It Does Not Feel Like a Victory

As a civilian pastor and as a military veteran, I think I was pretty clear over the years that I thought the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy was unjust, unfair, and asked service members to violate their own honor by lying about such a core part of their identity. I thought that it made the military a safe-haven for homophobia. I thought that it was an excuse not to provide the same kinds of benefits and support to the partners of Gay, Lesbian, and Bi-sexual service members as we provide for families.

As a Military Officer, I said very little of this directly… because it is the job of a military officer to follow the directions of Civilian Authority, rather than to publically question that direction. Being a reserve military chaplain requires me to regularly walk the line between my responsibilities of a civilian pastor in a prophetic and justice-oriented religious tradition, and the requirements of the oath I took when I accepted my commission as a military officer four years ago.

So, I watched the debate in the U.S. Senate closely. I was tuned to C-Span for the vote on passage in the U.S. Senate, and I watched on television as the Commander-in-Chief signed his name and said “This is Done.” I heard large crowds clap and applaud when it was signed, and when Rachel Maddow announced it to her live audience at the 92nd Street YMCA in New York City. I’ve received many emails from ministerial colleagues that were celebratory in nature, often telling me what their congregation was planning to do to celebrate this amazing victory…

Only it does not feel like a victory to me. Not at all.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to understand why. Why it is that, when the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was passed and when President Obama signed it into law… why instead of relief I felt a large sense of burden and obligation. Why it is that I felt as if this were not the completion of a long, hard fight… but rather its beginning. I don’t think I understand yet the full meaning of the feeling I have had (for I do believe that feelings are messages from the soul) but I have begun its unraveling.

Part of it is an awareness of all of the work, sometimes delicate work, that is going to be required to make this repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell a success in the military, and an awareness of how much of that work will fall on the shoulders of those Military Chaplains that have been in support of and worked for the repeal. Through my connections into that community of Chaplains, both in and beyond Unitarian Universalism, I am aware that this work is beginning anew.

I am also aware of the spiritual crisis that this repeal presents to many members of the Chaplain Corps, the struggle between the requirements of their faith and the requirements of their oaths. I know that struggle well, for I have walked the path of that struggle countless times myself. I do not know what walking that path will call them to do, but I salute those who in their discernment find no other path but to choose their religious faith over their military service. I’m not being a smart-alec here… if a Chaplain has to make a choice between true practice of their faith and their service as a Chaplain, they have to choose their faith. They have to. Otherwise they endanger the very core of what calls them to the work of the Chaplain.

However, my feeling of trepidation and burden at the repeal of DADT is deeper than the work of implementing the repeal, and deeper than recognizing the struggle that many Chaplain colleagues are going to have. I have yet to understand the full depth of the feeling I have experienced these past few days. Some of it, I am sure, connects back to my own history and understanding of myself and my gender and sexual identity. Being a young boy with close to the surface feelings was easily equated with being gay during my youth, and that was not something that was allowed in the communities I grew up in… and so I’ve always taken homophobia quite personally. The years of being called “gay” or “queer” every time tears welled in my eyes led me to not only wonder if it was true growing up, but also to find myself in community with many who were actually gay or lesbian, and were just discovering it. So, knowing that kind of homophobia not only still exists but has been brought closer to the surface of our society by the debate around Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell makes me feel less victorious and more brutally aware of how much work there still is to do.

Yet, I think I’ve identified another, less personal reason for the sense of trepidation and burden I have been feeling since the DADT repeal passed the congress, and that is the fact that we simply cannot screw this up. There is no room for error in how we implement this repeal. While I respectfully disagree with the sentiments expressed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps and others, I understand their concern at implementing such a change at this time in our military. The military is stretched thin, and servicemembers and their families are stretched even thinner still. Implemented well, this repeal can actually be the beginning of rebuilding the military after almost a decade of active war. Implemented poorly, and the consequences could be significant.

The same principle and need to do this well applies beyond the military, to our nation as a whole. Implemented well, the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell could be one of the greatest advances in civil rights in the history of our nation. It could signify a new understanding of equality for all Americans, and bring us a little closer to the dream stated in the last words of that pledge I had to make in school each morning… “Liberty and Justice for all”.

Implemented poorly, it could set back Civil Rights in our nation by decades if not more. Implemented poorly, and it could reinforce every negative stereotype that anyone has ever had about Americans who are Gay, Lesbian, or Bi-sexual (as I understand it, Americans to are Trans-Gender pre and post-op are still denied the chance to serve even under this repeal). Implemented poorly, and it could become an excuse for not continuing civil rights work in the U.S. Military, which continues to experience problems around issues of religious pluralism and freedom. Implemented poorly, and GLBQ servicemembers could finds themselves even more isolated and discriminated against that they were under the policy.

I don’t like using sports analogies when I think about these kinds of things, but in this case I cannot find another one that works. So, using a football metaphor, here is what this moment feels like to me… For those of you who do not follow football enough to get this metaphor, I apologize… but it’s all I’ve got to describe the feeling.

It’s the beginning of the 2nd half of the championship game. My team is up by a few points, and the other team is kicking off to us. The coach just put me in the game, and I’m a freshman (it’s college ball afterall). The kickoff is in the air, and it is caught by a receiver just a few yards behind me. There are eleven screaming 250 plus pound guys running down the field at me… and I’m the blocker. The guy carrying the ball taps my shoulder and is using me for cover as we run up the field.

That’s the feeling…

Trepidation, burden, excitement, challenge, weight, awareness….

Determination.

It’s not a victory yet.

Yours in faith,

Rev. David