December 21, 1993, the day “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Pursue, Don’t Harass,” (DADT) was signed into law. After a campaign promise by President Clinton, to end discrimination of our LGBT Servicemen/women, and a bitter fight waged by the conservative right to continue the status quo, we were left with this misleading and completely flawed policy. Today this policy has ended.
I joined the Army in 1996, three years later. I visited my local recruiting station, in Oak Harbor, WA (on the north end of Whidbey Island) for the second time in July of that year. I was ready to sign up and leave as soon as possible. I had recently graduated from community college and high school simultaneously, through the state’s Running Start program, and was ready for my next adventure in life. I was also ready to get off the isolated, and restricting, Island. Honestly, I initially wanted to join the military for the ability to escape and also earn money for college. However, I came to find there was much more to gain from my service.
I sought an escape because of the environment I grew up in. I learned about life from fundamental Christian, and socially conservative Republican, views of the world. Throughout my entire life I felt like an outcast, like I didn’t fit in. In fact, when I was 16 years old I recall watching a show on TV that displayed two men being affection with each other in a loving way. There was a part of me that felt like this was “right” for me. However, because of my upbringing I quickly turned those “demonic” feelings off and avoided any exploration of my sexual orientation for the next two years.
I arrived at the recruiting station and filled out my final paperwork. One, of the many forms, had an odd question on it. It asked, “Are you a homosexual?” I circled the no with an internal feeling of “of course I’m not Gay, that’s disgusting” (oh… how I’ve grown). Little did I know that the Army was supposed to delete this question from their forms after the DADT policy was implemented. One additional page was a waiver. Typically new recruits have to wait 30 days from visiting the recruiting station to leaving for Basic Training. I signed a waiver to leave in 15 days. I was ready to go.
I arrived to Fort Jackson, South Carolina on August 1st, 1996 at about 2200 hours (10pm). When being drove from the airport to the base there was a brilliant lightening storm overhead. It should have been a sign of the turbulence in the changes about to come. Upon arriving to the barracks, where I would prepare for Basic Training, the Sergeant quietly showed me my bunk bed and wall locker. It was in a large open bay with half of the bunks already filled with sleeping future soldiers. I crawled into the next assigned bed, a top bunk, where I laid awake watching the storm continue through the barred windows. I had felt like I could just cry, but instead I willed myself to sleep.
The next day was the first day of my new life. At least the life I would need to become accustomed to for the next four years. Since I arrived later than most in the bay where I slept, because I came from Seattle, I did not have the uniforms and gear others already received. Neither did I receive instructions yet on how things were done there on base.
I was standing with my fellow new recruits in the breakfast line at the mess hall and, as I am naturally curious, I was looking around. For some reason my eyes locked onto the tall black man in uniform with a fashionable “Smokey the Bear” hat. I would come to get to know this particular Drill Sergeant a little more intimately than desired, 2 seconds later. He was pretty far away but it seemed like he had to take only a few large steps before towering over me. “Are you eyeballing me soldier!?” He commanded to know the answer to this question that confused me. Eyeballing him? What the hell was he talking about? I quickly realized that each of my fellow new recruits were like statues, in this locked position I would later learn as “Parade Rest” where our eyes were to remain locked forward. I locked up and replied, “No Drill Sergeant” wishing he would take the answer and leave. He did. I was already sticking out like a sore thumbs because I was one of the only one’s in civies (civilian clothes) and now I had a Drill Sergeant graciously announce my presence. But of course, what was I expecting? Did I picture it as, “Mr. Nichols, please excuse my intrusion, but you are standing improperly. Please witness how the other new recruits are standing” and guide me to my way. His approach was simple, more direct, and resulted in immediate action on my part.
I grew up in an upper-middle class environment and in little white, Christian America. My High School had only a few students who were from a minority class. In my Senior class there were no African American (or black) students and very few from any other minority class, including, that I knew of, anyone who was Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, or Transgendered. Due to this “White Privileged” upbringing I had, I think the initial shock of pre-Basic Training was too much. I wanted out.
More than 48 hours later, still in the holding area preparing for Basic Training, and I had not been able to call home. They wouldn’t let us call home at first possibly because they wanted us to start getting used to be away. However, it was all too much for me. I marched into the office next to where I slept, and confronted the Sergeant manning the desk. It was sometime in the later afternoon and although I was supposed to be somewhere else preparing for my transition into Basic Training, I made it clear I was not leaving until I called home. I’m not sure if it was my protest or my tears, but he allowed me to make the call. When my mom answered the phone I could hardly speak, my tears and emotions got the best of me.
