A Veteran’s Voice, Too Late
The Destruction that is Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is a first person accounting of events that took place aboard the USS Kitty Hawk during the Spring and Summer of 2006 as relayed to GLTNewsNow by a Sailor currently serving a second tour of duty in the U.S. Navy. Because of the Military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, his name is being withheld to protect his enlistment.
On July 8, 2006, Airman Jason J. Doyle turned to a fellow Airman on the flight deck of the USS Kitty Hawk and told him to tell John that he loved him. Jason then took off his float coat, laid it on the deck in front of him, turned, ran and jumped into the ocean. He committed suicide. It was not accidental. He was not coerced. It was intentional. Jason, for his own reasons, did not want to go on living.
Airman Jason J. Doyle
If you wonder why this story begins so blunt and direct, it’s because the Navy officially proclaimed Jason “Lost at Sea, Presumed Dead.” After investigations and apparent answers to the questions “what happened” and “why,” the obvious was replaced with a resolve the Navy wanted for the family that was easier to digest and accept…or so we thought.
I’ll be the first to admit that I love conspiracy theories and the mysteries that surround our everyday lives. But for the last three or more years I’ve often wondered why the Navy cared so much about masking the obvious for the family. And then, in the early morning hours of June 30, 2009, Seaman August Provost was murdered in the line of duty. Allegations of a Navy cover-up were raised because of Augusts’ sexuality. Then, a possible reason for the Navy’s misinformation about Jason’s suicide became clear to me – they didn’t want anyone to know he killed himself because he was gay. Essentially, the Navy wanted to avoid answering questions about Jason’s hazing, harassment and sexuality that would, in any way, expose the trail of destruction that is Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.
Seaman August Provost
While living in Japan, I would often host dinner parties and gatherings, off base, at my house. I wanted a place that my good friends could escape to, relax and be themselves. In late 2005, I hosted a Christmas party and my best friend brought Jason with him so he could meet our group. Jason had just checked into my command and hadn’t made many friends. When I first met him, my immediate perception was that he was strangely peculiar, a little dark and distant. His mannerisms and demeanor were almost a dead giveaway that he probably wasn’t straight. Nevertheless, I welcomed him into my home. When he left, we exchanged hugs and said our goodbyes.
Over the next few months, Jason started dating another friend of ours, John. They seemed a good match. Then, of course, gossip started circulating about their arguments and relationship struggles that, when observed, were rather intense. When we went under way for our spring cruise, Jason was placed in the usual protocol for any new person coming on board the ship, called TAD (Temporary Assignment Duty.) TADs are basic service duties like cleaning toilets, housekeeping, food service and anything else generally required to maintain a 5,000 person Aircraft Carrier. But, because Jason had experienced prior problems with harassment and (possibly) hazing, officials placed him in our Squadron’s Berthing Services. This duty allowed for greater safety and supervision of Jason by his superiors when at sea.
Harassment on ships happens routinely but often goes without consequence. It happened to me from time to time. However, since my job frequently had me outsourced to the ship (or base) galley I didn’t have to deal with it on a day-to-day basis. But Jason did. And, when we’d find out he’d been hazed or harassed, many of us would reach out to make sure he was okay.
Finally, our six-week cruise came to an end. We all looked forward to some semblance of normalcy back at home. As usual, the first thing we did when off ship was party in Tokyo. We went dancing, drinking and just had a blast. Jason and John even joined the fun. And it was a different Jason than I’d seen before. He was bright, happy and full of life. We enjoyed our land time to the fullest knowing that summer cruise was a short month away.
During our stay in Japan, I got to know Jason. He confided in me the issues he was having with family back in Utah because of his sexuality. Basically, he came out. He said his mother was unwilling to accept it and she felt they must disown him. I could tell in his tone that coming out was a painful, traumatic experience, one he’d rather forget altogether than toil over during this time away.
Nevertheless, between cruises, Jason began to assimilate into our Squadron – he was becoming part of our team. He built friendships with the hyper-masculine crew he would eventually be working with on the flight deck. Outside observers might have assumed Jason was being harassed, but it was merely the jibing and joking of friends poking fun at one and other. There was, however, real harassment from guys within the Squadron who were not happy about having a “fag” on their team. Jason would often feel their heat. From pounding on his barracks door in the middle of the night, to leaving tasteless suggestive objects taped to his door, Jason endured a great deal of torment. It was not uncommon for him to walk down a hallway while passers by screamed “faggot” or some other derogatory word.
But whom could Jason go to? Who could he really go to carrying the weight and pressure of such harassment? No one. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell stood in his way. On one hand, if Jason reported his tormentors’ harassment, he would immediately be labeled a “snitch” and most assuredly endured a backlash. On the other, if Jason confided in a Chaplain or Medical Psychologist, it would require he explain why he was being harassed. So, Jason was stuck, between a rock and hard place. There was simply nothing he could do. Now, one might ask, why did we (his friends) not stick up for him? We did. But in the Military, you can only do so much before the finger is pointed in your direction and you become the tormented, with utterly no one to rely on to make it stop.
