People First, Winning Matters: The Tightrope of Leadership

Take care of your Soldiers. From the first push-up of basic training to the first operations order brief of Officer Candidate School, to my incoming interview with my battalion commander, the phrase “take care of your Soldiers” was repeated to me, with what you might call religious conviction, by Army leadership. From South Carolina, to Georgia, to Virginia, and then Washington State, every new set of leaders I encountered exhorted the same: you must take care of your Soldiers. 

Over the last year as a platoon leader, I have learned there is a simple reason this was repeated to me: it’s true. Effective organizations only exist in environments where people take care of each other. Selfless, loving leadership is a key marker of outstanding Army units.

I have also learned, however, that this axiom can be misleading and, in practice, often translates to poor leadership. I have seen great training events canceled or cut short because of pressure to “take care of Soldiers” and let them go home a day or two early to their families. I have seen problematic behavior go unaddressed because leaders wanted to “take care of Soldiers” by not putting it on paper. I have seen height and weight as well as physical training standards massaged by senior leadership to avoid flagging personnel that no longer meet the Army standard. All this in the name of taking care of Soldiers. 

Army Chief of Staff General James McConville’s Army outlined in the 2019 Army People Strategy that people and winning were the U.S. Army’s top-tier priorities. Since then, the slogan “People First, Winning Matters,” is frequently cited by Army leadership at all levels when explaining reasons for unit decisions, whether that is reducing training requirements or planning a new Soldier and Family Readiness Group (SFRG) event. While I agree with the need to reduce requirements and involve Soldiers’ Families more in unit life, I also notice that most Army leaders tend to leave out the last half of General McConville’s philosophy: Winning Matters.

I believe the reason some Army leaders place less emphasis on “Winning Matters” is because they see an inherent tension with the first—and far more palatable— part of the slogan: “People First.” After all, critics argue, if you are prioritizing winning, then how can you genuinely put people first? Or, if you are putting people first—and giving them that calendar white space and time off—then how can you say you are prioritizing winning? Simply put, there is great variability in the way Army leaders interpret and practice the philosophy of “People First, Winning Matters.”

Critics of the “People First, Winning Matters” philosophy aren’t wrong: there is a natural push-pull dynamic within this new Army initiative. What these critics fail to see, however, is the larger picture: that “People First” and “Winning Matters” both support and balance each other if implemented correctly.  

General McConville isn’t telling us anything new; but rather, he is reinforcing in four words what we already know: Leadership is a balancing act. Lean too far one way, and training will suffer; lean too far the other, and morale will tank. True leadership, then, is finding the sweet spot where realistic and difficult training meets strategically placed esprit de corps events, recovery weeks, and time off with families. You do this, and you will produce an organization that takes deep pride in the rigor of its standards yet doesn’t suffer burnout.  

Now that’s mission readiness. 

I am not perfect. There have been times when I have lost this balance. I still remember a busy day in the motor pool early on as a platoon leader. Overwhelmed with too many competing demands and fielding multiple calls on my cell phone, I lost my cool on one of my Soldiers after I told her to dispatch a vehicle and she told me she didn’t understand why she had to do so. “Damn it!” I exploded. “I don’t need you to think right now – I need you to execute!”

This was poor leadership. 

Instead of taking the extra moment to reinforce good behavior – in this case, a Soldier thinking critically and taking ownership of a mission – and then explain why dispatching this vehicle was important to the unit, I chose to react negatively to a Soldier’s question. Explaining the “why” behind our mission sets is important, and I missed a valuable opportunity to build buy-in and create Soldier ownership.

It was also a classic case of prioritizing the mission – in this case, a relatively benign administrative requirement of 60-day rollouts – over the person, something many Army leaders have been guilty of at one point or another in their careers. On my way home from work that evening, I called the Soldier I had yelled at and apologized, but the damage was done. It would take months to re-establish an effective working relationship with that person. 

I have also been guilty of the Joe-hugger syndrome, of caring too much about my Soldiers. I lead a relatively small distribution platoon of 25 Soldiers, and there was a point in my platoon leader time where I only had three non-commissioned officers (NCOs). Two of these NCOs were outstanding individuals; the third NCO struggled with understanding instruction, lacked basic Army knowledge, and quickly lost the respect of the Soldiers he led. In the beginning, I was patient. When he failed to properly plan a scheduled ruck march, I gave him a negative counseling but took care to be encouraging and explained the different steps he could have taken for a more successful outcome. I gave him multiple chances to lead, each time with underwhelming results. Finally, I stopped giving him leadership positions. He faded into the background of the platoon, less knowledgeable and less of a leader than many of the privates he supposedly led. 

Looking back on my time working with this NCO, I regret the way I handled the situation. I should have continued to work with him instead of giving up. I should have continued to document his poor performance. And, if he had continued to perform below the standards expected of a non-commissioned officer, I should have recommended that administrative action be taken to remove his rank. Although I still believe I exhibited personal courage in my initial willingness to have continued hard conversations with this underperforming NCO, my reluctance to take administrative action to remove his rank was emblematic of the Joe-hugger syndrome, and the readiness of my platoon suffered as a result.  

One of the most important roles of any leader – NCO, officer, or otherwise – is the ability to hold the line, to know when to say no, to know when to take administrative action, and to know when to push your team harder. This is the most difficult and least rewarding form of love – of taking care of your Soldiers – in leadership.  

Then, there are other times when I get it right. Recently, I gave my platoon leadership a list of tasks to be completed in preparation for an upcoming sling load training with a sister unit’s Black Hawk helicopters. The task list was short and relatively simple; we had partnered with this unit in the past, and it typically was enjoyable training that allowed both units to get certified. It also included a 20-minute joy ride around the scenic islands of the Puget Sound off the coast of western Washington, a rare treat for my Soldiers. After getting out of my meetings for the day, I went down to the motor pool in the late afternoon to check on progress and was surprised to find that almost none of the tasks were completed. Furthermore, it was 1600 and I was scheduled to have a meeting with my commander in a half hour. 

The sling-load training was not scheduled for several more days and realistically we could accomplish the needed tasks the next day. I decided it didn’t matter. I had set clear expectations for that day and releasing my Soldiers without holding them accountable for their uncharacteristic lack of action and follow-through would set a dangerous precedent. I called my commander. “Sir, can we reschedule? The platoon still has some more work to do.” 

When the Soldiers arrived back in the motor pool, I didn’t raise my voice or cast blame. I stayed and worked with them quietly. We all stayed late that day, but my Soldiers got the point. The standard had been reinforced.