read it in the deployment calendar. They know something the rest of us can easily forget at Costco: Our safety has always leaned on somebody’s fleet.
Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lᴏʀᴅ our God. The fleet in our harbor is a great strength, but a poor god. We shouldn’t ask it to be one because it cannot do the job.
This is bad news for two kinds of people. It is bad news for the man who reads the headlines, buys a bunker, and decides that because nothing lasts, nothing is worth building. And it is bad news for his cheerful cousin. He mistakes American power for the kingdom of God and salutes the flag as though it were an altar. The God who rules the Strait of Hormuz and controls the fault lines under Caracas also governs the loading dock at Costco.
So build the things that survive war. Not the bunker, but the congregation, the friendship with a neighbor across the fence, the school for your children’s children. Build the small, local groups that can catch a falling family before the federal government has heard them fall. That is not retreat. It is a readiness that does not depend on chariots.
The ships will be at sea tomorrow, training in the same water that smoked in 1941. The clever man was wrong, though not in the way the frightened expect. History is not finished, and it is not finished because it is going somewhere — toward an end already chosen, by Someone who is not nervous. So we watch the gray hulls with thanks and without fear.
Author Sterling Higa can be reached at hello@sterlinghiga.com.
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