War is a nightmare.
War is awful.
It is indifferent, and devastating, and evil.
War is hell.
But war is also an incredible teacher,
a brutal teacher.
And it teaches you lessons that you will not forget.
In war, you are forced
to see humanity at its absolute worst,
and you are also blessed
to see humanity in its most glorious moments.
War teaches you about sorrow, and loss, and pain.
And it teaches you about the preciousness
and the fragility of human life.
And in that fragility,
war teaches you about death.
But war also teaches you
about brotherhood, and honor,
and humility, and leadership.
And unfortunately, war teaches you the most when things go wrong.
And for me,
one of the most impactful lessons that I learned from war
was in the spring of 2006
in the city of Ramadi, Iraq,
which at the time, was the epicenter of the insurgency
where brutal and determined terrorists ruled the streets
with torture and rape and murder.
It was in one neighborhood of that city
during an operation that I was in charge of
when all hell broke loose.
We had multiple units out on the battlefield fighting the enemy.
We had friendly Iraqi soldiers,
we had US Army soldiers and US Marines,
along with small elements of my SEAL team.
And then the fog of war rolled in
with its confusion, and chaos, and mayhem,
and with its gunfire, and enemy attacks,
and screaming men, and blood, and death;
and in that fog of war,
through a series of mistakes, and human error,
and poor judgment, and Murphy's law, and just plain bad luck,
a horrendous fire fight broke out.
But this fire fight
wasn't between us and the enemy;
this fire fight, tragically,
was between us and us,
friendly forces against friendly forces;
fratricide -
the mortal sin of combat
and the most horrific part of war.
And when it was over, and the fog of war lifted,
one friendly Iraqi soldier was dead, two more were wounded,
one of my men was wounded,
the rest of my SEALs were badly shaken,
and it was only through a miracle that no one else was killed.
And it was reported up the chain of command what had happened.
That we had fought, and wounded, and killed each other.
And when we got back to base, things didn't get much better.
There was a message waiting for me from my commanding officer,
and it said, "Shut down all operations."
It said that the commanding officer,
the master chief, and the investigating officer
were inbound to my location.
And they told me to prepare a debrief to explain
exactly what had happened on the operation and what had gone wrong.
Now, I knew what this meant.
It meant that somebody had to pay.
It meant that somebody had to be held accountable.
It meant that somebody had to get fired for what had happened.
So, I began to prepare my debrief.
And in it,
I detailed every mistake that was made and who made it.
And I pointed out every failure
in the planning, and the preparation, and the execution in the operation,
and I pointed out who was responsible for that failure.
There was plenty of blame to go around.
There were so many people that I could incriminate with guilt.
But something wasn't right.
For some reason, I just couldn't put my finger
on who was at fault
and who specifically I should blame for what had happened.
And I sat,
and I went over it again and again, and I struggled for an answer.
And then, when I was about ten minutes from starting the debrief,
that answer came,
and it hit me like a slap in the face.
And I realized
that there was only one person to blame for the confusion,
only one person to blame for the wounded men,
and only one person to blame for the dead Iraqi soldier.
And I knew exactly who that person was.
And with that knowledge, I walked into the debriefing room
with my commanding officer
and the master chief, and the investigating officer
were sitting there waiting for me, along with the rest of my men,
including my SEAL who had been wounded,
who was sitting in the back of the room
with his head and his face all bandaged up.
And I stood up before them, and I asked them one simple question,
"Who's fault was this?"
One of my SEALs raised his hand.
And he said, "It was my fault.
I didn't keep control of the Iraqi soldiers I was with.
And they left their designated sector,
and that was the root of all these problems."
And I said, "No, it wasn't your fault."
And then another SEAL raised his hand and said, "It was my fault.
I didn't pass our location over the radio fast enough
so no one knew what building we were in, and that's what caused all this confusion.
It was my fault."
And I said, "No, it wasn't your fault either."
And then another SEAL raised his hand, and he said,
"Boss, this was my fault.
I didn't properly identify my target,
and I shot and killed that friendly Iraqi soldier.
This was my fault."
And I said, "No, this wasn't your fault either.
And it wasn't yours, or yours, or yours,"
I said as I pointed to the rest of the SEALs in the room.
And then I told them
that there was only one person at fault for what had happened.
There was only one person to blame.
And that person was me.
I am the commander,
I am the senior man on the battlefield,
and I am responsible for everything that happens;
everything.
And then I went on to explain to them
some new tactics, techniques, and procedures
that we were going to implement
to ensure that this kind of travesty never happened again.
And I will tell you something: it hurt.
It hurt my ego.
It hurt my pride to take the blame.
But I also knew,
I knew that to maintain my integrity as a leader and as a man,
I had to take responsibility.
And in order to do that,
I had to control my ego so that my ego did not control me.
And you know what?
I didn't get fired.
In fact, my commanding officer,
who had expected excuses and finger-pointing,
when I took responsibility, when I took ownership,
he now trusted me even more.
And my men
didn't lose respect for me.
Instead, they realized
that I would never shirk responsibility,
and I would never pass
that heavy burden of command down the chain and onto them.
And you know what?
They had the same attitude.
Unlike a team where no one takes ownership of the problems,
and therefore, the problems never get solved,
with us, everyone took ownership of their mistakes,
everyone took ownership of the problems.
And when a team takes ownership of it's problems,
the problems get solved.
And that is true on the battlefield,
it is true in business, and it is true in life.
So I say, take ownership;
take extreme ownership.
Don't make excuses,
don't blame any other person or any other thing.
Get control of your ego.
Don't hide your delicate pride from the truth.
Take ownership of everything in your world,
the good and the bad.
Take ownership of your mistakes, take ownership of your shortfalls,
take ownership of your problems,
and then take ownership of the solutions that will get those problems solved.
Take ownership of your mission.
Take ownership of your job, of your team, of your future,
and take ownership of your life.
And lead.
Lead.
Lead yourself,
and your team, and the people in your life;
lead them all
to victory.
Thank you.
(Applause)