Observations by a Citizen: Restoring Our Military Culture

09/11/2026

Submitted By: Hal Rounds

Secretary of War Pete Hegseth insured he would get the attention of all his subordinates, over 800, by ordering them to assemble in Quantico, VA the other evening. He gave them a tough talk, and it signaled big changes. No more DEI, confused gender support, personalized standards or uniforms. There will be one unified culture, and it will be purely military. And, like one general in the past said, there will be no substitute for victory. Only merit aimed at that purpose will be honored. Some of them have whined that he “could have sent a memo,” but we all know that the officers who the meeting was designed to impact are the ones who would have smugly ignored a memo. That talk should wake them all up, and I don’t mean “woke.”

After graduating from college, I enlisted in the Air Force. I remember showing up at the Los Angeles Military Entrance Processing Station. As I awaited the call for Air Force recruits in a large room filled with young men, a burly sergeant came in and forcefully ordered those who had come to join the Marines to stand up and follow him.

I was surprised at how scrawny and uneasy the kids who rose and followed him were. It impressed me on that day to realize that, in three months, those who made it through boot camp would stand tall and capable among one of the world’s most successful military forces. They were about to be transformed into real men – or rejected as failures.

Soon I, too, was on my way, boarding a 707 to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. After landing, buses took us to a building where we got haircuts. In the next room, we faced a counter and stripped to our underwear. A sergeant glanced at each of us, called out sizes and, in a moment, Air Force uniforms were put on the counter. We were ordered to put ours on. Every uniform fit the guy it was given to. Wow – these guys know what they’re doing. That hinted at the precision that would soon be expected of us.

Lessons, drills, and inspections followed for three months, each demanding that we comply precisely and master what was expected of us. We were taught how to behave and dress: Spit-shined shoes, crisp folds in our uniforms, correct answers in class, and getting chewed out for sloppy salutes. Weekly barracks inspections – every flaw earned us “gigs” that we had to work off. Learning how to be officers, each of us had to learn how to lead our squad marches. Commands meant precise whole-squad motions: “Dress Right, Dress!;” “Forward, March!.” “Column Left!” was not the same as “Left, Face!”

One guy forgot how to get the squad to turn, so we kept marching, right through the shallow grass gully at the end of the asphalt parade ground. This was just one way we learned that failing to do things correctly had consequences for the whole squad.

When we failed, we were chastised harshly. When we succeeded, it was mostly taken for granted. Most of us got through it, learning and growing.

One in our squad, though, was found in the store room bleeding badly. He had slit his wrists, unable to handle the stresses. He was treated in time. Obviously not up to the challenges, he was sent home a failure. Better to drop out now than fail in actual operations.

Physical fitness had standards, too. Our final test was to run a mile in twelve minutes. All of our squad but one passed. I was done with my run quickly enough to get back to our straggler, and trot beside him, giving encouragement as he struggled onward. But he still didn’t make the required time. He was a nice guy, and had accomplished all the other requirements. But success meant no failures. He was gone, not sharing our commissioning ceremony.

My first night in Vietnam, I was in temporary quarters. The base warning sirens didn’t work that night. My first notice of an attack was the explosion of rockets nearby. Quickly making it to the sandbag “bunker,” I waited out the remainder of this, my first genuine war experience, watching the other men quietly sitting, waiting for it to be over. The rocket barrage continued for less than a quarter hour. As I listened to the explosions and the unforgettable clatter of shrapnel into the buildings around us, it was a learning experience. But I was ready for it because of my education and unforgiving training. We – the American military – didn’t abide fragile men back then.

And we won wars. Maybe we can get back to that.

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