The Liberation of America’s Warriors

A veteran’s honest take on Pete Hegseth’s viral speech — why it struck a nerve, what the critics got wrong, and what America still needs to remember about strength, unity, and truth.

The Moment Pride Returned

I didn’t expect it. My husband and I were sitting in our backyard, streaming Secretary Pete Hegseth’s address on my phone, when I felt it — that unmistakable swell in my chest, the kind of pride I haven’t felt in years.

For a moment, I wasn’t a forty-something veteran with a body that’s paid the price of service. I was eighteen again, standing tall in uniform, ready to raise my right hand all over again.

That’s the power of plain words spoken with conviction. No polished word-salad, no slogans tested by consultants — just a leader telling the truth in clear, simple language that every service member could understand.

If you haven’t seen it yet, I encourage you to watch the full address here and read the official transcript at war.gov. Watch with an open mind. Listen closely. Decide for yourself if his words stir something in you, too.

The Critics Were Quick — But So Was My Reflection

After that initial swell of pride, I’ll admit — I came down fast. Within hours of the speech, my feed was flooded with headlines, hot takes, and critics tearing it apart.

They said it was political. They said it was insulting. Some even claimed the quiet room proved the audience disagreed — which anyone who’s worn a uniform knows simply reflects military bearing. You don’t clap, you don’t cheer, and you don’t react until the senior official exits.

Civilians often misunderstand that silence as disapproval, but for those of us who’ve served, it’s called respect.

Still, the backlash made me stop and think. Maybe this was my chance to look at it from every angle — as a veteran, as a woman, as a spouse, and as a citizen.

So that’s what this piece is: my breakdown of what I got out of the speech, what I think critics got wrong, and the constructive feedback I think is worth saying out loud — respectfully and plainly.

I don’t write this as a political endorsement but as a veteran reflecting on the state of our military — and the nation it protects.

Peace Through Strength — The Speech We Needed to Hear

“To ensure peace, we must prepare for war … not because we want war, but because we love peace.”

That single line reminded me what real deterrence means. The phrase peace through strength isn’t about aggression — it’s about responsibility.

"Either you protect your people and your sovereignty, or you will be subservient to something or someone."

As President Trump often said, and Hegseth echoed, we still have the strongest, most lethal, most prepared military on the planet. Full stop. But readiness is not a one-time declaration; it’s a culture we must keep earning.

Critics said his tone was too combative, but to me it sounded like accountability — the kind of plainspoken leadership that used to define our national defense.

But speeches alone don’t rebuild a fighting force. People do. And that’s why Hegseth’s next point hit even harder.

Personnel Is Policy — People First, Mission Always

When Hegseth said, “Personnel is policy,” it hit close to home. My husband wrote almost that exact sentence years ago while still in uniform. He argued that the best way to accomplish the mission is to deliberately develop people — not programs, not slogans, but people:

“Supervisory actions speak volumes. Face-to-face interaction takes more time, but creates better relationships … Train Airmen to be independent thinkers. Allow them to fail and grow. Treat people with respect and dignity while keeping the bar high.”

That’s leadership. And that’s what Hegseth meant when he said culture begins with who we promote and what we tolerate.

This is where many of the online critics missed the point — the speech wasn’t about punishing people; it was about empowering better leadership.

Personnel is policy means you don’t fix an institution with memos or hashtags; you fix it through leaders who model standards and invest in their people.

Leadership begins with people — but it’s sustained through standards. And that’s where Hegseth went next.

Standards Aren’t Insults — They’re a Culture

I’ll never forget going back on base for a medical appointment after my husband had retired and standards had shifted again. Something felt off. The doctor had a full beard. Female troops walked past with ponytails swinging.

It may sound trivial, but as Hegseth said, standards work like the broken-windows theory. When small things slide, big things eventually follow.

Standards were never about convenience. I know that better than most. As a woman in uniform, I used to get horrible headaches from wearing my hair pulled back tight every day. I had friends who developed traction alopecia and suffered severe hair loss from these strict standards.

Of course, we would have loved to let our hair down. But standards weren’t about how comfortable we felt — they were about discipline, culture, and pride.

