When War Stops Interrupting Us
The danger of treating war as hardly noticed background noise
War used to interrupt American life. That is no longer the case and hasn’t been for a while.
After following reports this morning of U.S. military operations against Iran, I left my house to work out at my fitness center. Not one of the many television screens throughout the facility was covering the operation. Instead, the usual lineup flickered on the walls — sports games, sports talk, home renovation shows, and endless entertainment. No breaking news banners. No urgency. If you didn’t know better, nothing extraordinary was happening in the world. But make no mistake, we’re at war.
There was a time in America when war was understood as a last resort — a solemn national undertaking entered only after vigorous debate, sacrifice, and collective resolve. During World War II, citizens rationed food and gasoline, planted victory gardens, and bought war bonds. Everyday habits changed. Things like bacon grease and empty toothpaste tubes were collected routinely to support the war effort. Cuffs on men’s trousers were banned and lapels narrowed on suits to conserve wool for uniforms. The national speed limit was reduced to 35 miles per hour — “Victory Speed” — to save fuel and rubber. War was not an abstraction; it reshaped daily life and demanded shared sacrifice.
Today, by contrast, conflict unfolds largely at the edges of public awareness, distant from daily life and disconnected from civic sacrifice. Since the mid-20th century — and especially in the decades following Vietnam — the United States has maintained a near-continuous rhythm of military engagement: Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War, the Balkans, Afghanistan, Iraq, counterterrorism operations across multiple continents, Libya, Syria, Iran, blowing up boats in the Caribbean, most recently Venezuela, and ongoing deployments in volatile regions. Some actions were necessary; others remain debated. What has changed most is not simply frequency, but familiarity. War no longer interrupts American life. It coexists with it.
I saw this distance firsthand. While in combat in Iraq, I lived inside the reality of war — the tension, the losses, the uncertainty, the moral weight of decisions made in seconds. Meanwhile, back home, life moved forward uninterrupted. Little League games continued. Restaurants were full. The markets opened each morning. I did not resent that normalcy; preserving it was part of our mission. But the widening separation between those who fight and those who do not should give us pause.
Our all-volunteer force is extraordinarily capable and professional—the best its ever been—yet it has widened the civil-military divide. Less than one percent of Americans serve in the military, with the top 20% income bracket providing only 10-15% of enlisted recruits. For most U.S. citizens, war arrives as a headline on a news feed or via a fleeting notification on a phone screen. When conflict becomes background noise, democratic accountability weakens. Decisions of enormous consequence proceed without sustained public deliberation or, frankly, interest. In such circumstances a republic such as ours risks surrendering one of its most solemn responsibilities: fully reckoning with the decision to wage war.
Vulnerable leadership asks us to resist this normalization. It calls leaders to speak honestly about the human, moral, and generational costs of military action.; to make the case for why it’s necessary, after all other options have been exhausted. It calls citizens to remain engaged rather than anesthetized by distance and repetition. In my book Large and In Charge No More—A Journey to Vulnerable Leadership, I argue that vulnerability requires the courage to confront uncomfortable truths. In my view, one of those truths today is that we have grown accustomed to perpetual war (by the way, I refuse to use the word “conflict.” Dropping bombs on another country and killing people are acts of war). War should never feel routine, as it has become.
A republic worthy of the sacrifices made by countless citizens over its 250 years of existence must never allow war to become just another program playing on the screens above us.