Being an officer doesn't mean you're a leader.

 

It does mean you're responsible for those put in your charge and, ultimately, for your own actions and what your team produces.

 

But that doesn't mean you're a leader.

 

This past week I witnessed an officer charged with the lives of thousands of soldiers but whom, clearly, had forgotten how to be a leader.

 

Every spring, the soldiers stationed at Fort Meyers being a weekly ritual for the public called the Twilight Tattoo-- basically an hour long recruiting show for tourists and high-ranking officers. The show itself was exactly what you'd expect, honoring those soldiers who fought in previous wars, a plethora of "patriotic" songs, and loud booms from canon that startled and delighted all in attendance.

 

At one point between the singing of American Soldier and God Bless the USA, a group of about thirty seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds participated in an enlistment ceremony where they, for the first time, took the oath and committed the next several years of their young lives to service to their country.

 

I've raised my hand and said this oath five times-- once when I started college, a second time when I took my junior year commitment, "for real" when I commissioned, and every time I was promoted. I've heard the oath countless times at promotions, enlistments, reenlistments, and during various speeches about service, sacrifice, and leadership. I've had the privilege of conducted several reenlistments for enlisted soldiers.

 

The first time I saw and actual reenlistment ceremony, I was a young second lieutenant about two months out of officer basic course. I saw my commander in his office, staring at a piece of paper, occasionally looking away, mouthing words silently, and returning to the paper.

 

Curious, I knocked on his door and asked what he was doing.

 

I'm memorizing the oath for Sergeant Johnson's reenlistment, he said.

 

I thought for a moment, then said, why are you memorizing it? Can't you just take a note card up with you?

 

He slammed the paper on his desk, more annoyed than angry, and said, look, these guys are choosing to continue serving in the Army. They know the risks, they know they could be killed, they know that they are really giving up their youth and a little piece of their humanity for the country. The absolute least I can do is memorize the oath that commits them to doing that.

 

Coming from anyone else, I would have dismissed it as just another thing commanders are supposed to say or supposed to do. After getting to know him a little more and seeing how much he actually cared about his soldiers, how much he was able to connect with them through social interactions and putting hot sauce in their dip, I knew he was a leader and one I should aspire to mimic.

 

From then on, I judged the leadership abilities of my superiors based upon their willingness to memorize the oath and I still do.

 

Which is why I was frustrated and not a little pissed during the enlistment ceremony at the Twilight Tattoo. The Four-Star General giving the oath read from a note card.

 

Now, I understand he's a general and he's very busy and he doesn't have a lot of time for trivial things. But the oath is seventy-two words. He's had to say it countless times, presumably this wasn't his first enlistment or reenlistment ceremony. This particular ceremony has likely been on his schedule for weeks. There is only one excuse for his not memorizing the oath: he doesn't care about his soldiers.

 

During a few job interviews and talking with friends and family, I'm often asked why I decided to leave the Army.

 

This particular event is a symbol for the culture of the Army and the main reason I left: lip service.

 

Every initial counseling, every speech about "officership", every white paper about leadership invariably had the same mantra: we-- officers and leaders-- need to take care of our soldiers. We'd have long discussions over coffee or beer about how we need to do a better job of taking care of soldiers, battalion commanders would brag about how much they took care of soldiers and their families.

 

Take care of soldiers.

 

For me, this phrase became a cynical and sarcastic joke when a commander decided to worry more about their own career instead of helping a soldier or when the "needs of the Army" took precedent.

 

We talked so much and so often about taking care of soldiers but nothing in the actions of commanders did anything to actually take care of them. We continued business as usual, we covered our own ass and moved on to the next "high-priority" issue.

 

We talked about reducing suicide but worry about the cost of actually affecting change.

 

We talked about eliminating the stigma of mental health issues but minimized the struggles of those around us.

 

We talked about removing toxic leaders but promoted officers who "got results" at the expense of their own soldiers.

 

We talked about reducing sexual assaults but minimized and demonized survivors with the courage to come forward and tell their stories.

 

The Austrian doctor Alfred Adler, who's work on Individual Psychology is the basis for much of today's PTSD treatment, once said, it's much easier to fight for one's principles than to live up to them. In the same vein, it's much easier to talk about one's principles than to act upon them.

 

Lip service won't get the job done.

 

Action will.

 

Keep your feet moving