This paper builds on my previous Substack, Army Special Forces in Strategic Competition. That paper made the case that Special Forces risks irrelevance if reduced to elite assault troops in an Army dominated by large-scale combat operations. It called for a return to the Regiment’s irregular warfare heritage—its comparative advantage in an era defined as much by proxies, persuasion, and political warfare as by conventional firepower.
This paper, Rebuilding the Core, takes that argument further. It moves from diagnosis to prescription, focusing on how Special Forces can restore the human edge that has always been its hallmark. It lays out a belief that the Regiment needs to treat language, culture, and networks as combat skills on par with shooting, demolitions, and medicine. Just as we invest years to make an 18D competent and credible, we must do the same for fluency and cultural depth. Without this shift, the Regiment risks becoming redundant. With it, SF reclaims its rightful place as America’s premier irregular warfare force.
Introduction
After two decades of counterterrorism in Iraq and Afghanistan, many commanders have come to view Special Forces as little more than elite assault troops. They know the legend of SF’s origins but assume the Regiment has “moved on” from irregular warfare. That misconception narrows their campaign planning and hides SF’s real value in today’s era of strategic competition.
In truth, Army SF was never about raids alone. Its lineage runs back to the OSS, when small teams working through indigenous partners altered campaigns far larger than their numbers. Detachment 101 in Burma mobilized thousands of Kachin tribesmen to harass Japanese forces and rescue downed aircrews. Jedburgh teams dropped into France ahead of D-Day, training and equipping resistance cells that disrupted German reinforcements. Their success came not from firepower, but from trust, influence, and the ability to multiply effects through others.
That “by, with, and through” approach has been in SF’s DNA from the start, codified by the Lodge Act of 1950, which infused the Regiment with émigrés whose language, culture, and authenticity gave SF its human edge. Yet over the past twenty years, that edge has dulled. Counterterrorism became the bread and butter. Nightly raids honed tactical skill but eroded language mastery, cultural immersion, and regional continuity—the very foundations of credibility in irregular warfare.
This isn’t the first time SF has struggled with identity. In the 1990s, it fought for relevance in an Army consumed by AirLand Battle. After 9/11, it was pulled deeper into counterterrorism while the Army relearned counterinsurgency. Those choices made sense in the moment, but they carried a cost.
Now, in an age of strategic competition, the stakes are higher. SF risks being typecast as a strike force—just another version of the Rangers or the 82nd Airborne. What the nation needs is something different: a return to SF’s roots as America’s OSS, the heirs of the Jedburghs, the successors to Lansdale, and the modern “Lawrences of Arabia.” Rebuilding that human edge isn’t nostalgia. It’s survival.
The Enduring Case for UW
The call to return Special Forces to its irregular roots has never faded. For more than two decades—whether in think tanks, battalion command posts, Afghan villages, or the Pentagon—a steady current of voices has pressed the case for the mission set that makes the Regiment unique. Their arguments have been consistent: unconventional warfare is not an anachronism, but the very capability that gives Special Forces enduring relevance. The obstacle has never been weak ideas—it has been institutional inertia, the seductive clarity of counterterrorism raids, and the Army’s fixation on large-scale combat operations.
The counterinsurgency debate was one of the early flashpoints. John Nagl’s Learning to Eat Soup with a Knife and his work on FM 3-24 reminded the Army that legitimacy, adaptation, and partner-centric operations were core to winning irregular wars. Yet as doctrine leaned toward COIN, practice pulled SF toward high-value target raids. The theories matched our DNA, but the exigencies of the moment—the relentless urgency of the CT fight—pulled SF in another direction. Over time, that shift reinforced the perception of Special Forces as assault troops with flair rather than as the nation’s premier irregular warfare specialists.
Inside the Regiment, other leaders tried to bend the narrative back. Charlie Cleveland, first at SOCCENT and later at USASOC, pushed the idea of a Global SOF Network—a lattice of persistent SOF presence designed to contest adversaries in the gray zone. I supported this effort when I led the SOF Support Team at JIEDDO, embedding operations and intelligence elements into SOF JIATFs worldwide. Where it was resourced, the concept worked; but when budgets and bias favored CT or LSCO, it withered.
Other voices came from within our own ranks. Colonel Mark Boyatt, who commanded my battalion in 1st SFG(A), argued that the essence of SF is “by, with, and through”—a philosophy of exporting credibility and influence through partners, not replicating missions Rangers can already perform. Dave Maxwell carried the same torch with relentless consistency, insisting that UW is not just a tactical option but a strategic capability, America’s comparative advantage in competition. Without it, he warned, SF risked irrelevance.
