In the Shadow of Greatness

by Joshua Welle

  By 2005, the situation in al-Qa’im had worsened significantly. The force of Iraqi insurgents known as Hamza was increasingly bolstered by arriving foreign fighters from just across the border with Syria. Eventually the Marines ceased operating inside the city, occupying only a few checkpoints and fortified positions on the outskirts. The Marines named one of the largest of these positions Camp Gannon following its namesake’s death.

  With the Marines no longer in the city, Hamza and foreign fighters began fighting each other for supremacy. The latter triumphed, effectively expelling Hamza from its own city. Now in control, the foreign fighters, known as al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQIZ), posted signs at the outskirts of the city proclaiming it the Islamic Republic of al-Qa’im. They barred girls from attending school, forced men to grow beards, and executed Iraqis in the streets.

  As with most events in Iraq, the reasons for what happened next are unclear to me, but my understanding is that Hamza realized that the allied American and Iraqi government forces were not only the lesser of two evils, but also represented their best chance for returning home. When we retook the city, Hamza, now called the Desert Protectors, were on our side.

  Operation Steel Curtain, to take back al-Qai’m, had begun on November 5, 2005. My AAV (amphibious assault vehicle) company had been attached to Regimental Combat Team 2, and one of my platoons would be conducting a feint attack on Ubaydi, the easternmost town in the region, with a light armored reconnaissance company. Meanwhile, another two of our platoons would support 3rd Battalion, 6th Marines, as they entered the town of Husaybah, joined to the south by 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, who were responsible for the “440 District,” a neighborhood that jutted westward from the southern end of Husaybah. To the north, soldiers from the 82nd Airborne patrolled the farmland between the town and the Euphrates.

  As the AAV company’s executive officer, I was responsible for ensuring that the Marines at the front were well-supplied. This meant that I spent the majority of my time running convoys from Camp al-Qaim, which had been built on a former rail depot several miles south of the city’s populated area and about fifteen miles southeast of Camp Gannon.

  The trip from Camp al-Qaim to Camp Gannon would have been easy but for the fact that the road between the two ran through Karabilah and Husaybah, where the AQIZ were still active, meaning that improvised explosive devices were everywhere. Convoys bypassed the area by driving through the desert toward the Syrian border, marked by just three strands of concertina wire, and then traveling north to Camp Gannon.

  During one such convoy, we encountered a makeshift refugee camp. A large tent had been erected, and I saw sixty or so Iraqi children running around and playing, supervised by a handful of adults. I tried to speak to some of the adults, but I didn’t have an interpreter with me. Our efforts to communicate were unsuccessful, until an elderly Bedouin woman appeared and spoke to me in broken English. I could see faded tattoos on her face although she held part of her headscarf over her mouth. It was clear that she had not spoken English in years, but I was able to discern that they needed food and water.

  Upon our return to Camp al-Qaim, I went to find food for the Iraqis. We usually had supplies of “halal meals,” which are similar to the Meals, Ready to Eat (MREs) that we ate, except they don’t contain pork, and they are intended for civilians. On this occasion, however, all the supplies had been taken to a refugee camp that the Marines had set up inside Husaybah. Given the situation, we decided we would bring them some MREs and have an interpreter write a note in Arabic explaining which meals contained pork. We returned to the camp and dropped off the supplies. The children crowded around us and asked us to take photos with them while the adults shook our hands and thanked us profusely. It was undoubtedly the best day I spent in Iraq.

  I sometimes felt guilty that I was running convoys through the desert while other Marines were fighting and dying nearby and wondered whether I was making a significant contribution to the mission. On the return to Camp al-Qaim that evening, a senior Marine put things in perspective for me. He said, “Twenty years from now, those kids will still remember the time they were hungry in the desert and the Marines brought them food.”

