It's because we should not exist.
After World War II, the United States didn't have a lot left for its military budget. The Army argued that the Marines did the same thing as soldiers and sailors, so why not move things about so the Army could have the Marine Corps’ money? That did not go over well, and the Marine Corps generals argued to Congress so full-throatedly that the Marines were ultimately protected by the National Security Act of 1947.
We have not forgotten.
In his book, First to Fight, Marine Corps General Victor Krulak argued the importance of continuing the Marine Corps, asserting several times the uniqueness of the Marines: We can fight and we can do it while wet.
That history has led to an eternal fight for relevance.
We're tied to our stories and our accomplishments on the battlefield and our heroes and our nicknames because we can't let you forget our importance. We say our aviation is different. It's not—both the Army and the Air Force have similar operations. We say our amphibious operations are different. Well, the Army does amphibious operations, too. We say our infantry is different and that's why women shouldn't serve in it. We are the only service to maintain segregated boot camp. We say that everything about us is different, but that's not true, and the differences that we do have are not always different in good ways.
But, of course, we don't take ownership of any problems, or someone in Congress might hear us and do away with us. I think it's the fight for relevance that makes us seem a bit cultish.
The fear of a threat to your existence will make you fight harder and dig in your heels harder. When was the last time you heard about a cult admitting to an error?
Our messaging is particularly impressive.
We push this image that Marine infantrymen are the ultimate athletes. Nope. Just like the other branches, we get a bunch of skinny eighteen-year-olds who smoke too many cigarettes, drink way too much beer, and eat Pop Tarts for breakfast. That's okay: Eventually they grow up and they do their jobs. Sometimes they even bulk up. But the point is that we've become so great at telling America what we are—brawny, bulky, leathernecky men—that America believes us.
We're the most trusted service, and we're ’Merica's 911 fighting force. Why would anything need to change?
We're perfect.
I love my Marine Corps, and I've told you why; but, in some ways, we set ourselves up for scandal because we're so afraid that if we acknowledge the truth, the myth might fall.
Joe and I never fit that mold. We always looked at the Marine Corps with one eyebrow up because we knew we weren't as good as everybody thought we were. I think it's healthy to have that kind of skepticism. I think that's how you get better. The State Department emphasizes the need for constructive dissent in its ranks for exactly that reason, and they even give awards for it. It allows them to fix issues before they become disasters, while also making people feel like their voices are heard and respected.
The Marine Corps doesn't have anything like that. To speak ill of the Marine Corps if you're in it means you are “other.” You become the problem.
Oddly enough, until Parris Island, most of my bosses recognized that I was “other,” but they didn't see my squeaky wheel as a problem. This was because they understood that I wanted to make the units I was in better (which, in turn, made my bosses look better, too.)
Parris Island, however, takes cultish behavior to an extreme. After all—this is where we “make Marines.” Because young officers fall under drill instructors’ command while they train at Officer Candidates School, officers tend to be intimidated by DIs. The campaign hat and the shiny belt buckle evoke images of eating dirt while doing push-ups. This attitude can even be held by those who outrank the DIs. For example, Joe told me that when he ran the DI school at San Diego, his first sergeant trained the officers who would go on to lead recruit units. Lesson number one? “Don't be afraid to step up and correct the DIs. This is no different from the rest of the Marine Corps: You're in charge.”
But that is exactly what is different at Parris Island: The enlisted personnel run the cult. The enlisted don't want officers interfering with their business. The enlisted Marines believe they're the ones who make Marines. Nowhere else in the Marine Corps would it be acceptable that officers didn't contribute to the welfare and education and mentoring of their Marines.
You walk onto the base and, as an officer, you don't feel welcome in your own house. You have the sergeants major, the most senior enlisted Marines on the base, contributing to this idea that officers shouldn't be walking around their base; officers shouldn't be in their squad bays. And officers allowed it.
If all of the enlisted Marines had been doing an amazing job, I suppose Parris Island could have been an easy tour for an officer.
They were not.
Good Afternoon Ma'am,
First of all, I hope things are going as well as they can be going for you right now. I never got the chance to officially shake your hand and tell you thank you before my wife and I left. If there was ever an officer that I would want to emulate, it would definitely be you, Ma'am. My wife speaks so highly of you, your ambition, and your character. She loves to say that you and her have the same mentality. Ma'am, I truly appreciate everything you have done for her. She never lost faith in you and the SgtMaj. You were the main driving force that kept her fighting to work harder, be louder, and demand
