Over it yet?

After juggling mid terms at USD, being the Guest of Honor alongside Stewart MILK for Orlando Pride, appearing on CNN in DC (http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/us/2009/10/12/am.costello.navy.hazing.cnn.html), and leading our gay Veterans in the March on Washington for Equality ALL IN ONE WEEK I am…as Rachel Zoe would have it…”Eiffle Tired!”

This was my first time in DC ever and I remember thinking in my head, “I dont think we are in Kansas anymore, Toto”.

As if this past week could not have been more phenomenal, an opinion editorial I have been slaving over for the Washington Post was published in over 600 newspapers across the Nation this past Sunday, the day of the March for Equality.

Along with participating in documentaries and global interviews, including New Zealand and Australia, my travels pushing the Repeal of Dont Ask Dont Tell have me headed to San Francisco,  the SLDN Dinner in Palm Springs, to University Michigan to address the student body, and Atlanta as a key note speaker for Pride. Locally, I am sitting down with the Union Tribune after my next class,  taking a QandA on the repeal of Dont Ask Dont Tell at the Asian Film Festival this Sat night and speaking at the HRC Federal Club Political Mingle.

What does this mean for you?!?

While Rep. Barney Frank, an out gay member of Congress, mocked the march on Washington for Equality saying we would accomplish nothing besides putting a dent in the grass, the dent over 100,000 gays put on that grass is producing significant gains for our community.

President Obama’s speech at the National HRC Dinner on the eve of the March was a mirror image of the same unfulfilled promises of a young Senator from Illinois campaigning for the presidency. The only difference, and a significant one at that is, this time, he IS THE PRESIDENT AND COMMANDER AND CHIEF. While many of us listened to his speech with frustration due to the usual lack of time table or plan of action, it is imperative to note that he has once again sworn his allegiance to the fight to elevate our community as equals in this nation, this time, as President of the United States. This is huge. As we approach the midterms and with most of these promises needing  funds to be allocated to them in the 2011 budget, we are going to see quick political action very soon on issues very dear to all of us if indeed the President is to deliver. We must afford him the chance to do so, but remain visible and active in case he falls through.

Monday we awoke to unexpected success that highlighted the effectiveness of our March on Washington as our Governor at home announced he had signed the Harvey Milk Day bill he fought so hard against and the decision to recognize out of state same sex marriages in California.

Smell the coffee LGBT members, your day is quickly coming!

Now while many of you may think that the closest association you have to being gay in the military is the killer new video you streamed off your favorite porn site or military night at Rich’s, truth be told many of us are veterans, friends of someone who serves in silence, or even active duty ourselves.

Veterans- We need you to be visible in the fight against DADT. Put a face of honor on gay service for those who would have Americans believe that we lack the same skills and bravery of heterosexuals.

Active Duty- Hang in there. The military, this very moment is working on how to implement complete non-discrimination in the face of the impeding defeat of DADT. No longer will your commitment be deemed inferior to any.

Here is my Opinion Editorial that ran across the country this weekend:

I was 18 years old when I landed in the kingdom of Bahrain, off the coast of Saudi Arabia, in the winter of 2005. It was the first time I’d ever left the continental United States. My joints ached after more than 24 hours of travel, but I knew that a new life of service and adventure awaited me on the other side of that aircraft door.

For 12 hours a day in 112-degree heat with 85 percent humidity, we searched vehicles for explosives and responded to any threats. I loved the job, but there wasn’t a day that went by when I wasn’t completely miserable.

Shop talk in the unit revolved around sex, either the prostitute-filled parties of days past or the escapades my comrades looked forward to. They interpreted my silence and total lack of interest as an admission of homosexuality. My higher-ups seemed to think that gave them the right to bind me to chairs, ridicule me, hose me down and lock me in a feces-filled dog kennel.

I can’t say for certain when the abuse started or when it stopped. Now, several years removed from those days in Bahrain, it blends together in my mind as a 28-month nightmare.

Once, the abuse was an all-day event; a training scenario turned into an excuse to humiliate me. Normally we ran the dogs through practice situations — an earthquake, a bomb or a fight — that we might encounter in our work. That day, in a classroom at an American school in Bahrain, with posters of the Founding Fathers lining the walls, the scenario happened to be me. I was the decoy, and I had to do just what Chief Petty Officer Michael Toussaint ordered.

In one corner of the classroom was a long sofa, turned away from the door. When you walked into the room, it appeared that one man was sitting on it, alone. But I was there too — the chief had decided that I would be down on my hands and knees, simulating oral sex. A kennel support staff member and I were supposed to pretend that we were in our bedroom and that the dogs were catching us having sex. Over and over, with each of the 32 dogs, I was forced to enact this scenario.

I told no one about what I was living through. I feared that reporting the abuse would lead to an investigation into my sexuality. My leaders and fellow sailors were punishing me for keeping my sexuality to myself, punishing me because I wouldn’t “tell.”

I even saw “don’t ask, don’t tell” used against heterosexual female service members who had reported being the victims of sexual assault. If my chief acted on their statements, he would be forced to punish a friend of his, so the easiest way to make the problem go away was to scare the women into silence by saying something like: “You weren’t sexually assaulted by a male in my unit. I hear you’re a lesbian.” After all, homosexuals have no rights in our military. You can’t sexually assault someone who doesn’t exist.

