Imagine if countries invested in peace rather than war, Andrew Shephard writes.
The world of geopolitics has entered a new period. Established alliances and agreements of the last 80 years are being discarded.
The United States administration threatens both bordering countries and its allies and is, once again, dropping bombs in the Middle East. In Europe, an empire of old, led by a strong man, seeks to expand its territory westwards.
Meanwhile, in the Asia-Pacific, China’s growing strength, previously projected softly, through aid and economic projects, is manifested through increasing military presence.
Such developments, broadcast via news headlines and tweets, are, for many, a cause for considerable concern. Clamouring voices warn us of the inevitability of future conflict and the necessity to prepare for this.
How do we do this? We arm ourselves.
Accordingly, unsurprisingly, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (Sipri) details that in 2024, global military expenditure rose for the tenth consecutive year. The $US2.7 trillion (about $NZ4.6 trillion) spent is the highest in Sipri’s six decades of records, and a 9.4% increase on the previous year.
Over the last decade, global military expenditure has increased by 37% and now accounts for 2.5% of the world’s gross domestic product (GDP).
The largest military spender remains, by far, the United States. The $US997 billion it spent in 2024 accounted for 37% of the total global expenditure.
Yet, even in remote Aotearoa New Zealand, our leaders, alarmed by the geopolitical reordering, have responded in kind. The government’s 2025 Budget sets aside $9b in extra defence funding over the next four years, on top of the current annual operating budget of nearly $5b.
Over the next eight years, New Zealand’s military spending will increase from just over 1% to more than 2% of the GDP.
This rise in military expenditure has received little questioning. It is taken as self-evident that the appropriate response to the developments of emerging global powers, the territorial ambitions of authoritarian leaders, the emergence of new conflicts and the resurgence of old wars is to escalate military spending.
But is this the only possible and only reasonable response? What if we were to interrogate one of the underlying assumptions at play here: that to live in a world of peace, one must be prepared for war?
To engage in such questioning requires, firstly, a more honest accounting of human history: specifically, the crucial awareness that the current events we are witnessing are not an aberration but are par for the course. Periods without war, characterised by genuine peace, are the exception, not the norm of human history.
This recognition, that peace is fragile and fleeting, appears to be at the heart of Jesus’ enigmatic teachings contained in the Bible. In the gospels (Matthew 24:3-14), Jesus informs his followers that they will hear of "wars and rumours of wars."
Strangely, though bombarded with bad news, with devastating accounts of humanity’s inhumanity and predictions of grim futures of violence, Jesus tells his followers not to be "alarmed".
Throughout his ministry, Jesus instructs his followers in a way of life characterised by love for their enemies and a commitment to peacemaking. Both then and now, amidst a culture of fear, trapped in catastrophising and hypothesising, always planning and preparing for conflict, Jesus proposes another way.
Jesus warns his followers not to allow their imaginations and therefore actions to be configured by the constant, fear-inducing rumours of war. They are not to be "led astray", to "betray" their commitment to peace, to succumb to "hatred" or to allow their commitment to love to "grow cold".
To remain true to an ethic of all-embracing and forgiving love in the face of human hatred and violence, Jesus encourages his followers to offer the watching world evidence an alternative is possible.
An embrace of the way of peace, Jesus contends, is good news to a world addicted to war.
Throughout the centuries, many have taken Jesus’ commission seriously. A history of courageous leaders — Martin Luther King, Desmond Tutu, Archibald Baxter, Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu Kākahi, to name a few — ignoring the ceaseless rumours, have instead attuned themselves to a still, small voice and, imagining a new future, pursued peace.
What might it mean for us as individuals, a society, globally, to mute the cacophonous voices of fear and embrace ways that make for peace?
To suggest this alternative is not, as detractors often contend, utopian idealism. Nor is it confined to those who profess to be followers of Jesus’ way of peace. After a civil war concluded in 1948, the country of Costa Rica abolished its military, redirecting military spending to environmental, education and health initiatives.
Today, Costa Rica has some of the highest standards of living in its region, and a remarkable record of preserving and enhancing its ecological biodiversity.
Imagine if Aotearoa New Zealand, with the same size population, redirected its weekly military spending of $110million away from preparing for death-dealing towards life-affirming ventures.
Building new hospitals? Investing in the struggling education sector? Increased funding to preserve and protect our whenua, waterways, oceans and threatened biodiversity? How might such funds be used to prepare us for the impacts of climate change already being experienced?
A proposal: for a future in which conflict is resolved not through war, and peace is less episodic, redirecting military funding toward peacebuilding and conflict resolution training in our schools might be a good place to start.
■Dr Andrew Shepherd is a senior lecturer in theology and public issue at the University of Otago. He will teach CHTH231-331 Christianity, War and Violence, as a pre-Christmas Summer School course in late 2025.
