Unfriendly Fire

by Dr. Nathaniel Frank

  The rise of the Internet created new opportunities for the military to needlessly and improperly invade the privacy of its members. Creating a profile on AOL to help meet other gay people could not, in a million years, harm the morale or compromise the privacy of straight troops—unless they were trolling the Internet to, well, meet gay people. Still, in late 1997, the navy decided it was fair game to ferret out Senior Chief Officer Timothy McVeigh (no relation to the Oklahoma City bomber), a seventeen-year career sailor and the senior enlisted member of a nuclear submarine, the USS Chicago. McVeigh had sent an e-mail to a shipmate’s wife who, unsure of the sender’s identity, looked up his profile on America Online. There she learned that one of his hobbies was “boy-watching.” The woman showed her husband, who showed others in the navy, and eventually the news worked its way up the chain of command.

  At this point, investigators sought and obtained private information from AOL, which later made a statement that it should not have provided the material but that the navy had “deliberately violated federal law” in seeking it out, a conclusion seconded by a federal judge, who stopped McVeigh’s discharge and ruled that the “Navy went too far” and “violated the very essence of ‘don’t ask, don’t pursue’ [sic] by launching a search and destroy mission.” McVeigh was allowed to retire with benefits intact and reached a financial settlement with America Online.52

  Others were forced out through means never contemplated by the architects of “don’t ask, don’t tell.” Alex Nicholson, who, as a kid watched his army father go off to duty in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, already spoke four languages when he began his own army training as a human intelligence collector just days after the attacks of 9/11. One of Nicholson’s languages was Portuguese, buffed from a recent relationship with a Brazilian man. Still in touch, he wrote a letter to his ex-boyfriend in Portuguese that he never thought would see the light of day. Unfortunately it spent a short time on his desk while awaiting completion and was seen by a friend of Nicholson’s who knew enough Portuguese to decipher the letter and absorb its meaning. Nicholson thought little of it, unsure if his friend had had time and expertise enough to translate the letter. More important, he had little reason to expect she would care, much less spread the news around the base. He was wrong. A few weeks later he was called into a superior’s office and notified that there was information that Nicholson was gay. The details mentioned by his commander came right out of the letter.53

  Nicholson was told he could “go the easy way or go the hard way.” If he didn’t acknowledge he was gay and accept a discharge, he would be investigated. The climate at his training base in Arizona was generally tolerant, but a few people had problems with homosexuality and made it known. Nicholson worried that, even though discharges for homosexuality are normally honorable, if he contested the charges, vengeful superiors might seek to give him less than an honorable discharge. He decided not to contest, and was discharged on March 22, 2002.54

  Nicholson loved his time in the army. But the policy, he said, is a monumental waste. “It’s a very lonely existence to have to live in the closet like that and be in constant fear of someone finding out,” he said. Because of that, many talented people leave early. And all for what? The people who are adamant against homosexuals in the military, he said, “are a minority.” Those with the problems, those who engage in harassment, “are not usually the brightest in the bunch. They are usually troublemakers anyway. So you’re choosing the rejects and outcasts and troublemakers over the gays and lesbians.”55

  DESPITE THE BLATANT violations of “don’t ask,” “don’t pursue,” and “don’t harass,” military spokespeople and champions of the ban frequently defend the policy by charging that most discharges result from people choosing to out themselves. If only they would abide by the regulations and keep quiet, ban supporters say, they could continue to serve without incident. This, after all, is precisely the point of the policy. Even many otherwise sympathetic Americans, people who don’t like to think they discriminate and who don’t consider themselves anti-gay, often feel it is fair to ask gays to conceal their homosexuality. The belief is widespread that, since sexuality is a private issue that should not be discussed in public, anyone who announces his or her homosexuality in the military is “just trying to get out of service.”56

  But the question is, what does it mean to tell? What drives a service member to tell? What kind of choice is involved in a “voluntary” statement?

