EU rearmament surge fuels systemic fraud networks: systemic risks of militarised spending exposed

Indigenous critiques of militarisation highlight how defence spending often prioritises state violence over community well-being, diverting resources from healthcare, education, and environmental stewardship. Traditional knowledge systems in many cultures view security as rooted in ecological balance and social cohesion, not in armed deterrence. The EU’s rearmament surge risks repeating colonial-era patterns where militarised states extract wealth from marginalised communities to serve elite interests.

Historical analysis reveals that every major surge in military spending—from the Cold War to the War on Terror—has been accompanied by exponential growth in fraud, waste, and corruption, often institutionalised within defence bureaucracies. The US military-industrial complex, for instance, has faced repeated scandals, from the Pentagon’s $2.8 trillion accounting errors to the Lockheed Martin bribery cases in the 1970s. The EU’s current rearmament push mirrors these patterns, with procurement processes designed to favour a handful of transnational contractors.

Cross-culturally, militarisation is often framed as a masculine, state-centric solution to insecurity, yet many societies—such as the Māori in Aotearoa or the Zapatistas in Mexico—have developed non-violent security frameworks rooted in collective governance and ecological resilience. In Japan, post-WWII pacifism embedded in the constitution has limited defence spending, reducing opportunities for corruption but also sparking debates about national security in an era of rising tensions. The EU’s approach contrasts sharply with these models, prioritising hard power over community-based security.

Empirical studies on corruption in defence procurement consistently show that opacity, lack of competition, and weak oversight are the strongest predictors of fraud, with defence sectors ranking among the most corrupt globally. Research by Transparency International’s Defence and Security Programme highlights how emergency spending—such as during the Ukraine war—creates 'windows of opportunity' for corruption, as seen in the UK’s 'VIP lane' for pandemic contracts. The EU’s rearmament surge, with its rushed procurement processes, is a textbook case of these risks.

Artistic and spiritual traditions often critique militarisation as a distortion of human potential, framing it as a collective failure of imagination where violence is normalised as the primary tool for conflict resolution. In Buddhist philosophy, the concept of 'Right Livelihood' would exclude industries profiting from war, while Indigenous prophecies in the Americas warn of cycles of violence perpetuated by unchecked state power. The EU’s rearmament narrative lacks these ethical frameworks, reducing security to a transactional, material calculation.

Future scenarios suggest that unchecked militarisation could lead to a 'security paradox,' where increased defence spending fuels regional arms races, diverts funds from climate adaptation, and entrenches authoritarian tendencies under the guise of stability. Modelling by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) indicates that EU defence budgets could exceed 3% of GDP by 2030, with corruption risks escalating in tandem. Alternative futures—such as demilitarised security alliances or green defence initiatives—remain under-explored in mainstream discourse.

Marginalised communities, including Roma populations in Eastern Europe, migrant workers in defence hubs, and environmental activists near military sites, bear the brunt of corruption in procurement but are rarely consulted in policy debates. Women, who are disproportionately affected by militarisation through displacement and gender-based violence, are excluded from decision-making on defence spending. Grassroots anti-corruption movements in countries like Bulgaria and Romania have documented how defence contracts exacerbate inequality, yet their insights are sidelined in favour of elite narratives.