From Defense to War: What Trump’s rebranding means for Guam and Micronesia

Inside the Reef By Joyce McClure

When President Donald Trump directed the Pentagon to rebrand itself as the “Department of War,” many in Washington dismissed the move as symbolic political theater. But in Guam, the Northern Mariana Islands, Palau, the Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia, the words carry weight.

Guam hosts the sprawling U.S. bases that anchor America’s posture in the western Pacific. The Northern Mariana Islands hosts military training and leases land on Tinian for military use.

An over-the-horizon radar is being built in Palau. The Marshall Islands hosts a permanent U.S. Army base. Taken together, this network sits first in line in any confrontation with China. What might sound like semantics in the capital reverberates here as strategy, identity and survival in the Pacific.

Pete Hegseth, now called the “secretary of war,” announced the rebranding with characteristic bluntness. “We’re going to set the tone for this country: America first, peace through strength—brought to you by the War Department,” the Washington Post quoted him as saying. “Trump launches War Department rebrand without congressional approval.”

The Pentagon promptly followed suit. Chief spokesman Sean Parnell issued a statement saying the change is “essential” because “winning wars” is central to the military’s mission. “While we hope for peace, we will prepare for war. Defense isn’t enough; we’ve got to be ready to strike and dominate our enemies,” Parnell said.

The transition was immediate. The Pentagon’s website, once defense.gov, now redirects to war.gov. Hegseth’s account on X was rebranded as @SecWar, and a new “Secretary of War” sign was hung on his office door.

The U.S. War Department became the Department of Defense in 1947, at a time when leaders sought to frame American power as stabilizing rather than aggressive. “Defense” implied protection of allies and preservation of peace. “War,” in contrast, highlights confrontation, even dominance. For Pacific islanders, this isn’t just a linguistic exercise; it shapes how they imagine their place in U.S. strategy.

Guam hosts Andersen Air Force Base, Naval Base Guam and Marine Corps Base Camp Blaz, which will be home to thousands of Marines who will be relocated from Okinawa. A missile defense system is in its planning stages.

In the CNMI, the U.S. military plans to build training ranges on Tinian and Pagan despite local opposition. The FSM, a sovereign nation, depends on the U.S. for defense under the Compact of Free Association. And Palau, another COFA nation, has agreed to host powerful U.S. radar systems and grant basing rights, placing its islands squarely within the expanding arc of American military infrastructure in the Pacific.

These islands form the backbone of America’s “tip of the spear” posture in the Pacific. They also sit squarely in the sights of Chinese military planners.

Beijing’s DF-26 ballistic missiles—ominously nicknamed the “Guam Killer” by Chinese state media—have ranges designed to neutralize U.S. forces in Guam at the onset of a conflict. Pentagon war games often begin with a missile strike on Guam. Islanders know this well.

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China’s buildup is not speculative. As Brad Bowman, senior director of the Center on Military and Political Power at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, told the Washington Post, “American military supremacy has eroded as China has sprinted to field combat forces that they hope can defeat the United States military in the Pacific.”

Bowman was critical of the rebranding effort. “Changing the name of the Department of Defense won’t help with that. Perhaps the significant amount of money spent making new signs, office placards and letterhead would be better used ensuring our warfighters have the training and weapons they need to accomplish the missions they are given and to return home to their families.”

For many defense analysts, the name change highlights a troubling gap: the administration is investing political capital in branding while real military readiness—and the lives of service members stationed in Guam—remains in question.

For island residents, the rhetoric of “war” resonates personally.

“We realize the importance of a military presence here in the defense of the nation and the defense of our civilian population,” Gov. Lou Leon Guerrero told Reuters in December 2024. “But deterrence is also very important in defense.”

Others are more skeptical. Leland Bettis, director of the Pacific Center for Island Security, told Reuters, “If the Chinese are serious about taking out Guam … I don’t see what the value of an air and missile defense system would be. It is not a shield for Guam.”

The divergence reflects a deep tension: some view the U.S. presence as protection, others as a liability. Trump’s “War Department” language seems to reinforce the latter view—that Guam and Micronesia are launchpads for Washington’s battles, not communities with their own destinies.

Perhaps the sharpest irony is political. Guam and CNMI cannot vote for president. Their delegates to Congress lack voting power.

Citizens of the FSM, Palau and the Marshall Islands, though free to live and work in the United States under COFA, rely entirely on American defense policy without any voice in shaping it. In short, the people who stand to lose most in a war have the least say in how it begins.

That democratic deficit magnifies the unease. For residents of Guam and Micronesia, Trump’s declaration of a War Department isn’t just theater. It is a reminder that their fates are decided 8,000 miles away, often by men who have never set foot in the islands.

Skeptics may argue the rebranding is cosmetic, an extension of Trump’s bullying, blustering showmanship. But in politics, symbols are never just symbols. They frame policy, rally supporters and unsettle adversaries. Allies and competitors will take notice. So will the Pacific islanders whose homelands sit at the center of U.S.-China rivalry.

The shift to “War” crystallizes long-held fears: that the islands are not homes first, but military coordinates, and that their survival depends on decisions over which they have little influence.

“While we hope for peace, we will prepare for war,” Pentagon spokesman Parnell said. It’s a sentiment as old as strategy itself. Yet for Guam, the CNMI and the freely associated states, it lands with urgency. The renaming of the Department of Defense back to the Department of War doesn’t just set a tone in Washington. It sets a mood in the Pacific: one of vulnerability, unease and the haunting sense that the next great conflict may begin on their shores and in their ocean.

Republican Sen. Mike Lee has introduced the Department of War Restoration Act to back Trump’s directive. Whether or not Congress passes this legislation, its message is clear.

For Trump and his allies, “defense” is too passive, too modest. “War” is the word of choice. And for island communities living in the shadow of that word, the consequences could not feel more real.

Joyce McClure is a former senior marketing executive and former Peace Corps volunteer in Yap. Transitioning to freelance writing, she moved to Guam in 2021 and recently relocated back to the mainland. Send feedback to joycemcc62@yahoo.com 

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