Defending Those Who Defend

I grew up in Oklahoma, a place where you learn to love your country as naturally as you learn to walk. Like many of my peers, I was drawn to service, driven by a deep sense of duty to defend the freedoms this nation holds dear. But as someone who identified as gay, I spent most of my young adult life hiding that part of myself. At the time, under the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (DADT) policy, I told myself that it was a small price to pay for the privilege of serving my country.

At twenty-eight, after being kicked out of the ROTC program for reporting a professor’s misuse of student activity fees, I began to explore my sexuality. At first, I convinced myself it was temporary — a phase, an outlet to cope with difficult times. I thought that, perhaps, if I found the "perfect woman," it would end my attraction to men. And for a time, it seemed like I had. I met an incredible woman, married her, and carried on. But deep down, something still didn’t feel right. Over time, my wife and I had painful conversations, with her telling me I was only “barely bi,” as we both tried to make sense of what I was experiencing. It was a personal journey of accepting who I was, one made all the more complicated by the pressures of serving under a policy that demanded silence from those like me.

I still vividly remember sitting on base during a deployment in a combat zone, processing both my divorce and the complexities of my own identity. There was no one I could turn to, no support system for someone grappling with both the emotional turmoil of personal issues and the physical demands of combat. The military, for all its emphasis on unity and teamwork, forced me — and countless others — into solitude because of who I loved. The Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy wasn’t just about keeping quiet; it stripped us of the support every soldier needs, especially when your mind is consumed by personal battles, and your fellow soldiers are depending on you in life-or-death situations.

The military is supposed to be a team. No soldier should be forced to go through that kind of emotional isolation, particularly not while serving in combat zones, risking everything. And no one back home should demand that from us just because they disagree with our “lifestyle.”

Eventually, I came to terms with my identity. I wanted more — I wanted to date men openly, to express affection, and to build a life that was true to who I was. Thankfully, that happened during a time of significant change. President Obama’s administration set the course to end DADT, making it harder for servicemembers to be discharged for their sexuality while working toward full repeal. I remember organizing events with other gay servicemembers during my second deployment, energized by the shift we were witnessing in real-time. We knew things were changing, that the old policy was on its way out.

And while the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was a major victory, the resistance back home reminded me how deep these battles run. Oklahoma’s Governor at the time, Mary Fallin, announced that the state National Guard wouldn’t process marriage benefits for any servicemembers because she disagreed with the federal decision to extend those benefits to same-sex couples. To say this was a slap in the face to those of us who were serving overseas would be an understatement. Servicemembers rely on the promise that their families will be taken care of while they’re risking their lives for their country. That a politician would so blatantly disregard that duty — and that the people of my home state tolerated it — told me all I needed to know about whether I’d ever truly be accepted there.

This brings me to today’s battle. House Republicans recently turned the National Defense Authorization Act into a weapon in their culture war. They’ve banned gender-affirming care, pride flags, transgender books, and drag shows on military bases, all to score political points with narrow-minded evangelicals in their districts. As someone who spent years believing that my personal life didn’t affect my duty to serve, I find this deeply offensive. And after two decades in uniform, after putting my life on the line in multiple combat zones, I now believe something very different.

For years, those of us from marginalized communities believed that we just had to be the best soldiers we could be, so that when people came to know or suspect our sexuality, it wouldn’t matter — they’d respect our service. But now, after proving ourselves time and again, we’re still under attack. The LGBTQ community has shown incredible dedication to this country, and Republicans’ continued attacks on us are not just misguided — they’re an insult to everyone who has ever served.

No one has the right to attack LGBTQ servicemembers because of their personal beliefs. We have defended this country, put our lives on the line, and sacrificed in ways most people can’t even imagine. If you haven’t worn the uniform, if you haven’t stood in a combat zone unsure if you’ll make it home, then you need to sit down and stop attacking those who have.

Particularly offensive is the attack on the transgender community. Nearly one-third of transgender people have served in the military — a statistic that shows their unparalleled commitment to this nation. That Republicans are targeting this community to win votes is both shameful and un-American.

Twenty years ago, I believed that serving my country was more important than anything else, and that keeping my sexuality private was a small price to pay. But now, after decades of service, I know better. We have proven ourselves. We have earned the right to live authentically, to serve openly, and to be respected for who we are. To those trying to score political points at our expense, I say this: We’ve defended your freedoms. The least you can do is show some respect for those who have given everything to defend yours.