Sailing True North

by Admiral James Stavridis, USN (Ret. )

  As I learned in my own first command of the destroyer USS Barry, much of a commander and crew’s success at sea depends on how well they organize before setting sail. If communications, procedures, and training are working well before a ship leaves port, her people will stand a good chance of surmounting the challenges they will inevitably confront at sea. This is a large part of the reason that naval cultures everywhere have given ships’ captains such enormous authority and commensurate responsibility: everyone helps in preparing for a voyage, but the captain is ultimately responsible for adequately provisioning and training the ship. Not all leadership cultures are quite as stark as those found in the world’s navies, but all leaders need to learn how to organize and take responsibility for their people, equipment, and mission.

  Organization is more than a skill—it is a quality of character. It implies a disciplined, linear, sensible approach to analysis and problem solving. It rejects spurious inputs, emotional analysis, and the kind of mental clutter that afflicts so many of us. And best of all, organization is a character trait that can be developed and practiced. Luckily, in today’s electronic world, we have many devices, software, and applications that help us get organized, from simple to-do lists on our smartphones to artificial intelligence programs that over time can “machine learn” what is important to us and key our daily work along those lines. Using these tools is a simple but crucial part of building the ability to exercise organizational character skills. We can also reject the impulses leading to disorganization that come from the pursuit of instant gratification and a sort of mental laziness that afflicts much of society today. In so many ways, our character is the sum of the choices we make about the immediate moment and the course we chart into the future. Doing so in a methodical, organized way influences our character deeply.

  Resilience was also a crucial element in Zheng He’s character. He did not have an easy life. It is difficult to imagine the brutality of his capture and castration—yet Zheng He not only continued onward but made himself indispensable to the very people who brutalized him. The additional rigors of his bureaucratic service, his command of the treasure fleet, and his political positioning within the bureaucracy are also largely left to our imagination by the gaps in the historical record, but it is safe to say that it must have required immense resilience and tact to make his way into the emperor’s confidence, command seven massive voyages, and remain in the good graces of three successive emperors with divergent priorities. His character was clearly shaped by the quality of resilience, which is perhaps the most important of human attributes for the simple reason that all of us will suffer failure repeatedly on the road of life.

  Luckily, most leaders—indeed, most people—today will not have to face the kinds of challenges Zheng He did. However, all leaders need to be resilient, and resilience is most often developed by the experience of operating under pressure. Many people have worked for a demanding boss, taken responsibility for a project at the very limit of their organizational abilities, or metaphorically sailed beyond the limits of any previous experience. The important thing to remember is that resilience is a sort of inoculation against stress, and it is best developed by progressive doses. By the time Zheng He was tasked with building and commanding the treasure fleet, he had already been tested many times in many ways. The new challenge might have been the biggest yet, but he had already confronted big-enough tasks to teach the lessons he would need to lead the fleet. How can we become more resilient?

  The two best tools of character an individual can deploy in strengthening resilience are stoicism and perspective. Stoicism, which comes to us from the ancient Greek philosophers, is simply developing a lifelong attitude that recognizes the world is painful and hard, and that whining and complaining are not helpful. The Stoics believed that as humans we are unable to be accepting of the present moment, and too focused on obtaining pleasure and avoiding pain. While stoicism is seemingly a simple philosophical approach, it requires a lifetime to achieve for most of us, mainly because so much of society today is based on the pleasure/pain calculus. While not strictly speaking a Stoic, the great Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis’s tombstone is engraved with three simple sentences: “I want nothing. I fear nothing. I am free.” The degree to which we can develop that attitude in life is often reflective of the degree to which our character can be free to achieve greatly.

  Second, in achieving resilience, having perspective and keeping a sense of the larger context helps. This means recognizing that no matter how difficult the circumstances of the moment, there are always far worse situations in which one could find oneself. There is much here to consider, as all circumstances are perceived in our own minds, and it is difficult to say, “Well, my child has a terrible illness, but others have children who died at birth.” Some circumstances are so tragic and painful that there is no positive way to deal with them by “keeping them in context.” But so often we sweat the small stuff, as the saying goes, and become deeply frustrated over a missed plane flight, a promotion that is delayed, a rude interaction at the supermarket, a lengthy line at the drugstore, and a thousand other slings and arrows that life throws our way. Keeping a sense of context while adding the sort of Stoic philosophy of the ancient Greeks helps develop the quality of character we call resilience. Practicing a little stoicism and taking note of context is a way to strengthen our character and improve our resilience for when things really go wrong—and they will.

