EVERY ADMINISTRATION LEAVES ITS MARK on the U.S. military. Some do so quietly, through budgetary or force-structure transformations. Others do so through the conduct of wars, or the conclusion of wars, or personnel reforms. But this past year will be remembered for something different: an erosion of the professional, legal, and ethical guardrails that have guided, protected, and enhanced America’s armed forces for generations.
None of this should come as a surprise.
Before this administration took office, I wrote that the job of secretary of defense is among the most demanding in government—requiring not just good intentions or battlefield experience, but deep institutional fluency, a sixth sense for organizational and bureaucratic dynamics, and an appreciation for how law, strategy, politics, alliances, and civil-military norms intersect. Very few people, even the most experienced and accomplished business or government leaders, arrive ready for that responsibility.
Last January, my questions were prospective. Would any new secretary be prepared for the challenges facing the U.S. military in 2025? Those challenges included a grinding war in Ukraine with direct implications for European security; sustained strategic competition with China across military, economic, and technological domains; persistent instability in the Middle East; a recruiting and retention crisis across the all-volunteer force; aging platforms, strained resources, and a defense industrial base under stress; and tenuous civil-military trust after two decades of war. The office of the secretary of defense does not compensate for the person who occupies it, and the world does not slow down to accommodate inexperience.
My observations were not about personalities. They were about the nature of the office. Nearly a year into Secretary Pete Hegseth’s tenure, these questions are no longer hypothetical.
Over the past year, we have seen what happens when the demands of that job outpace preparation, management, or leadership. What we have seen is not a single controversy or isolated misjudgment, but rather a pattern: the normalization of behavior that previous administrations—Republican and Democratic alike—understood instinctively to be out of bounds when leading the world’s best military.
There is now a record—not of intentions or rhetoric, but of outcomes. Over the past year, the Department of Defense’s public posture—and much of its internal energy—has been consumed by issues that do little to address the challenges our military faces, while several of the rules and norms that helped make the American military the best in the world have been weakened, ignored, or broken.
The secretary of defense is the civilian authority who translates the president’s orders to the Joint Staff and the combatant commanders worldwide. That role requires precise language and orders, meticulous operational planning, adherence to legal authorities, control over the escalation of force, and an understanding of the strategic consequences of military action. The Department of Defense is a vast professional institution governed by law, tradition, and process for a reason. Those mechanisms exist to prevent error, abuse, and miscalculation—and to protect civilian leaders as much as the force itself.
Effective secretaries empower senior military leaders to provide candid advice. They expect disagreement. They understand that professional tension is not insubordination; it is a safeguard within the relationship between appointed civilian leaders and those in the profession of arms. That applies as much to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs and service chiefs as to judge advocates general and inspectors general. They are not political actors. They are statutory advisors, obligated to provide their best military and legal judgment, they are not there to simply confirm civilian preferences. Effective secretaries empower senior leaders to provide candid advice. They expect disagreement and contrary opinions.
The dismissal or sidelining of senior military leaders by the secretary—often without clear explanation—began from the very beginning of this year, and it sent a troubling signal throughout the force that professional disagreement may carry extreme personal risk. That perception alone is corrosive.
Historically, secretaries of defense have been sparing and deliberate when relieving general and flag officers. Secretary Robert Gates, in his memoir Duty, explains the decision to replace a single senior officer early in his tenure. He was explicit about why he did it, what failure it addressed, and what message he intended to send. Such actions are rare, but when clearly explained, they reinforce standards rather than sow uncertainty. Removing a senior officer without a clearly articulated cause sends a message far beyond the individual involved.
Whatever the internal justifications, the absence of transparency has had predictable second-order effects. Officers do not see standards being enforced; they see uncertainty. And uncertainty breeds caution—not the kind that prevents recklessness, but the kind that discourages candor. When senior leaders cannot discern whether a firing is tied to competence, disagreement, optics, or politics, history shows that professional advice is silenced, as silence becomes safer than dissent. This dynamic does not show up immediately in the headlines. It shows up later—in flawed planning, risk avoidance, institutional silence, casualties on the battlefield, and lost wars.
Over the past year, U.S. forces have been employed episodically across multiple theaters—through maritime and air strikes, special operations, limited small-scale attacks, and even deployments of troops on American soil. Some of these actions are normal. What isn’t normal is how many of those have occurred without a clear articulation of strategic objectives or legal frameworks.
In several of these cases, military force has been used to “solve” problems that were historically managed through other means: law enforcement, diplomacy, or intelligence cooperation. This is not an argument against the use of force; it is a caution about the expansion of military authorities into non-traditional missions. Designating fentanyl as a “weapon of mass destruction,” followed by lethal military action against suspected traffickers beyond U.S. borders, represents a profound shift in how military power is justified and applied. Similarly, repeated rhetoric about domestic deployments of military forces for “law and order” missions strains civil-military norms when both governors and courts object. These guardrails exist not to weaken the military, but to preserve legitimacy. Once eroded, they are tough to rebuild.
