“Pride” means many things to each of us: happiness at what we’ve accomplished as a repressed group of people, or admiration at those who have gone before us and trailblazed a path toward full equality. When some of us hear the word ‘Pride’, however, our minds might be filled with images of rainbow flags, parades, glitter, and kittens. We might think of parties with our friends or dancing in the streets, kissing the person we love — in full view of the world … and, for those few days of a typical “pride” celebration, those of us who have spent (or still spend) the majority of our time in the closet feel free — free to just be.

But ‘pride’, to me, is so much more than the party, or even a generic feeling of admiration on our accomplishments thus far. Especially this year, with the dynamic changes in our society’s perception of LGBT people, and the repeal of DADT, ‘Pride’ means so much more. This year, ‘pride’ is about freedom to be open and honest — all year long. It’s about holding your partner’s hand at the mall (if anyone still shops in a mall!) … kissing that person at dinner in a restaurant outside of the Castro, Hillcrest or 4th Street … it’s about changing your relationship status on your main page, not just your gay page.

Without a doubt, ‘pride’ is personal. Each person’s decision to be open, honest, and genuine with his or her family and friends is a tough choice, and is often not without consequence. Each person’s way of expressing his or her own ‘pride’ is unique, challenging, and beautiful. For instance, one of my goals this year as I continue my ‘coming out’ journey is to live a truer, more genuine life. “True” and “genuine” means being honest first with myself, because only then can I be honest with others.

‘Pride’ is also societal, even cultural — much bigger than the individual. In our unique military culture, ‘pride’ is about recognizing individuals for their contributions to the organization, without regard for their sexual orientation. ‘Pride’ is having the courage to stand up for what is right, to be strong enough to face discrimination, hate, and ignorance head-on. ‘Pride’, for LGBT service members, is the ability to finally answer — openly — the question of love; even if it’s only to those we trust the most — be that a roommate, a colleague, a trusted officer or an NCO confidant. Having ‘pride’, this year, means living without fear.

Our “family” watched with pride this past year as the true nature of our nation shone through the darkness of ignorance and bigotry. We’ve seen the polls gradually slide from unsupportive, to apathetic, to openly supportive of our freedom to serve freely, proudly, with integrity. We’ve seen politicians — both Democrat and Republican — shift their stance on gay rights and tolerance. We have watched in tears as our Commander-in-Chief signed into law legislation which allows us to finally be honest with the world while simultaneously serving the country we love so much. ‘Pride’, it seems, is about being proud to be an American again.

As I reflect on my own journey towards honesty and openness, I cannot help but think about some of the decisions I have made that have hindered my journey. I find myself occasionally questioning choices along the way, some of which have led to me to hurt those I loved the most. I sometimes second-guess my choices and wonder if I made the right ones. In the end, however, I look back with ‘pride’ at my own growth as a person — and as a service member. I think of how drastically different my life would have been had I made different life choices long ago, and how insignificant my contributions to my country would have been. With all of my regrets (and I have many), I have come to realize that my choices made me who I am today. Without the experiences subsequent to those decisions, I would not be the same person.

As Jane Austen so eloquently told us, “vanity and pride are different things.” This is an important distinction as we move forward in our marathon journey towards openness and equality. As frustrating as being patient can be, especially in the presence of those who do not understand or wish to understand, our duty is to educate those with whom we live and serve. Our duty is to be proud, but not vain. Our duty is to be respectful, loving, kind, and understanding while our society matures around us. Take care not to confuse patience with weakness or apathy. We must be strong and deliberate when necessary to ensure that the progress made by both our generation and those who came before us was not for naught. In our fight for what is just, and true, and fair, we must remain mindful of how far we have come, and we must keep our eye on the ultimate prize. ‘Pride’ is not only our goal, ‘pride’ is also our means of achieving it.

—
“N” joined the Marine Corps as a 2nd Lieutenant infantry officer in 2003. Currently a Captain, he is stationed in California.

Now that DADT no longer looms over America’s military, many of its troops now face a new, and equally difficult challenge: the process of coming out. The stresses and uncertainty of how people will react can be paralyzing, especially if you really care about the person you are telling.

For me, coming out to my parents was one of the hardest challenges I have had to face. While the possibility of them not accepting me for who I am was terrifying, I knew I couldn’t continue to hide from them. I toyed around with the idea for a while, and can vividly recall sitting on the couch at my friend Derek’s house this past January. We had a deep and philosophical discussion about being gay and in the military, and after hearing about how he came out to his parents, my mind was made up. The next time I saw my Mom and Dad, I was going to tell them.