  One other quality that was central to Zheng He’s character was a healthy appreciation of the great diversity of life, and a tolerance for it as well—this stemmed from his own experiences, but was also a pragmatic choice. A practicing Muslim throughout his life, Zheng He was among a religious minority in service to the Ming court. And the diversity of religions among his fellow courtiers was far eclipsed by that among his crews in the treasure fleet. In dealing with such an array of ethnicities, cultures, and religions, forbearance was critical to keeping the crews motivated and working together. In that sense, Zheng He’s fleet resembled the modern workplace—and the admiral did what modern leaders do to adapt: he cultivated tolerance with and among his subordinates while keeping true to himself. Even as a Muslim, he built shrines honoring Tianfei, a figure from Chinese folk religion who became the goddess of the sea and sailors. He not only allowed Buddhist and Taoist rites to be practiced by his sailors, but often participated in them to demonstrate his respect for his crews’ beliefs.

  As contemporary research continues to demonstrate the many advantages of diversity in team performance—and as so many kinds of work increasingly involve interactions across boundaries and cultures—it is more important than ever for leaders to learn how to build tolerance, both in themselves and within the organizations they lead. It does not always come easily, but it is always worth it. Developing tolerance as a quality of character is a matter of study and practice. We must study other cultures, learn and appreciate their history, and essentially explain to ourselves why someone is fundamentally different.

  Once we have studied other cultures, races, and religions, we take the step to the most challenging part of character development—practicing respect for others in a conscious, day-to-day way. Zheng He by all accounts did this throughout his life. The superb speech by the celebrated American writer David Foster Wallace, “This Is Water,” explores this under the rubric of empathy, a closely related element to tolerance. “The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.” This brilliant speech, which I read at least annually, inspires me to work harder on tolerance—something in sadly short supply in today’s United States of America. I thought of it recently as I was passing through a crowded airport. A woman behind me in the TSA security line was trying to maneuver through with a toddler and a three-month-old baby. While I was simply registering h
er difficulty, a young man of perhaps twenty-five stepped up and gave her his place in line, delaying everyone else. You could see the annoyance in faces of the half dozen people delayed by his action. But it was the right thing to do. The echoes of Zheng He and his remarkable character can be heard in Wallace’s speech and in the young man’s act of grace.

  Zheng He was also, by necessity, highly independent in his approach to command. In contrast to the tyranny of the modern inbox, admirals in ancient times faced the opposite challenge—that of operating with guidance that was overtaken by events almost as soon as they left port, and which could only be updated if a letter could somehow overtake the fleet at sea. Much as this might sound like a welcome respite for modern leaders who can seemingly never be out of touch with their organizations, it is worth pausing to consider the stakes—and trust—involved. For the emperor to send out an expedition without much hope of receiving more than a few updates during the entire time it was underway, he had to be able to really trust his commander’s autonomy and understanding of his instructions.

  At every port of call, Zheng He was confronted by new and often dangerous situations, which required him to make a range of quick decisions weighing his mission, the safety of his ships and crew, and his perception of the scene on the ground. During his third voyage, Zheng He called in Sri Lanka in the midst of a three-way civil war between a Sinhalese Buddhist kingdom in the south, a Tamil Muslim kingdom in the north, and a rebel Sinhalese warrior who fought both. His instructions to establish relations with the people on the island were silent on this unforeseen and challenging situation, which must have taken the admiral himself some time to decipher. (By chance, Zheng He’s first contact was with the rebel leader, which could not have made things easier for him.) He was forced to adapt to the events on the ground without recourse to “instructions” from higher authority. He was able to establish trading relations with all three groups and kept Chinese neutrality—and opportunity for further trade—alive.

  Even with the ubiquity and speed of modern communications, today’s leaders still frequently find themselves called to make similar decisions: on the scene, on the spur of the moment, and on limited situational understanding. In many cases, developing the ability to operate autonomously while remaining within the intent of one’s mission is an important part of a leader’s developmental process—and one that today’s leaders may have to develop on their own initiative. If a young leader comes to over-rely on constant and near-instant access to higher authority, he or she can miss out on this crucial maturation step.

  Finding that balance—between “checking with headquarters” and acting boldly—is a crucial part of character development. At each stage of my career, I found myself making mistakes, generally on the side of acting a bit too boldly. As a young destroyer captain, I had impulsively turned my ship toward the Suez Canal during a crisis in the Gulf, assuming I’d receive orders to head that way. After we had steamed through the night for a couple of hundred miles, my commodore awoke to find my ship well off station. He sent me a message in code that when broken said simply, “Your movements are not understood.” It was an old sailing command often sent via signal flags in the days before radio communication. I was quickly reeled back into station, and my next report of officer fitness was a bit less glowing than it could have been. But I learned a valuable lesson in the balance between bold autonomy and organizational fidelity.

  Managing his diverse crew was one challenge and figuring out what to do in a situation like Sri Lanka was another, but those were hardly the only challenges of diversity and uncertainty Zheng He faced in the course of his voyages. Sailing beyond the edges of the map naturally meant contacting people and cultures unknown to the admiral and his crew, and Zheng He was expected to engage with these people and establish relationships with them that could conceivably outlast his own visit. To do so required from Zheng He a lightness of touch with others, and qualities of tolerance and empathy. It called for creative diplomacy of the highest order.

