To the American people there are five types of service members: Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, and Coast Guardsmen. By the lights of the people whom you serve, if you are in the Navy, regardless of rank, you are a “Sailor.” You may also be many other things—officer, chief, aviation ordnanceman, submariner—but first and always, a Sailor.
Nevertheless, there is an active debate within the Navy with regard to what, exactly, a Sailor is. Actually, until the late 1980s, there was no real discussion regarding the word “sailor.” In the Navy, sailor was used only to describe an enlisted person, and the subject of capitalization or the meaning of capitalization never arose. Even today, dictionaries clearly describe sailors as personnel below the rank of officers. So, while the American people may never have differentiated, the dictionary and the Navy certainly did.
This brings us to the Sailor’s Creed, with which the discussion was born. Unlike the legally binding oaths taken by officers and enlisted personnel upon entry into the service, the Sailor’s Creed is relatively new. It first saw light in 1987, originating under Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) James D. Watkins, and it was meant to define an ethos for the enlisted ranks. In this first incarnation, the creed was aimed exclusively and specifically at enlisted persons, and “sailor”—rather than “Sailor”—was used. At its genesis, officers plainly understood that the Sailor’s Creed was not aimed at them.
Regardless, the creed iterated, first in 1993 (still aimed only at enlisted persons) with CNO Frank B. Kelso and then in 1997 under the imprimatur of CNO Jeremy M. Boorda, who fundamentally rewrote it before his death and the actual date of publication. Boorda’s revised creed also contained one other small but eminently significant change: capitalization of “Sailor.” His intent was clear. Officers now were included for the first time as both “Sailors” and in the creed.
However, in the noise that followed Boorda’s death—and without a new CNO determined to actively address these changes—the new Sailor’s Creed was born in controversy. Publication was one thing, but there was no written mandate connected to the creed. As a result, most officers still considered a Sailor to be a sailor; they did not embrace the Sailor’s Creed; and they failed to recognize it as either authoritative or transformative.
More important, the words of the Sailor’s Creed stand in plain opposition to the Oath of Office taken by officers upon commission. Enlisted persons take an Oath of Enlistment in which they swear to (among other things): “obey the orders of the President . . . and the officers appointed over me . . .”
Officers, on the other hand, take an oath that is largely similar but contains one key difference: Officers do not swear to obey orders. There exist such things as wrong, ill-advised, and yes, unlawful orders. In those cases, a commissioned officer is legally obligated to question the order. This is not an official enlisted prerogative, primarily because Sailors are not accountable in the way that officers are. This sets up a fundamental problem with officers and the Sailor’s Creed: In the creed a person vows to obey the orders of those appointed over “me” (just like in the Oath of Enlistment). Officers properly balk at this, as obedience—while expected—is not their sworn charge.
As for the enlisted community, Boorda’s intent was not lost on the Sailors, and this intent clearly held sway over obscure legalities. Enlisted professionals embraced the new creed with vigor and soon began to wonder why officers would bridle at being caused to recite the creed, and how it could be that many officers do not consider themselves to be Sailors, capitalized or not.
At the end of the day, though, the question for an officer is: Am I an officer and a Sailor? Regardless of one’s view of the creed—which fails the legal test and which also fails as an ethos—it is a point that may be worth surrender. Thoughtful enlisted personnel consider it to be perplexing and divisive when they discover that many officers do not consider themselves to be Sailors. To these good people, the title “Sailor” means something important, and they cannot understand why it would not be important to or embraced by officers.
If that is not enough, you might consider this: The greatest American destroyerman who ever lived was Admiral Arleigh Burke. On his tombstone, he specifically identifies himself as a “Sailor.” What more do you need to know?