I witnessed that lesson again while stationed in Turkey. A red light means stop all over the world — but there, it was more of a suggestion. Americans kept getting rear-ended for following the rule everyone else ignored.

Standards exist for a reason. They keep order, safety, and trust.

I recently spoke with two retired Airmen — one a senior NCO, the other an instructor — who both said the same thing: the hardest part of their later years in service wasn’t the physical strain, it was the cultural shift. They weren’t afraid of hard work; they were afraid to correct it.

“You can’t even tell someone their uniform’s out of regs without worrying it’ll be called harassment,” one of them said.

That fear alone shows how far we’ve drifted from accountability.

Critics who’ve never lived in a system built on discipline will always misread it as oppression. But anyone who’s worn a uniform knows that high standards are freedom — the kind that comes from knowing the person beside you has earned their place.

Most of our force already meets the mark. Tightening standards isn’t about punishing anyone; it’s about protecting a culture of excellence.

Service members want to be challenged. That’s the privilege of belonging to the less than one percent—about 1.3 million Americans — who choose to serve so the other 99 percent can live free.

High standards are what make the U.S. military respected around the world. But somewhere along the way, the focus shifted. We started worrying more about optics than outcomes — which brings me to another truth Hegseth nailed head-on.

We Are Not Civilians — And That’s the Point

“We are not civilians. You are not civilians. You are set apart for a distinct purpose.”

When Hegseth said that, many critics accused him of posturing — of creating an us versus them divide between the military and the rest of America, as though service members see themselves as above civilian life.

I can understand why some might feel that way — but maybe they need to. Maybe that discomfort is the point.

As one veteran told me afterward:

“It blows my mind that people who never served think they should have a say in stuff like this.”

She’s right. To civilians who heard exclusion in his words, I get it — most of what we do behind the gates looks foreign. But that separation is what keeps the rest of the country free to live without it.

Those who’ve never worn the uniform often underestimate what that distinction means. They interpret discipline as rigidity, structure as control, and silence as submission. But those of us who’ve served know better: silence can mean focus, structure builds trust, and discipline saves lives.

That’s part of our problem: as a culture, we stopped revering and respecting the military the way we used to. When I was growing up, we thanked veterans. We stood when the flag passed. We understood that the uniform meant something sacred.

Now I see videos online of college students yelling at a retired officer in a wheelchair, blaming him for the world’s problems. That alone shows how far we’ve drifted.

Too many young Americans think anyone can be in the military — but not everyone is built for it. And that’s okay.

That’s exactly what Hegseth was saying: being set apart doesn’t mean being superior. It means being willing.

It means accepting the weight of responsibility most people will never have to carry.

Later in his address, he said, 

“We fight not because we hate what’s in front of us; we fight because we love what’s behind us.”

That line — originally from G.K. Chesterton — hit me hard because it reminded me what truly sets the military apart.

Warriors are willing to become comfortable inside the violence so that our citizens can live peacefully. That’s not arrogance — it’s sacrifice.

And it’s not just philosophical. I’ve heard it firsthand from veterans who’ve served under resource-strapped conditions — Marines who trained with limited ammunition, soldiers maintaining decades-old equipment, Airmen improvising with what little they had. They don’t complain because they expect comfort; they push through because they understand duty.

That’s the kind of quiet excellence civilians rarely see — but still depend on every single day.

So yes, we are different. And we should be.
Not because we’re above civilians — but because we’re willing to bear what most never have to.

Too many critics didn’t listen to understand; they listened to be offended. But if they’d stopped to listen with humility instead of hostility, they might have heard what I did — not arrogance, but reverence. Not division, but devotion.

Distractions Don’t Win Wars

“No more identity months, DEI offices, dudes in dresses.”

Critics called that political. I heard clarity — and relief.

Warfighters don’t win battles by sitting through endless online modules about sensitivity. They win by training until muscle memory takes over. Every hour spent checking ideological boxes is an hour stolen from readiness.

And make no mistake — our enemies are watching. They don’t lower their standards to make everyone feel included. They aren’t holding “diversity months” before loading up their submarines or ballistic missiles. They are training to kill us. Pretending otherwise doesn’t make us noble; it makes us naïve.

