E Pluribus Unum: A Lesson for America from Special Operations
A recalling of the presidential election of Donald Trump, and reflection years later…
Having served nearly two decades as a warfighter in the US military and concurrently what most would describe as a “moderate liberal,” my path wasn’t always easy. During the George W. Bush era, I traveled back and forth to the Middle East on combat deployments in the war on terror. And as a part of the political minority within the American military demographic, I often found myself at the same time wondering why over half the military, and country, seemed to believe that we were actually in the middle of another religious crusade. That’s admittedly a bit of an exaggeration—but that’s at least what it felt like at the time.
At times, I deliberated over whether or not I truly wanted to continue being a part of what we were doing—not because I thought it was wrong, but because of that very “crusader” culture. I hadn’t joined to partake in a religious war. I had joined to serve my country. I believed that the enemy we were fighting needed hunted, and killed, as much as anyone else next to me; but felt strongly that any sentiment that we were in some sort of a crusade of “Christianity versus Islam” was wholly self-defeating to our nation, and its ideals, and damaging to the very fight we were in.
My higher reasoning eventually came through, though. I realized that, even though the culture of crusaderism did exist, the higher leadership of our armed forces—all the way up to the president—did not advocate in any way that our fight was a religious one. I also consoled in myself that my purpose, as an American warfighter, was higher than any of that nonsense. I served for the ideals that I believed America embodied, even if from my perspective some leaders and politicians who I served under didn’t necessarily live up to those ideals.
I could respect President Bush as a man, even if I didn’t agree with all of his decisions and policies. He was generally an upstanding person, as far as I can remember anyway, and intelligent—even if he couldn’t speak publicly off-the-cuff to save his life. He was my Commander in Chief and, in that capacity, I did not disrespect him. Yet still, some of my brothers-in-arms, that were his most ardent supporters, came to view me as somehow less patriotic when they learned of my personal lack of support for his presidency, even if we were all doing the same thing downrange. Then, President Obama took office. I was overjoyed. He was the first black president, he was the first president I had seen in my lifetime who actually paid mention to the nonreligious as well as others outside of Judeo-Christianity, and he stood for the values that I believed truly made America extraordinary.
Of course, the next eight years brought its ups and downs. I didn’t always agree with President Obama’s policies and decisions, by any means—especially when it came to policies on our war efforts in the Middle East that directly affected me and my brothers-in-arms and often meant life or death. I felt Obama let us down in a few other arenas, as well, that I’d really thought he was going to change. Nonetheless, I still believed in him as a president, and I greatly respected his character, charisma, intelligence, compassion, and example as a family man.
When I was angry at the Obama administration, for whatever policy failure I saw, I’d often reflect to myself, “Well, at least it isn’t Bush still in office.” But during the 2016 presidential election cycle, as I looked back on the Bush era, my problems with President Bush seemed so small. In this new presidential election, between nominees Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, I found myself watching what I could only describe as a child of a man in the running to be the one of the most powerful people in the world. I cringed at his every word, and in him I saw a man who incited bigotry, racism, misogyny, and the highest level of insult and uncouthness one could ever imagine from a man aspiring to be the leader of the free world. He was a man with words so powerful, and a propaganda machine so prolific, that he ignited a divisive social and political fire.
I could not believe what was unfolding. To me, here was man full of lies, conspiracies, ignorance, and hate, and yet half the country rallied behind him for one reason or another. The most vile and racist hate groups in our country were overtly endorsing him, to which he made little or no statement. And he publicly lauded Russian president Vladimir Putin—the dangerous and corrupt leader of one of our most powerful adversaries, whose government acted in complete opposition to American ideals and interests.
I have two amazing young daughters, and their unspoken gift has helped me find the compassion toward my fellow man that I saw wholly lacking in movements epitomized by Trump. I believed I had to fight against his movement, figuratively of course—for me and for my family. Although the democratic candidate Hillary Clinton was not my first choice, I did not buy into the massive conspiracies spread against her. It was clear that she had made mistakes, some of them quite significant, and I felt she had not really taken the kind of responsibility I would have hoped for. But I didn’t believe she was a criminal, and I saw her far from the evil power-monger that many painted her to be. I was upset about her mistakes, for sure—but I thought those negatives truly paled in comparison to the dangers I saw in Trump.
