Every year, the U.S. Department of Defense receives a large amount of money from Congress. Much of the money is distributed in the form of private contracts to a domestic arms industry larger than the rest of the world’s combined. And every fall, undergraduate engineers, mathematicians—shoot, even psychologists—scramble for the opportunity to work in what is known as defense contracting; the economy of war-making. To those who take issue with this career decision, who think they shouldn’t, my argument is for you. Because I think they should.
Three years ago I was a freshman and newly-declared electrical engineer, readied for college by radically anti-capitalist sisters and a Greenpeace father. I was anti-war…who wasn’t? But for whatever reason—my identity, my interests, my friends—I wasn’t passionately convinced. I wanted more information, more nuance. I tentatively joined an anti-war protesting group, and attended a Raytheon recruiting seminar as an undercover protestor.
What I saw disappointed me, twice-over. The lead protestor, a graduate student, interrupted the Raytheon representative numerous times: “How do you feel supporting violence around the globe, aiding imperialism, being paid with blood money!?” Security escorted the heckler out amid laughter from peers, as well as shouts of “We’re just here for a job, dude,” and “You do know your iPhone is made by slaves, right?” Watching the inglorious exit and the crowd’s reaction, I realized that in my search for nuance, I had instead uncovered two disagreeable extremes.
On one side, there are those who think the entire argument is pointless. “Of course, you should work for defense,” they argue; “We need a military now, and we always will.” Many engineers, overbusy with classwork or enticed by technical prestige, fall into this mindset. They aren’t wrong. Most defense work has nothing to do with building missiles anyway: It’s broadly relevant, intriguing research—courtesy of a D.O.D. so flush with cash, it’s hard to find something they don’t fund. For those working more directly with weapons, their work largely involves modernizing existing weaponry and making these devices more precise. The military doesn’t want bigger bombs anymore. It wants sleeker options with less civilian and political fallout. It wants to save soldiers. This is honorable, interesting work that offers a high paycheck from prestigious companies. It’s no wonder the lead protestor was laughed at.
The other side sees the issue as equally obvious. In a world with so much suffering, who would want to spend their precious time supporting the industry that is largely responsible for creating it, especially one awash with talent and money? Or, as is often the case, an industry they have no access to? The interests of the civic-minded opponents of defense work rarely overlap with those of the technical majors who would be employed by it. There are obviously exceptions, but I have listened to many engineers and activists fail to adequately defend their stance on the defense industry. I have watched engineers and activists speak past each other without truly communicating at all.
I left the anti-war group soon after the Raytheon protest, too busy with classwork for half-baked activism. In my junior year, I began applying to internships. I reached out to that Raytheon recruiter, who clarified that he worked for BBN, a recent acquisition from Raytheon that considered itself a separate entity. BBN is a research-forward defense contracting company known for working on the early form of the Internet—when it was still called ARPANET—funded by defense money. When the dust settled after application season, the only offer I received was from BBN. I accepted it gratefully.
I learned a lot at BBN. My coworkers were just like me, albeit smarter, and very dedicated to the elite standards their profession requires. Some were motivated by defending our country; most were motivated by the next interesting problem. At the office, I found a realm of nuance that gave faces and voices to an issue I had previously only abstractly pondered. It informed my personal morals, since the question at the top of the page—“Should you work for a defense contractor?”—only has a personal answer. Ultimately, people can choose to work for whomever they desire. Yet, I hesitate, both in print and in person, to tell peers that I worked for Raytheon, or expose my less-than-clear convictions on the topic. I worry my opinion will be conflated with other issues, and I will be judged as an ardent member of one of the two groups I described above.
You should work for a defense contractor. Both of the aforementioned camps could give many reasons to ignore or accept my advice. Still, there are the uncommon arguments that spoke to me, namely of expanding my horizons and informing my beliefs on the matter. At this age, we cannot categorically refuse a $400 billion industry embedded in the core of our country. We can afford to make mistakes and approach job opportunities as chances to learn and refine our beliefs. Only by exposure to honest reality, shaded in its nuance, can we confront both personal and societal truths. Thus, in the pursuit of truth, those most opposed to defense contractors would benefit most from working for one.
COUNTERPOINT:
That guy clearly has no clue what he’s talking about. The best defense contractor employees are those who don’t want to be there? It’s a cute idea but unrealistic. Keeping an open mind is great, but the moral qualms surrounding this industry are insurmountable. The entire industry is built to profit off of warfare. The size of this industry, and the power of its voice both in our politics and at our university, are to be confronted, not normalized.
The previous argument oozed with the naiveté of an American college student who has never suffered wartime, never been marginalized, never needed to confront systems built for his benefit. This privileged mindset reduces true injustice to a mere intellectual dilemma, ignorant of the real-world consequences. Searching for nuance in this issue is like standing in a burning house. We can smell the smoke, watch the fire—but if lives are at stake, we can’t wait to put it out.
We are a bellicose country. Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, and Iraq are only the most recent examples. Less formal and more insidious are our contributions to conflict in Central and South America. Now, we provide billions in military aid to Israel and Ukraine. For better or worse, we are a country with immense military resources that takes an active role in almost every major conflict on the planet. The extent of our involvement in these conflicts is a whole other dispute, with its own important questions. But unquestionably, in every case, the “winners” of most global conflicts are defense contractors. The market valuation of some of these companies perfectly parallels the number of casualties they cause.
I expect most Americans wish this perverse system of incentives would change. I hear constant complaints, informed or not, about the outsized reach of the military industrial complex. But the complaints are paired with resignation, because while this system is regrettable, it’s the system we have. The behemoth size of this industry—the trillions of dollars invested in defense infrastructure and technology—render it permanent. For every conscientious engineer declining an offer, three will eagerly take their place.
But of course, a system being powerful does not make it just; it just makes it easier to accept. Dozens of undergraduate engineers in my class will end up working for one of these companies, simply because they weren’t offered a better alternative. I attended a Raytheon recruitment seminar my Freshman year because it was the only one emailed to me; I took a Raytheon internship my Junior year because it was the only one I got. I can say in retrospect that I was “opening my mind,” but wasn’t I really just seizing opportunities that were handed to me?
A Tufts alumnus hosted and organized the Raytheon seminar; these longstanding relationships form what I call “the current system,” and give defense contractors an edge in recruitment. With a bit more intent and effort, I could have found a different job. If my peers shared this attitude, I’m sure defense contractors would recruit elsewhere; other opportunities would fill their vacancies and even the playing field. It takes just one generation to make a change.
Those empowered to change society are rarely forced to confront what needs changing; as the empowered, we must force ourselves to see what our power obscures. At its heart, my argument is against ambivalence. I can’t tell you where to work. If you are passionate about our military, are inspired by wartime technology, or just need the money, defense may be the right industry for you. But if you are neutral, open-minded, pulled into defense work simply by its own gravity, I implore you to take a wider look at the forces that got you there. Take time to consider whether you agree with them. And take action, as the only person who can.
By Drew Cohen