But the abuse wasn’t invisible to everyone. In 2005, roughly six months into my time with that unit, a new sailor in our group was taken aback when I was left tied up in a dog kennel. She reported the incident and, from what I understand, this prompted an internal investigation into hazing in my unit. Even then, the abuse continued, and I still couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. It took 90 minutes and the threat of a subpoena to get me to testify.

The Navy confirmed 93 incidents of misconduct, including hazing, abuse, physical assault, solicitation of prostitutes and misuse of government property and funds, but the case was closed. After receiving a letter of caution, the military’s version of a slap on the wrist, my chief was eventually promoted in rank and position.

In the course of that investigation, the Navy decided to charge my best friend, Petty Officer 1st Class Jennifer Valdivia, a 27-year-old Sailor of the Year and second in command of my unit, for failing to put an end to my chief’s tyranny. The idea that she could have stopped the abuse is, to me, unfair and unreasonable. The Navy itself failed to stop him.

This incredible woman, whom I ate lunch with every Sunday and ran with every morning, was gone. Since the night I learned of her death, I have been haunted by nightmares. In my dreams, she’s decomposing and suggests that the only way for me to stop my abuse is to follow her lead and end my life.

Just two days before she killed herself, Val gave me a gift, a token of congratulations on being accepted to the Naval Academy prep school in Rhode Island.

And despite everything that had happened — the abuse and her death — I decided to enroll. I wanted to put what had happened in Bahrain behind me. I had applied to the academy twice before I was finally accepted to the prep school, an education that would put me on my way to a commission from Annapolis.

It was my dream come true. I left Bahrain as a petty officer 3rd class and completed a six-week officer candidate boot camp. My commanders told me they wanted me to have a leadership role at the school. But after more than two years of abuse, the suicide of a fine sailor and the Navy’s unwillingness to punish the top leadership in my unit, I was mentally and emotionally depleted. I refused to be punished any longer for who I am, so I made the most difficult decision of my life. I stood outside the office of my commanding officer with my knees buckling. My resignation read:

“I am a homosexual. I deeply regret that my personal feelings are not compatible with Naval regulations or policy. I am proud of my service and had hoped I would be able to serve the Navy and the country for my entire career. However, the principles of honor, courage and commitment mean I must be honest with myself, courageous in my beliefs, and committed in my action. I understand that this statement will be used to end my Naval career.”

It would take two months for the Naval Academy and its lawyers to figure out what to do with me. The lawyers dove into a mess of technicalities. The “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy is riddled with inconsistencies, loopholes, unfairness and hypocrisy. As an officer candidate, I found the situation even more confusing. Lawyers debated: Should they be consulting the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy for officers or the regulations for enlisted personnel? Given the amount of money invested in military officers, the policy for them is far more forgiving.

During those weeks I was ordered to restricted duty and living quarters. I was stuck pulling weeds in the courtyard of the school, as students who had been my peers walked to class in their proud midshipmen-candidate uniforms. I was ordered not to contact my former classmates by any means. The school didn’t want me to “influence them.” This was my lowest point. Based on principle, based on dignity, I had forfeited my dream of a Naval Academy graduation.

Thankfully, I was discharged honorably with full benefits. Otherwise, I would have been left with no money for college and no health-care options for the severe depression, insomnia and post-traumatic stress disorder that Veterans Affairs physicians have diagnosed in me since I’ve returned from overseas. That would have been lawful under “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

For years, I kept this story a secret from my loved ones, wanting simply to move on. But I believe we have a window of opportunity now in the effort to repeal “don’t ask, don’t tell,” and this has propelled me to go public with my experience. This weekend, I will be at the National Equality March for gay rights in Washington, after traveling across the country speaking at gay pride events and at universities, trying to build momentum for a strategy for repeal.

I’m doing all of this during midterms at the University of San Diego, where I am a junior majoring in political science. While my greatest regret is that I will never graduate from Annapolis, I am confident that soon I will serve proudly as a commissioned officer.

I don’t think I will ever feel as powerless as I did when I was on my knees, wearing a U.S. military uniform in the Middle East, forced by my superior to shove my head between another man’s legs. But I have discovered that telling this story holds its own kind of power.

The more I talk about what happened to me, the more I hear from others who have been in similar situations. Students in the service academies calling me, crying, asking if they should quit. World War II veterans. Enlisted soldiers serving overseas. They are hopeful that we may soon have a different kind of military, that gay and lesbian men and women can serve the country we love with job security and dignity.

Despite everything, I am hopeful, too. [End.]

This was followed Tuesday by a live debate where I tied up loose ends for supporters and not supporters alike. (Transcript can be found at- http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/discussion/2009/10/12/DI2009101200877.html)

This is how I want to wrap up this political whirlwind:

We have all either grown up in a home, church, or community that did not accept us. If this is not the case for you, at some point in your life you have been faced with some other form of incredible challenge. One that may still sit deeply with you to this day. I challenge you to find a way, no matter how simple, to turn that pain into something powerful and productive. How can you make some good come from it? How can your experience benefit your family, your friends, your co-workers, your…community?

Being a victim:

OVER IT YET?

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 14th, 2009 at 12:49 PM and is filed under Lifestyle, Over It Yet?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.