Sex, Lies and the Military

By Jill Smolowe

It's done sotto voce, but somehow word gets passed. The Air Force is the most hospitable armed branch; the Marines and Army are the pits. Entertainment and medical jobs are the safest; artillery and infantry units the roughest. If possible, head for bases around San Francisco or Washington; steer clear of South Korea and Hawaii. Join groups like Alcoholics Anonymous; for those in the Navy, especially, they are safe enclaves. Buy Bob Damron's Address Book; it lists gay bars near military installations both at home and abroad. But be careful: such clubs are off limits and are often scouted by bands of military police known as "courtesy patrols." Be alert for changing code words. If someone says, "Don't go straight, go forward" or asks, "Are you a friend of Dorothy's?" you'll know you've found the Emerald City.

For gay men and lesbians, military service means a life of unflagging vigilance and tactical deception. The adversary they fear most does not speak a foreign tongue. Rather, the enemy lies as close as the next bunk. At military bases across the country, homosexuals describe an existence that at best is tentative, guarded and supported by discreet networks. At worst, it can mean snickering colleagues, witch hunts and dangerous "blanket parties," during which the victims are held beneath covers, then beaten senseless. Until now, the military's homosexuals have had to live with the uneasy knowledge that exposure of their secret could mean expulsion.

Over the past decade, homosexuals have been discharged from the armed services at the rate of about 1,500 a year. Rarely does the expulsion involve any of the acts so commonly cited as a threat by those who oppose gays in the military: harassment of straight colleagues, fondling or staring in the showers, nocturnal visits to unsuspecting bunkmates. "In every case I know of, someone told someone about a person's sexual orientation or that person was asked a question during a security clearance," says Kevin Cathcart, executive director of the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, a gay civil rights group. Sometimes the outings are coerced. Confronted by investigators, gays are often told to name names if they want an honorable rather than a general discharge.

Since 1982, the military has encouraged -- indeed, demanded -- such scrutiny. Defense Department Directive 1332.14 states: "Homosexuality is incompatible with military service." No overt act is required to set this ban in motion. A mere "propensity to engage in homosexual conduct" is enough to invite discharge. The military has many other rules on sexual conduct that apply to everyone -- gay or straight. Officers are not permitted to fraternize with enlistees. Sex is barred on bases except for married personnel in their living quarters. Even off-site sex is regulated. Under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, anal and oral intercourse are prohibited anywhere, anytime, by anybody. But each of these rules speaks to conduct, not sexual orientation -- and the last rule goes largely unenforced.

The ban against homosexuals is applied capriciously, resulting in both considerable harassment and occasional discretion. The experience of Janet, an Army medic and private first class, is typical of the former. Janet was drinking off duty at Hula's, a gay hangout in Hawaii, when she was stopped by a courtesy patrol. "From that time on," she says, "I felt they were watching me." Inspectors would burst into her room at 2 a.m., seeking to catch her in a compromising position. Though she was never caught in flagrante delicto, her sergeant accused her of being gay because she had no boyfriends. Janet's assignments deteriorated. Most punishing was a three-month posting to the field for maneuvers that involved 10,000 men -- and Janet.

At the other extreme was the experience of Eliseo Martinez, a former Marine sergeant who came out of the closet halfway through his six-year tour at the El Toro Marine Corps Air Station in California. One day one of his men called another a "faggot." Martinez suggested to the name-caller that he seemed insecure about his own sexuality. Later, Martinez was called in by his commanding officer, who requested details of the clash, then asked if he could pose a question. "Are you gay?" he asked. "Yes, sir," Martinez replied. "Well," the commander said, "you're still doing a good job, Marine." The issue never came up again.

More typically, matters are not confronted directly. Antigay servicemen single out targets, spreading rumors behind their back, carving butt pirate and die faggot on their lockers and spraying their beds with sexual lubricant. To avoid becoming a target, gay men sometimes play along, trying to mask their pain. They smirk gamely at gay jokes and go to lengths to cloak their true identity. Some invent girlfriends or wives, or even date women. Blatant lies about sexual orientation, however, risk perjury charges if a homosexual comes under investigation. Most, therefore, simply disclose nothing about their personal life. "The result is you don't waste much time and you appear to be very serious about your assignments," says a gay Army attorney.

Female personnel tend to be more tolerant of their lesbian colleagues. "You aren't hearing it from women because women are more accepting about lesbians," says Mary Ann Humphrey, a former captain in the Army reserves who was discharged in 1987. "Their womanhood is not threatened like a man's manhood is when he's around a gay man." Perhaps women's experience with male sexual harassment has made them less skittish about other forms of torment. Or perhaps it is simply less taboo for women to hug and kiss in public.

That doesn't mean lesbians have it easy. According to Humphrey, who wrote a history of homosexuals in the U.S. military titled My Country, My Right to Serve, women are expelled 10 times as often as men for their sexual orientation. Amy, a medical corpsman at the Naval Training Center in Orlando, Florida, feels so threatened that she pretends to date a male gay friend of hers. "I grab crotches, I make sexual innuendos," she says. "The more they suspect, the more I try to cover up." Recently, a married male officer made overtures. She did not file a sexual-harassment report because she feared "an investigation will ensue and my homosexuality will come out."

Homosexuals who try to maintain a relationship proceed with utmost caution. Bill, a Navy medical corpsman, has a civilian lover. When they are together in Bill's apartment complex, which is populated by a lot of Navy personnel, they are careful not to touch or exchange intimate glances. Bill is a veteran of the double life. He visits straight bars with his straight friends, "dates" a lesbian friend, and once hired a prostitute while in port in the Philippines. "I just took her to my hotel, and we talked," he says.

Even if the ban is lifted, homosexuals are still likely to practice self- censorship to protect their careers. Civilian work settings, where many if not most gays still keep quiet about their sexual orientation, offer an apt model. "Hundreds of corporations have policies that protect gay men and lesbians against discrimination," says Jay Lucas, a Philadelphia employment consultant. "But that doesn't mean the culture has changed." John, a Navy petty officer in San Diego, sounds a common refrain. To come out of the closet, he says, "would be professional suicide because your superiors will find ways not to promote you." A change in policy does not guarantee that harassment will immediately stop: some gay servicemen reported last week that insults and physical attacks have increased since President Clinton began speaking out against the ban.

With reporting by David S. Jackson/San Francisco and Sarah Tippit/Orlando