Authors: Colin Powell
It Worked For Me (15 page)
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hat’s an order!” has long been a cliché movie line, usually blasted out forcefully by duff, blustering generals, commonly referred to as “the Brass.” I hated the term, as much as I came to hate the term “striped-pants diplomats” when I became Secretary of State. Stereotypical images are hard to bury.
In my thirty-five years of service, I don’t ever recall telling anyone, “That’s an order.” And now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever heard anyone else say it. Yes, there are times when you want your instructions carried out without further discussion and carried out immediately, despite any reservations or reluctance. Just tell them to do it.
But there are often better ways to get what you want done than to huff and puff and bellow out an order. The leader must impose his will. Clever, gifted leaders, in sync with their units and culture, can often command with the most delicate touch. Time permitting, it is far better to gain buy-in from followers by explaining what you are trying to achieve and the important role they are about to play in accomplishing the mission. The American soldier is better led than driven.
General David Shoup was Commandant of the Marine Corps in the early 1960s. Although the things were an anachronism, it was still common back in those days for officers to carry swagger sticks or riding crops, a custom left over from our British colonial heritage. You see British officers carrying swagger sticks in World War II movies, and you might still see the tradition practiced in Commonwealth nations. I had a swagger stick back when I was a young lieutenant. I treasured it. Sergeant Artis Westberry, my instructor in ROTC summer camp in 1957, made it for me, and I proudly carried it to point out things to soldiers and to beat the side of my leg.
Even way back in those days, swagger sticks were slowly going out of fashion in the Army, but the Marines persistently held on to the tradition. General Shoup thought it was time to get rid of them. As Commandant, he could have just put out a one-sentence order banning the silly things. But Shoup was a very wise leader and took a slightly different tack. He put out an instruction that simply said: “Officers are authorized to carry swagger sticks if they feel the need.”
The sticks were gone overnight. I often wonder if he was laughing when he came up with that sentence. He knew his Marines. “We don’t need no stinkin’ swagger sticks.”
Every organization has “swagger sticks” that are deeply rooted in its culture. Yes, you can just wipe them out, but it is usually not hard to find a way to expose them as anachronisms and put them out of their obsolescent misery, to the delight and support of all.
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any years ago when I was a junior officer, we were looking for ways to improve morale, get in tune with a new generation of young soldiers, and cut back the number of soldiers who were drinking too much and getting arrested for DUI or, worse, getting into accidents.
Somebody came up with the idea of installing beer machines in the barracks so troops could drink, if they chose, right at home. Our sergeants didn’t think this was a great idea. Unrestricted access to beer would encourage unrestrained drinking and result in rowdy behavior and beer brawls in the barracks.
The troops thought it was a great idea, predictably, and they pressed for it. No decision came . . . which set loose lots of bitching.
Would installing beer machines end the bitching and improve morale? Many of us thought so.
One of my savviest sergeants quietly pointed out to me the flaw in that thinking. “Lieutenant, putting machines in the barracks won’t end the bitching. They’ll just start to bitch about the brand of beer in the machines, except they will be drunk when they bitch.”
We didn’t put in the machines. And today’s Army has worked hard to keep alcohol away from troops. It’s a better, safer Army.
The big lesson I learned from this little episode: as you examine solutions, make sure you think them through down several levels into secondary effects, and when you arrive at what you believe will be a solution, you have to then ask yourself if you have the real solution, or if you have just let wishful thinking set you up for more problems.
This lesson applies to all kinds of problems, large and small. And bitching about brands can take place in all kinds of circumstances. Sometimes these are deadly serious. Let’s change the scene from beer in barracks many years ago to the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
In 2003, we marched up to Baghdad, the city fell in days, and the regime of Saddam Hussein collapsed. We saw these victories as a great success and the end of a big problem . . . with little thought given to what we would have to take care of once we had achieved victory.
Would opening the door to freedom bring stability and peace to that tragic country? Many American leaders thought so.
