Rebuilding Trust, Redefining Strength

The fall of Kabul didn’t just end America’s longest war. It ended the illusion that we knew why we were still fighting. For twenty years, the military operated on the quiet assumption that Afghanistan would become another Korea — a permanent presence, passed from one rotation to the next. Each unit focused on holding the line until their relief arrived, not on what it would mean if no one came after them. While political leaders talked about withdrawal, the system kept planning as if it never would. And when the end finally came, no one was prepared.

This wasn’t a failure of the warfighter. It was a failure of the planner. Not of courage or competence, but of strategy, honesty, and political will. And those who bore the consequences weren’t the ones setting the mission. They were the ones carrying it out, again and again, with no say and no end in sight.

The Global War on Terror left behind a generation of veterans not just scarred by combat, but disillusioned by a system that sent them back without clarity or care. High suicide rates, fractured families, and moral injury aren’t tragic anomalies. They’re the cost of fighting a war with no end, and a reminder of what is owed to those asked to serve.

Rather than learning the right lessons, today’s leadership has embraced all the wrong ones. There was a promise of disruption — that someone without experience, unbound by establishment thinking, would finally force a reckoning. But that reckoning never came.

Instead of confronting the lack of strategic clarity, the refusal to plan for withdrawal, or the exploitation of an overstretched all-volunteer force, blame has been placed on diversity and so-called distractions from warfighting. The result has been more inspections, cancelled family days, and a renewed obsession with shaving standards. It’s the kind of overcompensation every service member recognizes — the theater of performative action in place of the substance of leadership.

The military didn’t fail because of women, people of color, LGBTQ+ personnel, or inclusive grooming policies. It failed because it was fighting a war no one wanted to sustain — pushing the burden onto a small, all-volunteer force and shielding the rest of the nation from its cost. Service members were cycled through deployments without purpose, without strategy, and without any plan to end the war they kept inheriting. The solution isn’t to “refocus on warfighting.” The ability to fight was never lost. What was lost was the ability to think, to plan, and to bring wars to a close.

This isn’t about one administration or one mistake. It’s about a pattern — a system that defaults to the familiar even when it no longer serves. What is needed now is not a return to the past, but a clear-eyed vision for a military that is more accountable, more sustainable, and better aligned with the values of those who serve.

The military must be shaped by clear purpose and long-term thinking — not by inertia or improvisation. That means building a force optimized for short, decisive operations like Panama or Grenada, carried out by rapidly deployable active-duty units. When larger conflicts arise, like the First Gulf War, they must be approached with multilateral coalitions, strategic clarity, and the full mobilization of the Reserve and National Guard. And if prolonged war is ever considered again, it must be grounded in the foundational principle that once gave legitimacy to such efforts — full national mobilization, shared sacrifice, and a clear, democratically supported commitment to the mission. It should never be undertaken lightly, and it should never sustained without public trust.

The point is not to reject warfighting. It is to reject sending people to fight without a plan.

The force must invest in people, not just extract from them. Military service should open the door to education, stability, and leadership — not a cycle of burnout and disillusionment. Those who serve should return not broken, but stronger, equipped with skills, shaped by experience, and proud of what they’ve built for themselves and their country.

And the future of military service will demand more than combat. It will require climate response, humanitarian assistance, public health, and infrastructure resilience. It will require people who can build, solve, and stabilize — not just destroy. That is the true potential of American military power.

Women, people of color, and LGBTQ+ personnel didn’t break the military. They served it often in spite of how it treated them. They bore the same burdens as everyone else — fractured families, unsafe barracks, and policies that prioritized platforms over people. Their inclusion isn’t a distraction. It’s a fulfillment of the military’s highest ideal — that anyone willing to raise their hand and serve belongs, and that strength comes from unity. It’s the clearest expression of the “one team, one fight” mindset — the belief that the force is strongest when it reflects the full nation it defends, in every rank, every role, and every ambition.

There is a choice ahead. One path leads to isolation, performative discipline, and a hollow force — always ready for war, but never prepared to secure peace or progress. The other leads to a military that reflects the best of what this nation aspires to be — united in purpose, diverse in strength, and grounded in shared values. A force not only capable of meeting today’s threats, but of shaping tomorrow’s world by responding to crises, building stability, and advancing the promise of a freer, fairer future.

If the military is to live up to the promise of service, to empower its people and help shape a better world, then these are the choices that must be made.