Why the USS Constellation Signals the End of U.S. Sea Supremacy
The Warship That Sailed Into a Storm of Delays: America’s Naval Decline Laid Bare
In the heart of America’s industrial Midwest, a shipyard in Marinette, Wisconsin, hums with the promise of resurgence. The Fincantieri Marinette Marine facility, bathed in the glow of President Donald Trump’s 2020 visit, was poised to launch the USS Constellation—a sleek, high-tech frigate designed to restore the U.S. Navy’s fading dominance on the high seas. Stocked with cutting-edge weaponry to fend off submarines, missiles, and drones, this vessel was meant to be a symbol of American ingenuity and resolve. Instead, it has become a monument to inefficiency, spiraling costs, and a naval superpower losing its edge to rivals like China.
When the contract was awarded in 2020, the Constellation-class frigate was heralded as a pragmatic solution to a humiliating truth: the United States, once the undisputed titan of shipbuilding, now lags behind the world. The plan was simple—adapt a proven Italian design from Fincantieri, a veteran shipbuilder, and churn out a fleet of 20 frigates at a brisk pace. The first ship was slated to slice through the waves by 2026. But the U.S. Navy couldn’t resist tinkering, and what began as a streamlined project has morphed into a cautionary tale of bureaucratic overreach, outdated infrastructure, and a nation struggling to keep pace in a rapidly shifting global order.
A Design Derailed: From Mediterranean Blueprint to American Overhaul
The USS Constellation was born from a European blueprint—a frigate originally crafted for the calmer waters of the Mediterranean. Fincantieri’s FREMM (Fregata Europea Multi-Missione) design had already proven its mettle in the Italian and French navies, boasting a balance of speed, firepower, and efficiency. The U.S. Navy saw an opportunity to shortcut its own sluggish production timelines by adopting this off-the-shelf model. Yet, almost as soon as the ink dried on the contract, the Navy’s engineers descended with a blizzard of modifications.
The hull was stretched by 24 feet to house beefier generators, a nod to America’s obsession with overpowering its rivals. The propeller was retooled for superior acoustic stealth—a critical edge in submarine warfare. Even the engine rooms were rejiggered to pair generators with their switchboards, a peculiar U.S. preference aimed at boosting survivability in combat. By the time the dust settled, a ship intended to share 85% of its DNA with its Italian predecessor had dwindled to a mere 15% commonality, according to Eric Labs of the Congressional Budget Office. What was supposed to be a quick adaptation ballooned into a near-total redesign.
Construction kicked off in August 2022, but progress has crawled. After two and a half years, the ship is just 10% complete—a pace that projects a nine-year timeline from design to delivery. By contrast, Italian yards churned out FREMM frigates in half that time. The Constellation’s price tag has soared, too, ballooning from $1.3 billion to at least $1.9 billion for the lead ship alone. These delays and overruns aren’t anomalies; they’re the norm for U.S. naval shipbuilding, where ambition often outstrips execution.
A Global Race on the High Seas
The Constellation’s woes are a microcosm of a broader crisis. China, once a naval footnote, has surged ahead, building ships faster, cheaper, and in greater numbers. Between 2014 and 2023, China launched 157 warships while the U.S. managed just 67, according to defense analyst Tom Shugart. Today, China boasts the world’s largest fleet, a fact that stings even if the U.S. Navy insists its vessels remain qualitatively superior. Meanwhile, allies like South Korea and European nations outpace America in frigate construction, with timelines that make the Constellation’s schedule look glacial. Of 20 frigates recently built or nearing completion globally, only one took longer than the U.S. project, per a Wall Street Journal analysis.
This isn’t just about prestige—it’s about power. As tensions simmer in the Indo-Pacific, where a potential conflict with China looms, naval supremacy could decide the fate of nations. “Every delay, every inefficiency, is an opening for our adversaries,” warned John Phelan, Trump’s nominee for Secretary of the Navy, during his Senate confirmation hearing in February 2025. The Pentagon knows the stakes, yet its shipbuilding apparatus remains mired in a quagmire of its own making.
The Culprits: Bureaucracy, Steel, and a Vanishing Workforce
What’s gone wrong? The Navy blames a litany of culprits, starting with its own penchant for perfectionism. The Constellation’s endless tweaks reflect a culture that can’t resist gilding the lily, as Brett Seidle, a senior Navy acquisition official, admitted in a recent congressional hearing: “We struggle to say stop.” Then there’s the shipyard itself, grappling with aging cranes and welding rigs—some predating World War II—that groan under the weight of modern demands. A McKinsey report highlighted equipment so obsolete that replacement parts must be custom-forged, grinding production to a halt.
Labor shortages compound the chaos. Skilled welders, machinists, and engineers are in short supply, with a third of Fincantieri’s U.S. workforce over 50 and few young recruits to replace them. Unlike European yards, which tap global talent, U.S. military shipbuilding bans foreign workers, shrinking the talent pool. Rising steel costs, exacerbated by Trump’s tariffs on imports, further inflate budgets, a paradox for an administration vowing to revive domestic industry.
The Navy’s bureaucracy doesn’t help. The Constellation’s design phase was a slog of committee reviews and nitpicking—Fincantieri once faced 170 critical comments on a single document, per the Government Accountability Office. Construction began before the design was finalized, a gamble that backfired as late-stage changes piled on weight and complexity. The ship’s speed has suffered, dipping below its Italian and French cousins, a bitter irony for a vessel meant to project strength.
Trump’s Vision: A Naval Renaissance or a Pipe Dream?
President Trump has made shipbuilding a personal crusade. In a March 2025 address to Congress, he unveiled plans for a new Office of Shipbuilding, tasked with boosting production of both military and commercial vessels. An executive order in the works promises tax incentives, tariffs on Chinese ships, and wage hikes for nuclear shipyard workers. Trump’s fixation extends to aesthetics—during his first term, he famously pined for the muscular lines of the USS New Jersey, a World War II battleship, over the “ugly” modern designs cluttering today’s fleet.
Yet his policies pull in opposite directions. Tariffs may bolster domestic steelmakers but hike costs for shipyards already drowning in overruns. The Navy’s goal of expanding from 295 to 390 combat ships by 2054 demands a production surge—doubling the past decade’s output—that experts doubt is feasible without radical reform. The Congressional Budget Office pegs the 30-year cost at $40 billion annually, 17% above Navy estimates, a fiscal burden that could sink Trump’s ambitions.
The World Watches—and Waits
America’s shipbuilding struggles stand in stark contrast to its dominance in other arenas. Lockheed Martin’s F-35 jets and Patriot missile systems fly off the shelves globally, despite their own cost woes. But U.S. warships rarely win foreign contracts, outbid by leaner European and South Korean rivals. “They’re fearsome, but expensive to build and run,” noted Jeremy Kyd, a former British vice admiral, encapsulating the paradox of American naval might.
The Constellation, still a skeleton of steel in Wisconsin, embodies this decline. Its delays ripple beyond budgets, eroding confidence in U.S. deterrence as China’s fleet grows. Fincantieri has poured $350 million into upgrading its yard, introducing robotic welders that slash labor needs, but it’s a drop in the bucket against systemic rot. The Navy defends its rigor, insisting that quality trumps speed. “We build the world’s most advanced warships,” Seidle told Congress. Yet as the Constellation limps toward a distant finish line, that claim rings hollow.
In a world where naval power shapes destiny, America’s shipbuilding malaise is more than an industrial hiccup—it’s a strategic vulnerability. The USS Constellation, once a beacon of renewal, now stands as a warning: even the mightiest fleets can falter when ambition drowns in red tape.