Too bad they didn’t have some savvy sergeant to quietly point out that we hadn’t answered the question about how the changes we started would affect the people of Iraq or the makeup of Iraqi society, which, it turned out, is a jumble of sectarian brands. Iraqis have been bitching about these brands for centuries. Their new freedoms didn’t stop the bitching, sparking disagreements and conflicts that turned our wonderful instant success into a terrible, nagging crisis. It took us years to achieve enough stability for American troops to be disengaged. For years wishful thinking drove a flawed strategy. Meanwhile, the argument in Iraq over brands continues and is liable to do so for years to come.
I learned a second lesson from the beer in barracks episode: surround yourself with sergeants—that is, people with ground truth experience whose thinking is not contaminated with grand theories.
Before we invaded Iraq, we should have listened to more people with ground truth experience in the region (these people were out there) and fewer idea-heavy, big egos in Washington.
After Thirty Days, You Own the Sheets
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n the old days before computerized and centralized management systems, taking command of a rifle company was a far more interesting and personal process than it has since become. All the property in the company was registered in a company property book, an ordinary ledger with entries written in ink. Before assuming command of the company, the new commander and the outgoing commander would conduct an inventory of all the property. Every rifle, bunk, chair, desk, sheet, and pillow had to be accounted for. If anything was missing, the outgoing commander had to search for it and find it, pay for it, or seek relief through a process known as a “Report of Survey.” After signing for the property and taking command, the new commander had thirty days to discover anything else that was missing or any other discrepancies. If during the thirty-day window he found anything missing, the new commander could initiate action that would either lay the problem on his predecessor or relieve the new commander of accountability. (Once I came up short on sheets and found what I needed at the post mortuary.)
As we used to say, “After thirty days, you own the sheets.” On day thirty-one any discrepancies or shortages became your problem.
I loved this stark, clear way of assigning responsibility and accountability. No whining, no complaining, and no blaming the guy you replaced. Above all, don’t waste time trying to cop a plea or blame the other guy. Too late, you’ve had your grace period. You own the sheets.
At levels above a small rifle company, there is a more sophisticated (tongue in cheek) way to handle these transitions. It’s called the “Three Envelopes Construct.” The outgoing leader gives the new leader three envelopes—labeled “Envelope 1,” “Envelope 2,” and “Envelope 3”—and tells him to open them in order if he runs into trouble. The new leader launches in a blaze of glory. But after a month or so, troubles start landing on him. He opens the first envelope, and the note inside says: “Blame me.” So he goes around complaining about the mess he inherited. Things settle down, but a couple of months later he is back in trouble. He opens the second envelope: “Reorganize.” He immediately starts a major study to determine the kind of reorganization that would improve the situation. For months, the reorganization study moves all the boxes and people around and creates a new paradigm. Everyone is distracted. The new paradigm looks exciting, but nothing is solved and everyone is confused.
The now no longer new commander is in dire straits and beside himself with worry. In desperation he opens the third envelope. The note says: “Prepare three envelopes.”
The Three Envelopes Construct does not work with elected politicians. They will blame their predecessors as long as they can. If things are going wrong, it is not their fault. If things are going well, it is only through their superb efforts to fix the mess they inherited. If their predecessor comes from their own party they may have to complain sotto voce.
For normal mammalian human beings in a line position, assume your predecessor did a good job, and if he didn’t, be silent. Move onward and upward. You are in charge. Take charge. And always remember, “You now own the sheets.”
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am pretty good at knowing and analyzing my strengths and weaknesses; but I keep the latter private. Though I never share these with anyone, my family and friends are quite willing to tell me what they are in detail. Self-examination is tough and worse when your friends and family join in. I am so glad that 360-degree evaluations came into vogue long after I stopped being evaluated. During the process, your ego is vulnerable, your self-respect challenged, your decisions questioned, and your fallibility made manifest. Still, such examination is essential to improving yourself, getting in better touch with the people in your life, facing your demons, and moving on. Looking deeply into a mirror and seeing an accurate reflection is therapeutic and healthy.