From the field, Jim Gant put theory into practice with One Tribe at a Time, advocating Tribal Engagement Teams that lived in Afghan villages, built trust through presence, and adapted to local rhythms. Messy and controversial, his approach nonetheless proved that cultural immersion generated influence in ways raids never could. I was serving as GEN Petraeus’s C-IED advisor in Kabul when Gant’s ideas began circulating widely; they sparked debate precisely because they cut against the prevailing current of raids and rotations.
Running through all of these efforts is the enduring lesson of Edward Lansdale. In the Philippines, he embedded himself with Magsaysay’s circle, grasped the political heartbeat of an insurgency, and showed how persuasion and legitimacy could achieve what firepower could not. In many ways, Nagl, Cleveland, Boyatt, Maxwell, and Gant were carrying forward Lansdale’s torch, adapted to their own time and fight.
None of these ideas were entirely new. The Dixie Mission to Mao’s headquarters in 1944, postwar advisory groups in Greece and Turkey, and other micro-detachments of the early Cold War had already demonstrated that persistent presence and trust-building were an American way of irregular competition. Even Afghanistan, in the fall of 2001, gave us a reminder: SF orchestrated the “first cavalry charge of the 21st century,” toppling the Taliban at speed and scale through UW. Yet rather than reinforce those lessons, the system shifted to counterterrorism and direct action—failing to recognize that if success in Afghanistan was possible, it required a generational commitment to irregular warfare.
Attempts to shift our focus back to UW didn’t fail because the ideas were wrong—they failed because the institution made deliberate choices. UW requires patience, persistence across years (sometimes generations), and a high tolerance for ambiguity. Its outcomes are difficult to measure and even harder to brief. Direct action, by contrast, delivers quick, visible results and immediate credit. High-value target raids may be complex, but they are far less ambiguous than UW, and therefore more attractive to a system that craves clarity. In the end, an overstretched and under-resourced force defaulted to kinetic prestige: Iraq and Afghanistan consumed bandwidth, budgets flowed toward CT and LSCO modernization, doctrine gave UW lip service without permanence, and inside the Regiment, operators gravitated to the missions that were recognized and rewarded—cementing the “assault troops with flair” stereotype.
Yet the voices that carried the case for UW were not looking backward; they were pointing ahead. Nagl’s population-centric doctrine, Cleveland’s Global SOF Network, Boyatt’s partner-first philosophy, Maxwell’s strategic UW advocacy, Gant’s tribal engagement, and Lansdale’s lessons in persuasion were all acknowledged but never fully institutionalized. They remain a roadmap. Across levels and generations, leaders have pressed the enduring case for UW. And today, in an era defined by strategic competition, the environment they foresaw has arrived.
The Fight We Were Built For
While the U.S. shift toward strategic competition is evident in investments aimed at deterring China, Russia, and Iran, those competitors are not choosing between conventional and irregular tools—they are pursuing both. Even as they field advanced systems—long-range precision strike, integrated air defenses, electronic warfare, unmanned platforms, and anti-access/area-denial architectures—they are simultaneously expanding their irregular warfare portfolios: proxies, cyber and information operations, economic coercion, and lawfare. Their goal is not a fair fight in large-scale combat but a steady campaign to erode American will, fracture coalitions, and shape the battlespace short of open war.
This blended contest is exactly where Special Forces should lead. The lineage of ideas carried by Boyatt, Maxwell, Cleveland, and others was not academic; it was a warning. They anticipated a fight defined less by tank battles and more by persuasion, proxies, and political warfare—the fight we now face every day. Investing for success in this environment is not a zero-sum choice between conventional or irregular capabilities; it requires putting resources where the U.S. gains the greatest return in both realms. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth has called repeatedly for “increased lethality” across the force. Some might view Special Forces’ renewal of language, cultural fluency, and UW tradecraft as the opposite of lethality—“soft skills” in a hard-power world. The truth is the opposite. These are the very skills that create conditions where lethality matters most: they open doors, build alliances, generate intelligence, and set the stage so that when the United States does apply force, it is decisive. Renewing SF’s irregular warfare core doesn’t dilute lethality; it multiplies it.
The thinkers and practitioners who urged SF back to its roots were not looking backward; they were pointing ahead. Strategic competition now validates their warning: the nation needs Special Forces to reclaim its role as America’s irregular warfare force of choice. SF in IW is essential in multiple ways—sometimes the application of UW skills can preclude the need for a kinetic fight, while in other environments it sets the stage for conventional operations across domains. That return to relevance begins with rebuilding language and cultural fluency—not as academic exercises, but as operational imperatives that underpin everything from influence to partnership to survivability.
Competing in this environment demands more than intent; it requires recovering the attributes that once defined SF’s edge. Language is the entry ticket to credibility. Cultural fluency transforms access into lasting influence. Networks must be built and sustained so they can withstand pressure where adversaries exploit theirs. And UW tradecraft—sabotage, subversion, influence, deception—produces effects in the human domain that no missile, drone, or armored brigade can achieve.
