But that was exactly what was wrong with the battalion when I arrived: No one was held accountable, let alone required to use the chain of command.
So as we were swimming along, doing great things on the range and working to improve physical-fitness scores and our ability to hike, some of my companies did great.
But November Company, which had the most problems with rank structure and Mean Girl syndrome, continued to lag behind the rest of the battalion in every graduation category.
It makes sense, on some level. As a drill instructor, if you've been told for two-thirds of your tour that you're amazing, you're doing everything right, and you're the cream of the crop, and then somebody comes in with no drill-instructor experience and says, “Please don't use foul language” or “You shouldn't be physical with the recruits,” you're going to think (or say), “Who the eff are you to tell me what to do?”
Many of the drill instructors and officers in November Company, probably 20–30 percent, even if they disagreed, still changed. Honestly, it would have been stupid for them not to come along, because the majority of the battalion was moving in that direction. But the majority of November stayed stuck. In some ways, it was almost like Stockholm syndrome. The officers had been marginalized, and the drill instructors had been abused as recruits themselves, and/or abused as drill instructors when they showed up at Parris Island. Now they respected or felt protective of the methods that had diminished the status of the officers and had resulted in physical and mental trauma for the DIs.
When I arrived at Parris Island, I had two weak company commanders—for November and Papa Companies. Generally, my other officers were either onboard and enthusiastic, or they were onboard and sort of biding their time before their tours ended. My battalion executive officer (XO) was a problem. That's three of the eleven officers I had on staff, and it made a huge difference. They were a trifecta of negative influence.
Unknown to me, my boss, Colonel Haas, was nursing a grudge because I continued to send out those emails to the recruiting commanders, even though I copied him on each one. To my knowledge, he never said, “Because I'm concerned about Kate's leadership, I should probably spend more time with her and see for myself what is happening in her battalion.” He did not counsel me, he did not call me, and he did not spend time watching our training.
There was no way for me to improve my relationship with him.
I later realized that Colonel Haas and the trifecta had set the stage for all of the follow-on discussion at the highest levels of the Marine Corps about me being a problem. I didn't know it then, but that's what “mobbing” is: It's presenting the squeaky wheel as the suspect—making them the problem.
Other.
Outside of the Marine Corps, you might see it this way: You point out some problems with the structure of your organization or some policies and procedures that aren't working to everyone's benefit. Because they feel threatened by the idea of change, your co-workers gang up on you to spread rumors about you, intimidate you, humiliate you, discredit you, or isolate you. This is all done with the intent to try to force you out.
Because such behavior is so far outside the realm of normal, mobbing is hard to respond to or address at first. Mobbing seems petty and silly, and like something that should be easily fixed. When it takes the shape of gossip, as it often does, it's hard to even know that it is going on at all; this is because mobbing is, by design, invisible. As time went on and these mobbing behaviors became more blatant, I thought someone above me would see what was happening and take action to remedy the situation. I thought everyone could see what was happening. In fact, our commanding general told me he knew what was going on. Further, I didn't realize that Colonel Haas was trying to oust me—I thought he simply didn't like me. We've all worked with someone we simply didn't like on a personal level. But that doesn't mean that we push that person out. Working with someone you don't like really stinks, but it happens. You deal with it. After years of stellar work reviews, I thought people could see my merits, too. Not just the gossip and mobbing.
Because I was so unfamiliar with what was happening, I did exactly the opposite of what experts say you should do in that situation: I fought back. I showed them statistics. I argued my case. I tried to address the mobbing directly, with educational briefings and on-site corrections.
But I failed to recognize that it was too late—now it looked like I was the problem. They could present me as a bad leader, push me out, and go back to their poor behaviors.
By the time I realized they were trying to push me out, I was an absolute stress case. I started to second-guess myself. Am I bad a person? A bad leader?
By the time I left Parris Island, I thought I was losing my mind.
When I got to Parris Island, November Company's CO had just taken command.
She wasn't great.
When I first started, I'd have the company commanders come to my office once a week for round-table discussions. We'd do activities such as reading an article about leadership or change management, and then talking about it together. These weekly meetings presented an opportunity to talk about issues within the companies and how best to address them, offered me the chance to mentor based on my own experiences, and allowed us all to get to know each other's leadership styles better. They could toss around ideas and provide solutions for each other.