If it is difficult for individuals, it is even more difficult for groups of individuals in an organization with superiors and subordinates, where candor can put members of the group at risk, or where your honesty may be seen as disloyal or get you condemned as failing to be a team member. An organization that is unable to create the environment for this kind of evaluation is an organization that is holding itself back. The challenge is to get beyond the personalities, the egos, and the tendency to be blind to unpleasant conditions and move forward with no feelings bruised beyond repair. This is a real test of leadership and confidence in the team and the bonds that hold a team together.
Honest, brutal self-examination is especially difficult, but even more vital after a mess, a screw-up, or a failing performance. The Army faced such a crisis after the Vietnam War. There were no victory parades, and the nation got rid of the draft and distanced itself from the nascent all-volunteer force it had launched. We were in the midst of the countercultural revolution, racial and drug problems, and a shaken political system that would see the resignations in disgrace of a president and vice president. We had to reform an institution with deep cultural roots and a proud history—an institution that had recently failed to achieve its ultimate reason for existence, success in war. We set about rewriting our doctrine, reorganizing our units, and training all-volunteer recruits, many of whom were deficient in education or had behavioral issues. For me, it was the most demanding, exciting, and rewarding time in my career. We succeeded and rebuilt a first-class Army, as good as any that went before.
One of the most powerful tools the Army used to achieve this success was a technique called the After-Action Review (AAR). The AAR concept was first tested and proved at the newly established National Training Center (NTC), at Fort Irwin, California, arguably the most innovative training facility ever created. Both the NTC and AARs are still going strong.
The NTC consists of 600,000 acres of rolling desert, ideally suited for mechanized maneuver training and live firing in an utterly realistic environment. Units coming to the NTC to train face off against a highly skilled and trained enemy—called an Opposing Force (OpFor)—that is stationed at Fort Irwin. Both the good guys and the bad guys are wired, so their actions can be followed on computers at a centralized control center.
Training against a simulated enemy is not new. Armies have been trying to make training realistically close to actual combat for a long, long time. What makes the NTC unique is the comprehensive AAR that follows the completion of every battle. At AARs leaders, observers, and evaluators sit in the control center and watch the battle replayed like a video game. Every vehicle moving across the battlefield can be identified; every movement of troops and vehicles, every action, every gunshot has been recorded and can be replayed in several ways. For instance, the actual battle can be superimposed over the commanders’ plans, comparing and contrasting reality with expectations. I have watched many an aspiring Patton put his original plan up on the screen and then watch his tanks and armored vehicles go wandering off in the wrong direction, firing at each other, as the OpFor rolls up his flank and defeats him. It reminds the young Patton of two military maxims: “No plan survives first contact with an enemy” and “Even the most brilliant of strategists must occasionally take into account the presence of an enemy.”
All of this is then exhaustively analyzed. Nothing is held back, nothing is ignored. During the review, leaders, observers, and evaluators come together to present their own assessments of how they saw the battle unfold and why they made their decisions and took their actions.
The purpose of the review is to autopsy the exercise, not to give a grade or to anoint the commander as a future Patton . . . or Custer. Learning and improvement are the sole focus, not the unit’s success or failure in the mission. It’s not a blame game.
After the review, the subordinate leaders are then expected to go back to their units and share the AAR results down to the last soldier. Each subordinate unit conducts its own AAR.
The AAR system works because it is a training process, not an evaluation process. That doesn’t mean feelings won’t be hurt or unfavorable impressions created. The needs of the mission must come first. Though AARs are not about assigning blame, poor performance over time will naturally be noticed. A commander who consistently does poorly, or worse, is probably not suited for the job, or for command at a higher level. Those who consistently do well get noticed.
Because it works so well, the AAR system has been extended to all training throughout the Army. Watching AARs, I witnessed the birth of a new Army focused less on proving your worth by scoring points than on training our soldiers to be more effective. In my early days in the Army, evaluations were generally a matter of mechanically working through stylized teach-to-the-test checklists. Today, the system asks, “Where do we need more training? How do we make our troops better and more skilled?”
The result of the new training system was demonstrated in Operation Desert Storm in 1991 and subsequent conflicts. After engaging in actual combat, officers and soldiers who had been through the NTC experience reported that it had replicated down to nitty-gritty details the demands of real combat. It gave them a decisive edge when they faced the Iraqi army.