Coming out, I firmly believe, is part art and part science…over the next few months, I deliberated on the logistics of the matter. First off, I decided to tell them face to face. No other means of communicating the message seemed adequate or respectful enough. I knew my parents would have questions to which I owed an answer on the spot – no phone call or handwritten letter would do.

The next decision I had to make was a matter of syntax. I needed to find the right words, which turned out to be easier said than done. I was worried about there being too much build-up. If I danced around the subject too long I feared the conversation would either get sidetracked and I would whimp out, or they would assume something was seriously wrong. Is our son in trouble? Is he dropping out of the military? Is he getting deployed somewhere dangerous? I didn’t want to do that to them.

For the next two months, I practiced telling them. In the aviation community, we call this “chair-flying”, and I did a lot of it. I found myself practicing whenever I was alone. On more than one occasion, I’m sure I was that crazy person carrying on an imaginary conversation from across the traffic light.

After work one Friday, I made the six hour drive home. That night, I went out to dinner with my parents, and afterwards, met up with some of my best friends from high school. I told my buddy Mike, who is also gay and out to his parents, what I was up to. As he gave me a huge hug and told me how proud he was, I made him promise to not let me chicken out.

Even though I could barely sleep that night, the next day seemed to come all too quickly. Just as I had planned, I took them to lunch, went shopping with my dear, sweet mother, and spent the day with them. Call it “buttering them up,” but I wanted to remind my parents of how much I love them … and in the event of that worst case scenario, I could have one last, great day together with Mom and Dad.

As soon as we got back to the house, I told them I needed to talk to them about something. Before my parents could scatter about their Saturday business, I brought them into the family room and let them get comfortable. At long last, the “chair-flying” paid off and the words came out flawlessly:

“Mom, Dad, I’m tired of hiding a big part of my life and not being entirely honest with you. I’m gay.”

I knew at some point they would have something to say, so I paused there to give them a chance to speak. I think they were still too shell-shocked at this point to say anything, so I continued on.

We talked for the next two hours, I continued to tell them how being gay was no big deal and that my relationship with them was unchanged. I still loved them, still wanted to get married and adopt a kid or two, and was still the same son they did such a good job of raising.

The conversation ended with a big hug between the three of us. I decided to give them some alone time to talk without me. I left the house for a few hours, and my mother said she has never seen my father cry so hard. Initially, it was hard on them … but I must say, I’m impressed at the courage they displayed as they promised to support me – no matter what.

Unfortunately not every coming out story will have a happy ending like mine. Call me old fashioned, but I firmly believe having support back on the home front is important to doing a good job in the military. Why fight if there is nothing at home worth fighting for? I am lucky to have such great parents, and am glad I could be there for them through this whole ordeal. They mean the world to me, and I know we have grown stronger as they have taken on the role of the parents of a gay son, and airman.

—
Karl B. Johnson is an Air Force C-17 pilot who has been serving on active duty since 2008.

At the age of nineteen, I began a destructive life of deception, lies, and evasion with myself and the government of the United States of America. The day this happened was like any other day in Amherst, Massachusetts in the winter–cold, gray, and slightly breezy. I was wearing a maroon button-up shirt, khaki pants, and an old pair of worn-out brown boots when I made my way to Detachment 370, the local Air Force ROTC unit.

I sat in a small conference room adorned with 1980’s wood-paneling on the second floor of an aging building, waiting for Staff Sergeant H (SSgt) to bring in my paperwork so I could finally apply to join the Air Force. She was a determined woman who walked and spoke with an air of authority that rivaled my future Commander. As we went through the forms, I became increasingly excited about what I was about to embark upon. The history, the tradition, the honor, the integrity …

Before I signed each paper, SSgt H would look me sternly in the eyes and ask if I had any questions. No ma’am. So you understand what is expected of you? Yes ma’am. Of course, most of what she had been asking thus far were routine questions or issues that were not problems in my life: health ailments, drug or alcohol abuse, huge financial problems. For a brief moment, in the flurry of signing a mountain of forms, I had entirely forgotten about the DADT policy. It was not as if I did not know about it before joining ROTC. In fact, part of the reason why I joined ROTC so late was that I was still wrestling with my own sexual identity. Was I bisexual? Was this a phase? Isn’t college about experimentation? I wanted to be sure that I knew how I was feeling before I put myself in a situation that would bind me.

