GOP's Military Health Cuts Show They Only Care About Combat, Not People

When service members deploy, they carry more than weapons; they carry the trust that their families back home will be cared for. The Military Health System, tasked with upholding that trust, stands at a crossroads. Its leaders speak of readiness and lethality, noble goals in a world of threats, but this singular focus risks betraying the broader pact with those who serve. A system that prioritizes warfighter dominance over the well-being of retirees, families, and veterans sends a chilling message: only those in combat matter.

Stephen Ferrara, acting assistant secretary of defense for health affairs, recently framed readiness as the system’s heartbeat. He’s not wrong to stress preparation; lives depend on it. Yet his vision, centered on battlefield supremacy, glosses over the millions who rely on military healthcare in peacetime. The system serves 9.6 million people, not just active-duty troops. To narrow its purpose to war alone is to misunderstand what makes a military strong: a commitment to every life it touches.

This isn’t about denying the need for a ready force. It’s about recognizing that readiness without equity is hollow. A health system that leaves families waiting weeks for appointments or retirees struggling with outdated facilities isn’t just failing them; it’s undermining the morale and retention of those still in uniform. True strength lies in a system that honors everyone, not just those on the front lines.

The Defense Health Program’s $61.4 billion budget for 2025 sounds massive, but it’s a fraction of the Pentagon’s total spending, barely 7.2%. Within that, priorities tilt heavily toward combat readiness: simulation centers, battlefield tech, precision medicine. These investments save lives in war, no question. But when mental health clinics are understaffed and TRICARE networks strain to meet demand, the system’s broader mission frays. Families face delays; retirees navigate a maze of referrals. This isn’t readiness; it’s neglect by another name.

Advocates for a leaner system argue that focusing on lethality ensures efficiency, that every dollar must sharpen the edge of the force. Yet this logic falters when you consider the human cost. Service members don’t fight for abstractions; they fight for their comrades, their kids, their parents. If the system can’t deliver timely care to a veteran with chronic pain or a child with special needs, it breaks the trust that fuels enlistment. Historical data backs this up: high-quality healthcare has long been a cornerstone of recruitment, from smallpox inoculations in the Revolutionary War to trauma advances in recent conflicts.

The Congressional Budget Office warns that medical costs may outstrip projections by 4-5%, driven by inflation and compensation trends. Instead of addressing this through equitable reform, the system doubles down on consolidation and cost-cutting, often at the expense of access. Civilian-run clinics during training days help, but they’re a bandage on a deeper wound. A system stretched thin can’t sustain itself, let alone the people it serves.

Then there’s the readiness paradox. Military surgeons, vital to combat care, often lack real-world practice in peacetime. Only 10% met combat casualty thresholds in 2019, a gap the system tries to close with civilian trauma center partnerships. These are smart steps, but they don’t justify sidelining routine care. A surgeon honed for war is useless if the system can’t get a retiree in for a checkup. Balance isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity.

Critics might claim that war demands sacrifice, that resources must flow to the tip of the spear. But this ignores the ripple effects. Poor healthcare erodes trust, weakens retention, and dims the allure of service. A force that can’t care for its own isn’t lethal; it’s brittle.

Reimagining military healthcare starts with rejecting the idea that readiness and equity are at odds. Modernization, a buzzword in budget talks, offers a way forward. Projects like Walter Reed’s facility upgrades and AI-driven diagnostics show what’s possible when innovation meets need. But these tools must serve everyone, not just troops in combat. Expanding telehealth, fully staffing mental health programs, and streamlining TRICARE referrals would ease burdens across the board.

The system’s global reach, from battlefield medics to humanitarian missions like LAMAT 25, proves it can adapt. Those missions build skills while saving lives; why not apply that flexibility at home? Targeted care models for mental health, which cut provider caseloads and boost satisfaction, could scale up with proper funding. Instead of slashing budgets to chase efficiency, invest in people: more doctors, better training, modern clinics.

Opponents of broader investment warn of ballooning costs, pointing to the retiree population’s growing demands. Yet sustainability doesn’t come from rationing care; it comes from smarter systems. Integrating electronic health records fully, not partially, would cut waste. Prioritizing prevention over emergency fixes would save billions. These aren’t pipe dreams; they’re proven strategies civilian systems already use.

A military health system that works for everyone isn’t just a moral win; it’s a strategic one. Service members fight harder knowing their families are secure. Recruits sign up trusting they’ll be cared for, in war and beyond. The U.S. has led the world in survival rates during conflicts because it invested in care, from the Civil War’s first field hospitals to today’s air evacuations. That legacy demands a system that doesn’t pick winners and losers.

Ferrara’s call for readiness resonates, but it’s incomplete. A truly ready force is one that values every beneficiary, from the soldier in the field to the spouse at home. Anything less breaks faith with those who serve and weakens the nation they protect. Let’s build a system that fights for all of them.