]U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Keith James – Sep 12th 2018
Doctrine Man recently posted an article regarding the subject of speaking truth to power, i.e., telling your superiors what they might not want to hear, which sparked quite a discussion. Apparently, this is one of those topics that particularly animates his readers, probably because it’s something most people in the military have had to deal with at some point. Over my career as an Air Force/Air National Guard officer, I have been in positions that have put me on both ends of the exchange, so I believe myself to be adequately suited to address the issue in a way that students of military leadership might find interesting and useful.
I am a rated Air Force officer (also known as a zipper-suited sun god). I spent 12 ½ years active duty before switching to the ANG. In addition to my two active duty flying assignments, I served a tour as an Air Liaison Officer (ALO) (basically a subject matter expert for the Army), during which I deployed to Afghanistan in support of an Infantry Brigade Combat Team. I now lead an ANG detachment, which has proven much more interesting and challenging than I first thought it might.
Over the course of my career, I’ve had varying degrees of success in my attempts to speak truth to power. During my time in Afghanistan, I typically briefed the Brigade Commander weekly on Close Air Support (CAS) happenings during the Battle Assessment Update, a daily brief where subordinate units reported any pertinent information to the Brigade Commander. CAS was pretty slow most of the time in our AO, so my portion of the brief usually took about eight seconds.
However, in one instance, as I was going through the data the night before my brief, I saw some things that bothered me. After verifying some numbers with my troops, I prepared a longer-than-normal brief for the BUA the next day. Without naming names or even implying that anyone at any echelon had screwed up, I nonetheless clearly conveyed to the commander that some units in the brigade were being too free with some of the ROEs to the point that we were in danger of compromising our mission effectiveness. I then followed up with recommendations going forward. When I finished, the commander said that he hoped everyone had been paying attention, and that this was the kind of analysis he needed from everyone on his staff. Lesson learned: people will be much more inclined to listen to you if you are credible and your message is diplomatic, carefully crafted, and accompanied by a clear, positive alternative. Brazenly calling someone out is not speaking truth to power, it’s just being a jerk.
During that deployment, the squadron back home changed commanders. While the term “toxic leader” is starting to annoy me (I believe people tend to apply it to any leader they simply don’t like), I would unhesitatingly apply it to the new commander. His all-consuming goal was making the next rank, and the squadron was his vehicle for success. I remember being assigned a tasker from group that required us to compile and provide them with certain information. The thing was, we already provided that very information in a different report to a separate shop. All the requestor had to do was talk to his buddy down the hall. I duly pointed this out to my commander, thinking this was a slam dunk. He lambasted me for even pointing that out.
On another occasion, a training event that I’d been placed in charge of went sidewise, and it was partially my fault. This is never a good feeling, but I did what I’d been trained to do my entire career and went to him, owned my failure, and laid out how I was going to make sure it never happened again. The tongue lashing I received went beyond anything I’ve endured before or since. This sort of incident became a common scene, with me and others, the rest of my time in that squadron. Looking back, I’m not sure there was a good way to speak the truth to him. Lesson learned: know your audience, be sure that what you’re saying is necessary, and be prepared for the fallout.
Thus far, I have discussed my own efforts to speak truth to power. But an important thing for officers to remember (and surprisingly easy to forget) is that you might be the guy that someone is trying to get through to. Since you are a fallible human being, you should at least be willing to listen, even if they only serve to convince you that you were already right.
This next anecdote takes us back to Afghanistan, but first a clarifying point. In the late 2000s, the Air Force introduced the 13L Air Force Specialty Code; these are non-rated officers who work as ALOs for their entire career, providing greater continuity in the Tactical Air Control Party officer corps. Their training and skill set closely resembles enlisted TACP troops.
During my time as the deployed brigade ALO and TACP flight commander, I had two 13Ls under me, each attached to an infantry battalion. One was a prior enlisted, newly-minted captain with an amazing array of experience; I never worried about him. The other was a green butter bar; I often worried about him.
At the start of the deployment, I kept the LT at brigade until I was confident he knew which end was up, then sent him to a battalion. After he’d been at battalion for some time, a couple of my NCOs (both highly experienced, intelligent, and capable) advised me to send him even further down to a company located at a remote combat outpost to get some more tactical experience. My initial perspective was that, as an officer, it was not his role to be in that position doing a job that we often had E-4s doing. He should be the subject matter expert and liaison to the battalion commander and staff. My NCOs countered that with more tactical level experience, he would ultimately be more knowledgeable, capable, and credible than without it. I eventually consented, even though I still had misgivings.
I am thankful that I listened because that LT had a great run. He is still doing phenomenal work in the TACP community, and would not have been set up nearly as well if not for that experience. My NCOs cogently and respectfully made their case for putting him there. Had they been jerks about it, I probably would have refused just to re-assert my authority, and maybe even to spite them a little. Lesson learned: being credible goes hand in hand with speaking truth to power, and if you’re the guy in power, pay attention when credible subordinates tell you something that contradicts your own ideas.
Fast forward a few years, and I’m in a full-time position with the ANG. At one point, one of our members’ spouses had a family emergency, and the troop requested a significant amount of time off. This was a situation covered by emergency leave rules, and I told him to put in the leave request whenever he decided how much he wanted. Later that day, his supervisor came into my office and yelled at me (door open) that he thought it was ridiculous that I was charging someone leave in this situation, that they had never done that at the detachment before, that they were a family-friendly unit that took care of each other, and so on.
Needless to say, I had not expected this. I double-checked the leave regulation, and sure enough, I had correctly directed the member to take leave. I called a more senior Guard officer to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, and he confirmed that I was right. And so, I found myself in a situation where a senior NCO was telling me I should have violated the regulation because that’s what they’ve always done in the past in similar situations. The “that’s how we’ve always done it” line of reasoning is seldom compelling on its own, even less so when you essentially admit to being jacked up over a long period of time. Lesson learned: speaking truth to power is a two-way street. If you’re the boss and don’t think that what you’re hearing is right, press on. Your subordinates are also fallible human beings, in some cases with extremely narrow apertures.
Obviously, there is much more that could be said on this topic, but many others are saying it at least as well as me, if not better. However, I believe my experiences can be very useful to others in similar situations. Sometimes making decisions, even comparatively easy ones, can feel like operating in the fog of war. It might not be obvious to you until afterward whether you were right or wrong, even if it’s painfully obvious to everyone around you. This is the sort of situation I hope to help the reader avoid. I definitely wish I’d had more guidance than I did about this sort of thing when I was younger.