Military spending, now at a record global high, supports a powerful coalition of corporate actors and military establishments that oppose climate goals. A significant share of military budgets — now over one trillion dollars annually in the United States alone — are funnelled to private companies, including fossil fuel firms and weapons manufacturers. The Pentagon is among the world’s largest institutional purchasers of oil, and weapons production itself is carbon intensive. US military activity has historically helped secure access to coal and oil reserves abroad, reinforcing the centrality of fossil fuels in the global economy. This has created a military-industrial-fossil fuel nexus that is politically and economically powerful in support of further militarisation. Efforts toward decarbonisation face formidable opposition from this nexus, which profits from military expansion while working against climate goals. However, the breadth of the military-fossil fuel nexus may also be its downfall: just as military establishments are propped up by a broad base of interests, their opponents can draw on the shared interests of those fighting for climate and social justice to confront the global military industry.
Militaries are direct contributors to climate change, consuming fuel, emitting greenhouse gases and releasing toxins into local environments. The US military is the single largest institutional emitter of carbon on the planet, with emissions comparable to those of medium-sized European countries. Globally, combined military emissions are estimated at roughly 5.5 per cent of total emissions — equivalent to the fourth largest national source of emissions, Russia.
The nexus between militaries, fossil fuel companies and weapons producers is self-reinforcing: wars secure oil, militaries consume oil and fossil fuel firms profit. The US-led wars in the Persian Gulf and Iraq provide stark examples, where military campaigns explicitly or implicitly aimed at protecting fossil fuel reserves shaped global energy markets. The Pentagon has also lobbied for decades to avoid climate accountability, securing exemptions for military emissions reporting during the Kyoto Protocol negotiations that continue to this day.
At the international level, NATO frames energy security as a military priority, securing fossil fuel supply chains in regions such as the Arctic, Persian Gulf and Eastern Europe, with renewed urgency in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and the scramble for liquefied natural gas. Meanwhile, the arms-oil nexus profits doubly: firms like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon benefit from supplying militaries that depend on oil while also lobbying for conflicts tied to oil access. Although programmes such as the US Navy’s “Great Green Fleet” or Air Force biofuel experiments are touted as steps toward sustainability, these initiatives are dwarfed by entrenched oil dependence and largely amount to greenwashing. The record suggests that the military establishment, alongside oil companies, has consistently resisted ambitious climate policy.
Just as militaries and weapons manufacturers are entangled with the fossil fuel industry, they are united in a second coalition with the financial sector. The US defence budget — 3.4 per cent of GDP in 2024 — fuels the “Big Five” military contractors: Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, Boeing, Northrop Grumman and General Dynamics. These firms are supported by financial markets while Silicon Valley venture capital backs the development of drones, AI-driven targeting systems and surveillance technologies. Venture firms like In-Q-Tel, created by the CIA, have seeded countless dual-use tech startups whose products flow into military supply chains. Alongside financial bodies created by the state, Wall Street asset managers such as BlackRock, Vanguard and State Street are among the largest shareholders in defence giants, further binding the arms industry to global finance. This creates what might be termed a globalised military-industrial-financial complex, whose profits grow with every rise in defence spending and every geopolitical crisis.
The recent decision by NATO to raise its military spending benchmark — from 2 per cent of GDP to 5 per cent — to meet US demands has been backstopped with a wave of promises by venture capital to invest heavily in the European military industry. This indicates the power of the military-industry-finance nexus to shape the decisions of US allies and lock in spirals of militarisation. The consequences are clear: vast public resources are diverted away from decarbonisation, public health and social needs, while capital flows toward weapons systems that deepen both conflict and carbon dependence.
