I'm not anti-war. I served in a war, and I served proudly. But

Hear the voice of Phil Klay, warrior and witness, who declared: “I’m not anti-war. I served in a war, and I served proudly. But just or not, necessary or not, war is the industrial-scale slaughter of other humans.” These words strike like thunder because they come from one who has walked through fire. They do not come from a theorist, nor from a cloistered critic, but from a soldier who bore the weight of duty, who knows both the pride of service and the horror of its cost. In his testimony, he reminds us that however noble the cause, war is not glory, but death multiplied by the machines of modern power.

The origin of this saying lies in Klay’s own experience as a U.S. Marine during the Iraq War. He served in a conflict that was surrounded by arguments of necessity, justice, and strategy. Yet in the desert sands, beyond the speeches of leaders, he saw the reality: young men and women carrying weapons built by industry, unleashing destruction upon strangers they had never known, while civilians and soldiers alike fell in countless numbers. In his writing, especially in his collection Redeployment, Klay sought to strip away illusion and reveal the raw truth: that war is not a metaphor, nor a chessboard—it is slaughter on an industrial scale.

The meaning of his words is not to deny honor in service, nor to deny the need for defense in times of true peril. He says clearly, “I served proudly.” But pride in service does not erase the truth of what war is. Leaders may call it necessary, philosophers may call it just, but the battlefield shows it plain: human bodies broken by machines, life consumed in torrents of fire, death processed as though in a factory. War magnifies humanity’s capacity for violence until it is measured not in individuals, but in masses.

Consider the story of the Battle of the Somme in World War I. In a single day, tens of thousands of men were cut down by machine guns and artillery—an industrial slaughter unlike any seen before. Leaders on both sides spoke of honor, necessity, and courage. And yet, when the smoke cleared, the land was carpeted with the dead, their lives erased in a storm of steel. Klay’s words echo across that field of corpses, reminding us that whether in 1916, in Iraq, or in wars yet to come, the scale of killing is what defines the modern battlefield.

Yet even as he acknowledges this truth, Klay refuses the easy path of denial. He does not say he is anti-war, for he knows there are times when evil must be resisted, when defense must be made. But he calls us to honesty: let us not veil war in poetry or glory. Let us not forget that behind every justification lies the same reality—the deaths of countless human beings, each with families, dreams, and sacred dignity. To forget this is to grow careless with war, to summon it too easily, forgetting its true cost.

The lesson is urgent: when leaders speak of war, let us hear their words through the filter of truth. Let us ask, “Is this worth the slaughter? Is this truly necessary?” Let us resist the temptation to romanticize the battlefield, and instead weigh war with the gravity it demands. Soldiers deserve our honor, but the act of war itself must never be glorified. It must be seen as the last resort, for once unleashed, it devours without mercy.

What, then, must we do? We must honor those who serve, not by cheering for endless wars, but by ensuring they are sent only when absolutely necessary. We must care for veterans when they return, remembering that they have borne witness to horrors most cannot imagine. And in our daily lives, we must speak honestly of war—teaching our children that courage is sacred, but so is peace; that service is noble, but so is the refusal to waste human lives for greed or vanity.

Therefore, let Klay’s words be remembered as both testimony and warning. He reminds us that war, whether just or unjust, is slaughter magnified by industry, a chasm into which humanity’s sons and daughters vanish. Let us be a people who look upon war with sober eyes, who demand honesty from our leaders, and who labor ceaselessly for peace—so that if war must come, it comes not from arrogance or folly, but only from the solemn necessity of defending life itself.