I knew neither one of those was good.
“The house” is what SEALs commonly call a “kill house,” a building with a complex floor plan of rooms and hallways with ballistic walls that allow for live-fire training and room clearances in close quarters. In the house, dynamic tactical situations unfolded quickly, demanding that split-second decisions be made at the individual level by the shooters in the rooms. Because buildings were divided by walls that blocked visual and verbal communications, there were times when junior SEAL operators had to make decisions that impacted the direction of the entire operation. So every individual operator needed the tactical and operational savvy to make important decisions quickly and confidently. On top of the stress of decision-making, because of the high-risk nature of live-fire training in close quarters, there were very strict safety protocols in place to ensure no one got hurt or killed. If any of us violated the rules, the SEAL instructors issued a safety violation—a citation that documented the discrepancy. Getting a safety violation or two was problematic. But if a SEAL went beyond two safety violations, it was a major red flag that might get him ejected from the platoon and could cost him his career as a SEAL.
“What kind of problems is he having?” I asked.
“He’s had some major safety violations,” Leif replied. “And he doesn’t seem to be learning from them. He’s not making improvements. Rock tries, but when there is any pressure applied to him, he quickly gets task saturated.”
“Task saturated” was a term we used in the SEAL Teams to describe how an individual, or a team, would get overwhelmed when multiple problems were encountered simultaneously. They couldn’t properly Prioritize and Execute. Trying to process too much information at once, they broke down and either failed to take any action or made a bad decision that put them at risk, along with the team or the mission.
I understood this was a major problem. But I also wanted to be absolutely sure that everything possible had been done to help Rock improve before consideration was given to firing him. Leif and his platoon chief, Tony, were strong leaders—both high performers who expected the individuals on their team to perform. And most of their SEALs in Charlie Platoon were outstanding. But with strong leaders, I knew there could sometimes be a tendency to fire someone who underperformed before he fully had a chance to improve. I knew Leif and Tony and the rest of Charlie Platoon were doing what they could, but I wanted to ensure they completely understood: Most underperformers don’t need to be fired, they need to be led.
“Have you talked it through with him? Helped him out?” I asked. “What about Tony?” In order to ensure Rock received the full benefit of the coaching and mentoring he needed to get up to speed, I wanted to make sure my good friend and tactical expert, Tony Eafrati (Charlie Platoon’s chief), who was a highly experienced SEAL with multiple deployments overseas, had been working with him. As a training instructor, Tony had taught just about every block of advanced training, and I knew he would have the best chance of getting through to Rock.
“Absolutely,” Leif replied. “Chief is doing everything he can. So am I. So is our leading petty officer. We’ve tried hard to get him up to speed. We had some guys working with him through the weekend, when everybody else was out partying. But Rock just doesn’t seem able to cut it. I don’t know how much more we can do.”
The consternation in Leif’s face made it clear: he was trying to balance the dichotomy of leadership between coaching and mentoring—and making a decision to get rid of someone.
“You think we need to let him go?” I asked.
“I think it might be best,” Leif said somberly. It wasn’t an easy thing.
“Look, he’s a great guy,” Leif continued. “He works hard. And I’d like nothing more than to see him succeed. But in real combat scenarios, he’d be at serious risk—to himself, to the other guys in Charlie Platoon—if we put him in a position where he has to act decisively.”
I understood exactly where Leif was coming from, and he was right. When we deployed, Rock would have to face situations where his life, the lives of his SEAL teammates, and innocent civilians’ lives were at stake. He would have to make split-second decisions and make the right calls. On the battlefield, if Rock froze up and failed to engage an enemy fighter, he might get himself or others killed. If he made a bad decision and misidentified an unarmed civilian as an enemy combatant, it might cost the life of an innocent person. That could also get Rock sent to prison. We simply could not have someone who wasn’t ready to step up and make things happen, to execute in high-pressure situations, as a member of the platoon or the task unit. But there was another angle to this that I wasn’t sure Leif fully understood—and another thing that made this dichotomy a challenge to balance.
“You know if we get rid of him, we won’t get a replacement,” I said. “You will be a man short for the rest of workup—and probably for our deployment as well.”
“You don’t think we could get a replacement for him?” Leif asked.
“Not likely. As you know, there aren’t enough SEALs,” I said. “That’s the way it is. Every platoon at every team is scrounging for guys. If you let Rock go, don’t count on getting another guy. So you need to ask yourself: Do you want Charlie Platoon to be a man short?”
Leif stood quietly shaking his head, grappling with how to proceed.
“Think about it,” I said. “Are there other jobs he could do? Maybe keep him out of the assault train. How about using him as a driver or a turret gunner in one of your vehicles? Maybe he could be in charge of marshaling prisoners. There are a lot more jobs we need filled besides door kickers.”
“But even in those roles, we’d need Rock to make decisions,” Leif commented. “Even in those roles, he will still be put in situations that I don’t think he can handle.”
“True,” I agreed. “But maybe he’s just a little slow on the uptake. Maybe he just needs more time to get a grasp on all this. Even if he only works in the rear, in the camp, for this platoon rotation, maybe next time he’ll get up to speed. Work with him some more. Have Tony and the boys work with him. Let’s see if he can fulfill some kind of role that helps the platoon.”
