The Dichotomy of Leadership: Balancing the Challenges of Extreme Ownership to Lead and Win

by Jocko Willink

  “In what way?” I asked, interested to hear more.

  “Cell phones,” the EVP declared. “It burns me up every time we call a meeting, somebody will inevitably be on their phone. Here I am, up in front of the room trying to put out some critical information, and I see somebody on their phone answering an e-mail. Or somebody steps out of the room to take a phone call as I’m trying to impart key information.

  “They even do it to our CEO,” the EVP added, incredulous at such behavior.

  “That can be frustrating,” I replied. “We see it all the time with our work at Echelon Front. But obviously there are important things that come up that need immediate attention for the good of the company.”

  “Not in my meetings,” the EVP boasted. “I’ve made it clear to every one of our department leaders and supervisors: there are no cell phones in my meetings whatsoever.”

  “How do you enforce that?” I asked.

  “Easy,” the EVP said. “Before every meeting, I make each of them pull their cell phones out of their pockets and physically turn them off. Then, they have to hold up their phone and show me it is fully powered down. I won’t start the meeting until I see that everyone has complied.”

  The EVP was smug, clearly proud that he was holding the line, uncompromising in this effort, and enforcing a strict standard on the team.

  “What has the team’s reaction to this been?” I inquired.

  “They gripe about it, of course,” he answered. “But I’m going to keep holding the line, just like Patton would do.”

  “How important are these meetings?” I asked.

  “Oh, they’re important,” the EVP insisted. “I’m putting out the new standard operating procedures that everyone should now be following. That direction came straight from the CEO, and I’m going to get this implemented no matter how much they resist. Besides, what could be so important that they can’t shut off their phones for an hour or two to focus on what I need to discuss with them?”

  “Well, I can think of a few things that may take precedence,” I said. “How about an immediate pressing issue with a major customer that needs quick resolution to preserve the relationship so you don’t lose a huge contract? Or a serious quality issue that might result in angry clients and bad press coverage that impacts your market growth? Or a major safety incident that results in serious injury or death?”

  The EVP nodded, agreeing that any of those would take precedence over his meeting. “Look,” he said. “I’m just trying to enforce discipline on the team. Like Patton would do—like you and Jocko talk about. If we are disciplined in the small things, won’t that translate to discipline in the bigger things?”

  “Discipline even in the small things is important,” I said. “But as a leader, you need to carefully balance the dichotomy between these two opposing forces: understanding where to stand firm and where to bend. You need to carefully prioritize where you hold the line and enforce standards.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘leadership capital’ before,” I continued. “As a leader, you only have so much authority that you can spend, and you need to choose wisely where you apply it. It seems to me you are expending a great deal of your leadership capital on cell phones when it might be much better utilized elsewhere.

  “You mentioned there is resistance to the new standard operating procedures,” I observed. “Can you tell me more about that?”

  “I’m meeting a lot of resistance,” he admitted. “A lot of our leaders have their own particular way of doing things. And they don’t want to change.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty standard human response,” I said. “People want to keep doing what they have always done. It’s up to you to help them understand why they need to change—why they need to implement standardized procedures. If they understand how it will benefit them personally, how it will benefit their team, and benefit the overall mission, they are far more likely to embrace the change.”

  “Why is it up to me?” the EVP inquired. “It’s their problem. They need to get on board. I’ve told them over and over again why we need to do this. Frankly, I’m sick and tired of trying to explain it to them. We just need to start holding the line and enforcing standards: implement the new procedures, or else.”

  To me, it was perfectly clear. The EVP’s attitude was the major reason most of the company’s leaders were pushing back and refusing to implement the new standardized procedures. He had unwisely expended his leadership capital enforcing things such as the “no cell phone” policy in his meetings, with no strategic impact. Meanwhile, he had little leadership capital left to implement the new standardized procedures, which would have major strategic impact on the company’s success or failure.

  “It’s great that you’ve read some military history,” I said. “But I think you might have a misunderstanding of how leadership in the military actually works. That stuff you have seen in movies and television shows about military personnel who blindly carry out orders—that isn’t true. Military personnel are not terminator robots that just mindlessly follow instruction, regardless of the outcome. They are thinking individuals who need to understand why they are doing what they are doing.”

  “But in the military, don’t you have to follow orders?” the EVP asked.

  “Even in the military, if you give someone an order that they disagree with, or don’t believe in, where the risk of death or horrible injury to the team is high, you don’t think you’ll get any pushback on that?” I asked. “Of course the team will push back. They may even defy orders or refuse to execute, even if it means a court-martial.

  “The best military leaders,” I continued, “like the best business leaders, take the time to explain ‘why’ so that the team understands it. They don’t force things down the throats of their subordinates. And they also don’t sweat the small stuff. That way, when they explain the importance of something that really matters, it doesn’t get lost on the troops. Then, the troops are far more likely to execute what the leader puts forth.”