This isn’t about excusing discrimination; racism and harassment have been illegal since 1948. It’s about freeing commanders to lead without bureaucratic paralysis. Warriors aren’t social engineers. Their purpose is to defend the Republic.

As Hegseth reminded us, 

“An entire generation of generals and admirals were told they must parrot the insane fallacy that our diversity is our strength.”

But he’s right — our diversity alone is not our strength. Our unity is.

Diversity without shared purpose fractures; unity built on common values fortifies. Every policy, slogan, or initiative that divides rather than unites weakens the mission — and the nation it protects.

To anyone who saw that section as cruel, I’d ask — when did it become controversial to expect warriors to train like warriors? Discipline and unity are not exclusion; they’re protection.

The Golden Rule of Service — Would You Send Your Own Kids?

Hegseth called it the War Department’s new golden rule:

“Do unto your unit as you would have done unto your own child’s unit.”

Then he asked a question that hit even harder:

“Would I want my eldest son, who is fifteen years old, eventually joining the types of formations that we are currently wielding?”

My husband and I have two children old enough to serve. We’ve had late-night talks about whether we’d encourage them to raise their right hand. And the painful truth is — we weren’t sure.

Another veteran told me she had felt the same way. For years, she said, she couldn’t have encouraged her own son to serve — not after seeing what the culture had become. But this speech, she said, gave her hope again.

“For the first time in years, I thought maybe my son could wear the uniform with pride,” she told me. “It finally feels like someone’s fighting for the military I believed in.”

After more than two decades of service, my husband chose to retire, not because he stopped believing in the mission, but because he could no longer bridge the gap between the standards he lived and the culture forming beneath him.

That’s why the Golden Rule matters: no leader should send someone else’s child into conditions they wouldn’t accept for their own.

It shouldn’t be controversial to want the best for all of our sons and daughters in uniform who shoulder this burden. It should be the baseline.

To the critics who found this “condescending,” I’d ask: what parent wouldn’t want their child serving in the safest, strongest, most disciplined military possible?

Upholding Standards Is Not Toxic Leadership

“Upholding and demanding high standards is not toxic... Real toxic leadership is endangering subordinates with low standards.”

That line deserves to be carved in stone. For years, enforcing standards has been mistaken for cruelty. The truth is the opposite: refusing to enforce them is negligence.

One veteran told me he was discharged for failing his PT test — and he agreed with the decision.

“I let myself go,” he said. “I didn’t fight it, because the rule was the rule.”

That’s not bitterness — that’s ownership. It’s what real accountability looks like, and it’s what our force needs more of.

That leads naturally into the next point — because enforcing standards is only fair if those standards apply equally to everyone.

Merit Over Quotas — Capability Over Comfort

“Standards must be uniform, gender neutral, and high. If not, they’re not standards — they’re just suggestions. Suggestions that get our sons and daughters killed.”

That’s not an insult to women — it’s respect for every warrior who earns their place. Our female officers and NCOs are among the best in the world, and they prove daily that equality and excellence aren’t opposites.

And it isn’t just me who feels that way. In the days since his speech, I’ve heard from other women who felt the same surge of pride I did.

One of them, a fellow veteran who was medically retired after nearly twenty years of service, told me she hadn’t felt this kind of hope for the military in years.

She said she embraced the return to stricter standards — not because she wanted to exclude anyone, but because she wanted the playing field level again.

“I worked damn hard to be respected as an Airman,” she told me. “Not as a woman in uniform. I didn’t want a ‘heritage month.’ I wanted to be part of the team.”

Her words reminded me that real equality isn’t about highlighting differences — it’s about erasing excuses.

When every Airman, Marine, Soldier, and Sailor knows they’re held to the same standard, that’s when pride takes root.

She said his speech gave her goosebumps. It reminded her of why she raised her hand in the first place: discipline, respect, honor, camaraderie, and country first.

She wasn’t alone in that reaction. Another retired Airman told me the speech stirred the same feelings of pride — but also hit like a slap.

“For those who haven’t been holding the standard,” she said, “it’s an eyes-wide-open reminder of what the real military used to be — when dress, appearance, and discipline actually meant something.”

