Are All Wars the Same?

Recently, a colleague asked me a curious question: “Are all wars the same?” To be honest, I initially did not find this question to be particularly interesting, and a bit sophomoric. So, I chose to pivot to another topic and not answer the question. However, over the course of the next several days, the question kept coming back to me, a bit like a tune “stuck in my head.”

Initially it seems obvious that wars are vastly different from many perspectives, but after careful consideration, I am no longer sure that is the case. On the face of it, each new war is different from previous wars. Politicians and military leaders tell us that “this war,” the one they are leading, is different. They cite differences which, on the surface, seem plausible. “This war” is more justified, more surgical, more necessary than others. Historians may also argue that wars are unique when they are more defensive, offensive, revolutionary, anti-colonial, or “humanitarian.” But, in the end, it appears that, as suggested by Prussian General Carl von Clausewitz in his classical book On War, that “war is simply the continuation of politics by other means.” To the General, war is the confluence of the “trinity:” primordial violence due to hatred and enmity; chance and probability due to the presence of an army and commanders; and reasoning proffered by politicians and government policy.

From the perspective of international law and history, it matters enormously who started the war, what their intentions were, and how they fight. Those distinctions are crucial for justice and accountability. One can ably argue that wars do differ based on who “fired the first shot,” the weapons used, the aggressors’ uniform, whether the killing is in support of a “good cause,” such as liberation or security, or even righting some wrong.

If we stop listening to politicians, generals, or even historians and start listening to the people who bleed, a harsher truth emerges: wars look disturbingly, relentlessly the same. When we strip away the rhetoric, the flags, the medals, and the anthems, there is a recurring pattern: leaders start wars to gain or protect power, and/or territory, resources, regime survival, prestige, and the illusion of control. Wars do not just “happen.” They are deliberate choices by people who calculate that other people’s lives are expendable in pursuit of their goals. Across empires and eras, it appears that the people who light the match tend to share the same aims: hegemony, dominance, the destruction or subjugation of others, and securing their own power. This should make us skeptical of any claim that “this war” is uniquely about justice or safety.

When trying to understand the uniqueness of wars, ask children. According to UNICEF, over 473 million children live in war zones. Globally this represents more than one in six children, with the proportion of the world’s children growing up in conflict zones doubling since 1990. This is not surprising given that we are living in a time with the highest number of conflicts since World War II, even before counting so-called “minor skirmishes,” such as brutal sieges, kidnappings, gang activities, local militia actions, and “security operations,” which, when carefully examined, analyses show that civilians often make up 90% of all casualties, with women and children increasingly likely to be among the dead and injured.

These phenomena are not new. They represent what should be a well-known and disturbing pattern, identified over a century ago by Eglantyne Jebb, founder of Save the Children: “Every war is a war against children.” She was responding to starving children in post–World War I Europe but, today, we see the same in Sudan, Ukraine, Myanmar, Yemen, Nigeria, Gaza, Afghanistan, and many other places that rarely make the front pages. This century-old conclusion is still a reality. Wars may be launched in the name of sovereignty, security, or freedom, but who ends up in mass graves, in overcrowded displacement camps, in devastated hospitals, and on dangerously overcrowded refugee rafts? The answer is unchanging. The dead and traumatized are children, the poor, people with disabilities, ethnic and religious minorities, and all others who were already on the margins before the first shot was fired. These are not the people who create battle plans or sign orders.

There is yet another sense in which wars are the same: they all attack the future. War does not just spill blood during the conflict; it also causes great harm to the future. This comes in two forms. The first is the loss of the youth who are sent to battle as soldiers or who are the frequent victims of the war. Their deaths and maiming destroy entire generations. The second consequence is loss or damage to the environment. War disrupts ecosystems, depletes natural resources, pollutes the environment, and jeopardizes health for generations. From oil-well fires and scorched-earth tactics to the toxic residues left by munitions and their manufacture, burned cities, destroyed crops and animals, and contaminated water, war leaves behind landscapes that can no longer easily and safely sustain life, let alone healing and repair. In places used for extensive weapons testing and military exercises, investigations have documented radioactive and chemical contamination capable of turning entire regions into health and ecological nightmares. Add to that the landmines buried in fields, the unexploded bombs under playgrounds, the burned forests, and the poisoned rivers and lakes. These do not go away when politicians sign a peace treaty. In these settings, children grow up breathing dust from abandoned uranium mines or destroyed toxin-laden factories and other buildings, or drinking water filtered through chemical-filled rubble. In short, when wars officially end, the environment is often as scarred as the people who live in it.

Even at this point, some may find that there are wars which are special, unique, or worthwhile. For example, some argue that a war is different if “this war” is necessary to stop genocide or aggression. Even when a war feels tragically unavoidable, the idea that it will be different or that there will be true winners is fantasy. Even Neville Chamberlain, not exactly a pacifist, captured this concept with brutal clarity: “In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, but all are losers.”

Political leaders, journalists, and even some historians will keep insisting that “this war” is different. Perhaps it feels that way from the briefing room in the presidential palace, in the historian’s study, or the general’s bunker. But in the cellar where a child shudders and covers their ears as rockets and artillery shells explode nearby, in the hospital that has run out of supplies, and in the field that can no longer safely be plowed because it is seeded with mines, wars lose their alleged uniqueness.

So, “Are all wars the same?” I have come to realize that my initial reaction was wrong. It is an important question for which there are two honest answers:

- Wars are not the same for the people who are determined or inspired to start them;
- Wars are tragically, horrifyingly the same for the people who cannot escape them.

This leads to the difficult question: which role will you play? A starter, a stopper, or a victim? Being a passive observer is not an option.