In Army basic training in 1968, I was involved in a scandal.  The commander had posted a notice on the unit bulletin board.  That notice had been removed, surreptitiously, by someone, and sent to a national magazine, which, if I recall correctly, published it.  The notice was to warn trainees to avoid a certain house of ill repute near the base (post).  Since the rural house had no street address, the warning letter had resorted to giving precise, specific instructions, including landmarks, which had the effect of telling the reader exactly how to get to the place we were ordered to avoid.

When I first saw the posted warning, I saw the unintended humor in it.  Without the explicit directions, it is doubtful that any of the trainees could ever have found the place, or perhaps even known about it.  (Full disclosure: I never went there.)

When the commander was informed that an official document had been stolen from his bulletin board, he had no sense of humor about it.  He summarily ordered the trainee unit, of about fifty young men, to assemble on the asphalt parking lot, in parade formation, at attention.  It was a very hot day, and the asphalt seemed to us like a frying pan.

He then offered amnesty to whoever had committed the infraction.  When no one confessed, he said the offer would be honored even if a witness were to come forward and reveal the miscreant.  Silence.  No one said a word.  The commander then vowed that everyone will stand here at attention until he had the name of the person.  Silence.  He then said, I don’t care if you have to stand here all day and all night, but somebody is going to speak up. 

The commander then left the parking lot, ostensibly to wait until the following day, but in fact he returned after about a half-hour or so.  He then said, had you confessed, I would have court-martialed you.  (We had sort of guessed that.)  Then he ordered everybody: Go back to your training duties.  (Did I sense his begrudging admiration?)

We all knew who the man was.  None of us turned him in.  Jokingly, I think we would still be standing there on that asphalt before we would have betrayed the fellow with whom we were expecting eventually to go into combat.

This is not merely an amusing (or not) anecdote.  There is a point to it.

“Rep. Mikie Sherrill — the Navy helicopter pilot turned suburban congresswoman,” according to Charlton Allen on this site, is the Democrat running for governor of New Jersey.  While she was a cadet at Annapolis, the Navy’s officer training academy, there was an infamous cheating scandal.  Sherrill is not accused of cheating, but she was subjected to a significant sanction for not having reported the names of the cheaters when she knew them.  Exact details are uncertain, because the files are sealed.  She has so far refused to reveal their contents.

Giving her the benefit of the doubt, let us say that Sherrill knew nothing about the cheating until after the fact — but when she did learn the names of one or more cheaters, she neglected to report them.  Apparently, she may have refused to cooperate with investigators.

The code of ethics at all the military academies specifies that not only will the cadet not cheat, but also, he must reveal those who do.  “They tell the truth and ensure that the truth is known” (Code of Honor).

Sherrill’s defense is that “I didn’t turn in some of my classmates ... but graduated and was commissioned as an officer in the U.S. Navy, serving for nearly ten years with the highest level of distinction and honor.”

On a personal level, I can accept that, but with some serious reservations.  In her favor, I can understand the esprit de corps, not only as the armed forces encourages it, but also as young people instinctively practice it, to band together to defend a classmate, a fellow wolf in the pack, even one whom nobody likes.  That instinct is strong, and it may override good judgment.  It may make one willing to endure stifling heat while standing uncomfortably at attention, expecting to be there, in misery, for hours on end.  Been there, done that.  I understand.

But there is another side to this.  Leadership, particularly on the national stage, requires not only competence, but also moral courage — the courage to do the right thing, regardless of the consequence to oneself.  The Navy cadets who cheated betrayed an important trust placed in them.  They cheated not only the test, but the nation.  The American people have a right to expect that their leaders, military and civilian, will rise above their adolescent instincts, powerful though those are, and do the right thing.

Sherrill’s failing goes beyond this one instance, which happened decades ago.  Even if there is no more to it than she is letting on, it is worse, because she still seems to be justifying it.  Her political instincts are preventing her from confessing that what she did was not merely wrong, but scandalous and harmful.  To that extent, she remains derelict in her duty.  It is that, not the original sin, that in my view disqualifies her from any office, political or naval.

Yes, I am a hypocrite for saying all this, but then that’s not the worst of my faults.

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