  Upon returning to the States, I was assigned to supervise a Marine Reserve training center in Tampa. The office of my commanding officer, Lt. Col. Minter Ralston, had been connected to mine. When he read the paper each morning, I was treated to a lengthy diatribe on the major issues. There was one point he made repeatedly, and it stuck with me: There were significantly fewer veterans serving in Congress than in the past. This, he felt, was a major component of many of the problems with government. Although I enjoyed my job, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I left active duty and enrolled in a graduate program at Princeton to study international relations and tried to figure out what I wanted to do next.

  In graduate school, Lieutenant Colonel Ralston’s words kept coming back to me, so I researched the changing proportion of veterans in Congress. I learned that the decline was even steeper than Ralston had realized. Whereas at the end of the Vietnam War, 75 percent of Congress had served in uniform, by 9/11 that proportion had dropped to just 33 percent. Even more startling was the continued drop since then: Today slightly more than 20 percent of Congress has military experience.

  While at Princeton, I was invited to attend Ready to Run, a seminar on political campaigning for women. The goal was to teach women who were intensely involved in their communities how to run for office. The concept was inspiring. I immediately thought of another untapped resource of potential leaders—the men and women I had served with. I thought about the selflessness my Marines had shown through their service. We intimately understood the incredible capabilities, limits, and unintended consequences of U.S. foreign policy, and I thought about how so many of us, with different backgrounds and beliefs, had managed civil affairs situations far more delicate than anything one might experience in an American city. I concluded that there should be a program like Ready to Run for veterans and immediately decided to create one. Although I was in no way qualified to design such a program, I’d been similarly unqualified to command an AAV platoon; I’d simply been surrounded by Marines who were willing to share their knowledge with me. At Princeton, I was surrounded by classmates who had either worked on a campaign or had significant ties to campaign professionals.

  Yet as one of only two veterans in my class, I wasn’t sure how keen those who hadn’t served would be about helping train veterans to run for office. I’d heard about the experiences of Vietnam veteran Pete Dawkins when he was a Princeton grad student. Dawkins, likely the most impressive cadet in the history of West Point, was a Heisman Trophy winner, Rhodes scholar, Brigade commander, captain of the football team, and president of his class. He deployed to Vietnam with the 82nd Airborne, earning two Bronze Stars. Later in life, he campaigned for the U.S. Senate, losing in a close race to Frank Lautenberg and a crack campaign team that included the not-yet-famous Jim Carville and Paul Begala.

  As a graduate student at Princeton in 1970, Dawkins’s Vietnam service and all-American pedigree had made him the target of student antiwar protestors. Students posted “Dump Dawkins” posters throughout campus, staged demonstrations, and demanded that he be removed from the university. Dawkins was saved by an unlikely guardian angel, a left-wing sociology professor named Marion Levy, who had served in the Navy in World War II. Levy challenged the students to a debate and ultimately shredded the students’ arguments so thoroughly that they backed down.

  We’ve come a long way since Pete Dawkins’s time. Forty years later, with the proportion of veterans in Congress down by nearly two-thirds, my experience was starkly different. My fellow students, rather than demanding that I be removed from campus, helped lobby the administration to fund a workshop to train veterans to run for office. I spent the summer of 2009 in Washington, D.C., reaching out to people who could teach veterans the basics of campaigning. Lacking an office, I started the organization that w
ould become Veterans Campaign out of the Army Navy Club’s business center, which was now adorned with a memorial to Captain Gannon. A large, framed photo of him hung next to the doorway, inspiring me whenever I felt discouraged.

  We held our first workshop in Princeton in September 2009. I felt confident that the program was solid, but it wasn’t until the first evening that I realized that we had created something truly special. Chris LaCivita, a Marine who had served in the Persian Gulf War and had been the chief strategist for Swift Boat Veterans for Truth in 2004, gave a presentation called “Bulletproofing your Service Record.” Simone Lightfoot, an Air Force veteran who was on the Ann Arbor School Board and served as director of the Michigan NAACP, spoke on a panel about preparing for a political campaign. Both needed to leave at dawn to travel home, yet at midnight, the two of them were still in a bar together, drinking beer and laughing about how they would never be caught dead with each other anywhere else. Shared military service is unquestionably the most effective antidote to partisanship.

