Families boarding buses while uniformed personnel coordinate an urban evacuation

The Children of Carmen

On our last night in Davao, I asked what they had learned from our trip. After hearing many of the kids offering gratitude for the trip, a young boy – someone who had stayed silent and detached for most of the trip – raised his hand slowly, his eyes wide and innocent, and when acknowledged, spoke candidly in their dialect. His words pierced straight through my heart: “I learned that not all soldiers are killers.” Silence. “And not all Christians are land-grabbers,” he added.

Make Huey drab green, thin jungle canopy, realistic evacuation clearing

What I Learned From the Hills of Hilongos

Coming home, marching out from those dark woods, I would appreciate more clearly why General Abadia insisted that officers must first prove themselves in the trenches before aspiring for higher commands. Men do not follow rank. They follow credibility. They follow leaders who have carried the same heavy pack, walked the same knee-deep muddy trails, endured the same sleepless, shivering nights, and shared the exact same mortal dangers.

When Comfort Was No Longer Enough

Little by little, the mountains would humble me with lessons that no staff assignment could teach: that leadership begins with shared hardship, that credibility is earned rather than assigned, and that comfort, if left unchecked, has a quiet way of softening even the most experienced of soldiers. I had returned to command a Scout Ranger Company. I didn’t realize it then, but my Rangers were also slowly – and subtly – teaching their commander how to become one again.

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