“The last thing we need to discuss is the homosexual policy.” I could feel the sweat starting to pour down the nape of my back. The room, which a moment earlier was fairly cool, became almost stiflingly hot. SSgt H bored into me with her eyes as she went through the regulation, staring at me like she could see right through my act. After she was done explaining the policy, she handed me a form and asked me to sign it. As I stared at the form, pen slightly elevated in my right hand, I told myself that joining the military — serving my country — involved some sort of sacrifice. Though the military did not expressly forbid gays and lesbians to join under the DADT law signed by President Clinton, one could not act of course on any of their natural desires. I foolishly thought to myself: It couldn’t be that hard to tame my burgeoning sexual desires while I served my time …right? I quickly signed the form and handed it to SSgt H. I was now officially a Cadet.

The implications of my actions were evident almost immediately. About a month after joining ROTC, I was on a date in my room discussing politics and my current slate of classes when my date’s eyes reverted to my bookshelf. Almost immediately, I noticed my AFROTC textbook and I bit my lip with nervousness. “You joined ROTC, Eddy?” The tone in his voice reflected disappointment, almost disgust. “How can you force yourself to live a lie?” Needless to say, there was never a second date.

Though I thought my date had a legitimate point — I understood his frustration — I believed that there was nothing shameful about serving my country, regardless of the circumstances. When I did finally land a boyfriend during my senior year in college, my stress level exponentially increased. Not only was I selected as Cadet Wing Commander, charged with setting the example for the rest of the cadet corps, but I was also on a scholarship. If someone were to divulge that I had a boyfriend, I would have lost everything. Luckily I had a boyfriend who was willing to stick with me through this process, but as I grew closer to my fellow cadets, the inevitable questions concerning my love life would almost always come up. The lies, the deception to the people I truly cared about and trusted tortured me over time.

It was not until after I commissioned that the closest run-in I had with outing myself occurred. After about two years into my commission I was stationed overseas, a year into a pretty serious relationship, and thoroughly enjoying my life. Despite the DADT policy, I had managed to successfully navigate my relationship through a maze of secrecy among my colleagues. Or at least that is what I thought. My boss at the time, a Major in the Air Force, called me into her office one day rather unexpectedly. “Eddy, I need to talk to you about something before I leave here next month. Follow me please.” As I followed into her office I sat down, placed my hand over the side of my cheek — my boyfriend’s ring on my finger — and stared at her with c omplete seriousness. “What did you want to talk about Ma’am?”

“I am worried about you. You do a great job around here and I don’t want to see you leave because of a policy you and I probably don’t agree with. Perception is reality in the military. People notice that ring on your finger, the calls to the office from a man, and ask questions. Please, just be careful. Take off the ring.” Throughout this exchange I merely sat there and slowly nodded my head. Neither of us explicitly acknowledged the policy, or even uttered the words gay, but her point was abundantly clear — you’re beginning to cross the line. I thanked her for her concern and promptly left her office. My cheeks were bright red, my entire body was burning, and tears were forming in my eyes. What right did she have to tell me I could not wear a ring on my finger? Why was I questioned about my sexual preferences when no one else in the office was?

Though I was upset at the time, I grew to respect my former boss for her words and concern. Though they were borderline inappropriate, in my opinion, she was trying to look out for me — and there is something to be said for that. Despite her warning, the ring stayed on my finger. It became, to me at least, a talisman that gave me the strength to not back down. Though I continued to put my job at risk with such a simple gesture, I found the ring gave me an ounce of courage that I did not possess before this incident. It awoke in me a passion — more than I ever had before — to do something to make sure this policy would become history.

This magazine is the fruit of those efforts.

—-
Eddy Sweeney is an active duty Intelligence officer who commissioned in the Air Force in 2007. He is also the managing editor of OutServe Magazine. For more information on Sweeney, read his bio at: http://outservemag.org/mag-staff/

With renowned organizations and honorary guest speakers, the Armed Forces Leadership Summit will provide the LGBT military community a means of building professional networks, sharing best practices and formulating strategies that help build a stronger military community. The Summit will feature respected and well-known authorities presenting on a range of topics, intriguing and groundbreaking panels, and interactive workshops that address diversity as a strength. Among the many topics to be featured: how allied military forces have built a diverse military community; post-service employment opportunities for LGBT personnel; legislative battles ahead; and resources for LGBT military families and partners. The Summit will also include strategic group breakouts for partners, transgender service members, service academies, women and others.