  Jennifer Dorsey offers one answer to these questions. In the summer of 1996, the airman came under suspicion that she was a lesbian by two women in her dorm who began to harass her. The ordeal climaxed when the bullies assaulted her in the bathroom, punching her repeatedly in the stomach, all the while yelling, “You sick fucking dyke.” Dorsey had no choice but to report the incident, first to her master sergeant and then to her commander, Major Richard Roche. Instead of disciplining the two attackers, Major Roche told Dorsey that “if that’s your lifestyle, you need to cease and desist.” He threatened to launch an investigation if she didn’t make the problem go away. So she went away: She made a “voluntary” statement that she was gay and left under a “don’t ask, don’t tell” discharge.57

  This pattern has been repeated endlessly. A member of the Coast Guard was routinely accused of being gay; his coworkers called him “faggot” and “cocksucker,” pasted pictures of male models to his rack, and vandalized his car. “If I ever find out for sure you’re a fag,” said one member of his unit, “I’ll kick your ass.” The victim had little recourse to end the torment besides leaving the Coast Guard. An inquiry officer in an air force investigation reported that an officer announced his sexuality “after he could not tolerate derogatory comments concerning homosexuals.” A nineteen-year-old private first class in the army was called “faggot” by his drill sergeant, which prompted other unit members to tell him they’d “pound your face” and he should not “go to sleep tonight.” They were no empty threats. “I have some bad news for you,” the soldier found himself writing to his parents not long after. “I got beat up last night. Someone came to my bed—a group of someones—and they were hitting me with blankets and soap. I am aching all over my body. My whole body hurts. I can’t tell anyone because they left no marks. Who’ll believe me? I can’t believe this all has happened. Who did I hurt?” He eventually told his command he was gay and was fired.58

  On the same base, Fort Meade, Maryland, Airman Sean Fucci became the target of gossip that he was gay. One morning, he awoke to find a sheet of paper on his desk on which someone had scribbled, DIE FAG. Terrified, Fucci wondered whether he would face a discharge investigation if he reported the threat. With trepidation, he decided his safety was more important than his job and he told his commander what had happened without coming out as gay. It was, said his commander, “an issue of anonymous intimidation for which there is not much that can be done.” Sure enough, Fucci was questioned by a superior about his sexual orientation, although no formal investigation followed. Fucci dug into his own pocket to pay for an apartment off base, where he felt his safety would be better assured.

  But soon after, Fucci found another note, this one saying YOU CAN’T HIDE, FAG. After continued harassment, Fucci reported the events to higher-ups, who eventually opened an investigation into the threats. But to no avail; with Fucci still in the closet, he had to carefully watch what he said, and he ended up providing insufficient information for the search to go anywhere. The airman left the air force at the end of his enlistment. Fucci’s decision to leave was voluntary, but was certainly not free from coercion—and his is a whole category of losses for the military that cannot be accounted for in the raw statistics that measure homosexual discharges.59

  Fucci, at least, escaped with his life. Private First Class Barry Winchell was not so lucky. In 1999, an eighteen-year-old private named Calvin Glover, suspecting that Winchell was gay and encouraged by a permissive culture of homophobic harassment in the barracks, goaded Winchell into a fist
fight. Winchell (who was dating a transsexual at the time) won the duel, and the vanquished Glover suffered derision from peers for having “his ass kicked by a faggot.”

  What does it mean to lose a fist fight to a queer? Often, it means utter humiliation and quick emasculation. And in the aggressively masculine culture of the U.S. Army, it can mean shame deep enough to retaliate with the brutal murder of your victor. Aided by a friend who handed him the weapon and shared his outspoken hatred of homosexuals, Glover sought to avenge his shaken manhood. On July 5, 1999, Glover took a baseball bat to the bed of Winchell, twenty-one, and bludgeoned him to death as he slept. When Winchell was pronounced dead, his skull had been cracked open, his eyes swollen shut, and his face beaten beyond recognition. Glover was convicted of premeditated murder and sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole.