  The EVP nodded, beginning to understand that in order to get the team on board with the new standardized process, he needed to adjust his tactics.

  “In terms of strategic importance to the company,” I asked the EVP, “what is more important? That your leaders not access their cell phones during meetings? Or that your leaders get on board with the new standardized process and implement it within their teams?”

  “The standardized procedures, of course,” the EVP admitted. “It’s far more important strategically that our leaders implement the new process.”

  “Roger that,” I said. “Then you need to be more discerning in expending your leadership capital. Don’t waste it on the ‘no cell phone’ policy. That’s hurting your ability to implement the important stuff.

  “This too is a dichotomy,” I explained. “You can’t have everyone on their cell phones throughout an important meeting. So make it clear that cell phones are allowed, but only for the most crucially important matters.”

  “But won’t that make me look weak?” the EVP asked. I could tell he was probably thinking of Patton again.

  “Actually,” I said, “it will make you look stronger. It shows that you understand what is strategically important—where to hold the line, and where to be flexible and give some leeway to your leaders. That will increase your leadership capital with the department leaders you are relying on to implement the new procedures.”

  Now, the EVP began to see how carefully he needed to evaluate when and where to hold firm on standards and where to give. He began to understand that it was his job as a leader not to say “Do it my way or suffer the consequences” but to explain. Most importantly, he now saw the value of balancing the dichotomy, to be resolute but not overbearing.

  “REDBULL SIX,” the call sign for Naval Special Warfare Task Unit Ramadi Commander Jocko Willink, provides command and control for his SEALs and the Iraqi soldiers for whom they served as combat advisors during a large-scale cor
don and search operation with Task Force Red Currahee (1st Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the U.S. Army’s 101st Airborne Division) in the Malaab District of eastern Ramadi. Such combat operations were vastly different than what SEALs had trained for, but were essential operations to the counterinsurgency mission in Ramadi.

  (Photo courtesy of Todd Pitman)

  CHAPTER 4

  When to Mentor, When to Fire

  Jocko Willink

  THE MALAAB DISTRICT, EAST RAMADI: 2006

  I heard gunfire in the distance. It wasn’t effective fire—no rounds were impacting in our immediate vicinity. But it was a reminder that at any moment we could find ourselves in serious trouble. Threats were everywhere. Every footstep could potentially trigger an IED. Every window might be a sniper-firing position. Even the sky itself could rain down deadly mortar fire at any moment.

  All these threats, and even the thought of such dangers, produced fear. But while we were on patrol, fear was not our focus. The focus was the job—the task immediately at hand. Cover a corner. Sprint across the street. Hold security on a door or a window. Check your field of fire. Maintain visual contact with the SEAL in front of you and the SEAL behind you. Note the buildings and streets as you pass by, to keep aware of your position on the battlefield. Listen to the radio in your ear with updates of friendly locations and suspected enemy movements, while also listening for threats in the streets and surroundings.

  With all that going on, fear couldn’t occupy much mental real estate—there wasn’t time to dwell on it. But occasionally, on patrol, I detached and observed not just my surroundings but also my teammates. In those moments, our Task Unit Bruiser SEALs were an amazing sight to behold—like a single organism, functioning as one. When one weapon moved away from a threat, another picked it up. When one man stepped into a danger zone, he was covered by his shooting partner. Movement took place without any verbal communication—no voice or radio calls—just subtle head nods, the way a weapon was pointed, occasional hand gestures, and well-understood body language that directed the team in a manner that others could barely detect. I was proud to be a part of this team. We functioned so well together, we seemed to operate with one mind. And I had complete trust and confidence in the skills and competence of everyone in the task unit.

  But it was not always like that. Before our deployment to Ramadi in the spring of 2006, through twelve months of difficult training, we had worked hard to achieve that level of teamwork. Although we all shared a common baseline, having been through Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training (known as BUD/S)—the SEAL basic training program—that was where the similarities ended. SEALs come from every imaginable socioeconomic background, from every part of the country, every ethnicity, and creed. Contrary to popular belief and the common depictions in movies and television shows, SEALs, like all other members of the U.S. military, are not robots. Even through the indoctrination of the different military services’ boot camps, the continued training, lifestyle, and culture that permeated the minds of military servicemen and women, the people in the military are just that: people. They had different drives and motivations, unique senses of humor, varied backgrounds, different religions, and different personalities. They also have different strengths and weaknesses in their capabilities. The SEALs in Task Unit Bruiser contained a wide variety of athletic abilities: some were like endurance athletes, lean and svelte; some were like weight lifters, bulky and powerful. They also had different cognitive abilities, different intelligence levels; each handled stress differently and exercised different abilities to process complex problems. With such variation in individuals on the team, the challenge for any leader was to raise the level of every member of the team so that they could perform at their absolute best. In order to do that, a leader must make it his or her personal mission to train, coach, and mentor members of the team so they perform to the highest standards—or at least the minimum standard. But there is a dichotomy in that goal: while a leader must do everything possible to help develop and improve the performance of individuals on the team, a leader must also understand when someone does not have what it takes to get the job done. When all avenues to help an individual get better are exhausted without success, then it is the leader’s responsibility to fire that individual so he or she does not negatively impact the team.