A third troubling development of the past year has been the normalization of behavior that previous administrations of both parties understood to be unacceptable and damaging. When generals, admirals, and senior enlisted leaders hear the secretary’s emphasis on speed, aggressiveness, and lethality, while downplaying concerns about legal constraints or rules of engagement, such guidance falls flat with career professionals. That’s because rules of engagement and legal frameworks are not bureaucratic hurdles but operational tools providing clarity, predictability, and protection—for civilians, partners, and U.S. forces alike. These guardrails are how commanders ensure unity of effort and prevent tactical actions from creating negative strategic consequences.
Military forces know that a force that operates within clear legal and ethical boundaries is more disciplined, more predictable, and more effective over time. This is not academic theory; it is operational reality learned through painful experience. Legal standards are not a hindrance to military effectiveness but an element of it. Law is not a brake on combat power—it is an enabler of legitimacy, alliance cohesion, and successful operations. It is what separates a professional fighting force from a gang of thugs.
The tensions between the secretary of defense and the military have been particularly visible in recent operations in the Caribbean, where military assets have been employed in roles that sit uncomfortably between law enforcement, counter-narcotics, and armed conflict. It doesn’t help that various members of the administration inconsistently imply that the overall objective is the most challenging possible mission, regime change. When civilian leaders emphasize lethality while remaining ambiguous about objectives and legal boundaries, commanders become risk managers rather than mission leaders. They spend time protecting their people—not from the adversary, but from uncertainty from above. We’re seeing the effects of that daily.
Adding to that uncertainty, the 2025 National Security Strategy (and the soon-to-be-published National Defense Strategy) signals monumental changes in alliance management, burden-sharing rhetoric, potential command structures, and even the positioning of forces. While strategies inevitably evolve, this one did so without the gradual alignment of planning assumptions, coordination, or allied consultation that typically precede such change. The result has left combatant commanders and their subordinate commanders to reconcile new strategic language with existing plans, and has caused service chiefs to scramble to rebalance their forces. Just as importantly, allies—who have been nurtured over decades of tough military engagement and multinational training with U.S. forces—are also left to interpret whether rhetorical changes reflect policy, posture, or transient politics. Long-term deterrence depends on consistency, alliances depend on predictability, and institutions depend on continuity. Because the secretary of defense is also one of America’s most important diplomats, his words and actions should contribute to, not detract from, the shaping of allied confidence and adversary calculations.
Nowhere is this clearer than in Europe, a place where I spent most of my career and where NATO allies have watched U.S. policy toward Ukraine fluctuate—aid slowed, reframed, conditioned, or rhetorically minimized—often without strategic explanation. European leaders understand burden-sharing, and many have dramatically increased defense spending and readiness since 2022. What unsettles them is not disagreement, but inconsistency. Persistent discussion of force withdrawals from Europe, casual questioning of alliance obligations, or proposals to restructure long-standing command arrangements without coordination do not look like efficiency to allies. They look like decoupling.
Adversaries, meanwhile, are also disciplined observers. They note when professional advice is sidelined, when decisions appear impulsive, and when institutional safeguards are treated as obstacles rather than strengths. This is how miscalculation often begins—not with confrontation, but with altered expectations.
The most consequential choice of the past year has been where the secretary has directed his attention. The U.S. military faces genuine readiness challenges: recruiting shortfalls, retention stress, aging platforms, depleted munitions stockpiles, industrial-base fragility, cyber vulnerabilities, and the evolution of war itself, informed by lessons from various foreign conflicts. Yet disproportionate energy has been devoted to symbolic cultural battles. Culture matters, but it isn’t shaped by edicts, slogans, or pull-ups. It is shaped by trust, competence, fairness, caring for the whole force, and leadership by example. When senior leaders focus on ideological signaling instead of institutional performance, they risk undermining both.
Morale is not measured in press releases. It is felt in formations, command posts, and quiet conversations. The U.S. military remains resilient and professional, and the force continues to serve honorably. But professional behavior is discouraged when disagreement feels unsafe, when missions aren’t clear, when legal and ethical standards appear negotiable, when allies question U.S. reliability, and when leaders appear more focused on politics than on the institution’s health.
The most troubling aspect of this year is not any single operation or policy. It is the normalization of conduct that once would have caused a rapid readjustment, the quiet assumption that someone else will raise the legal concern, the belief that standards and professional norms have become optional.
Unless the guardrails are assessed and rebuilt—deliberately and soon—the damage will not be confined to this first year. If Pentagon civilian leadership continues to use the military as a plaything to pose with or deploy in political contests, it will cease to be a professional force.
Great Job Mark Hertling & the Team @ The Bulwark Source link for sharing this story.
