Worthy of sacrifice to an ever-striving nation

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ken Falke, a 21-year veteran of the U.S. Navy Special Operations Explosive Ordnance Disposal community, is the founder of four companies, two for-profits and two nonprofits. He is currently the chairman of Boulder Crest Foundation, an organization focused on the teachings of posttraumatic growth. He is also the co-author of “Struggle Well: Thriving in the Aftermath of Trauma” and the author of “Lead Well: 10 Steps to Successful and Sustainable Leadership.”

I recently returned from a trip to London. During my visit, I toured the Churchill War Rooms. It wasn’t my first visit, and it certainly won’t be my last.

One artifact always stops me in my tracks — a quote from Winston Churchill:

“You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: Victory.”

Some questions and answers never leave you.

Years ago, a mother asked me a question that still echoes in my mind. Her son, a young American warrior — had lost all four limbs in Afghanistan yet survived. She looked at me with the exhaustion only a parent can carry and asked quietly: “Do you ever think I’ll be able to say his sacrifice was worth it?”

I didn’t have an answer then and I’m not sure I have one now.

For more than two decades, Americans tried to measure the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan through strategy, politics, casualty counts and timelines. Presidents defended them. Critics condemned them. Historians will debate them for generations.

But for military families, the question has never been abstract. It has always been painfully personal.

Was it worth a son’s legs? A daughter’s peace of mind? A marriage destroyed? A folded flag? A suicide years after coming home?

Most families carrying the burden of war are not looking for slogans. They are looking for meaning. And meaning becomes difficult when outcomes feel uncertain.

After 9/11, America asked extraordinary things of a very small percentage of its citizens. Less than 1% carried the weight of two wars while most of the nation built careers, watched sports, and moved on with life. Meanwhile, military families celebrated birthdays over video calls, slept beside empty beds, and feared late-night knocks at the door. Many paid permanently.

We often speak about sacrifice in patriotic language because it is easier than speaking honestly about pain. We put yellow ribbons on cars and thank veterans at airports. Those gestures matter. But eventually, every wounded veteran and every Gold Star family reaches a quieter moment, when ceremony fades and the deeper question emerges: What did all of this accomplish?

That question becomes even harder when America appears divided, angry, and disconnected from the values so many believed they were protecting. Veterans notice when civic responsibility declines, when public discourse becomes cruel, and when freedom becomes confused with selfishness. Parents notice too.

Imagine raising a son or daughter with values like duty, sacrifice and service, only to watch a culture increasingly consumed by outrage, narcissism and grievance. That mother’s question was never political, it was moral. She was asking whether her son’s suffering still meant something.

I believe the answer depends less on what happened overseas and more on what kind of nation we choose to become here at home. If America grows weaker in character, more divided, less compassionate, and less willing to serve one another, many families will understandably struggle to reconcile the cost. But if we build stronger communities, care for one another, defend democratic values, and live lives worthy of sacrifice, then meaning can still emerge from tragedy.

Not because war is noble. War is not noble. War is violent, traumatic and unforgiving. Anyone who has seen it honestly knows that. What is noble is the willingness of ordinary Americans to sacrifice themselves for people they may never meet. That spirit still matters.

Most service members do not fight because they love geopolitics. They fight for the person beside them. They fight because protecting others matters. They fight because duty still means something and that is where meaning lives.

Not in whether every political objective was achieved. Not in whether history judges a war favorably. Not in whether politicians got everything right.

Meaning lives in whether we, as Americans, prove worthy of what was given.

That burden cannot rest solely on veterans and military families. The rest of America has obligations too: to serve communities, care for the wounded, support surviving families, restore civility, protect democracy, and raise children with character. Sacrifice cannot simply be remembered. It must be honored through conduct.

I still think about that mother, and I wish I had given her a better answer. Maybe the only honest answer is this: Her son’s sacrifice will be worth it if we decide it will be — through the nation we build, the values we defend, and the way we treat one another.

And that responsibility belongs to all of us. It also belongs to our leaders.

Before America asks its sons and daughters to go to war, our leaders should remember Churchill’s words. They should know the aim. They should be able to answer, with clarity and conviction, why the sacrifice is necessary.

Before we launch the plan, we must have the answer. Victory.