60-Day Journal of a Newly Appointed Flight Battalion Political Instructor: Every Small Matter Is a Building Block of Trust
Every Small Matter Is a Building Block of Trust
— 60-Day Journal of a Newly Appointed Flight Battalion Political Instructor
■ Guo Lingling
Editor's Note
A strong grassroots company cannot exist without strong grassroots cadres. Strong grassroots cadres cannot be forged without the tempering that comes from "training through doing" (事上练), day after day and year after year. Over the past nine years, Grassroots Dispatch has long followed the growth of a cohort of newly graduated platoon leaders and tracked three years in the life of a newly appointed company political officer. Those real, vivid, and concrete people and events brought considerable inspiration to the platoon-leader community and the company commander community alike, and drew wide attention.
Now we are expanding our coverage once again, turning the lens on battalion-level commanders. Through the continuous publication of one newly appointed political instructor's journal of duty, we invite the community of battalion commanders and political instructors to explore together the "ways and means" (道道) of being a good battalion-level commander. Today we present the first installment. Please stay tuned.
"Is there anything that was left out?"
The first time I stood duty at the operations console after becoming political instructor, having completed every pre-boarding procedure and standing before three senior leaders and a roomful of pilots, I actually said those words out loud. What I had meant to ask was "Does anyone have anything to add?" — but I was so nervous that the words came out wrong.
That got a laugh out of everyone and lightened the mood for a moment.
The leader accompanying the unit for the training exercise smiled and bailed me out: "Nothing was left out — that was fine!" Then, still smiling, he boarded the aircraft.
This was the first live-fire ground-target training exercise I participated in after taking up the post of political instructor. I had just assumed the position and was still in an adjustment period, and on top of that I was thrown into the high-stakes setting of a live-fire ground-target exercise, with leaders from three echelons — army, division, and regiment — all present on site.
The day before the shoot, I drew up a long list of key elements to review in advance: meteorological conditions, range status, communications, ordnance loads, fuel quantities, bird activity, and so on. But the entire day was packed solid with theoretical instruction, cockpit familiarization, baseline assessments, and technical study, and the advance review never happened.
After seeing the pilots to their aircraft, my job was to monitor and verify a stream of information: wind speed, mean sea-level relative altitude, fluctuations in core parameters, bird-strike numbers, cloud cover — and once verified, to relay all of it to the pilots. After the daytime sorties were done, cross-day-and-night training still awaited me. When training concluded, I still had to help coordinate vehicle dispatch for the pilots' departure and contact the mess hall to arrange meals. Only when the last item on the day's schedule had been checked off did I feel settled.
That was a day of operations-console duty — busy, but at least there were procedures to follow.
What I found truly difficult were the things for which there are no procedures.
Not long ago, while traveling on a work trip, the phone calls came one after another: the Navy Day speech competition needed rehearsal; a pilot reported that the hot-water heater in the dormitory was broken; higher headquarters was pressing for the "six baseline assessments, seven checkpoints" (六摸底七把关) forms and several political education ledgers to be filled out. Before I had even reached my destination, I had received multiple calls. The critical thing was that I had not managed to act on a single one of them — my head was buzzing and my palms were soaked with sweat.
In that moment, I recalled a warning a comrade had given me before I took up the post: the flight battalion political instructor position is very busy, the affairs are very fragmented, and you need to be mentally prepared. I remember I had pushed back on him at the time: "That's nothing!" But when a string of calls came flooding in one after another, I finally understood that his warning had been genuinely necessary.
After arriving at my destination, I took a deep breath, sorted through everything one item at a time, and returned the calls one by one. From that day on, I learned two things: carry a notebook at all times and rank every pending task by urgency and importance; and learn to say "Understood — let me look into it and get back to you shortly," rather than taking everything on the spot and giving rash answers on the fly.
In fact, a large portion of these miscellaneous matters were "livelihood issues" (民生问题): a light bulb burned out, a door frame rotted, the screws on a piece of fitness equipment came loose again. Watching me run around solving these problems, a friend joked with me: "You're a political instructor — why are you bothering with these trivial trifles?"
Why bother? A dark balcony light obstructs visibility and could cause someone to trip and fall at night. A corroding door frame creaks every time the door is pushed open and disrupts rest. Loose screws on fitness equipment could cause injury during training. What appear to be trivial trifles are precisely what determines the pilots' day-to-day "felt temperature" (体感温度), and they are also the proper domain of political work.
Some things are hard to handle on your own. The aircraft model used for ground deduction and technical study in the flight preparation room at the airfield was broken — it is a teaching aid. The administrative office thought about procuring a replacement from the manufacturer, but a custom model requires design drawings and mold fabrication, with a lead time of nearly a month. That long a delay would seriously set back the pilots' study.
Meng, the political instructor from the neighboring battalion, offered a suggestion: "The repair shop has a 3D printer — why not ask them for help?" Following his lead, I found comrades at the repair shop who helped produce the models. The models came out beautifully, but the colors were not realistic. So my clerk and I each picked up a pen and painted the nose black, outlined the wings — and before long the problem was solved. Looking at the dozens of "hand-painted limited editions" on the table, I suddenly understood: when you are overwhelmed, don't tough it out alone. With the organization and sister units behind you, many difficulties can be overcome.
Before taking up this post I had worked in the publicity section and had interviewed many pilots. At the time, my approach to this community was to enter through their training subjects — focusing on what they flew, their tactical objectives, their scores, and their exemplary deeds — and I thought I understood them well. Now, after sixty days living alongside them around the clock, eating, sleeping, and training together, I have seen another side: the tedious repetitive drills on the simulator; the silence and extra practice sessions after an "unsatisfactory" assessment result; the sleepless nights when something goes wrong at home. Now I know that the full picture of a pilot cannot be "assembled" from a few interviews — it has to be perceived through day-and-night proximity.
Two months have passed. My capabilities have not grown by much: when transitioning between training subjects, I still feel a flutter of anxiety; when several calls come in at once, I still get a bit flustered; when a light bulb burns out and no spare can be found, I still pace the corridor. But there is one thing I have worked out: the growth of a grassroots commander is not about never making mistakes — it is about turning every "mistake" into a stepping stone for the next moment of "shining," and turning the pending items from a string of phone calls into an orderly list of resolved outcomes. Those light bulbs, door frames, and models — every small matter is a building block of trust. Lay one block, and the pilots notice it; lay enough of them, and they start to regard you as one of their own.
Looking back now, that morning when I showed my inexperience at the operations console was probably my "initiation rite" (入门礼) in the transition from staff officer to grassroots commander.