This is the title I chose for my personal blog, which is meant to give me an outlet for one of my favorite crafts – writing – plus to use an image from my favorite sport, golf. Out of college, my first job was as a reporter for the Daily Astorian in Astoria, Oregon, and I went on from there to practice writing in all of my professional positions, including as press secretary in Washington, D.C. for a Democrat Congressman from Oregon (Les AuCoin), as an Oregon state government manager in Salem and Portland, as press secretary for Oregon’s last Republican governor (Vic Atiyeh), and as a private sector lobbyist. This blog also allows me to link another favorite pastime – politics and the art of developing public policy – to what I write. I could have called this blog “Middle Ground,” for that is what I long for in both politics and golf. The middle ground is often where the best public policy decisions lie. And it is where you want to be on a golf course.
The headline puts it very well: No need for me to add a detailed introduction from my post in the cheap seats out West to what Washington Post critic-at-large, Robin Givhan, wrote about events in the Nation’s Capital.
Her piece summarizes an appearance by three military leaders before a U.S. Senate committee interested in various military issues, including the end of the Afghanistan war and efforts by the chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Mark A. Milley, to prevent former president Donald Trump from going to war near the end of Trump’s term.
To me, all three military leaders represent the best that America has to offer in their impossibly tough jobs.
By contrast, members of Congress appeared this week to more interesting in producing “sound bites” they could generate than in considering genuine issues.
So, here, without further ado is Givhan’s reporting that appeared under this headline:
The limits of the military’s best advice
The three witnesses sat in a row behind a single table on Tuesday morning, and the man in the middle in the grim gray suit thanked the assembled senators from the Armed Services Committee for giving him the chance to be pummeled with questions about the deadly mess that was made of an impossible situation.
“Thank you for the opportunity to appear before you today to discuss our recent drawdown and evacuation operations in Afghanistan,” began Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin. “I’m pleased to be joined by Generals Milley and McKenzie, who I know will be able to provide you with additional context.”
After 20 years, it’s hard to know who to believe about why things went so terribly wrong in Afghanistan. But as the top military leaders involved in this country’s withdrawal from that floundering country testified on Capitol Hill, the two men in uniforms adorned with ribbons and stars displayed a greater understanding of humility and America’s limitations than all the public servants in their sober suits.
Marine Gen. Kenneth F. McKenzie, commander of U.S. Central Command, took responsibility for the drone strike that killed 10 civilians. General Mark A. Milley, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noted that the withdrawal had been a logistical success and a strategic failure.
The military men had wanted to leave about 2,500 U.S. troops on the ground. McKenzie and Milley had given President Biden their best advice. He ordered all troops out. And when a petulant Senator Tom Cotton demanded to know why Milley didn’t resign in response, the general explained the exact nature of what it means to have a civilian in control of the military.
“It would be an incredible act of political defiance for a commissioned officer to just resign because my advice is not taken. … This country doesn’t want generals figuring out what orders we are going to accept and do or not. That’s not our job‚” he said. “If the orders are illegal, we’re in a different place. But if the orders are legal from civilian authority, I intend to carry them out.”
The generals contradicted what Biden said publicly about the advice he was given by his inner circle — that he didn’t recall anyone advocating for keeping a contingent of service members in Afghanistan. But they also refused to let politicians characterize the chaotic withdrawal as the result of one bad decision made a month ago or six months ago or even six years ago. Chaos was a long time coming. It was decades in the making.
There was no way to sum up what went wrong in the kind of quotable quip for which so many senators seemed to be fishing. But if there was one lesson learned that might well be etched on some memorial to the lost cause of Afghanistan, it might well be Milley’s summation: “Don’t Americanize the war,” Milley said.
Don’t fight another country’s battles. Don’t discount another country’s culture. Don’t define another country’s goals. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
Austin, the retired general with the little flag pin on his suit lapel, was the more politic witness. A member of the president’s Cabinet, he applauded the “service and sacrifice” of the U.S. military. He called these men and women rightfully proud of all they’d accomplished in evacuating more than 124,000 civilians from Afghanistan. He declared America’s credibility in the world “solid.”
Americans were not left behind, Austin said, because the administration is still engaged in getting fellow citizens out. Their work is not past tense. But he could not tell the assembled senators precisely how many Americans still needed help exiting Afghanistan. This lack of basic knowledge was a bi-partisan point of frustration, and during the lunch break, a bit of homework was assigned by the committee: Get us the number — the number that really should be seared into your memory as a constant reminder of America’s responsibility to its citizens and the ramifications of muddled nation-building.
And after lunch, Austin reported that there were fewer than 100 Americans in Afghanistan who were looking to leave.
The uniformed generals sat on either side of Austin — their faces lined with age and experience, if not the wisdom that might have been gleaned from history. Milley sat with perfect posture, with his hands folded in front of him and resting on the table. McKenzie sat with less precision, but he too had his hands neatly on the table.
Occasionally, they would turn their palms toward the heavens. But they didn’t punctuate their words with the pokes and jabs of a politician. They didn’t raise their voices or betray impatience. They weren’t particularly theatrical in their answers, which made their responses that much more compelling.
The generals just seemed to be answering the questions. And although their answers may not have been fully satisfying, it wasn’t because they were dodging and obfuscating — or trying to run out the clock on the timed interrogations. It was because it may be that there are no simple answers, no explanations that seem to lead to a singular inept move or reckless decision from which all the horrible things flowed. Identifying that consequential moment may be akin to pinpointing the one drop of water that finally caused the levee to break.
“Did we have the right strategy? Did we have too many strategies?” Austin asked rhetorically. “Did we put too much faith in our ability to build effective Afghan institutions: an army, an air force, a police force and government ministries?”
“We helped build a state, Mr. Chairman, but we could not forge a nation.”
Ultimately, that was the only clear answer to a multitude of questions.
Perspective from the 19th Hole 