“Roger that,” Leif said. “Makes sense. We’ll do everything we can.”
With that, Leif walked away, clearly with the intent to figure out a way to succeed with Rock. If they couldn’t get him fully up to speed, perhaps they could at least get him to a point where he would have the skill set to handle some of the less dynamic jobs, where there was a lower probability of his being overwhelmed by tasks and getting himself or somebody else killed.
Our CQC training continued on, and with each day the intensity picked up. We graduated to clearing larger buildings with more rooms and more complex hallways and more threats. We moved on to even more difficult problems: simultaneous entries into the kill house by two separate assault forces, live explosive breaching charges, and dealing with even greater numbers of prisoners and unarmed civilians. I observed Rock closely on some of the runs to see how he was doing. Leif was right: he was really straining to stay on track. Because I had to keep an eye on forty more SEALs in the task unit, especially the platoon leadership, I couldn’t focus my attention solely on Rock. But I saw enough to understand that his performance was well below that of his peers—the other new guys in Charlie and Delta Platoons. Still, I didn’t see him commit one single blunder so egregious that we’d be forced to fire him. But he did acquire more safety violations, and I constantly heard the instructor cadre counseling him.
Even still, Charlie Platoon continued to keep Rock as part of the team. Leif, Tony, and the rest of the platoon kept working with him to try to help him improve. Task Unit Bruiser wrapped up our CQC training and went on the next multiweek training block, then the next. Finally, we arrived at our last training block, called “special reconnaissance,” or SR. SR was where the platoons would spend extensive periods of time in the field—off base, on the training battlefield, to observe and pass reports from cla
ndestine observation positions. The point of this training was to “sneak and peek” and get out of the area before the enemy even knew you were there, so there wouldn’t be any shooting or quick decisions to be made. The stress level was a lot lower, and I figured Rock would be able to handle it.
I touched base with Leif and Tony. “How’s Rock doing?” I asked Tony.
“Not too good. Even here, he can’t seem to get it together,” Tony responded.
“Yeah, he is still making mistakes. Simple stuff. I don’t know. I see a little glimmer of hope now and then. But he is definitely struggling,” Leif added.
“Well, we are almost done with workup,” I said. “We need to make a decision. If you guys have done everything you can and he is still not able—we might have to let him go.”
“Got it, boss,” Tony said.
“Check,” Leif responded.
This was going to be one of the hardest decisions that we were forced to make as a task unit up until this point. The challenge of balancing when to keep working with someone to improve and deciding when it was time to let that person go isn’t easy.
Leif and Charlie Platoon headed out on another operation in the field for a couple of days. When they came back, Leif came straight to me.
“I think we crossed the line on this last operation, Jocko,” he said. “Rock had some simple tasks out there. No pressure. No stress. But he failed at all of them. We had to pull him off those tasks and give his job to others. Luckily, they picked up the slack and we accomplished our mission. But it made it a lot tougher with Rock along. Not only did he not contribute, his deficiencies dragged the rest of the team down. It’s clear to me—there is nothing else we can do.”
Leif shook his head. “I hate this,” he continued. “Rock’s a good man. But he just gets overwhelmed. He’s a danger to himself and everybody else. He just can’t get to where we need him to be. I think we need to let him go.”
“It is a hard decision. Especially because I know you like him,” I told Leif.
“We all like Rock,” Leif replied. “He tries. He’s got heart. But he’s proven over and over again that he just can’t do the job. I’m afraid Rock is going to hurt himself, hurt someone else, or get someone hurt—especially once we get into combat. I feel I owe it to Rock to not put him in a situation so far beyond his capability. If he makes a bad decision and someone gets hurt or killed, Rock will have to carry that guilt for the rest of his life. I can’t, in good conscience, let that happen.”
“You’re right, Leif. And I know you’ve done everything you can to get him up to speed,” I assured him.
“I have, Jocko, I really have. We all have,” Leif replied.
I sat quiet for a minute, thinking about it. It was a hard decision—the hardest. When you fire someone in the SEAL Teams, you are ripping out their heart, smashing their dreams, taking them from their friends, ruining their career, and taking away their livelihood. It is not to be taken lightly. But at the same time, there is an even heavier burden: the lives of all the other men in the platoon—men who count on every SEAL being able to do his job and do it well. We all had to be capable of watching each other’s backs. And that’s all there was to it.
Another factor that weighed on my decision was equally important: Charlie Platoon was Leif’s platoon. He was the leader. I needed to trust his judgment. This was his toughest leadership decision yet as a platoon commander. Sure, he had made decisions during training operations and directed the day-to-day function of the platoon. But none of those decisions would have the same repercussions on one of his men as firing Rock. This would permanently impact Rock’s life. But Leif had thought long and hard about it—and so had I. We had done our utmost to find balance in the dichotomy: on the one hand, we wanted to be loyal to Rock; we wanted Rock to succeed and have a great career as a SEAL. But on the other hand, we had to be loyal to the greater team—to Charlie Platoon, to Task Unit Bruiser, and, above all, to our mission. We had to ensure everyone on the team could pull their weight. Rock couldn’t. We needed to do the right thing—the hard thing.