“We believe diversity is a force multiplier, and this conference will bring together veterans, active-duty military, and other experts to help us leverage LGBT inclusion for the benefit of military readiness,” says Josh Seefried, OutServe’s active-duty co-director. “Building an environment of mutual respect is ingrained in our military values, and as active-duty soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines who happen to be gay, that’s what we are working toward.”

“As Mrs. Obama and Dr. Biden have shown us through their ‘Joining Forces’ project, supporting military families is supporting the military,” added Seefried. “Providing resources to LGBT military partners and families is a priority for us since the military is currently prohibited from giving any spousal benefits to them.”

Well-renowned organizations and businesses are moving quickly at the opportunity to support this year’s Armed Forces Leadership Summit. The Central Intelligence Agency, Human Rights Campaign, Servicemembers Legal Defense Network, and Out & Equal are just a few among a growing list of supporters. As evidenced by this dynamic and diverse group of sponsors, the Summit is bound to generate a fascinating dialogue.

As we move to a post-DADT climate, it’s imperative that we organize as a community and strategize how to build a more equitable, diverse, and safe military. OutServe is ecstatic to lead this discussion and pave the way for a brighter future in our military community.
– Andrew Jenkins

Image from Proud to Serve: a portrait essay by JoAnn Santangelo, featuring LGBT service members who served their country in silence or were discharged under DADT

A marine company commander talked about having everything – yet still wanting to end his own life … A Naval Academy graduate shared the universal story of love, loss, and trying to belong … and a heart-wrenching story detailed the gruesome, unfeeling acts of hatred directed at young Petty Officer Third Class Allen Schindler. Two issues, 44 pages, and over 20,000 views later, OutServe Magazine is about to release another groundbreaking issue, online and in print at several military installations and AAFES locations, coinciding with the September 20^th “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” repeal date.

Less than thirty days from now, the age of LGBT discrimination in the military will officially be over! Our servicemembers will finally be able to serve openly, with integrity. And in celebration of one of our Nation’s historic moments, OutServe Magazine is publishing something very special – something that has not been done before in the entire history of our Nation’s military: almost a hundred actively serving military members are coming out in this next issue! After centuries of serving in the shadows, we are stepping forward and publicly expressing our commitment to our country and a commitment to our values of integrity, openness, and equality for everyone … page after page featuring pictures, bios and duty stations of the LGBT men and women who have finally been given a voice by their Nation.

Image from Proud to Serve: a portrait essay by JoAnn Santangelo, featuring LGBT service members who served their country in silence or were discharged under DADT

Another exciting – and moving – feature for this upcoming issue is Proud to Serve: a portrait essay and multimedia piece featuring Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) American service members who served their country in silence or were discharged under the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” law.

Don’t miss out on a truly historic issue of OutServe Magazine! Sign up for our digital magazine by clicking here, and get plugged into OutServe, the organization of actively serving LGBT military personnel!

I realized I was gay in high school, though upon closer reflection the writing was on the wall long before that. I dabbled when I was in junior high, and was in my first long-term relationship with a guy by my senior year. Ironically, I was also in my first long-term relationship with a girl at the same time. To say I was in denial was an understatement. It did not help that my mother, an evangelical convert late in life, realized my sexual leanings and ordered me to counseling with her minister. They both managed to convince me (a struggling recent convert at the time) that my relationship with boys was unnatural, ungodly, and would ensure I had a reservation in Hell when I died. Naturally, I believed them.

At college, I did what my family expected me to do. I went to a big, conservative school in Texas with a large ROTC program, I suppressed my sexuality publically (though quietly seeking the occasional interlude on the “DL”) and I went about my life. My long-term girlfriend broke up with me during my sophomore year after my long-term ex-boyfriend called her and told her about us. I didn’t date anyone after that for about three years.

Fast-forward to college graduation and commissioning. I started dating a girl in the fall of my college victory lap (5th year) and then proposed to her shortly before starting Marine Basic Officer Course in Quantico, VA. The suggestion to propose came from my best friend (who didn’t know I was gay) and I was too scared and too deep in the closet to tell him. I bought a ring, she said yes, and we were married five months later. At this point, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was gay, but there was also no chance that I would ever consider coming out to anyone, so I assumed I could simply change my feelings over time, and that I would eventually become straight, or at least bisexual.

It didn’t take me long to realize how hard it was going to be to keep up the illusion of sexual attraction. I have never been attracted to women. I can become aroused while making out with a woman and I can have intercourse, but my mind is always on previous sexual encounters with men. Always. In the seven years of my marriage, I don’t think that my wife and I had sex more than 100 times. I know this frustrated my wife, but I was too afraid and ashamed to tell her the truth, and so the lie became a life, and life became more complicated.

