It seems that the entire world has heard of the saga of Chief Eddie Gallagher, the Navy SEAL on trial for charges of premeditated murder, attempted murder, and obstructions of justice. Members of his own platoon alleged that he engaged in heinous acts of violence against civilians and detained combatants. The purpose of this article is not to weigh in on the accusations against Gallagher. Many have and will continue to do so, including the President himself. Nor is it to further probe the bizarre alleged “spying” of the defense by the prosecution. For us junior officers, the more relevant leadership lessons come from a lesser-known member of Gallagher’s unit– Platoon Commander Lt. Jacob “Jake” Portier.
Portier is charged with covering up the accusations against Gallagher by not reporting them appropriately and destroying evidence. Leaders are “responsible for everything their command does or fails to do” (AR 600-20). This includes the responsibility to appropriately respond to the misconduct of those we lead.
In all likelihood, we junior officers will never face a situation like the one presented to Lt. Portier. Even among the most tip-of-the-spear units, you will rarely see misconduct to the extreme of Chief Gallagher’s alleged actions. What is very likely, however, is that we will have troops report something to us, whether they mean to or not. As one fortunate enough to enjoy time as a platoon leader, it’s easy to see similarities in Lt. Portier’s situation with my own much more mundane small-unit leadership experience.
As officers directly responsible for the men and women under our command, the Army entrusts us as the first line of defense in reporting unethical behavior. Like in the case of Lt. Portier, we may not have the relative convenience of observing the misconduct directly. We must do better than simply claiming to only have second-hand knowledge—the “hard right over the easy wrong” mantra applies.
Consider a soldier who is uncomfortable at repeated sexual jokes from an NCO, or you overhear squad leaders snickering about playing a “shell game” with equipment, or a specialist half-jokingly refers to hitting his wife. We are the ones charged with deciding how seriously to take such comments and what to do about them. It will always be easier to sweep it under the rug, or let it remain “NCO business.” Misconduct exists on a spectrum. You will face varying degrees of wrongdoing, but beware of the lines that cannot be crossed. Some of those lines are defined by professional rules, regulations, and ethics. Other lines are not as defined. Lean on your prior ethics training. An OCS cadre member, a senior NCO, gave our class a handful of “tough questions” to ask ourselves when such a situation presents itself:
- Are the long-term consequences of inaction worse than the short-term consequences of action?
- How will I defend my lack of action in the (likely) case that my superiors find out about the original incident?
- Am I choosing not to report something because I believe reporting is unnecessary, and the better ethical choice? Or am I not reporting it because I’d prefer not to confront a more experienced, decorated subordinate, or because I want to be the ‘cool PL’ among my soldiers?
- What is the greater threat to unit cohesion—the awkwardness of confronting subordinates, the hassle of writing counselings, and the possibility of investigations? Or a command climate with a lack of accountability that could turn toxic?
- If I ignore this issue, will I still be able to reserve the moral authority in the future? What will the other soldiers under my command think about my inaction?
And lest we think there’s a convenient middle ground between reporting and not reporting misconduct, it bears mentioning that Lt. Portier’s defense claims that he approached his unit’s JAG for help. But Portier “didn’t believe the rumors reported were sufficient facts to start an investigation.” We weren’t there. We don’t know for certain the validity his statements or how the situation unfolded. Perhaps Portier, had he considered the above questions, still would have pursued his chosen course of (in)action. Or, perhaps the fact that Chief Gallagher was a “legend” among the SEALs, or the fact that Portier “idolized” Gallagher from the lieutenant’s time at BUD/S, tipped the scales in favor of not reporting. I don’t envy the position in which Lt. Portier found himself. But the Navy trusted Lt. Portier to draw his line in the sand when the time came–he, allegedly, failed to act.
Put differently, we would do well to heed the words of a one-time Field Grade Officer, President Teddy Roosevelt:
“In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”
By choosing to act, we as small-unit leaders might risk rebuke from higher; a few NCOs might resent us for a while; and we might feel like we have done the “wrong thing” by reporting misconduct. But the Army is trusting us to choose that hard right of action over the easy wrong of inaction.
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