Fluency as a Combat Skill
Reclaiming Special Forces’ human edge begins with a simple truth: language and cultural fluency are not academic electives—they are combat skills. They are the foundation of credibility, influence, and survivability in irregular warfare. Without them, SF is just another strike force. With them, SF becomes the partner of choice, the disruptor adversaries fear, and the force multiplier no conventional unit can match.
Training must move beyond classroom drills to residency-style immersion. Just as doctors learn by practicing under supervision, SF soldiers must live in diaspora communities or train abroad to achieve true fluency. RAND studies reinforce what history has already proved: continuity and duration of exposure are what drive language retention and operational effectiveness.
Recruiting must also revive what once made the Regiment distinct. Early SF thrived on émigrés who brought authentic language skills, cultural knowledge, and networks. A modern Lodge Act approach—spotting, assessing, and integrating immigrants with critical skills—would restore that authenticity. RAND’s own findings show that graduates with immersion experience not only achieve higher proficiency but sustain it longer, proving that authenticity and cultural depth pay off.
Immersion itself must be real, not episodic. OSS teams lived with the Kachins, and Jim Gant’s Tribal Engagement Teams did the same in Afghan villages. That model still works. SF soldiers need sustained exposure where they are forced to think, negotiate, and operate daily in the target language. One way to achieve this is through persistent micro-detachments—two- or three-man elements embedded year-round in select partner nations or U.S. diaspora hubs. Another option is leveraging the U.S. embassy platform. Small SF cells embedded in embassies—perhaps an 18F, 18D, and warrant officer—could rotate in for six to twelve months as staff augmentees. Functioning inside the Country Team, they would sharpen language and cultural skills under operational pressure while contributing real value to the mission.
Alongside immersion and recruiting, the Regiment should create a pool of vetted language and cultural specialists—operators and carefully screened partners with deep regional expertise, networks, and fluency—who can be attached to ODAs for missions requiring the highest degree of mastery and operational precision. Just as CWMD missions embed scientists to provide the technical depth commanders need, Special Forces should be able to embed cultural and language specialists to provide the human depth irregular warfare demands.
None of this is without precedent. Lansdale built his effectiveness in the Philippines by embedding with Magsaysay’s circle, living among his partners, and mastering the cultural and political nuance of his environment. The Dixie Mission in China, JUSMAPG in Greece and Turkey, and countless early Cold War advisory teams were micro-detachments in all but name. Embassy cells, persistent detachments, and a pool of deployable specialists are simply modern adaptations of that proven model, updated for the gray-zone fight of the 21st century.
But immersion and expertise will fail if our personnel system continues treating detachments as interchangeable. Cohesion is everything. Teams must remain intact long enough to capitalize on the investment in skills, trust, and networks. That requires keyed assignments, multi-year stability, and retention incentives tied to language proficiency and partner feedback. Digital sustainment can help—but it must supplement, not replace, real immersion. Daily online drills keep skills sharp between rotations, but credibility in irregular warfare only comes from presence, persistence, and cultural depth.
Acknowledging the Hard Truths
These recommendations will require a cultural shift inside Special Forces Groups and sustained commitment from senior leaders. This isn’t about adding another block of instruction at SWCS or sending a few more mobile training teams from DLI. It is about re-engineering how the Regiment thinks about language, culture, and networks as combat skills. In the gray zone, language is not optional—it is life support for credibility.
The first hard truth is that language proficiency and cultural fluency matter more than fighting skills. Our ODAs must still be masters of warfare, but their unique purpose is to recruit, organize, train, and employ others. A detachment is designed to build and lead a battalion-sized partner force. That requires trust, not just firepower. We already accept this logic for our 18Ds: nobody questions the years of training, clinical rotations, and constant recertification required to keep a medic sharp, because lives depend on it. The same mindset must apply to language and culture. Lives—and campaigns—depend on whether an ODA can build trust, read a room, and operate inside another society’s frame of reference.
The second hard truth is that training time comes at a premium—and for UW skills, it must be invested first, not as an afterthought. For too long, cultural and language training have been the things we bolt on if there’s time left after ranges, demolitions, and tactical drills. That formula guarantees failure. If UW is our comparative advantage, then immersion, residency training, and sustainment must come first in the training calendar, not last.
We must also confront a seductive illusion: that technology will solve the problem for us. A Star Trek–style “universal translator” may someday spit out words, but it will never capture intent, tone, or worldview. It won’t read the undercurrent in a tribal shura, the nuance in a Russian officer’s phrasing, or the subtle cues that betray whether a partner is hedging or preparing to defect. In UW, credibility is not built through literal translation but through trust, immersion, and the ability to understand and anticipate.
