In a time when social pressure demands a statement on every new crisis, does it pay for a leader to choose silence? In our own rush to take meaningful stands on issues, are there times when opting out of the conversation may be the better part of valor?
I’ve been devouring a biography of US Navy Admiral Chester Nimitz the last several days. Craig L. Symonds’ Nimitz At War: Command Leadership from Pearl Harbor to Tokyo Bay is a sweeping study of the Admiral’s time commanding the Pacific Fleet during the Second World War. Symonds dives into the battles, the personnel squabbles, and the learning curves that shaped the Allies’ campaign to turn back the Japanese under incredible strains.
I’ve always liked studying the battles of the Pacific. It was a logistics war through and through. In our connected modern world, it’s become increasingly difficult for the casual observer to fathom just how difficult it would be to conduct a multi-front war in a space as vast as the Pacific. Let alone one when the European front demanded the foremost attention of the allied governments.
Despite those challenges, within days of the strikes of Pearl Harbor, Chester Nimitz was ordered to Pearl Harbor to organize, equip, and launch America’s response. And while many are familiar with the Island hopping campaign, and famous battles like Guadalcanal, Midway and Iwo Jima, (and of course the Enola Gay) what I’m finding most intriguing in this read are the small stories. Stories, that for one reason or another, don’t stand out in such a crowded historical setting.
It was during Symonds’ analysis of the Battle of Midway that one such story came to light. And I’ll be the first to admit I’d never dug much into it before. Have you heard of the “Flight to Nowhere” during Midway? No? You’re probably not alone.
The Battle of Midway is studied in detail for a lot of reasons. Audacious decisions that led to victory, chance hunches that brought forces to bear, and overwhelming success that wasn’t a given. But this one sideshow to the battle hasn’t garnered a lot of attention. And it seems that Chester Nimitz – and the Spanish American War – may be why. The “Flight to Nowhere” became a story Chester Nimitz aimed to kill through silence.
At 0705 on June 4th, 1942, the USS Hornet and USS Enterprise launched their aircraft to hunt down a Japanese flotilla near Midway. But the vast majority of the planes from Hornet never came into contact with the enemy – and many had to ditch in the ocean, short of fuel to make it home. Why?
Well, we don’t fully know because there are a lot of holes in the historical log. What was reported contradicts later recollections from pilots in the Hornet’s squadrons. More concerning, the official after action report from Captain Marc “Pete” Mitscher seems to bear false witness. Symonds’ covers the discrepancies in a short piece that shows just how challenging it is to square the facts with the reports. And I’ll be glad to leave that level of historical detail to the real professionals.
What interested me in Symonds’ book is his revealing observation of Nimitz’s reaction to the whole affair: he squashed it, choosing to let the record of the flight to nowhere slip into the oblivion provided by a resounding victory at sea. Why? Why not bring Mitscher’s account to scrutiny? Why let a very possible lie stand?
Symonds’ reminds the reader that during Nimitz’s time in the Naval Academy, students would have been schooled heavily on the Spanish-American war. And during that conflict, a personal dust-up between commanders led to a black eye for the Navy. Accusations – and battles of ego – between two commanders became the headline instead of the victory they secured. The conflict carried on for years after the war, ultimately leading to one officer demanding a court of inquiry to clear his name and gain credit for his role in the decisive victory. Despite winning, in this chapter of the US Navy’s history, the Navy was the loser.
Did Nimitz have this bit of Navy history in mind when reviewing the … incomplete … report of Pete Mitscher? Maybe. But what Nimitz did thereafter reveals a lesson some of us may benefit from in the future. He chose silence. He buried the report. Leaving it as a minor footnote to the battle and keeping his own opinions on the matter secret all the way to his death. A black eye on his Navy? Not if he could help it this time.
Occurring only months into the United States’ involvement in the war, the Battle of Midway was a stunning success. American industrial might hadn’t revved up for the long slog of the Pacific theater attrition. Resources were stretched unimaginably thin. In many ways, we had no right to win. But still reeling from Pearl Harbor, Americans needed a win. We needed a step forward, toward victory. And Nimitz’s silence may have secured just that.
More than ever, we are pressed to air our thoughts. To share our stances on every issue under the sun – every public failure, every crisis, every point of friction. In some cases, remaining silent may seem to place you at risk of being “canceled.” In others, remaining silent may just give space for a tenuous coalition to keep working together. But it’s a tough call.
Leaders are pressed with incalculable burdens, day in and day out. Nimitz certainly was. And just like all of us, he was fallible – especially in modern eyes. But I love fallible, fallen heroes. They’re more realistic. I love that Winston Churchill had so many personal failings yet was the man for the moment in his country’s history. I cheer when modern day heroes show us that they too are just human. In a world where picture perfect personal branding is sought after, give me the unkempt.
What those imperfect leaders show us isn’t that they always made the perfect call – but that they were willing to make a call. That’s may just be the delineator separating the great from the almost great. If you were faced with the same circumstances as Nimitz, would you have done the same? Would you have chosen the omission to promote your mission?
I’m not sure. And maybe that’s why I’m enjoying Symonds’ work so much. I’m hopeful for even more thoughtful nuggets like he reveals through “the flight to nowhere.” Even though I’m not quite through yet, I think it’s safe to give Nimitz At War has a place on the Bookshelf.
p.s. Mitscher went on to play critical roles as a pioneering aircraft carrier commander earning the nickname “The Magnificent Mitscher.” He and his aircrews share significant credit in the success of the Island hopping campaign in the Pacific. Sometimes, we should remember that our whole story isn’t written in one failure.
Part of the Possible 