That’s what made the moment powerful. It reignited pride, but it also exposed the gap between what we once were and what we’ve let slide.

Hegseth wasn’t attacking women. He was defending meritocracy — something women like me actually fought for. Equal standards mean equal respect.

Of course, setting standards means nothing if leaders are too afraid to enforce them. And that’s exactly what’s happened over the past decade.

No More Walking on Eggshells

A risk-averse culture has turned too many leaders into spectators. As Hegseth said,

 “Officers execute not to lose instead of to win.”

We’ve seen it ourselves: NCOs afraid to enforce standards, commanders afraid to offend, good people hesitating because someone might complain.

That culture ends when leaders regain permission to lead.

A retired flyer I spoke with joked — half serious — that today’s culture has leaders trying to live in two worlds at once:

“We preach rules but reward cowboy behavior.”

He’s right. You can’t have discipline and disorder coexisting under the same flag. Either we commit to the standard, or we don’t. Anything else breeds chaos.

Silence and hesitation aren’t virtues — they’re warning signs. And as Hegseth reminded us, the real toxicity is fear disguised as politeness.

Train and Maintain — Back to Basics

For too long, our culture has fought the wrong war — a war on warriors instead of a war for them.

Hegseth’s message wasn’t an attack on the rank and file; it was a liberation notice.

I remember playing dodgeball in full chem gear during an exercise. It sounds ridiculous, but it taught endurance — how to move, react, and breathe under pressure.

Today, I can’t remember the last time I saw that kind of training on base. We’re busier with paperwork than preparation. The result? Demoralized warriors and early retirements.

As Hegseth said,

“Let no warrior cry from the grave, ‘If only I had been properly trained.’”

In the days after the speech, I spoke with several veterans who’d quietly nodded along as they listened — not because they agreed with every word, but because they’ve lived the reality Hegseth described.

One of them, a retired flyer, laughed that he wished someone would record a full-ranks inspection these days —

“just so people could see who’s really meeting standards.”

Beneath the humor was frustration: when senior leaders stop enforcing the basics, the entire system loses credibility. Training without discipline isn’t training — it’s theater.

Another friend — also retired Air Force — told me how she and her brother had been talking about the same shift.

“Back in basic,” she said, “they broke us down from our social norms so they could build us into one team — one standard, one mission, one profession of arms.”

That unity was the point. You stopped seeing yourself as an individual first and learned what it meant to serve something larger than yourself.

Even now, working as a defense contractor, she says she bites her tongue watching how casually rank and military bearing are treated.

Veterans from the late ’90s and early 2000s all say the same thing: we could never have gotten away with half of what passes now.

She’s right. Standards weren’t about suppressing individuality; they were about elevating everyone to the same level of excellence. That’s the part we’ve lost — and the part this speech reminded so many of us we need to reclaim.

The critics can call that harsh all they want — but ask any veteran what’s harsher: a tough drill instructor, or a battlefield unprepared?

Critics Say Political — I Say Leadership

Of course, the usual suspects in the media rushed to frame the speech as divisive and political. The Guardian even rounded up quotes from veterans and retired leaders who called it “insulting” or “disparaging.” You can read that roundup here.

But let’s be honest: the press went looking for the disgruntled voices. That’s what they do.

Meanwhile, the thousands of men and women who quietly nodded in agreement aren’t giving press conferences or typing out angry tweets — they’re training, serving, and leading.

And here’s the irony: critics say this speech “politicized” the military. I disagree. The real politicization happened years ago, when Washington sent our sons and daughters into wars fought for profit and power.

Compared to that, restoring standards is not politics — it’s leadership.

Some of the loudest dissenters are those who benefited from looser rules. If this shift forces them out, we’ll thank them for their service — and move forward with the warriors who believe in excellence.

This wasn’t about tearing people down. It was about lifting the red tape off commanders’ shoulders. It was about restoring a warrior ethos that’s been buried under bureaucracy. It was about telling the truth plainly, without the cushion of euphemisms.

Critics call that insulting. I call it liberating.

But even as the message landed powerfully, many of us couldn’t ignore the messenger himself.