  While it is unlikely that modern leaders will discover truly unknown lands, they will almost certainly find themselves in unfamiliar situations requiring diplomatic skills. Luckily, as Secretary Danzig taught me before my own first trip to China, modern leaders have the enormous advantage of being able to read up on the people and cultures they are likely to encounter. There is an enormous difference between reading a little Chinese history and actually going to China, of course, but I have always found impromptu diplomacy to be much easier when I have done some homework beforehand. As the Supreme Allied Commander of NATO, with its twenty-eight member nations, I made a point of reading a novel from a country before I set off for an official visit there. There is much we can learn from an evocative, culturally attuned work of fiction, such as Broken April by Ismail Kadare of Albania or The Bridge on the Drina by Ivo Andrić of Bosnia.

  As the world grows ever more interconnected in every sector, it is essential for leaders at every level to develop some basic diplomatic skills (including but not limited to pretravel reading). While we are forced to imagine the specific methods that Zheng He developed to manage truly alien interactions, after seven voyages to the edges of the earth he could probably carry on a “conversation” with ease even in places where he knew not a word of the language. That takes practice and a little charm—and not a little willingness to jump right in and laugh at oneself if mistakes are made. As I have seen repeatedly during my time in the Navy, and especially as a student and dean at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, developing some basic diplomatic skills can help aspiring leaders make a positive impression in those unavoidable circumstances when they find themselves far out of their depth.

  As I reflect on Zheng He and his voyage, I feel the power of his lessons across the many centuries: his quiet skills of management and organization; his tolerance for the full range of human beliefs and diversity; his gift for independence tempered by loyalty to his ruler; and especially his hard-earned resilience in dealing with the pain of life. There is much to discover about China and its history, culture, strategy, and ambitions in this complex twenty-first century by studying the story of Zheng He. But above all, learning about the life and times of Zheng He, as well as his qualities of character, provides a guidepost for anyone seeking the way to live a meaningful and productive life.

  CHAPTER III

  A Pirate and a Patriot

  Sir Francis Drake

  BORN C. 1540, TAVISTOCK, ENGLAND

  DIED 1596, AT SEA, NEAR PANAMA

  When I was commander of US Southern Command from 2006 to 2009, I led all US military operations—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, special operations, and Coast Guard—south of the United States. I had a beautiful headquarters in Miami, four stars on my shoulders, and my job was essentially to travel around Latin America and the Caribbean and encourage military cooperation. It was a wonderful job, especially for a Miami native like me. And everywhere I went in the Caribbean Sea, I kept bumping into Sir Francis Drake.

  Drake cut a bold course through that sea in the 1600s, operating in a most piratical manner. His raids were infamous; I ran across the memory of the “English pirate Drake” in San Juan, Puerto Rico; Cartagena de Indias, Colombia; Panama City, Panama; Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic; and many other ports. He burned more real estate and sacked more cities than Captain Jack Sparrow ever did, and the memory of his misdeeds is long indeed. The Spanish called him El Draque (his nickname, and today the name of a killer cocktail somewhat akin to a mojito), and mothers would frighten their unruly children into obedience by threatening his arrival. His exploits to my eye seemed the basis for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at the Disney parks around the world. Even today, when I visit with leaders in the various nations and ports touched by Drake, I hear about him, see exhibits of his exploits in the small, dusty museums, and generally feel the dislike and fear he engendered.

  Drake�
��s character is among the most difficult to evaluate of any admiral in history. Despite his manifest accomplishments on behalf of his nation, there was a dark, cruel, and hot-blooded streak that ran like a four-lane highway down the middle of his personality. He was strategically heroic and tactically flawed. While I admired his boldness, decisiveness, and audacity, I also shuddered at some of his chosen courses of action, reflecting the darker angels of his character. Sir Francis Drake is a good example of how a deeply flawed character can still accomplish a great deal in an energetic life—for both good and ill.

  Most often, his actions were morally ambiguous, richly varied, and full of a dark energy. He helped save his nation from the Spanish Armada and greatly expanded its power and reach in the New World. But he also traded slaves, tortured, and raped his way across the seas—a brutal tactician who did whatever it took to succeed.

  His character became for me a roadmap of sorts, a cautionary tale. As I struggled to deepen my own sense of understanding of the Caribbean, it helped me to remember how much so many countries had suffered at the hand of colonizing raiders like Drake. Despite all his energy and evident charisma, in the end what I learned from studying El Draque was that the effects of his harsh methods, applied with brutal force, have echoed across generations. His reputation will never fully escape the cruelty of his methods. The essence of each of us—the character we show to the world—lives long after we are gone. As Mark Antony says in William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar at the eulogy of the fallen Caesar, “The evil that men do lives after them, / The good is oft interred with their bones.” Character transcends time and lives on not only in the memories of those who actually knew us, but also through the historical record of our deeds.