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Hegseth’s ‘Sledgehammer’ to Federal Contracting Could Undercut U.S. Security

During my time at the Pentagon, I evaluated executive action through a simple but unforgiving strategic lens: How would it affect America’s ability to compete with its adversaries and defend its citizens and interests, both at home and abroad?

The current administration’s campaign to root out waste, fraud, and abuse in government programs is, on its face, a worthy endeavor. But in practice, such efforts can collide with more urgent national priorities. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth’s pledge to “take a sledgehammer” to the 8(a) Business Development Program is one such case. However well-intentioned, the move risks undermining both economic and national security by weakening a class of federal contractors that has long played an essential role in advancing both.

Among those contractors are Alaska Native Corporations (ANCs)—a category not easily understood outside policy circles but central to the functioning of federal procurement in key sectors. Created by Congress under the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971, ANCs are for-profit entities designed to provide economic development for Alaska Natives. Unlike tribal nations in the Lower 48, which were granted reservations, Alaska Natives were instead given a corporate structure meant to foster long-term financial stability and self-determination. When Congress amended the Small Business Act in 1986, ANCs became eligible for the 8(a) program, positioning them as major participants in federal contracting.

That participation has since grown into a pillar of their economic viability. In 2024 alone, ANC-owned firms received an estimated $6 billion in federal contracts through the 8(a) program. Depending on the corporation, such funding can represent anywhere from 15 to 50 percent of annual revenue. This is not incidental support; it is structural.

The strategic implications are difficult to overstate. As the Arctic grows more contested—with Russia and China expanding their presence and ambitions—the United States has increasingly relied on ANCs to maintain both economic activity and operational readiness in the region. Consider Fort Greely, Alaska, home to the Ground-Based Midcourse Defense system, a cornerstone of U.S. missile defense designed to intercept intercontinental ballistic threats. The installation depends heavily on ANC contractors, including Greely Base Support Services, for essential maintenance and operational functions. Without that support, readiness suffers.

ANCs’ role extends far beyond Alaska’s borders. Arctic Slope Regional Corporation Federal, for example, supports the Defense Logistics Agency’s global supply chain, managing chemicals and petroleum products for more than 5,000 U.S. military installations worldwide. It has also been selected for the Missile Defense Agency’s Scalable Homeland Innovative Enterprise Layered Defense program, or SHIELD, which underpins critical homeland missile defense initiatives through competitively awarded contracts. These are not peripheral responsibilities. They sit squarely at the center of U.S. defense infrastructure.

Disruptions to ANC operations, then, are not merely bureaucratic inconveniences. They carry direct consequences for military readiness, particularly at a moment when adversaries such as Iran and China are testing boundaries and when the global threat environment is growing more volatile by the day.

The strategic importance of Alaska itself has long been understood. Billy Mitchell, the World War I airpower pioneer, once warned that “whoever holds Alaska will hold the world.” His words have echoed across decades of defense planning. Donald Trump joins a lineage of leaders who have taken that insight seriously, particularly as the administration advances ambitious initiatives such as the Golden Dome project, which depends in part on the capabilities and infrastructure that ANCs help sustain. To weaken those corporations now is to risk eroding a key component of that broader strategic vision.

None of this is to suggest that federal spending should escape scrutiny. Lawmakers are right to demand accountability and to ensure that taxpayer dollars are used effectively. But ANCs, by most measures, meet that test. They deliver tangible economic benefits to Alaska Native communities while simultaneously filling critical gaps in federal contracting—especially in remote or strategically sensitive areas where private-sector alternatives are limited or nonexistent.

The question, then, is not whether reform is needed, but how it is carried out. There is a difference between pruning inefficiencies and dismantling essential capabilities. When policymakers reach for the rhetorical sledgehammer—whether in the form of sweeping contract freezes, suspensions, or eliminations—they risk confusing the two. For ANCs, such disruptions do not simply reduce revenue; they divert time, energy, and focus away from missions that directly support U.S. defense. In the worst-case scenario, they could leave critical systems under-resourced at precisely the wrong moment.

At a time when senior officials, including Secretary Hegseth, are seeking to demonstrate effective governance, this should not be a difficult judgment. The United States is not operating in a period of strategic calm. The margin for error is narrow, and the costs of miscalculation are high. Reforming federal procurement may well be necessary, but doing so at the expense of proven, strategically vital partners is a gamble the country can ill afford.

If the goal is to strengthen national security, then the path forward is clear: preserve what works, fix what does not, and resist the temptation to treat complexity as dysfunction. The 8(a) program, and the Alaska Native Corporations that depend on it, fall squarely into the first category. Undermine them, and the consequences will not remain confined to balance sheets or bureaucratic charts. They will be felt where it matters most—on the front lines of America’s defense.