  Seth Lynn standing in front of Camp Gannon in Iraq and later on stage as the founder of the Veterans Campaign, a national nonprofit organization. (Photos courtesy Seth Lynn)

  Today, Veterans Campaign is housed at George Washington University. We’ve trained more than three hundred veterans and have begun to see some successes. Several of our attendees have become candidates, and a few won off-term elections. What really amazes me, however, is that nearly half of my graduate school classmates helped get Veterans Campaign off the ground, hosting workshop attendees in their apartments, assembling printed materials, and organizing a reception. Two of my classmates, Eric Melancon and Doug Palmer, neither one a veteran, wrote a comprehensive guidebook for veteran candidates in their spare time. Receiving that support gave me a feeling similar to what I felt when I got off the plane in Bangor, our first stop in the U.S. after departing Iraq.

  For the esteem with which our country now holds its veterans, we have the Vietnam generation to thank. It’s remarkable how much the Iraq and Afghanistan generation has received from those who have gone before us. They established a military tradition that set us up for success. They ensured that we would receive a better welcome home than they did, and they set an example of how to lead the country honorably upon returning.

  I believe it’s true that to whom much is given, much is expected. As the Iraq and Afghanistan generation returns home and begins taking the nation’s reins of leadership, I’m reminded of exiting Camp al-Qa’im. Like the battle names on the stone barriers, we have the examples of patriots from George Washington to Teddy Roosevelt to Dwight Eisenhower to John F. Kennedy, who became some of our country’s most esteemed leaders after returning from war. We can look to Senators Ted Stevens and Daniel Inouye, who both fought in World War II and despite representing opposing parties maintained a lifelong friendship. We can look to John McCain, Bob Kerrey, John Kerry, and Chuck Hagel, who, despite facing enormous challenges at war, upon returning took the lead in normalizing relations with Vietnam, helping to heal a wounded nation.

  It’s now our responsibility to uphold the legacy of those who have gone before us, as we, in keeping with the mission of the Naval Academy, “assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government”

  PART VII

  CONCLUSION

  From where have the United States’ greatest leaders come? Was their success based on upbringing, education, opportunity, or a combination of the three? Decades from now, historians may cite the twentieth century as the period of America’s most prominent rise. The Industrial Revolution and westward expansion unleashed a wealth of resources and opportunity, feeding the country’s military and economic muscle. America’s defense of democracy in two world wars and its extension of influence through economic progress were felt around the globe. Were it not for remarkable leadership, it is likely the United States would have taken a much different course.

  Throughout U.S. history, some of the country’s finest leaders have emerged from experiences defending its security abroad. In the late 1890s, Theodore Roosevelt’s experience with the Rough Riders and his tenure as assistant secretary of the Navy laid the foundation for his passion toward maintaining military might. He devised the voyage of the Great White Fleet, which sailed around the world displaying American industrial strength and global reach. Later, after World War II, Gen. Dwight Eisenhower was elected president. He had led a million troops in Europe on the way to defeating Germany and its allies. These historical giants played important roles in leading the United States because they were veterans of war at historic moments.

  The magnitude of World War II provided the opportunity and experiences that shaped twentieth-century American leaders. As men served abroad, women provided support at home. All overcame great odds and faced adversity that gave them confidence and shaped their outlook in the decades to come. This “greatest generation” returned from war, took advantage of the educational benefits offered through the GI Bill, and advanced the country’s economy and transformed its society. World War II veterans, while fueling economic advancement, remained resolute in their value system: service, sacrifice, and community.

  At Annapolis, the longstanding mission of the United States Naval Academy has been to develop midshipmen to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government. The discipline and rigor of training weave a common thread through the hearts of men and women from all walks of life, reinforcing honor, courage, and commitment as core values in their belief systems. This type of ethos forms the fabric of people’s personality and drives them to a life of service, in and out of uniform.