After my first deployment, we decided to try and get pregnant. I realize that I should have told my wife before this point about my sexuality, but again, I was too ashamed and I wanted to have a child before my next deployment. As an only child, I alone bore the family name and I did not want that name extinguished if something happened to me on my next combat tour. I had long concluded that my life would be one of silence and suppression of my feelings – the safest and most considerate thing to do. We were immediately successful and my wife became pregnant with our twins. I deployed a few weeks later.

Following the second deployment, I returned home to my new family. When I left, I had a wife and a dog. When I returned, I had a full house. Becoming a father was the best experience of my life. I’m not a great dad, but I worship my kids and they love me, so that is all that matters.

But being a father, especially as my kids grew older and smarter, made me realize the importance of honesty with my children. What would I do if my son or my daughter killed themselves as a pre-teen or as a teenager because they thought their parents wouldn’t understand? What would they think if they were to discover my sexuality when they were teenagers or adults? Would they hate me for lying to them and their mom? Would they resent me because I was not honest with them?

And about my wife—how much longer could I make her unwittingly suffer without the knowledge of my true feelings and desires? How much longer would I let her think that my lack of desire for her was her fault or that she was somehow unattractive? I knew that the longer I waited, the more painful the truth would be.

When I was at PME school, two significant issues began to creep into my conscious. First, I realized that my true political beliefs no longer matched those I professed. Despite being raised in conservative south Texas, attending a very conservative university, and serving as an officer in the most conservative of our Nation’s armed services, I was actually quite liberal. While most people have this revelation in college, I waited until I was almost thirty before allowing myself to admit it. The significance of this admission is closely tied to the other issue—my religion and faith.

These two revelations, each life changing for me in their own way, were perhaps the most significant contributing factors to my ultimate decision to come out to my wife. Once I was able to accept myself spiritually and politically, it freed my mind and my heart to accept (for the first time) myself sexually. Armed with the power of that knowledge, I decided that I would tell my wife the truth, and I would do so before the year’s end.

A few months ago, just before deployment, I came out to my wife. I had been sexually active with a male friend for about three months, and while that relationship was nothing sustainable, I couldn’t bear to keep it from my wife any longer. I feared that if she discovered my infidelity on her own, she would never be able to forgive me, and I knew that her eventual forgiveness was critical to my long-term emotional stability. Equally important to me was finding an end to the secret meetings and late-night hookups. I knew that my desire for men went far beyond sex; it was the relationship I wanted, and that demanded a total lifestyle change.

It was a Wednesday in October when I made the decision. I called her from work and asked her if she could have a friend watch the kids one night later in the week—we needed to talk. She immediately suspected something was wrong. By the time I came home, she was very distraught. She kept asking me questions, trying to pry the subject of the conversation out. I wouldn’t tell her, and that made it worse. I had hoped for a Friday night talk, where we could have the weekend to work through the intense emotions I knew would follow, but she couldn’t wait. I eventually quit stalling. We sent the kids to the neighbor’s house, sat down on the couch, and I spilled my guts. At first, she just sat there, shaking violently, having trouble catching her breath. She kept saying ‘okay, okay, okay, okay,’ as if she could somehow talk herself into accepting the complete destruction of the world she knew by wishing everything to be okay. But it wasn’t okay. We talked and cried for four hours that first night. She desperately needed someone to talk to, and so she asked if she could call her mother. I told her that was fine, and she made me promise to stay in the room. In spite of her anger and disbelief, she wanted me to hear every word she said, because she wanted me to know that she wasn’t going run to her family with the kids. She was in the lowest point of her entire life, but she wanted to be sure that I knew something—this was still OUR family, and we had to handle this as a team.

It was hard that night; it still is. But it was the right thing to do. While she is still hurt and angry, she does not hate me because I am gay. She is angry because I lied to her. We’ve agreed to stay together for a time until we work out what is best for the kids. We’ve decided to get divorced, but not to rush into it. She’s even let me start seeing a guy I really like; a fellow service member who I can see myself committed to for a long time. So there is hope for progress.

So why do I think about suicide? Because I’m 32 years old, and the world I built for myself is crumbling around me. Despite the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, I’m terrified of my Marines finding out that I am gay. I’m terrified of telling my parents. I’m terrified that my wife and I will fight about our kids and she will take them somewhere that I won’t be able to get stationed. Life is so much better for our generation than it has been for previous ones. I’m grateful everyday for those who paved the way for our society to recognize LGBT people as equals. But I struggle everyday with the reality of living on the threshold of this new world.  My kids, my Marines, and the hope for a future with someone I can love openly are the only reasons I’m still alive today.

