I've spoken with other young people about the Academy, but this time was different. I've aged a lot the past few years. I think everyone in the military has. When I was a bright-eyed high school kid, cadets and graduates told me about how cool it was to fly gliders or skydive, or about their incentive rides in F-15s or F-16s over the summer. I pored over books about the Gulf War with lots of glorious color pictures of airplanes. Joining the Air Force Academy was a spit-polished dream that, for me, had very little to do with war. Even after September 11th, recruiting discussions frequently revolved around the dream of flying. What was pilot training like? How did lifestyles differ between fighters and heavy aircraft? What were the odds of getting to fly the F-22?
This time the conversation was different. We talked about war.
The family friend--who I hadn't met until that evening--seemed mature beyond his years. He wants to join the Air Force not because he's enamored with warfighting but because he sees brokenness in the world that he wants to help fix. One of his teachers has tried to discourage him (throwing in some pictures of napalmed children from Vietnam for good measure); my friend's response is that he wants to work within the system to try and make it better. He's fairly liberal. I believe he thought the Iraq war was a bad idea. He loves languages and travel and wants to strengthen his international expertise during his career. He wants to be part of the solution of building a better world. Am I just being foolish and idealistic, he asked me? I told him no, I don't think so. The military moves with incredible inertia, but every once in a while, individuals can change it. I told him the story of the Surge--how a small number of remarkably talented and insightful individuals managed to transform the Iraq war and bring that country back from the brink of a civil war. I also told him that his anti-military teacher is wrong; military officers are not a monolithic bloc of warmongers. Officers (the best ones, anyway) are among the most thoughtful people you'll ever meet about issues of war and peace, life and death.
We also talked about the Air Force in particular. I often write about my dissatisfaction with aspects of my service's culture. In particular, I'm frustrated that the love of technology, flying, and airpower are often valued for their own sake more than fighting and winning the nation's wars. We talked at length about UAVs and the F-22 and how the Air Force needs to change. My friend understands that F-22s probably aren't the tool we need to fight today's and tomorrow's wars, but he admitted it would be pretty cool to fly. The conversation reflected many aspects of the Air Force's identity crisis. The Air Force needs to be more engaged across the full spectrum of conflict, but that means the new Air Force probably won't be as sexy. When so many young people join the Air Force to fly jets like they saw in Top Gun or at an airshow, how do we recruit them to fly UAVs or train foreign air forces in low-technology aircraft? What exactly are they signing up for? Who are we as a service now?
As I was preparing to write this post, I discovered an excellent article at SWJ that addresses these questions better than I can. Back to Basics by Capt David Blair is a reflection on his non-voluntary switch from AC-130s to Predators. He cites the oath he swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, then writes:
There was not an exception for 'achieving childhood dreams,' nor an exclusion for 'as long as leadership has a coherent plan,' nor a caveat for 'as long as you're still doing what you signed up for.' After serving for the better part of a decade, perhaps I began to take my original oath somewhat for granted; perhaps I lost some of my focus on the reasons that first guided me to military service. I was comfortable, happy and proud serving as an AC-130 pilot, deploying several times a year to keep good guys safe and to take the fight to the enemy. That experience was one of the greatest privileges of my life, but it took a "needs-of-the-Air-Force" move to bring me back to the basics of duty, honor and service.
He decided to become the best Predator pilot he could be. He writes, "I decided I would spend my time and effort making Al-Qaeda hate me, rather than concerning myself with whether or not the arbiters of pilot culture liked me. Between being cool and winning this war, I'll choose winning this war." He goes on to compare his own journey to the journey of the Air Force at large. The Air Force was comfortable in its role in the world until recently, but "war does not abide comfort." Now the Air Force is in the process of adapting. I commend Capt Blair for his service and his professionalism and hope he and his like-minded colleagues can help transform the service culture.
All of this is to say that, whether young people realize it or not, they are not signing up for a dream or a certain airplane. They are signing up to fight and win the nation's wars, whatever that entails.
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