MAJ. BRIAN DERICKSON
Military Intelligence Readiness Command
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
When I was a young Soldier, a terror stalked the heart of battalion headquarters. Like the Greek myth, a labyrinth of pathways twisted around the head shed, and at the center lurked a minotaur — the command sergeant major (CSM). Every Soldier knew that stepping off the paved path and onto the sacred grass would summon the CSM from some hidden hole or open window, knife hand flashing, ready to unload on the offending trooper. The higher in rank you were, the lower he brought you down. To this day, I struggle to leave the paved path and cut across the grass. I know I’m not alone.
The Army is ruthlessly efficient at forging habits. Some good, some bad; some obvious, some subtle. But one thing is certain: we all carry some mark that sets us apart from the rest of society. That mark, tattooed more deeply on some than others, is the Army standard. We eat differently, drink differently, sleep differently, invest differently and spend differently. For that, we can thank (or curse) our recruiters, drill sergeants, CSMs and the battle buddies who’ve steered us both into and out of trouble. Strangely, there’s one area where we barely differ from civilians.
If you control for age and sex, the rate of motor vehicle fatalities among Soldiers and civilians is hardly different. Dig through the U.S. Army Combat Readiness Center’s Preliminary Loss Reports (PLRs) and a grim pattern appears — single-vehicle accidents all hours of the day. It’s clear some of our Soldiers are undisciplined drivers. They text behind the wheel, ignore seat belts, and drive impaired or exhausted. Worse yet, they sometimes do these things in military vehicles. For example, a truck commander (TC) scrolls on his phone while a dozing private drives a Light Medium Tactical Vehicle (LMTV) off the road. Yet, those same Soldiers wouldn’t dare walk on the grass.
Doers do what checkers check. We all know that. But we can’t TC our Soldiers in their private motor vehicles (PMV). That’s no excuse. We send Soldiers out alone all the time and expect them to act like Soldiers. Why? Because we drill Soldierly behavior into them. We hammer home what is acceptable and what is not. Some behaviors bring pride to themselves and the unit, others disgrace. Reckless driving — arguably the greatest threat to our formations today — should be no different. So why are we failing to influence our Soldiers' driving habits? The answer is simple: we haven’t really tried.
Some will argue that we can’t dictate what Soldiers do in their free time. That’s nonsense. We routinely regulate off-duty behavior through curfews and travel restrictions. More importantly, we shape behavior by setting expectations. As leaders, we have a duty — an obligation — to build disciplined habits that follow Soldiers beyond the motor pool. If we fail at that and it results in lost lives or degraded readiness, we’ve failed as leaders.
Is it your fault if a Soldier texts and drives, drinks and drives, or skips wearing a seat belt? Let me ask this instead: Is it a reflection of your unit’s discipline if your Soldiers walk across the grass? Yes — and that’s why the CSM makes such a big deal of it. So, isn’t it just as much a reflection of unit discipline if your Soldiers are reckless behind the wheel? Absolutely. And it’s time we start acting like it.
We can defeat this dragon. We can save lives — if we have the guts to take unpopular action. If we can keep Soldiers off the grass, we can keep them off their phones. It starts in the unit footprint. NCOs, try this: Next time you see a Soldier scrolling mindlessly on their phone, unleash your sharpest knife hand. Tell them to put it away unless it’s important. Tell them to act like a Soldier. Commanders, make this your policy. With time, that habit may stick. Your Soldiers may start resisting the itch to reach for their phone the second they become bored or hear that ding or buzz. That habit might just follow them off post, into their cars. And you may find you’ve saved a life.