NFL teams go through a similar process after each week’s games. They review their own game films, they review films of their next opponent, and they constantly ask themselves, “What can we do to fix our mistakes and improve?”
The AAR process is applicable to any organization that truly wants to know how it is doing, where it needs to improve, and how it can get to the bottom of a problem or dispute. What have we done right? What have we done wrong? The sole goal is to improve our performance. It’s not about your ego or mine. If we are a team, we can level with each other in a spirit of “how do we do better?” We will not cover up mistakes, reorganize around them, or stare at the sky. It requires honest participation, a focus on learning, and a commitment not to use AARs as a means to assign grades. High-performing organizations understand the need for this kind of evaluation. I have also seen others whose leadership doesn’t have the guts to look into the mirror. All of us have seen in recent years too many pitiful examples of companies and organizations that live and succeed in the moment and refuse to see the reality of the fuse burning in the basement. Leaders should never bury a problem; you can be sure it will eventually rise from its grave and walk the earth again.
I have tried to apply the AAR philosophy in all my post-Army assignments. During my days as Secretary of State, I was responsible for submitting an annual report to Congress about trends in terrorist incidents. The report was prepared by the CIA, reviewed by my staff, and sent to Congress in my name.
One year, Congressman Henry Waxman of California attacked the report. He accused me of understating the terrorist problem and of cooking the books by reporting fewer worldwide terrorist incidents than he believed the data showed. My staff initially circled the wagons and defended our position—the traditional bureaucratic response. But I wanted to find out who was right. If Congressman Waxman was right, we had to make changes, and do that before we had to defend our position before an open congressional committee. If we were right, I was ready to take on Henry, a good friend as long as we weren’t across the table from each other at a televised hearing.
At my staff meeting the next morning we conducted an AAR. I wasn’t happy with what I heard. Rather than starting at the beginning and analyzing exactly how the original report was generated, the staff just tossed up justifications for the report we had printed and distributed.
I told them to look at Congressman Waxman as though he were our OpFor at the NTC; his negative evaluation of our report was equivalent to an OpFor victory in an early engagement. I thought we should listen to his criticism, concede that he might be right, and fix the problems he’d spotlighted so they would not end up in lurid display before his congressional committee. That would have been equivalent to losing the final battle.
At another AAR the next morning, we brought in everyone involved in preparing the report, and continued to peel back the onion. But we also brought in my entire staff, so everyone could learn how AARs worked and could chime in with off-the-wall questions.
As we dug deeper and deeper, we discovered significant errors in the CIA’s categorization and counting of terrorist incidents. These were errors, nothing more. They were not evidence of criminal, corrupt, or otherwise evil practices. The CIA’s errors were then compounded by my staff, who had to admit they hadn’t done an adequate job analyzing the draft report. The discussions were all conducted civilly and deliberately; no crucifixions were ordered.
By the third morning’s AAR, everyone who knew anything about the issue was pitching in to make sure we had a clear view of exactly what had gone wrong. The AAR approach cut through all the Gordian knots and got to the core problems in short order. My staff and the CIA, working side by side, soon went to work redoing the analysis.
I called Waxman to tell him that he was right and I was wrong and to assure him that my team was hard at work fixing the problem and preparing an amended report. Because he trusted us, he gave us the time we needed. We submitted an accurate revised report within a few weeks. Congressman Waxman publicly congratulated us, and there was no further congressional intervention. More important, we fixed the report-making system to avoid future problems.
The problems I found were organizational and needed correction, and they were dealt with quietly and in a timely manner outside the AAR process. The goal of an AAR is to get everyone around a table to review the battle, learn what went wrong, learn what went right, and work out how to train to do better. Leadership and personnel problems revealed by AARs normally get fixed privately.
Every organization needs to be introspective, transparent, and honest with itself. This only works if everyone is unified on the goals and purpose of the organization and there is trust within the team. High-performing, successful organizations build cultures of introspection and trust and never lose sight of their purpose.
