Japan's defence minister has declared the nation's military buildup 'critical' to deter war, and the BBC, ever the eager scribe, has dutifully recorded the pronouncement. The UK, meanwhile, casts a covetous eye toward the Pacific, sniffing about for a role in the great game of power politics. All very predictable. All very tedious.
One might be forgiven for experiencing a sense of historical vertigo. Here we are, in the twenty-first century, watching Japan rearm with the solemnity of a kabuki actor, while Britain, stripped of its own empire, seeks to play praetorian guard in a region it barely understands. The parallels to the 1930s are too delicious to ignore, though I suspect my fellow commentators will prefer the safer cliché of 'learning from history' rather than admitting we are simply repeating it.
Let us be frank. Japan's constitution, imposed by American occupiers in 1947, was always an exercise in hypocrisy. Article 9 renounced war, but the Self-Defence Forces grew into one of the world's most formidable militaries. Now the mask is off. The buildup is 'critical' because Japan faces a belligerent China and a nuclear-armed North Korea. The logic is impeccable. But logic, as the Romans discovered, is no defence against decadence.
The UK's interest is more puzzling. Perhaps it is nostalgia, a longing for the days when gunboats settled disputes. Perhaps it is delusion, a belief that Britain can 'punch above its weight' as it did in 1914. But the Pacific is not the North Sea. The players are giants: China, the United States, Japan, India. Britain is a spectator, waving from the sidelines. Its 'role' will be to provide moral support and maybe a frigate or two, while the real powers decide the fate of the world.
The deeper issue is intellectual decadence. We have convinced ourselves that war is a relic, that diplomacy and trade have made it obsolete. But the sabres are rattling, and the arsenals are growing. Japan's minister speaks of deterrence, but deterrence has a way of escalating. Ask the soldiers in the trenches of 1914. Ask the civilians of Hiroshima.
National identity, too, is at stake. Japan rearming forces it to confront its imperial past, a past it has never truly exorcised. The UK, by projecting power abroad, avoids the uncomfortable question of what it means to be a post-imperial nation. Both are engaged in a grand distraction, a performance of strength to mask internal weaknesses.
So yes, the buildup is critical. Critical for what, though? For maintaining the illusion of control in a world spiralling toward chaos. For feeding the egos of politicians who believe they can manage the flames. For ensuring that when the war comes—and it will come, as it always does—we will have the comfort of knowing we did everything to prepare, except to prevent it.
But what do I know? I am merely a contrarian, watching the sunset over an empire that refuses to die, and a sunrise over one that refuses to be born.