Leadership and Moral Authority — The Messenger Matters

After the speech, my husband summed it up perfectly:

“I agreed with the message — I just wish the delivery came from someone else.”

We both admire the words but question the messenger. Pete Hegseth is a former Army National Guard officer who served in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo Bay, and later became a television host and political commentator. His service deserves respect — but his public persona and past controversies have made him a polarizing figure. Fair or not, that reputation can overshadow the message itself.

“Put that same speech in the hands of a retired general,” my husband said, “and it would’ve landed completely differently.”

I can’t agree more. That’s how I feel about Trump — appreciating the results but struggling with the person. The message matters, but so does the messenger.

This awakening will force a course correction. Enough noise — America needs leaders whose credibility can’t be bought, and whose character can’t be excused.

America needs moral authority, not just rhetorical firepower. I discussed this more deeply in my article, I Didn’t Leave the Left — The Left Left Me— where I wrote that the first crack I noticed in America’s moral foundation appeared during the Clinton–Lewinsky scandal.

For many in my generation, it was the moment we realized integrity in leadership was no longer a given.

That said, we’re in a moment that calls for tough love. After years of word-salad politics and polite lies, blunt truth feels like fresh air — even when it stings.

But my hope is that what follows this administration is a new generation of leaders who can carry that truth with both strength and integrity.

The Civilian Lesson — The Military as a Mirror of Society

What this speech revealed goes beyond one department or one Secretary. The cracks Hegseth described in the ranks mirror the same fractures running through our culture.

“The military is like a microcosm of the country,” my husband told me later. “Whatever’s going on in America, you feel it in the ranks almost immediately.”

He’s right. The military mirrors the nation — only under a brighter microscope.

When discipline fades in society, you feel it in uniform. When parents stop correcting their kids or schools inflate grades, you feel it in the culture of accountability.

“You can’t build strong units out of people who were never taught discipline, accountability, or resilience,” my husband added. “What’s breaking down in civilian culture is exactly what started showing up in our ranks. The difference is, at least the military is trying to fix it — in plain sight and under pressure.”

That’s the larger takeaway. This speech wasn’t just about soldiers — it was a mirror held up to the nation.

The Speech We Needed to Hear — Rise and Rekindle

“We have to say with our mouths what we see with our eyes.”

That’s the heart of everything I’m trying to do with Rise and Rekindle.

Words need to matter again. Truth needs to be plain again.

Maybe this was more than a military speech. Maybe it was a reminder that America’s strength — our peace, our unity, our freedom — depends on having the courage to say what’s true and live by it.

Pride Is Back — What Do You Think?

As a veteran, I felt something I haven’t felt in years: pride.

Pride isn’t arrogance or politics. Pride is what keeps men and women fighting long after their bodies are tired. Pride is what forges warriors out of ordinary citizens.

For me, this speech was liberation day.

Maybe that’s what we all need — a reminder that strength and honesty still move people. That pride in who we are isn’t outdated; it’s the spark we rebuild from.

Even my civilian friends who’ve never worn the uniform told me this speech helped them finally understand what service really demands — and why standards matter. That’s how I know the message is breaking through.

If nothing else, this speech reminded me that conviction still matters — if we can rediscover that conviction — in our homes, our schools, and our communities — maybe we can rebuild more than our military. Maybe we can rebuild our country.

Now I want to hear from you:

Share your perspective in the comments or by submitting a response. Let’s talk about it — plainly, respectfully, and with the pride our country deserves.

Reader Response

“Finally, someone sees that we’ve strayed so far from what the military was designed for — war and protection, not inclusivity. I want the people who are most qualified to do the job doing it. If that means a woman like me can’t meet the standards for a particular role, so be it. Those standards exist for a reason — to maintain order and protect our country.

I wish everyone had to serve, just to see how incredible this country really is. Most people have no idea what threats the military faces every day. We need high standards and structure, and both have been tossed aside lately just to avoid hurting feelings.

I’m big on flag code and I hate seeing people disrespect the flag. But I also served to protect their right to do so. That’s what freedom is — even when it offends you.”
— Micah, U.S. Veteran