-N

Gays, EO, and the Protected Class Status: It’s not about the Unit-Level

In the midst of the DADT repeal implementation training, I am certain that many of you have noticed that gays and lesbians will not be receiving “protected class” status and therefore will not fall under the responsibility of the Equal Opportunity Department. Instead, cases of discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation will be handled at the unit commander’s discretion, with oversight from the IG. While many servicemembers, gay and straight alike, praise this decision not to designate homosexuals as worthy of “special treatment,” this sentiment is spawned from a misunderstanding of the purpose of Military EO, not from rationale concerns about our gay and lesbian servicemembers.

It is no secret; the EO system carries a terrible reputation. Many white, Christian, men probably groan at the term because, to them, it’s a euphemism for “reverse discrimination.” On the flip-side, many women and racial minorities have a similar reaction because they desperately attempt to avoid “special treatment.” As a woman and former West Point cadet, I also resented every EO briefing because all I wanted was to blend in with the guys and I thought EO was counterproductive to my efforts. That is, until I interned with the Defense Equal Opportunity Management Institute (DEOMI) at Patrick AFB, FL, and attended a Military Leadership Diversity Commission (MLDC) hearing last June, and I actually learned the true purpose of EO.

Most servicemembers know EO as a tool that commanders use to address issues of disrespect and discrimination at a unit level. Although that is one function, most people do not realize the main purpose of Military Equal Opportunity is to evaluate discrimination at an institutional level, not at a unit-level. MEO tracks recruitment, retention, and promotion rates of protected classes across all the Armed Forces to make sure they match that of the average servicemember. Because of the statistics tracked by EO, service chiefs now recognize that women are not being promoted to the general officer and flag officer ranks at an acceptable rate. This fact forms the basis of the argument to repealing the female combat exclusion policy, since a disproportionate amount of general and flag officers hail from the combat arms and women are prohibited from entering these branches. Essentially, EO’s promotion statistics are helping women blend in as “one of the guys” by giving them an equal opportunity to progress through the ranks, not targeting them for special treatment as some would argue.

Another argument against gays and lesbians receiving protected class status is that many do not wish to identify as homosexual on their records. It would be naïve to think that the lack of nondiscrimination language in the repeal bill was actually in the interest of our LGBT servicemembers. It was merely a political bargaining tool. Just as the unnecessary 60-day certification was used to appease service chiefs worried about “being engaged in two theaters of war,” the removal of nondiscrimination protections was a provision to appease politicians who otherwise would not support pro-gay legislation. Again, not receiving protected class status was not a decision made in the best interest of LGBT servicemembers necessarily, but rather just the least controversial way of passing a bill before the lame duck session of Congress ended.

And for those then who continue to dissent because of personal unwillingness to identify themselves on paper, I have four words for you: You don’t have to. Just like religious minorities, it is purely an individual’s choice of whether or not to identify as part of that demographic. Atheists are promoted at a much lower rate than Christian-identifying soldiers, but nobody would ever know that for certain unless atheists voluntarily disclosed that information. Religious discrimination can be covered up easily at the unit level (i.e. “I just don’t think Joe has the right values for promotion), but you cannot hide the trends when evaluated at a macro-level. The same would be true of discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation; nobody will know it is happening unless there is someone checking.

Although the unit level EO program is arguably dysfunctional, I cannot reiterate enough that the main purpose of EO is not to give special treatment to minorities. Rather, the “big picture” purpose of EO is to statistically track institution-wide discrimination, which allows the individual services to tweak personnel policies when unfavorable trends arise.  Additionally, the inclusion of gays and lesbians into a protected class would not require that they identify themselves or that they utilize unit level EO services. However, all gays and lesbians would benefit from knowing whether or not they were being discriminated against in the ranks, which cannot even begin to be tracked unless gays and lesbians receive protected class status.

_______

Don’t Panic!  We Can Get By Without EO

Equal Opportunity (EO) is a touchy subject with many members of the military. Everyone can agree that every person should be treated equally; it is the logistical question of how to make all treatment equal where the disagreements begin to arise. Right now, it looks like LGBT troops may not receive equal protection under EO. While it sounds scary at first, is this necessarily a bad thing?  I say we can get along just fine without it.I don’t know about you, but what I want out of the repeal of DADT is business-as-usual. The primary difference I care to see in my daily life is to no longer live in fear of losing my job for being the man God made me to be. With or without “protected class” status, I will be able to do so. Unfortunately, in an environment where homophobia runs rampant, my biggest concern is people may end up avoiding me out of the fear they may accidentally offend me and that I would report them.