  In the Shadow of Greatness was envisioned to recognize and chronicle the service of brave men and women and through their stories establish connections with the broader, nonmilitary community. These first graduates of the Naval Academy after 9/11 entered a global war at sea, in the air, and on land. This war would last for more than a decade and define the United States in the early part of the millennium. The actions of the select few profiled here represent those of a much broader spectrum of patriots.

  This book gives a megaphone to men and women who are normally reticent to tout their own actions. The entire Class of 2002 was canvassed, and the most inspiring stories were selected for the final manuscript. We cast a wide net and in doing so collected nearly one hundred stories, all brilliant and meaningful tales of heroism and devotion.

  There are some heroes who chose not to write for this book but, regardless, should be recognized. Among them are Dan Cnossen, a member of the Class of 2002 and a Navy SEAL. Dan suffered injuries to both his legs in Helmand province in 2009. Two years after surgery to amputate his legs, he ran the New York Marathon in record time with prosthetics and is an inspiration to thousands. Dan and the fifteen other Navy SEALs from the Class of 2002 collectively chose not to write for the book out of respect for their silent, warrior community. Similar to the SEAL team members, Bale Dalton, a special operations helicopter assault pilot and terminal attack controller, could not disclose information about his covert duties out of deference to the special operations community he supported. Many members from our class earned Silver Stars, Bronze Stars, and Purple Hearts but did not contribute because of their painful memories from the front lines.

  Some classmates voluntarily resigned from the military and went on to lead in their communities or to start companies. Ryan Long left the fighter aviation community to coach track and teach theology at Colorado Christian University. Justin Nasiri completed Stanford Business School and started a web company, VideoGenie. His business supports socially responsible initiatives connecting deployed soldiers to loved ones at home. The majority of the Class of 2002 is now out of uniform, but they continue to serve their communities.

  This is not a book to simply celebrate Annapolis or Navy and Marine veterans. No matter the outcome of the counterinsurgency in Iraq, reconstruction efforts in Afghanistan, governance efforts in Africa, or counterterroris
m missions in Southeast Asia, those who courageously volunteered to serve during this moment in American history have been forever changed. We would argue that these men and women are fit for greater leadership roles. They are stronger in mind and spirit, and they are some of America’s finest citizens. Yes, some returned home with traumatic depression or severely disabled, but they do not quit. Their convictions are hardened. The optimism of this generation of veterans leads them to continue their service in uniform or to take their positive experiences of war and apply them in community and national leadership roles.

  There are also many non-USNA veterans who are part of this “next great generation” Nathaniel Fick, a Marine Corps officer, was educated at Dartmouth and Harvard before turning to foreign policy and military affairs. He leads the Center for a New American Security, a think tank in Washington, D.C. Former Army officer Paul Rieckhoff founded the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans Association to lobby and care for the wounded who return from war. Eric Greitens, Wes Moore, and Rye Barcott, three military veterans and academic scholars, took off their active duty uniforms but continued to serve. Eric founded the Mission Continues, a veterans rehabilitation and job placement organization. Wes is an entrepreneur and community leader in New York City, and Rye founded Carolina for Kibera, a non-governmental organization with the goal of advancing public health and grassroots government in a Kenyan urban community. These high-caliber individuals, and hundreds of other veterans, are out of uniform advancing ideals to improve America at home and abroad.

  Other veterans are taking their ambition and heading to Congress, a venue that needs new ideas and collaborative leaders. In 2012, Tommy Sowers and Brandon Mullen will run for national office, committed to increasing job opportunities and curtailing unwise foreign policies. These men are a sample of the nearly two hundred veterans challenging for seats in government in the 2012 elections. Such men and women can offer new perspectives on problem solving without engaging in divisive partisanship. The successes of the 9/11 generation are everywhere and will continue to be in the years ahead.