The presidential election of 2016 became not simply about politics, but a story of ignorance, hate and apathy versus intelligence, love, and compassion. To me, at least back then, Hillary Clinton was a person who would stand for the greatest ideals of our nation: equality, compassion to the less fortunate, accepting of people of all colors, creeds, and cloths, and the symbol of strength and prosperity for the betterment of all of humanity. I became “with her,” as the campaign slogan went. I thought, at best, she would uphold those great ideals and continue to make America an even better version of itself. At worst, we would at least have someone sane in the Whitehouse.
Fast-forward to my shock and disappointment on the evening of November 8, 2016.
For weeks leading up to election night, I had told my wife, confidently, in regard to a Trump win, “Don’t worry honey, it’s not gonna’ happen.” She, on the other hand, was never so confident. As we sat on the couch together, watching the polls anxiously, our girls sound asleep in their beds upstairs, we couldn’t believe our eyes as the results came streaming in. Soon, we had multiple text and social media threads going with close friends and family—all of us lamenting in shock and disbelief at Trump’s impending win. I poured a heavy glass of Scotch as the last hours of vote counting showed a clean electoral win for Trump. The Scotch did little to curb my angst, though.
I truly never thought I would have taken the Trump win so bad. But, then, I never thought it would happen in the first place. The next day, the core of me didn’t even want to show for work. Of course, I had to—I was a senior noncommissioned officer and the chief of our special tactics unit’s joint terminal attack controller training and operations program. It was my duty and I couldn’t shirk that over sentiment. But, as sad as it is to say now, I just wanted to quit and leave the military. I thought about my impending retirement—a retirement already planned for then, but seeming all the sweeter to think of. I wish it were here already, I thought to myself.
I could not imagine serving under Donald Trump as my Commander in Chief. A man whose entire character, as a human being, I utterly despised. And who I thought represented the worst about America. A man whose bigotry seemed to know no bounds, and had incited the greatest racial divide in our country since the civil rights movement. A man whose conduct toward and statements about women made me look at my precious, wide-eyed daughters on so many occasions and feel an aching in my heart to think that they would still grow up in an America filled with men like him who saw them as something less—and as sexual objects worth only the weight of their beauty. A man who knew nothing about what I and others like me had been doing back and forth for over a decade in the Middle East, who advocated for war crimes during chest-beating tirades in rallies. A man who thought was it perfectly OK to ridicule the disabled, and who had severely disrespected the sacrifice of one of our country’s greatest veterans, Senator John McCain, for political gain.
Some called Trump’s words harmless rhetoric. Some called them angry venting. Some called it the reflection of a man who was just the “anti-establishment” that we needed. I called it hate, racism, bigotry, misogyny, authoritarianism, and one of the most dangerous politicians this country had possibly ever seen.
I drove to work the next morning in a bit of a haze in continued disbelief. The drive was far longer than usual, but not because of the time. It was a cool and quiet morning, a little overcast. But there was no chaos on the roads, no rioting, and no obnoxious signs. Thank the gods, I thought to myself. Life went on uninterrupted, at least where I was. And as my first cup of coffee hit my mind, cohesive and rational thoughts started finally coming together. My wife had texted me sweet notes of hope and resolve. And a mentor of mine, retired Army Major General Dana Pittard—who I would later co-author Hunting the Caliphate with—texted me relaying his mutual disappointment. But he calmly reminded me that our best course of action would be to help unite our country. I knew that they were both right.
“Fuck him,” I nonetheless mouthed to myself about Trump.
Still, as I thought more on that long drive, I realized that I could not go around hanging my head because of Trump’s presidential win. I couldn’t allow what I saw as a shell of a man, and a bully and his movement, to defeat me or what I believed America truly was. This situation could only have power over me, over us, if we allowed it.
I showed to the unit that morning to business as usual. Not much discussion was going on at all about the election results. We had important things to do, after all, towards an ongoing mission that could not be stopped or slowed by the distractions of a political election. That was a relief, and the best part of the day so far was to be reminded of that fact.
In my small and tight-knit “Fires” team, there were a couple of teammates whose friendship and character I greatly valued. Yet, they were Trump supporters from the start. They liked his anti-establishment movement, and they were Republican by political alignment so they wanted at least the ideals of their party represented in the Whitehouse. I understood their position, but was still floored that they could back such a man as Donald Trump. Both of them were very intelligent, and far from racist or bigoted. They were men who I really respected and so, in many ways, I couldn’t put the two together.
