I observe language and marvel. In recent years, something has shifted — quietly, almost imperceptibly, but fundamentally. Peace, once the highest good, has become the problem. And war, once the greatest evil, the solution.
They don't call it that, of course. They speak of "turning point," of "war readiness," of "defensibility." They speak of "security" and mean rearmament. They speak of "responsibility" and mean weapons deliveries. They speak of "European sovereignty" and mean military power.
But beneath all these euphemisms lies a frightening message: Peace was a mistake. A naive dream. A crisis that needed to be overcome.
Let us remember: After 1990, they spoke of the "peace dividend." The Cold War was over, the threat had vanished, and the money that had flowed into tanks and missiles could be used for other things. Schools. Hospitals. Infrastructure. That seemed reasonable. That seemed civilized.
Today, this decision is portrayed as a historical error. As if peace had been a disease from which Germany suffered for three decades. As if the absence of war were a problem that should have been prevented.
The arms industry, on the defensive for decades, is experiencing a moral rehabilitation that borders on miraculous. Those who yesterday were "merchants of death" are today "partners of security." Those who yesterday fought for conversion — the transformation of arms factories into civilian production — are today silent with shame.
The reversal is complete: Peace is naive. War is realistic. Disarmament is irresponsible. Rearmament is duty. Whoever speaks of peace is considered a dreamer or — worse still — a Putin-sympathizer.
Pay attention to the words. They reveal everything.
"War readiness." A word that would have been unthinkable a few years ago. It implies: We must be capable of waging war. Not just defending ourselves — waging war. The distinction is significant and is deliberately blurred.
"Turning point." A word that suggests: Everything that came before is obsolete. The old standards no longer apply. Whoever clings to them has not understood the times.
"Defensibility." A word that suggests defense but often means aggression. "Defensible" sounds like self-defense. But the weapons being delivered, the strategies being discussed, go far beyond defense.
"Deterrence." The magic word that justifies everything. We arm ourselves so we don't have to fight. We prepare for war to secure peace. The sentence is as old as war itself — and has never been convincing.
I observe who profits from this reversal and see the usual suspects.
The arms industry is experiencing golden times. Rheinmetall, once a company people preferred to hide, is today a stock market star. Share price multiplied. Order books full. Future secured — because war, whether hot or cold, is always good for business.
The military, marginalized for decades, is suddenly important again. Generals give interviews. Defense ministers are taken seriously. The Bundeswehr, long the subject of mockery, is now the subject of concern and investment.
The hawks in politics, long marginalized, suddenly dominate the discourse. Those who always wanted more armaments, who always warned about Russia, who always considered pacifism naive — they all say now: We were right. History has vindicated us.
Perhaps they are right. Perhaps pacifism was naive. Perhaps peace was an illusion. But I observe how quickly and how completely the reversal occurred and wonder: Is this insight — or opportunism?
Who loses in this reversal?
First: the dead. The soldiers who die in wars that didn't have to be fought. The civilians who die under bombs that didn't have to be dropped. They are the obvious victims, but they are rarely mentioned. In the language of war readiness, they are "collateral damage" or "fallen heroes" — never simply people who didn't have to die.
Then: the resources. Every euro that flows into tanks doesn't flow into schools. Every euro for ammunition is missing from healthcare. The "special fund" of 100 billion euros for the Bundeswehr — that is money that could have been used for something else. For something that improves lives instead of ending them.
Finally: the culture. A society that prepares for war changes. It becomes harder, more suspicious, more closed. It divides the world into friend and foe. It celebrates military values — obedience, willingness to sacrifice, strength — and neglects civilian values like compromise, empathy, understanding.
In all the discourse about war readiness and turning points, certain questions are not asked. Or they are asked and immediately dismissed as naive.
Questions like: Is there another way? Could the billions be invested in diplomacy instead of weapons? In economic interdependence that makes war unattractive? In cultural exchange that breaks down enemy images?
Or: Who defines the threat? Is Russia really an existential danger to Europe? Or is the danger inflated to justify defense spending? Who benefits from our fear?
Or: What is the goal? Suppose we arm ourselves, achieve "war readiness" — and then? Is that the endpoint? Or does the arms race begin anew, as in the Cold War, with ever more weapons, ever higher costs, ever greater risks?
These questions are not asked. Or when they are asked, the questioner is defamed as a "Putin-sympathizer," a coward, someone who doesn't understand reality.
This is what disturbs me most: Not the rearmament itself, but the impossibility of questioning it. A democracy in which certain questions may no longer be asked is no longer a complete democracy.
Germany, the country that started two world wars, the country that swore after 1945 "never again war," the country whose constitution prohibits the preparation of a war of aggression — this Germany now speaks of war readiness.
The irony is bitter. Generations of Germans learned that militarism leads to catastrophe. That rearmament creates not security but insecurity. That war solves no problems but creates new ones.
Now they are told: Forget all that. It was naive. The new reality requires new answers. War readiness is not a disgrace but a responsibility.
Perhaps that's true. Perhaps the world has changed. Perhaps the old lessons are outdated.
But I observe how quickly these lessons are thrown overboard and wonder: Will we have to learn them again one day? The hard way?
Let us imagine the roles were reversed. Let us imagine Russia were massively rearming, investing a hundred billion in its army, speaking of "war readiness," delivering weapons to its allies.
Would we describe that as "security policy"? As "defensibility"? As "legitimate response to threats"?
Or would we call it aggression? A threat? Proof of warlike intentions?
The same actions, evaluated differently, depending on who performs them. That is not morality. That is propaganda.
I am not a pacifist in the naive sense. I understand that defense is sometimes necessary. I understand that deterrence has a logic. I understand that the world is dangerous.
But I observe how peace is being reinterpreted as the problem, rearmament as virtue, war as an acceptable option — and I feel uneasy.
There is a difference between defense and militarism. There is a difference between realism and cynicism. There is a difference between "we must protect ourselves" and "peace was a mistake."
Language reveals where we stand. And when I hear the language being spoken today — war readiness, turning point, the overcome peace crisis — I see that we have crossed the line.
We are no longer preparing for war in order to avoid it.
We are getting used to it.
The successfully overcome peace crisis. A sentence that should sound cynical. A sentence that was meant as a warning.
But I fear it will soon serve as a description.
And then we will ask ourselves how it could come to this.
The answer will be: We let it happen. Word by word. Decision by decision. Euro by euro.
And nobody objected loudly enough.