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Once upon a time, in a blunder so magnificent only the most bureaucratic of shipbuilding planners could pull it off, stood the USS Washington (BB-47), a testament not to American might, but to the pen-pushers in D.C. who couldn’t see the forest for the treaties. Never even getting a chance to carve its mark on history perhaps because common sense doesn’t sit in a government office, the USS Washington was a battleship that was built but never even commissioned. That's right, this was a battleship that never even got to flex its muscles. Born out of a post-World War I America that was worried about everything, the Washington was scrapped so America could sign a piece of paper with folks who may or may not have been sipping tea at the time.
Back in 1917, the mighty United States Navy decided to lay down the USS Washington at the heart of the bustling Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. With visions of it dominating the waves after the dust had barely settled from World War I, it was to be the lead ship of the South Dakota-class battleships. The plan was for the Washington to showcase America's naval superiority. However, the Washington Treaty, or should we say, the peace-loving piece of legislation that over-promised and under-delivered, dictated otherwise. Signed in 1922 to prevent another arms race, it was a compromise that saw the world powers agree to a moratorium on battleship construction. The USS Washington, almost ready at 75% completion, was left twiddling its proverbial thumbs.
There is something particularly fascinating about a battleship that never saw the sea. It's as if the USS Washington was destined to be the myth instead of the legend. We Americans do love our legends, but the Washington's tale is just the story of a ghost ship—a name reserved for a piece of legislation rather than the annals of military history. Imagine if Ronald Reagan had been in power—there'd be no way he’d let a good ship go to waste. Politicians often think in terms of treaties and papers when they should be thinking in terms of strength and deterrence. Washington’s story is a reminder of how diplomacy can sometimes clip the wings of potential.
Had the USS Washington been completed and commissioned, who knows what stories would have come out of its service? Could it have joined the Pacific Fleet? Could it have struck fear into the hearts of those who dare challenge the U.S.? Such questions will never have answers, which might be the biggest tragedy of all. The Washington was meant to feature twelve 16-inch guns and armor thick enough to bounce artillery rounds. Instead, it ended up as a lesson in what happens when idealism trumps realism.
So instead of gracing the azure Main with its massive guns and thick armor, the Washington was reduced to scrap metal. That's right, a 35,000-ton ship—gone. We can’t help but ask: who was counting the costs and what were they thinking? It's a tale as old as time: the men who make decisions often aren't the ones facing the consequences. Or in this case, unable to face the seawater.
In a sense, the USS Washington (BB-47) serves as a reminder of treaty overreach. When treaties are signed without careful consideration of prevailing national security, sheer potential is stripped away and black ink is left where steel strength was meant to shine. This American battleship would instead be remembered in the records signed by those with peaceful aspirations who often don't account for what realpolitik may require.
While Washington, as a tale, whispers through the halls of history, conservatives can take heart in knowing that military strength should never be sacrificed for paper agreements. Preservation of national security should never be downplayed for the sake of ‘goodwill’. When national interests are at stake, strength must outshine the soft focus of diplomacy.
Ultimately, the USS Washington (BB-47) is not just about missed opportunities; it's about recognizing the balance between diplomacy and maintaining a position of power. So next time you hear about treaties and compromises, remember—USS Washington was a lesson. It's wisdom in rust.