The funniest thing was, they always said all the same sorts of things about me. Over the previous few months of election chaos, the banter between us never stopped. Friendly and sometimes not-so-friendly berating of each other’s presidential candidate and political views was the name of the game. Of course, in our stereotyped insults, slung back and forth at one another, I was the “leftist liberal hippy” and they were the “ignorant deplorables.” Even though those were qualities that none of us actually felt about each other.
I was ready for some gloating on their part when I got into team office. They had already texted me the night prior, when the win was confirmed, equally shocked at the results but rubbing their win in nonetheless. Of course, I deserved it. I had been bragging to them for weeks that Hillary had it in the bag. In fact, my then-spoiled plan had been to bring in a box of donuts with a print-out of Hillary’s face taped to the front after she won. So, I had it coming, and was going to take it in stride.
My buddies were both out when I got into the office early that morning. A couple hours later, as I was sitting at my desk catching up on emails—yes, even in special ops the email demons rules—one of them came through the door.
Gerard was black, and a Republican who had voted for Trump. That, in itself, was a subject of constant ridicule from all the team guys during our banter. He came through the door happy-go-lucky as usual. And he stopped cold when he saw me sitting at the desk peering at him quietly. He put his hand out toward me, as if to gesture to shake hands. A giant shit-eating grin broke on his face.
I got up and walked toward him, slowly and somberly, both of us silent. I stopped in front of him, paused, and then quickly jumped at him—feigning as if to stab him in the stomach while I through gritted teeth. “Thanks a lot, you mother fucker!” We both cracked up together, man-hugged, and bullshitted for a while on how crazy the election was.
A little later, my other avid-Trump-supporter teammate came in. The three of us talked some more about the election, along with rest of the guys in the office. They knew my thoughts towards Trump, but they just didn’t share my perspective. They agreed that he had some great character faults, but they didn’t look at his rhetoric in the same way I did. They tried to console my angst and frustration at the loss, telling me all the good that they thought might come from a Trump presidency. And, although I still disagreed with their opinions on the future consequences of his presidency—it was their intent that really mattered. That was true friendship. Those were true teammates.
For my teammates and me, in the end, it didn’t matter what our political, religious, or other affiliations were. We still knew that our purpose—and our bond—was higher than the president we voted for, the political ideals we held, or religion we may have believed in. Even with completely oppositional political views and outlooks, each of us would have risked our life for one another on the battlefield. We were brothers who stood for something greater than any one man or woman. We were accustomed to putting aside our differences towards a common mission. After all, it was our job to help safeguard the sacred freedoms that we all held dearest about America—the freedom for each and every one of us to be exactly who and what we wish to be even amongst people far different from ourselves, and the ability for all of us from so many diverse backgrounds to live together in relative peace and safety. I was then, and am today, convinced that no one will take that from America, no matter how hard they may try.
From that day, I resolved that I could not forsake our greater purpose, nor my countrymen and those I loved, simply because of one person or a movement. As long as I wore the uniform, I would still be proud. Because the uniform, and the flag that it bears, are never for any one person. They are worn for America and her people….
Update May, 2021
Time went on, and the Trump presidency became exactly what so many like me had feared. But as for me, just like most people in America, life went on. I kept serving. I even deployed under the Trump administration in a senior role in the special operations task force during one of the heights of fighting in Afghanistan. I acknowledged the good and the bad that came out of Trump’s policies for my world and our efforts in the war on terror—just like I’d done during the Obama and Bush years before him. I later retired from the military and moved on with a new life.
In 2020, President Joe Biden was elected, in a stunning election upset—and to the equal dismay of most Republicans.
Over the years since, I have realized that my lessons that day, on November 8, 2016, were something to hold dear to. And something that so many in our country can gain from embodying. I have seen, first-hand, how the “civilian” world has a harder time reconciling such vast differences with one another than my experiences in the military and special operations. In the normal world, it is often far easier, and more convenient, for us to separate ourselves from those not like us and keep ourselves in a protective and sanitized bubble of our own making.
As Americans, we have a common purpose: To strive for upholding the ideals that have made this country what it is. Or, perhaps, what we believe it should be. There are disagreements among us, but there is also common ground. And that is what can and should unite us.
