Jürgen Schulz

The briefing room was quiet, but my thoughts were louder than any of the chatter that came before. I’ve been here before, leading a team, reviewing strategy, and readying myself for what lies ahead. It wasn’t so long ago, at least it doesn’t feel that way, when I stood in Kabul with the same sense of uncertainty and responsibility. The difference is, back then, I had to lead men through chaos and watch some of them never make it home.

Afghanistan leaves marks, and not just in the official reports. There are names and faces I carry with me, and they visit me on nights when I can't sleep. I’ve buried more friends than I’d like to remember. For over 40 years in the Bundeswehr, I’ve carried the weight of leadership, decisions, and sometimes, the unbearable consequence of both.

I’m 62 now, living and working in Wilhelmshaven, Germany, and I’ve seen the Bundeswehr shift from national defense to international missions, from a relic of skepticism to an institution with respect, if not unwavering support. Germans have never fully trusted their military, and who can blame them? We’ve got a history, one that keeps creeping up whenever the topic of rearmament or military action surfaces. And yet, Russia’s war in Ukraine has made people see the need for us again. Strange how we only learn to appreciate peace when it’s threatened.

Still, there’s a part of me that wonders how we got here. After all the wars, all the bodies buried, and the endless cycles of fear and hatred, how is it we still turn to weapons to solve our conflicts? Sometimes I think we’re stuck in an endless loop, nations afraid of one another, yet unwilling to find another way.

I believe in the Bundeswehr; I’ve dedicated my life to it. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, I wonder if it’s all just too backward—this whole idea of waging war when we know where it leads.