Pete Hegseth is Kneecapping Our Own Military

The military is supposed to mold leaders. Instead it’s turning them away.

Credit: U.S. Department of Homeland Security (DHS)

By Paul LeBlanc

After 27 years in the United States Navy—including three command tours, one of which was a combat tour in Iraq—I learned a lesson every successful military leader eventually learns: Excellence has no demographic profile.

Over nearly three decades, I served alongside sailors and officers from every corner of America. Some of the finest leaders I worked for, and with, were women. Others were Black, Hispanic, Asian American, or members of other communities that, not so long ago, faced barriers to advancement in military service. What distinguished them was never their race, gender, or background. It was their judgment under pressure, their integrity, their competence, and their capacity to inspire others to accomplish difficult missions.

As a commanding officer, I came to value diversity for reasons that had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with leadership. The most effective leadership teams were rarely composed of people who thought alike or shared identical life experiences. They challenged assumptions, identified blind spots, and saw operational and personnel problems from perspectives I would not have considered on my own. Whether we were making decisions in a combat zone, responding to a crisis at sea, or helping a young sailor through personal hardship, better decisions emerged because different voices were at the table.

That experience is why I find recent reports that qualified women and officers of color are being removed from promotion consideration so troubling. And to date, those decisions lack any justification, because there is none. Military organizations communicate through actions as much as through policy. The cumulative message being sent is that advancement may depend less on demonstrated performance than on fitting a preferred image of military leadership.

That message will not be heard only by senior officers. It will be heard most clearly by the youngest Americans entering military service.

People enlist for many reasons. Some seek educational opportunities. Others want to travel, develop technical skills, provide for their families, or escape circumstances that offer few opportunities. Many answer a calling to serve something greater than themselves. These motivations differ, but they share a common belief: that the military offers a chance to build a better future through hard work, discipline, and merit.

Every junior service member also looks upward. They want to see that people like them, those who share their background, their story, or simply their sense of possibility, can rise through the ranks. That is not identity politics. It is human nature. Visible examples of successful leadership reinforce confidence that the institution rewards excellence wherever it is found.

As those examples fade, many young service members inevitably ask a difficult question: Is there really a future for someone like me here? If enough conclude the answer is no, the military will lose precisely the talented people it has invested years and millions of dollars to recruit and train.

I understand that feeling personally.

I entered the Navy before the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” In those years, there was no visible place for someone like me in uniform. Gay service members lived under the constant threat of investigation and a negative discharge. Military investigators actively pursued allegations of homosexuality, and careers would end not for poor performance but because of who they were.

Early in my career, I made a decision. Rather than let those assumptions define me, I would prove them wrong. I would demonstrate, through my performance, leadership, and commitment to my Sailors, that sexual orientation had nothing to do with one’s ability to lead, serve, or sacrifice.

When I was finally able to serve openly, something remarkable happened. Almost nothing changed. My sailors did not care. My fellow officers did not care. The missions and standards remained the same. What did change was that younger service members suddenly had someone to talk to. Over the years, I became a mentor to dozens of officers and enlisted personnel across every branch of the armed forces who simply wanted reassurance that they, too, could build successful military careers without hiding their identities.

Representation does not lower standards. It raises aspirations.

That is why this moment concerns me. The Department of Defense already faces recruiting and retention challenges unlike any in decades. Experienced leaders are difficult and costly to replace. When talented people conclude that advancement depends on resembling those already in power rather than on demonstrating excellence, many will leave, or, worse, not enlist. Readiness suffers long before a position officially becomes vacant.

Every Secretary of Defense has the right to set priorities and shape policy. But those priorities should strengthen the force, not narrow it. Public attention focused on cultural symbolism or testosterone levels creates the impression that performative politics has become more important than cultivating the broadest possible pool of exceptional leaders.

America does not need a military molded in the image of any one Secretary of Defense. It needs a military that reflects the nation it serves and rewards excellence wherever it is found.

After 27 years in uniform, I remain convinced of one truth: our diversity has never been our weakness. It has always been one of our greatest strategic strengths.

We have a problem, not because America is changing, but because we risk convincing the next generation of exceptional Americans that there is no place for them to lead. If that happens, the loss will not be measured in headlines but in talent, readiness, and the strength of the force itself.

Paul LeBlanc retired from the Navy in 2017 after 27 years as a judge advocate. He is a combat veteran of the Iraq War and a member of Veterans for Responsible Leadership (VFRL).