  Winchell’s murder was probably preventable. He had been the target of daily anti-gay taunting for months leading up to his murder. He was denounced as a “queer,” a “faggot,” and a “homo,” and was repeatedly threatened with violence. Just two days before his murder, Winchell received a death threat in the presence of at least one noncommissioned officer.

  Because of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” Winchell feared expulsion if he complained about abuse, yet following the rules did him no good. Even as Winchell remained silent in accordance with the law, soldiers and officers flagrantly violated the policy by harassing and threatening Winchell, investigating his sexuality, and failing to enforce prohibitions against anti-gay abuse.

  His own platoon sergeant, Michael Kleifgen, acknowledged in court testimony that he had asked Winchell directly if he was gay after hearing gossip that he might have attended a gay nightclub in Nashville. Kleifgen and others also testified that other superiors participated in the harassment on a regular basis and did nothing to stop the abuse. Kleifgen, perhaps remorseful over his own violations, later filed a complaint about a superior who called Winchell a “faggot.” Kleifgen said he was told that “basically, there was nothing we could do because of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.” Despite Kleifgen’s taking his complaint all the way up to the inspector general’s office, no action was taken.60

  It is tempting to think of the Winchell case as a tragedy that can only be blamed on the young monsters who perpetrated the deadly violence. Crying “failure of leadership” can seem like a stab in the dark, an effort to blame something and someone official instead of accepting the unavoidable presence of bad apples in our midst. But the climate at Fort Campbell is actually an object lesson in how leadership fails and how politics and moralizing can turn deadly.

  The leader responsible for the command climate at Fort Campbell was Major General Robert Clark. An army inspector general report released in July 2000 found that leadership at Fort Campbell under Clark was anemic. The base suffered low morale commandwide; its soldiers received inadequate health-care delivery; and leaders routinely allowed underage soldiers to drink to the point of intoxication while on base. The report noted rampant anti-gay harassment at Fort Campbell, homophobic graffiti, and a complete absence of training about the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Soldiers reported that the platoon’s daily run included the chant, “Faggot, Faggot, down the street, shoot him, shoot him, till he retreats.” When the reports surfaced, Clark responded as though he were living in a different world: “There is not, nor has there ever been, during my time here, a climate of homophobia on post. The climate here is one that promotes just the opposite, respect for all.”61

  In the months following Winchell’s murder, as hordes of gay soldiers bolted from Fort Campbell, often announcing their homosexuality just to avoid having to continue living on the base in fear, Clark remained indifferent to the command problems that led to the attack. He made no public indication of his distaste for what had happened to Winchell and no public directive discouraging such behavior among his soldiers. He did not attend the memorial service and he even refused to meet with Winchell’s parents or offer them condolences, or discuss with them the plea bargain he cut, reducing one attacker’s sentence from a possible life in prison to a twelve-and-a-half-year term. Winchell’s parents received their son’s personal effects in a cardboard box through the mail months after his death.62

  Under Clark’s leadership vacuum, anti-gay language and graffiti continued to be welcome on base. One soldier heard a peer threaten to beat perceived gays with a baseball bat while in the presence of a superior, who did nothing to correct the misconduct. Confronted with evidence of continuing anti-gay harassment under his command, Clark not only continued to remain silent, but refused to permit publication of an advertisement in the base newspaper instructing soldiers how they could anonymously report anti-gay abuse. Gay discharges tripled at Fort Campbell, reaching 120 in the first year after Winchell’s murder, the highest number ever from an army base.63

  Clark’s story—that he himself was never aware of any problems with anti-gay harassment before Winchell’s murder—was compelling to President George W. Bush, who felt the major general was doing a heckuva job. In 2002, President Bush nominated him to the Senate for promotion to lieutenant general, the army’s third-highest rank. Over the objections of several senators—who caused a highly unusual delay in his nominating process—the Senate confirmed Clark’s promotion in 2003.

