5 July 2020

Generals Are People Too: And Their Involvement in Politics Is Part of the American Tradition

By Sam Canter

In the long history of this nation, American generals have participated in coups and insurrections, ran for President while on active duty, and disregarded the Commander-in-Chief's lawful orders. Given this past, one might reasonably think that Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Mark Milley’s accidental participation in an ill-conceived photo-op represents something less than a constitutional crisis.

Predictably, the latest wave of retired and active generals involving themselves in the national political conversation wrought another round of the now perennial debate. Brimming with words like “unprecedented” and “dangerous," writers often lament that such incidents threaten to erode the American people’s trust in their military, and thus damage the nation’s one true apolitical and professional organization.

Or so the thinking goes, but as with just about any topic in today’s incredibly myopic and ahistorical media landscape, context is everything. If there is an aberration here, it is not the retired vocal general, but rather expecting that a military service career deprives one of the rights to a controversial opinion for life. Additionally, it is reasonable to expect that active-duty generals become tangentially exposed to political situations during their duties. This reality appears less troubling when one considers that politically involved generals – retired or otherwise – have been the norm for the majority of American history. Understanding this history also has broader implications for the modern professional military and the public’s trust in it.


The idea of a professional military, to begin with, ran contrary to the widespread feelings of the founding generation. Fears of a standing Army and garrison state, as well as profound overconfidence in the capabilities of the average militiaman, led to a post-Revolution professional force numbering less than one-thousand.

One of the first men to demonstrate the value of a standing Army, General “Mad” Anthony Wayne, emerged from Congress's halls to re-accept a commission in the Army. Wayne’s ruthless implementation of standardized training and military discipline led to the successful Northwest Indian War campaign of 1792-95, thereby avenging the earlier defeat of Arthur St. Clair’s Legion of the United States (arguably the worst disaster to ever befall an American army). Thus, the first “professional general” was also a politician.

While the needle dipped slightly in the direction of what we might term “professionalization,” the early decades of the Republic witnessed an intermingling of the military and political that defies any modern expectation of their separation. Presidents Andrew Jackson and William Henry Harrison bounced between holding positions as partisans in elected office to successful stints as generals. Winfield Scott, the imperious but brilliant soldier who served as a general officer for over four decades, coveted the Presidency, but in 1848 lost the Whig nomination in favor of his fellow general Zachary Taylor. In 1852, Scott got his chance at the Whig nomination, running for President (on Active Duty!) against another politician/general hybrid, Franklin Pierce. In the wake of his defeat, a spiteful Scott moved his headquarters from Washington D.C. to New York City, where he continued to serve as Commanding General of the U.S. Army.

Abraham Lincoln often appointed generals based primarily on political considerations, a habit that, while arguably logical, occasionally led to disastrous results on the battlefield. In contrast, Chester Arthur, a lifelong machine politician, used his ties to New York City’s powerbrokers while serving admirably as quartermaster general. Following the Civil War, five former generals served as President. It those years, it became fashionable in general society to refer to a man by his former military rank in perpetuity. Theodore Roosevelt preferred to be addressed by military rank in his post-Presidency, and William McKinley liked the title "Major" while in office. Generals like Leonard Wood and Douglas MacArthur continued to play politics while in uniform well into the 20th century, and both sought the Presidency while on active duty. (MacArthur’s forays into partisan politics during his long career are too numerous to list here).

It is tempting to dismiss this America as a type of Banana-Republic, with a populace not yet sophisticated enough to understand why the political and military spheres must remain separate. However, to do so is to profoundly misunderstand how the role of the military during these times. Popular views of military service varied, but they never approximate the vague mixture of today, with the military as an object of superficial veneration and everyday dismissal, an abject “other” for most Americans. Wartime armies from the Revolution to Korea were foremost citizens' armies, with an understanding that in the words of General William DePuy, "wars are won by draftees and reserve officers.”

When the citizenry and the military are perceived as one and the same, their rights are as well. The idea of a truly professional force is still, in many ways, a new and fluid concept, a product of a post-Vietnam national reckoning. Even in the “professional military” of the post-Vietnam era, generals Alexander Haig and Wesley Clark ran for President. While Colin Powell declined to run in 1996, he gave the keynote address at the Republican Convention that year. In doing so, he opposed the same President he had served as the chief military advisor to less than three years earlier.

If this history contradicts the “unprecedented” narrative of recent articles, it should also prompt us to think critically about modern civil-military relations in the United States. Generals must undoubtedly conduct themselves professionally while in uniform, but they must also be capable of thinking about political implications, as recent cases have aptly demonstrated. All human beings have opinions. Perpetuating the notion that when one dons a uniform, those opinions magically disappear is at best misguided. Must a lifetime of military service condemn a General to a lifetime of silence?

Permanent status of any kind is arguably an un-American idea in a nation that began by opposing the absolute powers of a hereditary monarchy. Harry Truman, the everyman personified as President (and a former military officer), tellingly chose to title his post-presidential memoir, Mr. Citizen, eschewing a permanent title derived from temporary power. Those who serve their country, once out of office, have the same rights as any other citizen (for an interesting counterargument, see this article which cites the rules governing military pensions).

Such is a dilemma of the modern professional force. The idea that soldiers are somehow different from average citizens is, to a certain degree, inherent in the societal status that service members broadly enjoy. With this seemingly innocuous distinction, it becomes easier to argue that they remain different in retirement, and therefore bear added responsibility when it comes to speech. The pre-Vietnam United States that held defending the nation as the obligation of all citizens dealt much more comfortably with the idea that those same individuals might rotate between the civil and military spheres, with speech constituting the very least of that rotation. (It is worth noting that just because one has the right to speak does not mean one should. Generals, like everyone else, ought to exercise common sense and good judgment in public discourse). The context of this history might also make us more forgiving of mistakes while on active duty. The poor judgment of an Admiral William Fallon or a General Stanley McChrystal is far less egregious than Scott or MacArthur's blatant partisanship. For those who point out that their dismissals of the former two were a Presidential prerogative, one might also point out that Donald Trump ordering his chief military advisor to come along on a walk is also Presidential prerogative. Is there anything unlawful about that order, or are modern conceptions of civil-military relations just a matter of appearance? By his own admission, Milley exercised poor judgment. However, appreciating both context and complexity means that incidents like these need not represent anything other than isolated, essentially meaningless events, and not metaphors for a profound crisis.

Last, a word on the “erosion of public trust” argument. If generals demonstrate hyper-partisanship in retirement, what does that imply for their performance during their time in service? Does partisanship now retroactively taint all their decisions? The answer lies in the real meaning of professionalism. Professionalism is not creating the illusion that a general is a mindless automaton. Professionalism is the ability to put those feelings aside – to tamp them down as deep as they will go – and honorably serve the Constitution and the duly elected officials of this nation to the best of one’s ability, regardless of political affiliation or outlook. While undoubtedly difficult, this professionalism is eminently doable. Besides, public trust in the military ought not to rest on illusions of impartiality, but rather in the military’s ability to achieve the mission, responsibly steward taxpayer money, set priorities, and care for its service-members. If the U.S. military manages to do more of the latter, perhaps public trust will eventually rely less on the former.

Sam Canter is an Army officer. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of the U.S. Army or Department of Defense.

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