The F-22 Raptor has developed a sort of mythic status in modern air combat, at least in part. It flies as few others can, at least in part because it’s simply the simple fact that it ain’t to just anybody. The United States sold advanced fighters previously, but the Raptor is unique: the mix of cost, politics, law, and highly sensitive technology has kept it firmly in the hands of Americans.
Production realities and budgets are an evident hurdle. The Raptor was expensive to design and produce, and including development, inflation, and shipping, every airframe is a pricey investment. Taking it up in the air is costly too—the upkeep, training, and flight time are quickly additive.
Besides, the original assembly line fell out of use years ago; bringing it back would be an order for multibillions, and a lot of the industrial base has been reconfigured to support newer projects in the intervening time. It is just more convenient for a lot of partners to buy planes that are still being produced and supported at scale.
And then there is the strategic rationale. The F-22 gives America a tremendous advantage in air supremacy through stealth, sensors, and performance—a ledge that has been carefully preserved. Shifting that ability to another country, however near, is risky: sensitive tech can be compromised by accident, cyber attack, or exploitation.
Maintaining the Raptor in American custody allows Washington to deploy them into hot spots as desired without having to fear that the Raptor’s secrets leak or a friendly country’s use threatens mission security.
Legislative bans make the alternative undefendable. In the late 1990s, Congress imposed a ban on exporting the F-22, a legislative hurdle that has been incredibly hard to repeal. That exemption is the result of a political agreement that some technologies should remain in the sole possession of Americans; undoing it would require sustained, bipartisan agreement that to this point has not been present. Even if other bans were lifted, then, the legal barrier remains a strong deterrent.
Its strongest case, though, is in defending cutting-edge technology. The F-22 is a decade of investment in stealth shaping, radar-absorbent materials, sensor fusion, and mission systems—abilities the United States deems strategic and uncopyable abroad.
Preserving those technologies from the military’s hands, whether by capture or reverse engineering, or by insider penetration, would eat into the margin the plane already provides. For the planners, that loss of leverage just isn’t worth it.
All of these cooperate. Export is too expensive and problematic to produce; strategic reasons render export risky; a ban in legislation renders export nearly prohibited; and covert technical information renders export risky from an operational perspective. Even friends who are close and have asked for Raptors have been denied, since the aggregated weight of all these reasons is difficult to resist.
Actually, F-22 singularity is not so much an issue of prestige—although it is also that—as an issue of maintaining a hard-won edge in air-to-air combat. From the fiscal cost, geopolitical motivations, legal taboo, and requirement to protect sensitive systems, the Raptor is something America would like to reserve in its own possession.
In the near future, it will be a “look but don’t touch” asset—a demonstration of how some military capability is preserved not only for purpose, but for strategic stability.