  We will never know what a true leader might have done to save Barry Winchell’s life. But it is clear that Major General Clark’s lack of leadership allowed a fatally anti-gay climate to fester at Fort Campbell. Clark not only failed to provide moral leadership; he refused to enforce federal law and provide a safe environment for all soldiers.

  Winchell’s murder was sandwiched in between the issuance of two Pentagon reports on the policy. In April 1998, the Defense Department issued its report. One finding of note focused on women, saying it was “critical that military women feel free to report sexual harassment or threats without fear of reprisal or inappropriate governmental response.” It recommended that the department (i.e., itself) issue guidelines to make clear that complaints of harassment must not prompt an inquiry into the sexuality or behavior of the victim. But the Pentagon did not take its own recommendation—departmentwide guidelines were never sent to the field. This, even though guidelines had actually been written up years before; they were apparently gathering dust on the desk of the undersecretary of defense.64

  Five months after Winchell’s murder (and three months after Britain announced it would lift its ban on gay troops entirely), Secretary of Defense William Cohen ordered an inspector general report to evaluate anti-gay harassment in the service. The report, released in March 2000, finally acknowledged what some knew for years: that the military had an anti-gay harassment problem. Of seventy-five thousand service members surveyed, 80 percent said they had heard anti-gay comments in the past year; 37 percent said they’d witnessed or experienced anti-gay harassment; 85 percent said their superiors tolerated anti-gay harassment; and 57 percent said they were never trained on the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.65

  In the wake of the report, the Pentagon formed a working group to devise an anti-harassment action plan (AHAP), which the Pentagon quickly adopted. The AHAP was promising. It acknowledged that the harassment and abuse found in the inspector general report undermined “good order and discipline.” It offered guidelines for what constituted harassment and it provided for holding command violators (instead of only gay people) accountable for asking, pursing, and harassing.66

  But there was a small problem: By the next year, the Pentagon, having adopted the plan, and dutifully drafted implementing directives, never issued them. Though the individual services took some steps to enact the plan, the Pentagon itself failed to do what its own plan required. Why the plan sat in a filing cabinet is unclear, but there it remained for four years. In response to a congressional inquiry, Undersecretary of Defense David Chu said a servicewide directive was “not necessary” because existing programs were “sufficie
nt to address” the problem.67 It was a remarkable punt from a Pentagon that made great inroads into the related problem of sexual harassment against women.

  When the military brass decide to support a policy, they throw their weight behind it and ensure it is carried out to the best of their ability. This is what happened in the 1990s following the Tailhook fiasco, when the Pentagon decided it had no choice but to crack down on sexual harassment against women. With new tracking in place and increased accountability, episodes of sexual harassment plummeted from 1,599 in 1993 to 319 in the year 2000. Military leaders helped make sure of that by turning sexual harassment into “a career killer,” as David Chu put it. At the Pentagon, said Chu, “we make sure that we enforce those standards.”68 When they want to.

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  A Flawed Policy at Its Core

  SOME CHAMPIONS OF THE ANTI-GAY ban have tried to defend the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy itself as fair and workable while chalking up its grave social, psychological, and military costs to poor enforcement and implementation.1 Yet this perspective is woefully narrow, requiring nearly as much blindness as the policy itself. The unanticipated, often hidden costs of “don’t ask, don’t tell” are simply exorbitant, creating untenable situations for service members that reveal the utter incompatibility of silence and survival in the military. Heterosexuals are never asked to go through life concealing their sexual orientation, much less refrain from sex altogether, so they don’t spend much time contemplating the astounding difficulty of doing either. But listen to the voices of gay and lesbian Americans who have served and fought under the ban. A picture begins to emerge of what this policy—even when properly enforced—requires of its troops and what effect these burdens have not only on gay troops but on heterosexuals and the entire armed forces.