A military mindset with a focus at the institutional level would say there is a simple solution to this problem: training. One of the primary functions of EO is exactly this – though in my personal opinion, unit-level training is EO’s greatest weakness. Typically, troops are trained by EO either through computer-based courses or “canned” PowerPoint briefings delivered to the masses. Both mediums are largely impersonal and personal flare is exactly what troops need in order to be adequately trained in matters of diversity. The best training our military can give, on the ground-level, is the training they will receive via day-to-day interactions with LGBT troops (an experience EO cannot provide).

The other primary function EO offers on the unit-level is to serve as an advocate to those who are discriminated against on-the-job. While this function is important, there are plenty of other agencies which can offer the same protection (i.e. the IG, First Sergeant, Chain-of-Command, Chaplain, Sexual Assault Prevention and Response, to name a few). In this respect, EO is merely an added redundancy within the process. However, there is one area where the agency does excel in offering protection to minorities.

EO is great at gathering data to support diversity. Since the US military is a reflection of American society, EO takes a snapshot of the military’s demographics, and makes sure minorities are sufficiently represented throughout the ranks. Right now, LGBT servicemembers are worried they will be left out of this calculation if they are not recognized under EO. Even though DADT repeal has yet to be implemented, the DoD is already gathering statistics on its LGBT troops. It’s public knowledge that the military is working with OutServe and other agencies to gather exactly this sort of data (anonymously of course) to better prepare itself for a post-repeal military.

There is one area, however, where EO can do nothing to support us. As the policy currently stands, the biggest thing that will separate homosexuals and heterosexuals in the military is the right to marriage. This right has nothing to do with EO’s building of demographic profiles, their training programs, or advocacy for minorities. The Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is a federal law which would negatively affect gays and lesbians even as a protected class. Since EO falls under the military, an institution bound by federal law, it is required by law to uphold this policy for as long as the law is in effect. Some benefits that would be denied to military same-sex couples under DOMA are housing, medical coverage, and joint assignment consideration.

I don’t mean to say that LGBT servicemembers, the military, or our government will be better off without protected class status for LGBT troops; however, one thing I’ve learned in my years of service under the repression of DADT is that gays in the military are resilient people. I am convinced there isn’t a thing EO can offer us that we can’t do without. In the grand scheme of things, we will be just fine with or without their help.

Through the application and acceptance process, even during my first two years of study, one thought always penetrated even my most concrete focus: you are gay; you do not belong here.In no way, shape, or form could I persuade myself that I belonged to the institution that I had given countless hours of sweat and effort. There were only a few others like me, and by military law, even my existence was forbidden. On the surface, some may think that this is a minor thing, that one does not need acceptance or approval for success. That may be true…for them. The lingering fear that my homosexuality would be discovered and result in my expulsion and mother’s shame forced me to keep to myself. Living, marching, eating, drilling, and studying with 130 company mates daily made my reclusive attitude difficult to maintain, but when driven by fear, the impossible is possible.

Generally an alpha personality, this introspective phenomenon was strange to me, and the Naval Academy is not the place for people who are afraid to take charge. My introversion secured my exclusion from company-mates, from deep lasting friendships, and from academic success. An arduous academic curriculum topped with military pomp and circumstance before, during, and after class can only be surmounted with the help of your company-mates. The company unit is a microcosm within the greater Naval Academy world in that you are not only affected by the influence of the Institution, but you are also vulnerable to the ebb and flow of leadership personalities within the company as well. My cascading disappearance of self within school walls was counterbalanced, however, by my vibrant personality and escalating ability on the track and field team.

I made my fondest memories, closest friends, and strongest supporters on the track. It was as if two worlds existed; the militant and abrasive environment inside Bancroft Hall, and the free, expressive atmosphere of intercollegiate sports. I adapted to each as best I could. When I pounded on that red turf and thrust my fists in the air, I felt as if I belonged. I would think…this track…this school…this is mine. I am where I need to be. I never remotely approached that emotion while running military drills or sitting through a physics/chemistry/electrical engineering class.

