Archive for DADT category

Captain Mike Rankin, M.D., MC, USN (Ret.) served from 1964 to 1988. A doctor, he selflessly protected lesbian and gay servicemembers from harm under the anti-gay policy that predates Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

I’ve been saving his story for about a month now, since Capt. Rankin marched beside Lt. Dan Choi at the Leonard Matlovich Memorial. Forgive me from breaking my self imposed word limit and Veterans Day format, but this hero is more important.

A gay man himself, semi-closeted by necessity, Capt. Rankin refused to “diagnose” anyone as homosexual, or to refer a gay person to a clergymember who he didn’t know would be affirming. Countless lives–countless–were saved from ruin or worse by Capt. Rankin* . The following is only part of his story, told in a speech in 2006. Please, please, please, follow the link and read the whole thing.

“Permission to join the mess, Captain,” he panted. “Sorry to be late sir—a couple faggots wanted a tour of the ship and I had to chase them away.”

All morning we’d been offering tours to families and to young women eager to meet a sailor. This was routine when we were not underway. The Navy considered these ship visits great public relations, as long as the visitors were heterosexual families and single women. Men who might be gay need not apply.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” the captain replied. “Take your seat.” Conversation around the table continued.

I sat there seething, staring at my plate. Faggot. Faggot. It rang in my ears. And I began to remember all the times during the 24 years when I’d listened without comment to shipboard homophobic slurs and “jokes.”

I thought of all the conversations started, in sickbay or on the bridge at sea, and then broken off, because a shipmate wasn’t sure I wouldn’t turn him in if he told me his secret. I thought of the gutsy sailors who did take the risk, because of their own courage, and because scuttlebutt had it—correctly for once– that what was said in my sickbay stayed there. I was safe to talk to.

But so often I had remained silent in my medical office, letting those who needed to talk “teach me” about gay life. For whatever reason, I couldn’t simply say “I understand. I’m gay too. I know what it’s like to come out to a close friend or family member who’s promised ‘unconditional love,’ only to find that love wasn’t so unconditional after all. I know about being in the closet at work, making up fictitious dates with the opposite sex. And buddy I know exactly what it’s like to lose a lover—it hurts like hell.” Those empathetic words remained largely unsaid. The Navy was my last closet—until that June lunch in the wardroom.

Sitting at the table with those men, I felt my cool rationality slipping away. I ceased to be a medical officer and a role model for the corpsmen under my command. I was no longer a psychiatrist trained to understand motivation and behavior. I had no more excuses for all the young officers who responded to peer pressure with pathetic attempts to be “more macho than thou.” And I had no more excuses for my own silence; that silence was compliance.

Right there in the wardroom, before God and the whole U.S Navy, I became simply one pissed off queer.

Facing the immediate source of my discontent, who was happily eating away, I commented in what I thought was a quiet conversational tone of voice, “Lt. Jones, I was offended by your use of the word ‘faggot.’ Using that word is like calling someone a nigger, a spick, wop, kike or cunt. It automatically defines one as a bigot. Bigotry, Lieutenant, is not a quality the Navy usually looks for when it selects its officers for promotion. Now that you know that, I’m sure you’ll not use the term again.”

He sat there with the chipped beef on his fork, halfway between his plate and his open mouth. The other officers looked from him to me and back, speechless.

For about fifteen long seconds I felt like I’d just told the dentist, “oh forget the novocaine, just go ahead and drill,” one of those remarks you instantly want to retract.

But I couldn’t retract it. It hung there in the air. I thought if I didn’t say something to get us past the moment, the room would explode. “Captain, would you please pass the catsup,” I asked calmly, “My beef’s a little tough.” The captain passed the catsup, there were sighs of relief, and the talk turned again to the Niners vs the Raiders.

Again, click through to keep reading. This is not the end of the story.

Captain Rankin, you have no idea the good you’ve done. Thank you so very much for serving your country.

* Incidentally, that strategy is not possible under DADT. Just yesterday, the American Medical Association called for the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, because doctors may be and have been required to break confidentiality in order to out a lesbian or gay person who thought they were safe talking to their doctor.

Seriously.

Linguist and Army Sergeant Bleu Copas served from 2002 to 2006, when he was outed by an anonymous tip telling Army officials to break Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy by asking Sgt. Copas if he was gay. They did. They also asked Sgt. Copas if he knew any gay people and if he was ever involved in community theater.

While he complied with the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell law by refusing to answer “the question” without legal representation, the investigation continued until he was finally fired for being gay.

Sgt. Copas, thank you for serving your country.