Here is another hard truth: for the past 20 years, the Regiment has often graded itself by tactical warfighting skills—sometimes joking that our ODAs “speak three languages: nine-millimeter, 5.56, and 7.62.” That pride in direct action is understandable, but it reflects a tendency to measure ourselves against Rangers, JSOC, and conventional formations. The problem is those lanes are already well covered. Competing there only makes us a lesser version of someone else, and that is not what makes us special.
What does make us unique—and what the nation actually needs in this era of strategic competition—are the enduring strengths that have always defined SF: cultural immersion, credible partnerships, unconventional warfare, and influence below the threshold of war. As T.E. Lawrence reminded his readers in 1917, “Better the Arabs do it tolerably than that you do it perfectly. It is their war, and you are to help them, not to win it for them.” That truth remains unchanged.
Residency-style training, ILR proficiency gates, sustained immersion, a modern Lodge Act, deployable language specialists, embassy-cell detachments, persistent micro-teams, and personnel reforms to preserve cohesion—these are the steps required to restore credibility in irregular warfare. None are easy. All demand resources, discipline, and leadership buy-in. But if we are serious about keeping Special Forces relevant in the 21st century, we must treat language and culture the way we treat medicine for our 18Ds: as a no-fail requirement. Anything less is malpractice.
Conclusion: Rebuilding the Human Edge
Special Forces was never meant to be the Army’s elite assault force. Its identity—its comparative advantage—has always been in irregular warfare, cultural immersion, and the ability to shape environments below the threshold of war. The lessons of the OSS, the Jedburghs, the Dixie Mission, and Edward Lansdale all point to the same truth: America wins not when it outguns its enemies, but when it outthinks, out-influences, and outmaneuvers them in the human domain.
Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth’s call for “increased lethality” should not be seen as contradicting this focus on language, culture, and unconventional tradecraft. Quite the opposite: these are the tools that make lethality meaningful. They create access, generate intelligence, build networks, and shape battlespaces where U.S. firepower can be applied with maximum effect. As Colonel Mark Boyatt reminded us, “the ODA must be the deadliest element in that area … because that is how you get respect from the locals.” But “deadliest” in this context is not about the raw firepower of twelve men—it is about their ability to generate effects exponentially larger than themselves by enabling, leading, and multiplying the power of partner forces. Renewing the Regiment’s human edge doesn’t water down lethality—it ensures it strikes at scale and in ways no adversary can match.
The steps outlined here—residency blocks, Lodge Act 2.0, deployable language specialists, embassy-cell immersion, personnel reform, and treating language as seriously as trauma medicine—are not luxuries. They are survival. If the Regiment clings to kinetic prestige, it will become indistinguishable from other strike units. If it rebuilds its human edge, it will once again become indispensable.
This paper has focused on rebuilding the core—restoring the credibility and fluency that made SF unique. The next paper in this series will take the argument forward: how to integrate technology without losing identity. Because while drones, AI, and cyber tools are transforming warfare, they will only enhance SF if they are married to the same human skills that made Detachment 101, the Jedburghs, and Lansdale so effective. The challenge ahead is clear: to harness the future without forgetting who we are.
A great lay down. It seems to me the allies who can make your vision real are current SF operators, SOCOM leaders, and interagency partners who value influence; the pushback will come from the big Army, JSOC’s direct-action culture, and budget or tech voices. A practical way forward is for SF, SOCOM, and State/CIA to press together that language and culture aren’t extras—they’re combat multipliers, essential for operating in the gray area.
Thank you Mark, this has been a great reminder of where we as a regiment need to focus. I would also like to add a third leg to your stool. Language, Cultural and RELATIONSHIPS" I was the J3 for JTF-510 when we deployed to the Philippines after 9/11. The relationships that we had built over the last 15 years of working with the AFP brought us immediate relevancy. The fact that the AFP SOUTHCOM Commander, LTG Roy Cimatu was a graduate of the US Army's Command and General Staff College and had relatives in the Seattle enhanced our reception. Most of the young staff officers on his staff and in the two AFP infantry brigades on Basilan had attended one or more Army courses, Ranger School, the Special Forces Qualification Course, Airborne School and had been part of the JCET programs. Those relationships built immediate trust and emboldened them. For those of you who are unfamiliar with OEF-P, i would recommend this rand study to you: https://www.rand.org/content/dam/rand/pubs/research_reports/RR1200/RR1236/RAND_RR1236.pdf. I will point out that one of the major architects of OEF-P is missing from the report and I would like to mention him here - then MAJ Eric Wendt, his surveys were instrumental in allowing us to identify key centers of gravity on Basilan which once addressed allowed us to deny key sanctuaries to the ASG to the point where they abandoned Basilan.