“Alright then,” I said. “We will pull him out of the platoon and send him back to the team for a Trident Review Board.”
With that, Leif and Tony called a meeting with Rock. They explained the situation to him, why they had made the decision, and what would happen next. Rock would have to await the results of the Trident Review Board.
The “Trident” was what we called the SEAL warfare insignia pin—a large golden eagle, flintlock pistol, anchor, and trident—we wore on our uniforms. A Trident Review Board consisted of the most experienced SEALs at the team, the noncommissioned officers: SEAL chiefs, senior chiefs, and master chiefs. They would review Rock’s case to decide whether he would continue as a SEAL and get another chance in a SEAL platoon down the road—or whether to pull his Trident and send him away to a non-SEAL command in the U.S. Navy surface fleet. The board reviewed Rock’s case, examined his safety violations, and heard testimony about his performance from Tony and Charlie Platoon’s leading petty officer. The decision was clear: the board ruled that Rock’s Trident be removed and that he be sent to the fleet. He would no longer be a SEAL, no longer be a part of the SEAL Teams.
Rock wasn’t happy about it. Yet, while he was upset to no longer be in the SEAL Teams, at the same time he showed some signs of relief—relief from the stress of trying to do a job he wasn’t capable of performing well. Although he was disappointed, he maintained a positive attitude and went on to have a successful career in the Navy.
* * *
In Ramadi, in the toughest combat situations I could have envisioned for us, Task Unit Bruiser performed as an exceptional team. The extensive training, mentorship, and guidance that had been passed on was critical to this. But our exceptional performance was also a function of making the tough decisions to let underperformers go. But resorting to the extreme of firing someone was the exception. On the other side of this dichotomy were the other four new guys in Charlie Platoon who excelled under the mentorship, coaching, and special effort made by the platoon leadership and experienced SEALs. While each new guy struggled at times, all of them, with the exception of Rock, got up to speed. Charlie Platoon’s veteran SEALs worked with them, trained with them, counseled them, and drove them to become upstanding members of Charlie Platoon and of the SEAL Teams. And that attitude—of doing everything you can to help your subordinates, peers, and leaders be the best they can possibly be—was critical to the success of Charlie Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser.
But that attitude had to be balanced by knowing when we as leaders had done everything we could to help an individual get up to speed, but the individual still fell short and the decision had to be made to let him go.
Principle
Most underperformers don’t need to be fired, they need to be led. But once every effort has been made to help an underperformer improve and all efforts have failed, a leader has to make the tough call to let that person go. This is the duty and responsibility of every leader.
Leaders are responsible for the output of the individuals on their team. The goal of any leader is to get the most out of every individual—to push each individual to reach his or her maximum potential so that the team itself can reach its maximum potential. Conversely, leaders must also understand that human beings have limitations; not every person on a team will be suited for a particular job. Some people might need a less technical position. Some people can’t handle stress. Some might not work well with others. Some might lack the creativity to come up with new ideas or solve problems. This doesn’t mean they are worthless—it just means that the leader needs to utilize them in a position where their strengths are fully capitalized. Once again, the leader is still trying to maximize the potential of every individual.
Occasionally, there are people who simply cannot perform to the required level in any capacity. Once a leader has exhausted remedial measures through coaching, mentoring, and counseling, the leader then must ma
ke the tough call: remove that individual from the team. The dichotomy in this situation is balancing between taking care of individuals by keeping them around even if they lack the skill set to do the job properly and protecting the team by removing people from positions where they negatively impact the team and the mission. A leader must be loyal to his individual team members and take care of them, but at the same time he must be loyal to the team itself and ensure that every member of the team has a net positive impact and doesn’t detract from mission execution.
One thing that causes problems with this dichotomy is the idea of Extreme Ownership. With Extreme Ownership we say, “No bad teams, only bad leaders.” When leaders try to live by that mantra, it usually has a positive outcome. When a leader has a substandard individual on the team, that leader takes ownership of the individual and ensures that the individual gets the training, coaching, and mentoring needed to get up to speed. That personal investment usually pays dividends: the substandard individual improves and becomes a solid contributor to the team.
But sometimes the substandard individual doesn’t improve; sometimes he or she can’t improve. Sometimes the individual simply lacks the necessary skills, capacity, or attitude to do a job. So the leader takes ownership of it and continues to invest time, energy, and money into the individual—but the individual’s capabilities still don’t improve. As the leader continues investing time and resources into one individual, other members of the team and other priorities are neglected and the team can begin to falter. Also, as other team members see a leader pouring resources into one nonperforming individual, the team might question the leader’s judgment.
This is when leaders must bring their efforts into balance. Instead of focusing on one individual, leaders must remember that there is a team—and that the performance of the team trumps the performance of a single individual. Instead of continuing to invest in one subpar performer, once a concerted effort has been made to coach and train that individual to no avail, the leader must remove the individual. It can be one of the hardest decisions a leader has to make, but it is the right one.
The Dichotomy of Leadership: Balancing the Challenges of Extreme Ownership to Lead and Win Page 10