At the start of the summer cruise, Jason was reassigned from the service section to the flight deck. Many of the friends he made between deployments had to take their turn working in the galley. This was a concern because his biggest support system would not be there, should any trouble arise. On top of that, Jason had recently broken up with John. So, the mounting pressures were obvious. At one point during the cruise, he broke down and cried to my best friend who had been his supervisor on the spring cruise. The drastic change in his appearance and attitude was noticeable to everyone. He refused to wipe oil and dirt from his face and hair and would make veiled comments about life not being worth living. One day, he even refused to go to work. The signs of imminent danger and self-inflicted harm were brutally apparent, yet there was nothing any of us could do without violating Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.
The day of July 8, 2006 started with great sadness and stress – we were leaving the best port in the world, Australia. All of us were still struggling to get everything up to speed in our various departments. Galleys were restocking, flight deck was refueling and Administrators were catching up on paperwork left undone during the port visit. Lunch had come and gone as usual and dinner was about to begin. The crew sat down for chow and immediately a heart-stopping voice on the Intercom wailed “Man Overboard, Man Overboard.” We assumed that the usual just out of port exercise for mustering had commenced. We automatically shut the blinders on the serving line, secured stoves and pots and started the walk toward the aft of the ship on the carrier’s Port Side. As we arrived to our designated spots to be accounted, we kept a close eye on the TV screens to see the names of people not yet mustered. The list went from 50 to 25 in less than a minute…then to 10…then to 5. This list of names was important in case we knew someone who may have just fallen asleep in their rack or taken a break out on the smoke deck and may not have heard the drill. So, it didn’t really bother me to see Jason’s name on the screen…until the list of names got down to one – his. After about 20 minutes, the Captain came over the intercom and said he wanted the muster to start all over again because we did not have 100 percent accounted for. So, the screen lit up with all the command personnel and, again, they dwindled down the names. Again, I saw Jason’s name on the screen. I then began to worry. After an hour passed (what seemed like an eternity,) the Captain finally came on the intercom to say it was apparent that someone was, in fact, overboard and helicopters were out trying to recover the person. Accidental “Man Overboard” on an Aircraft Carrier is a frequent occurrence. It can happen because of wind gusts, patchy water or blasts from jet engines. But response and recovery is quick and usually without incident. This time was unusual – it was taking too long.
Something else unusual was that Code River City went into effect. The Internet was jammed, email was shut down and phone lines off the boat were cut. Something had happened.
The search for Jason went on for three days before we were ordered to move on. A recovery team was dispatched to continue. Jason was never found. One week later an investigation began. I received a phone call from the NCIS representative heading the investigation asking to meet with me. I had an immediate sense of dread. Somehow, my name was brought up and I knew exactly why. NCIS questioned me, intensely, about everything. “Why would Jason jump? Was he hiding on the ship? Was he being harassed? How did you know Jason? Give us details.” I answered every question as honestly as I could. Given Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, my responses were ’shaded’ with remarks like John was Jason’s “good friend,” etc.
The memorial service on board was very emotional. My best friend broke down while Jason’s name was spoken. He felt horrible, guilty and thought he could have done more to protect him. John’s own command flew him off the ship to deal with his grief in private, something also unusual and highly suspect. Sadly, Jason’s death brought all of us a little closer because, collectively, we had failed him in a way. We could have been there for him a little more. We should have insisted he get help. But point blank, Jason could not speak to anyone up the chain of command without outing himself and, potentially, losing his Military career, benefits and financial stability.
When the official report of Jason’s death came out, it made no mention of what actually happened. He simply “fell off the carrier.” All of us were happy with this at the time because it meant his life insurance would still be paid to his family and they would not know the grief their son had been through, grief that was partially their fault. To them, he would remain a sailor who had an unfortunate accident. And, perhaps the Military got something out of this report too. Had it been declared a suicide, many more questions would have come up. “Why did he do it? Did he seek help and if not, why?” Answers they wouldn’t like. The type of inconvenient truths that would envelop this failed policy like a big red flag.
I was touched to learn of the many friends Jason had after this happened. I had no idea so many people were on his side. Many straight friends and allies connected with Jason because of their common bond, their youth. To them, his sexuality didn’t matter at all. Several of them vowed revenge on whoever had pushed Jason to do what he did. But, what they didn’t realize is that it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t one person or one instance or one hazing or one harassing. It was a culmination of all of it…something that could have been stopped had he been able to speak up, use his voice and not hide who he truly was.
When August Provost was murdered this past summer, the outrage from the gay community over whether there was a Military cover-up was understandable. It brought Jason back to the forefront of my mind again. The truth may be painful, but necessary to fix the real issue. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is a policy that inherently undermines the Navy’s core values of “Honor, Courage and Commitment.” Its very nature belies that. There is no honor in lying. How many suicides, cover-ups and discharges are enough before the Government begins to realize something just isn’t working? You see, I am a sailor proud to have served my country through two enlistments and several deployments around the world. Yet, I look back on my Military tenure having some regret, anger and shame. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell – for Jason J. Doyle, we obliged. Where’s the honor in that?