The privatisation of the military industry compounds the problem. Roughly half of the US military budget flows to private contractors that supply not only weapons and ammunition but also food services, fuel convoys and base operations. Companies such as Halliburton and its subsidiary KBR became infamous during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars for overbilling and dangerous practices, yet continued to secure lucrative government contracts. Rather than improving efficiency, privatisation often raises costs and reduces transparency: layers of subcontracting obscure accountability, with chains of middlemen making it nearly impossible to trace responsibility for fraud, abuse or environmental damage. Many defence contracts are non-competitive or “sole-supplier”, resulting in monopolies to the firms that land the contracts — this gives additional political and economic power to those firms while essentially eliminating any incentive to reduce costs or improve performance.
Contractors wield immense political influence, channelling profits into lobbying and campaign finance to “buy” protection for their programs. This corrodes democratic decision-making while entrenching what I call the “Camo Economy”, whereby military expenditures are hidden beneath the veneer of job creation and national security. The revolving door between the Pentagon, Congress and the private sector reinforces this cycle, as former military officials move seamlessly into defence industry boardrooms or lucrative employment in the private sector. Other countries sustain similar military-industrial coalitions, such as Russia through its state-linked oligarchic arms firms, China via its state-owned conglomerates like NORINCO, and Germany, France and the UK through companies such as Rheinmetall, Thales and BAE Systems. Together they fuel a globalised market of war profiteering, where conflicts are not only fought with private contracts but also shaped by their pursuit of steady profits.
Challenging the global military-industrial complex requires new coalitions. To counter such a powerful and entrenched global network will require building broad alliances that connect demilitarisation campaigns with successful climate and social justice movements.
Building this power requires recognition of common interests. This is already the work of organisations like CODEPINK and WILPF — the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom — which link opposition to militarism with care work, justice and sustainability. Religious groups including Pax Christi International and the World Council of Churches advocate disarmament and demilitarisation from an ethical and religious standpoint. Activists in Hawaii and Guam (through contemporary campaigns such as the Red Hill water protection movement) and opposition to US bases in Okinawa, Japan exemplify how local struggles against military pollution and land appropriation connect with planetary goals.
Building bridges across these movements requires framing the issues in terms of material impacts on communities, workers and national economies. Resource depletion, pollution and toxicity, livelihoods and health, as well as ethical concerns are cross-cutting impacts through which multiple activist and advocacy groups can combine forces.
Successful precedents illustrate how entrenched powers can be weakened by broad alliances. The global fight against Big Tobacco demonstrates the power of framing an industry as a source of public harm. In the United States, lawsuits by state governments and grassroots health advocacy culminated in the 1998 Master Settlement Agreement, which imposed billions in penalties, restricted advertising, and funded anti-smoking campaigns. Internationally, the 2003 Framework Convention on Tobacco Control created the first binding global health treaty, uniting governments, NGOs and medical professionals against a transnational industry. These victories, while mitigated by Big Tobacco’s innovations of other products and marketing strategies, nonetheless showcase the importance of the sustained work of grassroots movements and public advocacy. More recently, diverse coalitions have challenged Big Tech monopolies, bringing together consumer advocates, small businesses, unions, privacy activists and regulators. The European Union’s 2022 Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act, along with US antitrust suits against Google and Meta, show that even the most entrenched and politically connected corporations can be restricted when cross-sector coalitions highlight systemic harms. These precedents suggest that coalitions linking climate activists, peace movements, labour unions, faith communities and local environmental justice groups could similarly confront the military-industrial-fossil fuel nexus by exposing its damage to health, democracy and planetary stability.
Nationally, reforms should reduce the extent, value and profitability of military contracts, restrict political donations and lobbying by defence firms, and even consider nationalisation of some parts of the defence industry in order to prevent war profiteering. Reforms need to target the mechanisms that allow the military industrial complex to dominate policymaking. Nationalisation — a dirty word in some circles — would start by bringing back “in house” some of the services that the (recently renamed) Department of War used to provide for itself, including housing and food services on US bases and construction of infrastructure both in the US and abroad. The growth in contracting in the past few decades has largely been the growth of these types of services, which could revert to being provided by the government, reducing the need for contractors and the profits and political power that corporations gain from these contracts. Additional policy measures could include caps on contract profitability, restrictions on campaign contributions by defence firms and procurement reform.
