Thanksgiving Day 2009 was the most professionally embarrassed I have ever been as a naval officer. At the time, my squadron was deployed aboard the USS Nimitz in support of combat operations in Afghanistan.
The day itself was remarkable for other, better, reasons. In the early afternoon, my section of Super Hornets had rushed up to a troops-in-contact situation in the far northeast corner of Afghanistan. A SEAL Team was being attacked by a group of insurgents, and we employed against the enemy mortar position. We arrived back on board ship to find General David Petraeus making the rounds and shaking hands.
Following our debrief, my crew and I happily, if a bit wearily, made our way down to the officer's wardroom for our Thanksgiving meal. Stuffing, turkey, everything. It was about 30 minutes until the wardroom was to close, and there was barely anybody in it.
I needed some time to decompress following the meal, so I wondered up to the hangar deck to get some fresh air and be alone. When I arrived, I saw a snaking line of hundreds of sailors weaving through the cavernous space. I saw a few of my squadron's sailors, and asked them what was going on. They told me it was the line to get their Thanksgiving meal. There were rumors that despite the hundreds of people still waiting, because it was closing time, they were going to cut off serving the meal. "Mission First, People Always." Right.
I was stunned. Twenty year old kids, ten thousand miles from home, pulling twelve hour shifts for weeks straight to turn wrenches so we could fly, and it seemed likely they wouldn't even get a Thanksgiving meal. Meanwhile, the officer's wardroom was still empty.
Without telling them why, I told the seven sailors I recognized to follow me. I led them down the ladderwells to the empty officers wardroom, and told them to fill a bunch of to-go plates with food. They eagerly did.
While they did so, I tried to find the Supply Commander who ran the officers mess, and see if he would be willing to open up the wardroom to help alleviate the crush of enlisted folks that were about to miss Thanksgiving. He told me he wasn't allowed to do that. I stormed off, and told my sailors to fill their plates as full as they possibly could before leading them back upstairs.
Our Nimitz officer corps utterly failed our sailors that day. Yet, on a smaller scale, we fail them everyday aboard embarked ships.
The Navy is one of the only places left in America where a clear, enforced and openly accepted class structure still exists. If you are an enlisted sailor, you cannot walk in the blue tiled "officer's country" unless on offical business -- an even then you'd do best to avoid it.
On board a carrier, sailors line up for every meal and make their way through long cafeteria style lines to get chow. Officers head to the wardroom, and are served meals while enlisted sailors in snazzy outfits act as our waitstaff. Behind us, in cabinets covered in glass, tens of thousands of dollars worth of Tiffany's silver used to serve VIP's glistens. Mood lighting and jazz plays during Sunday brunch. It embarrassed me the first time I had an E-3 clear my plate, and it still embarrasses me.
The thing that always impressed me most about the few days I spent in the field with Marines was that their officers nearly always let their subordinates eat before they did. And then they ate amidst their Marines.
It is high time the Navy ended the archaic practice of segregating the officer corps from their enlisted subordinates during shipboard meals. It is an antiquated practice rooted in tradition that is no longer relevant for an information age, socially collaborative society. A truly Disruptive Carrier Commanding Officer would take this step of his own volition and see the transformative and unifying effects a less hierarchical meal structure would have.
Similarly, a Disruptive Division Officer would forgo the wardroom and make a commitment to spending time each day breaking bread with his charges. This is something I never had the foresight to undertake.
One of the reasons tech company's provide meals for their employees is to foster free flowing, unscripted conversation between people that wouldn't normally interact. Every employee, from the company janitor to the CEO, has access to the same space. It gets the conversants thinking about ideas within the company they hadn't considered. It also brings lower level employees in more informal contact with their superiors. Ideas are generated. Conversations are developed. And innovations are born.
As our military enters an age where innovative thought and creativity will be the hallmark of successful strategy, we must embrace the conditions that make such things possible.
Jonah Lehrer, in Imagine, describes the success of Pixar: "[They] realized that its creativity emerged from its culture of collaboration, its ability to get talented people from diverse backgrounds to work together." Later, he quotes Brad Bird, the director of The Incredibles as saying, "Steve [Jobs] realized that when people run into each other, when they make eye contact, things happen. So he made it impossible for you not to run into the rest of the company."
Furthermore, on a ship, the mess decks are classic "third places:" Interactive environments that are neither home (berthings) nor the office (workcenters). Sociologist Ray Oldenberg notes:
Our most successful and recognized Naval organizations already encourage a more horizontal communication chain, and blurred lines between officer and enlisted. Both the Blue Angels and Naval Special Warfare units require close bonds between leaders and led, and as such there are very few distinctions in social standing. Let's emulate the best of our services, and help foster more collaboration.