  Of course, firing people is one of the most difficult things a leader must do. In Task Unit Bruiser, where a strong esprit de corps1 quickly developed, this was especially difficult. People often wonder how to develop unit camaraderie. We learned one of the best ways is “simple, but not easy:” hard work. In any organization, and especially in the military, the harder a unit trained, the more its members were pushed, the tighter they became. That is true in the broader military, and certainly within the special operations community. Task Unit Bruiser was no exception. Of course, we developed powerful relationships through living, working, eating, partying, working out, and being around each other almost twenty-four hours a day for weeks at a time. But the most important factor in our becoming a tight-knit group was the way we pushed hard during training. We wanted to be the best; we didn’t want to be second place in anything. So we pushed each other hard and held the line, and we also protected one another, like a family. Unfortunately, not every member of the family had the capabilities to perform to the Task Unit Bruiser standard.

  The six-month pre-deployment training “workup” in the SEAL Teams is mentally and physically challenging, especially for those going through it for the first time—the new guys, or “FNGs” for short. Live fire and maneuver, weapons handling, patrolling on night vision, the weight of the gear, the heat and the cold, the lack of sleep—none of it is easy, and when combined, it can be too much for some individuals.

  In Task Unit Bruiser, when our workup kicked off, our first block of training was out in the hot desert of Southern California, where we conducted land warfare training. It was mountainous, rocky, and rugged terrain. We always said that land warfare training in this environment was where men became “Frogmen.” The high-stress, dynamic environment posed challenges for all, but particularly for some of the new guys. As task unit commander, I paid attention to who struggled and watched how each leadership team of my two platoons handled its underperforming members. As I watched Leif, Seth, and their SEAL platoon chiefs interact with the members who were subpar, they led just as I expected them to: they tried to help less stellar performers get up to speed. There were a couple of new guys in each platoon who didn’t quite get it. They seemed unable to keep up with the progression of skills required to do the job.

  But I saw the platoon leadership work with them, tirelessly counsel them, coach them, assign more experienced SEALs to mentor them, train, and retrain them. And I knew why. The new guys they were helping might be struggling, but they were still part of the platoon. They were SEALs, they’d graduated from BUD/S and SQT (SEAL Qualification Training). They were members of the gang—and the leadership wanted to protect them and see them succeed.

  Fortunately, the time invested in the struggling new guys seemed to pay off. Everyone successfully completed the multi-week land warfare block of training and then the next multi-week block, mobility training, where we learned to shoot, move, and communicate from Humvees instead of on foot. During that block, I again saw some of the new guys struggling—making mistakes with the heavy weapons, not reacting properly to tactical commands, or hesitating to take action at critical moments. But once again, I saw the platoon leadership and other experienced SEALs in the platoons take ownership and rally around their young teammates, relentlessly working with them to get them up to speed.

  After mobility training, I talked to Leif about the SEALs who were floundering.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “A couple of those guys seem like they are having a hard time.”

  “They are,” he replied. “But we’ll get them where they need to be.” That was exactly the answer I thought he would give—he was protec
tive of every member of his platoon. After all, they were his men, he was responsible for them, and he and his platoon would make sure they got up to speed. I was happy to hear Leif taking ownership of the performance of his men and confident in the ability of his platoon to get every member to perform to standard. It was exactly what a leader should do.

  The next block of training was close-quarters combat (CQC), where we learned to clear hallways and rooms in an urban environment. In the CQC training block, the pressure increased even more as the platoons executed dynamic, live-fire drills in confusing, complex buildings. “Live fire” meant SEALs were shooting lethal ammunition just inches apart from each other as they moved through the house and engaged targets. It was challenging and fun for most. But for some SEALs who struggled, the pressure was overwhelming. It was here that Leif first voiced a concern that perhaps one of the new guys in his platoon—Charlie Platoon—might not have what it takes to conduct such missions in actual combat.

  He approached me to talk about one of his men, a young enlisted SEAL whom we called “Rock.” Rock was a new guy, fresh out of BUD/S training, and Charlie Platoon was his first SEAL platoon. He had never been through the training cycle before. And he seemed to be having some trouble.

  “He tries hard,” Leif said, “and everybody likes him. We have been working with him—you’ve seen us. But he is struggling even more here at CQC. It seems like he might be in over his head. Frankly, I’m just not sure he is ever going to be capable of deploying to combat with us.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “He is in good shape and a hard worker, right?”

  I knew Rock was physically capable and he had a great work ethic.

  “It’s not that,” Leif replied. “He’s got heart, and he is physically tough. But he is having some real problems. We got him through land warfare, where he had a little more time to think. But here, he gets completely overwhelmed when the pressure is on to make split-second decisions. And he panics and freezes up. Or makes really bad decisions in the house.”