Track and field was my lifeline. Running track facilitated my academic survival and one specific experience cemented my assimilation into the realm of those who belong. It was the winter of my sophomore year. Indoor track had left me with a torn hamstring, left foot stress fracture, and relentless shin splints, all of which I managed to recover from in time for our championship indoor meet. The most senior sprinter on the squad, I was scheduled to run the 200m, 400m and 4x400m races. I had one of the first races of the meet, so as soon as my team arrived at the stadium, I began my warm-up. I listened to my iPod and routinely shuffled through the bass-laden songs to keep my intensity high. Although no different than any other warm-up, this one would forge itself in my memory. Then, like lightning striking a piano cord, these lyrics bolted through my body, heading directly toward my heart: “It’s like I can’t breathe. It’s like I can’t see anything, nothing but you. I’m addicted to you. It’s like I can’t think, without you interrupting me. In my thoughts, in my dreams, you’re taking over me.”

Still processing a recent break-up and teammate betrayal, Kelly Clarkson’s “Addicted” spoke too closely to my reaction over a lost love. Suddenly, my heart clenched, the stadium vanished, and I was left alone with thoughts of him. I desperately hoped that he would not be here to support his new boyfriend. Not tonight. Not when the pressure of a championship meet was already eroding my confidence. I just knew that if I saw him, I would go into an emotional panic and lose complete focus, and subsequently, every race.

I did a few sprints around the track and meditated on his absence. The referee blew the warning whistle and all the competitors walked to the starting line. As I bounced toward the starting line, I began to regain confidence. I glanced momentarily into the stands to my right. He was not there. My self-assurance grew. I scanned the crowd in the bleachers to my left. I scanned for his all too familiar bushy eyebrows and electrifying smile. He was not there. I was ready.

I remember we had dated for eight months. He was athletic, intelligent, caring, cultured and much more, so when he told me he didn’t feel the same about me, I was devastated. I understood there were strains on our relationship; he didn’t have any guy friends in whom he could confide. I was never certain that I wanted a boyfriend, and we were both academy students – that alone was a recipe for disaster. I recognized the difficulties in our relationship, yet the prospect of enduring the academy without him hurt. And just when I thought the pain could not get any worse, he told me he had been talking to my teammate about our problems, that my teammate was his confidante and friend, and not too long after our breakup, my teammate became his boyfriend. I was overcome by that feeling one has just before waking from a dream in which you are falling – except, I was conscious. His revelation placed me in physical pain. Desolate, betrayed and alone were the only emotions I managed to identify.
But all that was behind me now.

I walked toward my blocks with an uncontainable air of assurance. I kneeled inside my blocks. I was ready for this. I foolishly glanced up again to the bleacher on my right and my heart sank. He was there…watching me. Our eyes met, and the eight months with – and year without – him flashed through my mind … I savored each emotion I felt: joy, confusion, doubt, sadness, anger, and my last, rage. How could he come to my meet after breaking my heart, and of all things, to support that awful excuse for a teammate? The apparent disregard for how his presence might affect me hurt. It was a cruel slap in the face, intentional or not.

Normally, I am a calm and practical person, but I knew that his attendance would either enhance or significantly hinder my performance in this championship meet. I made the decision to allow sadness in my heart, but only as a fuel for the rage I needed to annihilate the competition.

When the referee fired the gun, I bolted from my starting blocks, quickly picked up speed, lifting my knees higher and higher, and extending my legs further and further. I felt his eyes bear into my skin. Every step I took was like a jab to the heart, knowing that once the race was finished, I would lose him again, – his attention, and for the brief moment that I had it, his heart. I couldn’t lose. I refused. Emotionally broken, I ran as if maybe, just maybe, my victory would result in something more valuable than a first place finish: a second chance.

I won the 400m for the first time in my career. I continued to feed on that same dejection which led to a victory in the 200m and 4x400m races as well. At the end of the meet, I was named Most Valuable Player for Track.

He never even said hello.

Notable accomplishments were almost always just out of reach. With most of my time spent in class and in the dorm, my introverted persona often had more of an opportunity to grow further into itself than my outgoing personality on the track. This one experience, this one instant, changed me forever. That night, I found resolve and discovered that perseverance and heart bears its own sweet fruit. I discovered that no matter how much we hurt or how deep the emotional scars pierce our being, we can turn that emotion and those negative experiences into fuel – fuel to power through the obstacles that are before us and prove – to ourselves and to those who have hurt us – that their betrayal does not define us.

That night, a sense of invincibility permeated the air. Mountains were not so tall, the ocean wasn’t so vast, and the moon and stars were just within arms reach. For a brief moment, I was the best. I was where I was meant to be…and most importantly, I belonged.