Traditions are valuable, as long as they don't persist merely because they are traditions. New realities require adaptation. We have a highly disciplined and educated military. There is no need to still engage in a class-cleaving system that replicates the most foul excesses of the nineteenth century gilded age. End opulent differences in officer and enlisted embarked meals.
The day itself was remarkable for other, better, reasons. In the early afternoon, my section of Super Hornets had rushed up to a troops-in-contact situation in the far northeast corner of Afghanistan. A SEAL Team was being attacked by a group of insurgents, and we employed against the enemy mortar position. We arrived back on board ship to find General David Petraeus making the rounds and shaking hands.
Following our debrief, my crew and I happily, if a bit wearily, made our way down to the officer's wardroom for our Thanksgiving meal. Stuffing, turkey, everything. It was about 30 minutes until the wardroom was to close, and there was barely anybody in it.
I was stunned. Twenty year old kids, ten thousand miles from home, pulling twelve hour shifts for weeks straight to turn wrenches so we could fly, and it seemed likely they wouldn't even get a Thanksgiving meal. Meanwhile, the officer's wardroom was still empty.
Without telling them why, I told the seven sailors I recognized to follow me. I led them down the ladderwells to the empty officers wardroom, and told them to fill a bunch of to-go plates with food. They eagerly did.
Our Nimitz officer corps utterly failed our sailors that day. Yet, on a smaller scale, we fail them everyday aboard embarked ships.
The Navy is one of the only places left in America where a clear, enforced and openly accepted class structure still exists. If you are an enlisted sailor, you cannot walk in the blue tiled "officer's country" unless on offical business -- an even then you'd do best to avoid it.
On board a carrier, sailors line up for every meal and make their way through long cafeteria style lines to get chow. Officers head to the wardroom, and are served meals while enlisted sailors in snazzy outfits act as our waitstaff. Behind us, in cabinets covered in glass, tens of thousands of dollars worth of Tiffany's silver used to serve VIP's glistens. Mood lighting and jazz plays during Sunday brunch. It embarrassed me the first time I had an E-3 clear my plate, and it still embarrasses me.
The thing that always impressed me most about the few days I spent in the field with Marines was that their officers nearly always let their subordinates eat before they did. And then they ate amidst their Marines.
It is high time the Navy ended the archaic practice of segregating the officer corps from their enlisted subordinates during shipboard meals. It is an antiquated practice rooted in tradition that is no longer relevant for an information age, socially collaborative society. A truly Disruptive Carrier Commanding Officer would take this step of his own volition and see the transformative and unifying effects a less hierarchical meal structure would have.
Similarly, a Disruptive Division Officer would forgo the wardroom and make a commitment to spending time each day breaking bread with his charges. This is something I never had the foresight to undertake.
One of the reasons tech company's provide meals for their employees is to foster free flowing, unscripted conversation between people that wouldn't normally interact. Every employee, from the company janitor to the CEO, has access to the same space. It gets the conversants thinking about ideas within the company they hadn't considered. It also brings lower level employees in more informal contact with their superiors. Ideas are generated. Conversations are developed. And innovations are born.
As our military enters an age where innovative thought and creativity will be the hallmark of successful strategy, we must embrace the conditions that make such things possible.
Deliberate Design Matters |
Furthermore, on a ship, the mess decks are classic "third places:" Interactive environments that are neither home (berthings) nor the office (workcenters). Sociologist Ray Oldenberg notes:
These shared areas have played an outsize role in the history of new ideas, from the coffeehouses of eighteenth-century England where citizens gathered to discuss chemistry and radical politics, to the Left Bank bars of modernist Paris frequented by Picasso and Gertrude Stein. The virtue of these third places is that they bring together a diversity of talent, allowing people to freely interact.Leadership, in many ways, is simply about being present. It's about usefully interacting with your subordinates. It is taking an interest in their complaints and taking action on their valid suggestions for improvement. Good order and discipline can be maintained while still informally engaging during unscripted social gatherings.
Our most successful and recognized Naval organizations already encourage a more horizontal communication chain, and blurred lines between officer and enlisted. Both the Blue Angels and Naval Special Warfare units require close bonds between leaders and led, and as such there are very few distinctions in social standing. Let's emulate the best of our services, and help foster more collaboration.
Traditions are valuable, as long as they don't persist merely because they are traditions. New realities require adaptation. We have a highly disciplined and educated military. There is no need to still engage in a class-cleaving system that replicates the most foul excesses of the nineteenth century gilded age. End opulent differences in officer and enlisted embarked meals.