In the fall of 2017, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Heffington, U.S. Army (Retired), wrote a scathing indictment of his alma mater, West Point. In his open letter, Heffington identified non-existent academic standards and rampant honor violations, as well as the inability for faculty to act accordingly to separate or reprimand cadets. This open letter sparked a response by West Point Superintendent Lieutenant General Robert Caslen Jr., who defended his academy’s policies and curriculum almost to a fault. This very public debate put the significance and purpose of service academies into the spotlight.
As an English professor at the U.S. Naval Academy, I asked my midshipmen to write about the Academy’s viability in light of questions examining the worth of service academies, because student voices are seldom, if ever, heard in these ongoing debates. Their brutal honesty bounces off the pages of their essays.
“I have been lied to. The service academies do not possess a magical leadership formula.”
“The Academy is supposed to graduate servant-leaders. Not jackasses.”
“Honestly, this place is over-rated.”
“The world would still be a safe place if the Naval Academy closed.”
Midshipmen can be counted on for candor in such matters.
As upperclassmen, my students are well-past any starry-eyed, plebe infatuation with the Naval Academy. They well understand the schizophrenic idiosyncrasy of the place. Nonetheless, they see its worth. Thus, while they readily recognize that the world will go on if the Naval Academy disappears, they also see enduring value. The same student who writes, “The world would still be a safe place if the Naval Academy closed” goes on to argue that the Academy is “key to the quality of leadership in the fleet and should not be exterminated.” The same mid who states that “I have been lied to” readily admits, “to have such amazing people all concentrated in one place is truly a blessing and its value can never be measured.”
It is often stated that the Naval Academy has lowered its admission standards. To pretend otherwise is disingenuous at best, and deceitful at worst. My argument has always been that we should admit to the lowering of standards and carry on. In class discussion, however, a midshipman encouraged me to use another word. “Ma’am, why not say ‘adapted’ rather than ‘lowered?’”
This recommendation demonstrates the students’ keen understanding of the changing Navy. The Navy is not as big as it once was, they maintained. The fleet has adapted to a changing world. And the students are right: The Naval Academy, which began as the Naval School in 1845, has changed, like the Navy, throughout the decades.
In 1845, many people did not see the need for a naval school. Upon its opening, with its mix of salty sailors and young school boys, there were immediate problems. The new institution grappled with its purpose. Not 20 years later, the Civil War brought additional challenges as mids resigned in order to fight for the Confederacy. Those who remained sailed away to a temporary school in Newport, Rhode Island. And again, people questioned the purpose of the institution. During World War II, when the curriculum was accelerated to allow for two graduations per year, some feared we were compromising standards.
This question then—of our standards and purpose—is not new. My student was right to say the Naval Academy has adapted.
In a response to the West Point critics, Superintendent Robert Caslen wrote, “We have shifted our approach from an attritional model to a developmental model.” This is not a unique reaction. Several years ago, an academic dean told Naval Academy faculty, “If they’re good enough to get in, they’re good enough to graduate.”
Any academic knows such a statement is false. However, the dean’s comments signaled a major shift: Don’t try to weed out the weak ones. Instead, make them better. And the midshipmen do realize that they are made better by being here.
“This experience teaches us how to become selfless and enables us to keep pushing forward together.”
“Through thick and thin, midshipmen rely on each other for help and friendship. The Academy creates strong bonds between classmates.”
“In four short years, we are broken down and turned into warriors who keep our loved ones safe.”
Such statements cannot be dismissed as the conditioned responses of students who have bought the party line. But bear in mind that these same students recognize the failures of the Academy. They are not blinded by the best and the brightest rhetoric. They recognize the institutional flaws.
In writing of his disappointment with West Point, Heffington resorts to sweeping generalizations that undercut his credibility: “Nothing matters anymore;” “Cadets are jaded, cynical, arrogant, and entitled;” “Conduct and behavior that would never be tolerated at a civilian university are common among cadets.”
In an attempt to prove Heffington wrong, Superintendent Caslen went in the opposite direction, with arguably too much specificity. Providing extensive sets of data, the superintendent became unnecessarily defensive, conceding not even one point to Heffington. This is where the midshipmen demonstrate more practical sense: They can admit the glaring problems of the Naval Academy.
“Just because I am grateful for the Academy does not mean I am blind to its faults. The administration worries about its public image too much. We are constantly treated like children who can’t make good decisions.”
“The constant competition to become number one around here does not foster true leadership.”
“Although we have many gifted individuals, we, by far, are not the best and the brightest.”
“The sense of competition this environment creates causes midshipmen to lose sight of what is important—the people they will lead.”
“You are surrounded by officers of all kinds . . . good officers, not-so-good officers.”
The athletes, who often take a hit when people discuss the weaknesses of the Naval Academy, write particularly candidly. Rather than ducking the issue of separate admission standards for athletes, one young man said: “What if there were no Army-Navy game? No football team?” While not suggesting that the Academy needs to stay open to maintain a football team, he was clear-headed enough to mention the importance of sports.
Another athlete wrote, “Maybe I won’t be a career officer but I am dedicating a decade of my life to the Navy.” Some might scoff at the seeming self-centeredness of such a statement. However, a decade of one’s life is no small gift to the nation. True, these athletes gain much by attending the Academy, but that gain notwithstanding, they offer the country their young and precious lives.
My students went on to comment on the broader benefit of the Academy.
“Commissioning officers is not the only purpose that the academies serve. The Naval Academy serves as a symbol not only for the Navy but for the country, nationally and internationally.”
“At the Naval Academy, you live and breathe the military atmosphere. You do not get that with ROTC programs. We become best friends for life.”
“There is value in diversity, and the Naval Academy is very different from other commissioning sources.”
“The type of unity and bond found at the academies cannot be found as strong in ROTC units or OCS because of the structure of those training systems.”
One student summed up the discussion with this question: “Cui bono?” Who stands to gain from this? Critics of the Naval Academy might argue that it’s too expensive and less effective when it comes to its purpose. The Academy has changed standards, produces too few career officers, and emphasizes sports too much. But my student goes on to write that we all benefit from the Naval Academy: By creating a fighting force that is educated and has created strong bonds within its own institution, we are protecting and strengthening ourselves for decades to come.
We may well be less cost-effective than ROTC or OCS. We do sometimes graduate jackasses, not servant leaders. We do hype our admissions process too much. Nonetheless, here at this place there are more than 4,500 young men and women dedicating their lives to our nation. Like all human institutions, the academies are flawed. Those flaws do not eradicate their value or their worth.
An English professor at the Naval Academy, Drew has served as department chair, Masqueraders director, and faculty senate president.