Hanlon’s
Razor
“”Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.
Or as attributed to Napoleon,
Never ascribe to malice that
which can be
explained by incompetence.
Trying to make sense of what is happening
at the senior leadership level of our Armed Forces is difficult. If someone set
out to render military units ineffective without eliminating them entirely, a
better scheme than what is occurring now would be hard to construct.
Col. David Hackworth hammered on the
theme of perfumed princes. Were he alive today, he might describe the current
situation as civilian social justice warriors, to whom feelings supersede
facts, meet careerists, who have never had a conflict with what is good for the
service, and what is good for their careers. Of course he would state it much
better than me.
One quote attributed to him can find
parallels in most societies over the course of recorded history.
Our generals talk a good
game about taking care of their grunts, and the majority of our Beltway
politicians bay with moralistic fervor about how they, too, support the troops.
Another is true today.
The old saying that war
is a racket has taken on an even more shameful meaning.
Then there are the harshly true word of
Rudyard Kipling’s “Tommy”.
I went into a
public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an'
sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar
they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street
again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister
Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band
begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister
Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as
sober as could be,
They gave a drunk
civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the
gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to
fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for
Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the
troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins"
when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o'
uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them
uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken
soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better
business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of
'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums
begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes"
when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red
'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in
barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our
conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in
barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front,
sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys,
there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front,
sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food
for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry
rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the
cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not
the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
"Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country"
when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an'
anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet
that Tommy sees!
These fools never learn. Over the
centuries, more than one nation’s army has said, “Fuck this shit”, and just
walked away. I wonder how close ours is to that point?