Internationally, arms sales limits and spending caps (which would set maximum rather than minimum amounts) should replace current targets. In the context of NATO, the coalition’s target is intended to increase military “burden sharing” — an aim articulated by the US for its allies. 1 This will result in a massive increase in military spending by most NATO countries, which will entail not only more fuel consumption and emissions but also reduced spending by NATO countries on more socially and environmentally beneficial programs.
While such national and international reforms are enormously difficult, they provide distinct targets for civil society mobilisation.
Policy changes are necessary but not sufficient. Perhaps the hardest task is shifting the cultural meanings of “patriotism” and “security”. Traditional understandings of both concepts are rooted in popular politics. Yet true security means access to food, housing, healthcare, education and dignified work — not ever-expanding arsenals. Narrative change is already being driven by the media and by advocacy groups and policy institutes, including organisations like Win Without War, the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft and the Costs of War Project at Brown University. However a wider effort is needed to transform the media landscape. A new wave of journalism and popular film production is needed to shift the public understanding of war and militarism. A cultural shift requires both questioning the current frames and media portrayals of militarism and patriotism, as well as providing a new vision for what patriotism could be. A concerted effort by a broad base can expose the environmental damages and the waste of funds and human life that militarism entails and can replace the current depiction of patriotism with a competing conception that incorporates democratic debate, stewardship of resources and concern for the well-being of fellow citizens.
Lobbying models like AIPAC or the NRA, though ideologically different, show how persistent advocacy can shift political cultures. Contemporary efforts, such as pro-Palestinian policy organisations like Al-Shabaka and British Palestinian Committee reveal that counter-narratives can gain political traction.
The military-industrial-fossil fuel nexus represents one of the greatest structural obstacles to meeting global climate goals. It ties together militaries, defence corporations, fossil fuel firms, financiers and other private contractors in a mutually reinforcing system that thrives on war, instability and carbon dependence. This coalition diverts resources away from decarbonisation and social needs, corrodes democracy and deepens ecological harm. Yet history shows that entrenched powers can be challenged when broad alliances form across movements, institutions and borders. The fights against Big Tobacco and Big Tech reveal how framing industries as sources of systemic harm can mobilise legal, cultural and political shifts. Similarly, counter-coalitions that unite peace movements, climate activists, labour unions, religious groups and local communities have the potential to erode the legitimacy of the military-industrial-fossil fuel nexus and reframe what “security” truly means.
Meeting this challenge requires concrete policy levers as well as cultural change. Nationally, reforms such as capping contract profitability, restricting campaign contributions by defence firms and reversing the privatisation of basic services on military bases would curb corporate influence and reduce profiteering. Internationally, shifting NATO from spending minimums to spending caps, pressing for treaties that limit military emissions and supporting watchdog institutions could create binding checks on runaway militarisation. But policy alone is not enough. A deeper cultural transformation must take place, redefining patriotism away from blind support for the military and toward a vision of democratic debate, stewardship of resources and solidarity with fellow citizens. True security lies not in ever-expanding arsenals, but in ensuring access to food, housing, health care, education and dignified work. Historical examples of demobilisation — US drawdowns after Vietnam (1970s), or the post-WWII demilitarisation of Germany and Japan (1940s) — demonstrate that the conversion to an economy and society no longer driven by militarism is feasible.
Realigning policy and culture in this way will not be easy. The military-industrial-fossil fuel nexus is deeply entrenched, and reforms will be fiercely resisted. But precedents show that when coalitions link ethical arguments with material concerns, when they connect public health, democracy and climate stability, they can generate the cultural momentum and political will necessary for transformation. If civil society can shift narratives and institutions alike, then the immense resources now funnelled toward militarism could instead sustain human flourishing and planetary survival.