My poor mom, she probably thought they were torturing me. The spoiled wealthy white boy got what he wanted, but it stopped there.
My next demand was met with more resistance. I wanted to go home.
When I saw the initial resistance to my desire to quit, I didn’t ask anyone further in the chain of command. Instead, that day and the next I secretly asked other new recruits how one could get out. Two females I spoke to explained how they lied, saying they were lesbians, so they would be discharged under DADT. Another guy told me that he knew someone who got kicked out because he couldn’t do the initial 20 pushups we all needed to prove we could do prior to moving onto Basic Training. I had two choices: 1) Declare that I was a homosexual man (which was still a disgusting thought for me) or 2) claim to be physically not capable (or weak). It was an easy choice, I’d shoot for the latter. There was no way I was going to claim to be gay, I couldn’t go home with such a mark of disgrace on my manhood.
The day the pushups test came I was ready. I got down, in line with several other new recruits in this long room, and we all started to push. Everyone fairly easily knocked out their pushups but not me. I struggled to knock out 12. It was actually a bit hard for my skinny ass, but was I not completing the 20 because of my desire to be discharged or my lack of strength? Either way, I thought to myself, “I’m going home.” There were about 100 people in that room and only a few did not pass the pushups.
For some reason the Drill Sergeants did not believe that it was my strength holding me back. They emptied the room, except for one unfortunate Private (they were required to have a “buddy” present with all new recruits). They surrounded me, about 6 of them, and with tension in his face one of the Drill Sergeant’s stood inches from me, eyes locked on mine, demanding that I do the pushups because he “knew” that I was trying to get out. I got down on all fours, got in pushup position, and started to push the ground. Up to 7 and they called out, “Keep going Nichols!” Now up to 12, where I originally was, “Push ‘em out Nichols! Don’t you stop!” Around 14 or 15 my trebling arms gave out and I fell to the floor. They were not happy. However, I was. Now I could go home, right? Wrong.
They sent me to “fat camp.” They affectionately called this “fat camp” because it was a pre-Basic Training course designed for helping people lose some quick pounds and prepare for the workouts routines we were to encounter in Basic. However, they sent me there to help not with losing weight of course, but to gain strength.
I fought this decision, all the way up to the Sergeant Major. I was ready to go home. The Sergeant Major actually said I could go home, but the stubborn First Sergeant of my company (one rack lower) said no. I understood the structure enough to know that the Sergeant Major outranked the First Sergeant, so again I thought it was clear that I was to return home soon, but no, somehow the First Sergeant’s argument won and I remained in “fat camp.”
During the time in this training, where we would exercise hours and hours in the day, I had a change of heart. Also, my dad flew from Seattle to Fort Jackson to see me one Sunday. I could only visit him for a couple hours, but it was needed. When I saw him I gave him a big hug and cried. I was later told that I couldn’t show this affection in uniform. Dad and I sat down, just him and I, and talked. He told me about how hard it was for him in Basic Training, as he was preparing to go off to Vietnam. He said the worst part was being away from home for the first time. It really helped to hear my father’s story, if felt validating for what I was going through. He also told me to show him my pushups and helped me with perfecting them so each one that I performed would count (if one didn’t go low enough that pushup would not be counted). Dad coming to see me changed my perspective, now I just wanted to get to Basic Training and get it over with.
The first opportunity I had to do my pushups I had gained some knowledge of perfecting them, some will to perform them all, and yes, even some strength, to knock them out. I did what I needed to, the 20 pushups to move on.
Soon I arrived to my Basic Training unit, Bravo Company, where I would spend 8 weeks training to become a soldier. However, that first day in this environment was terribly stressful and consisted of a lot of yelling. “Why is everyone yelling at me?” my privileged self silently demanded to know. Then the Drill Sergeant who I, and a small group, was assigned to appeared. He announced himself as “Drill Sergeant W-H-I-T-E ready to kick a privates ass H-O-R-N!” Hmmm… that’s a funny name. I sat in this large room, in the center of all the recruits, just trying to remember my father’s words of advice “don’t stand out. Just get through it.” However, it must have slipped my mind because when they asked, “Who wants to go home?” I really thought they were asking in an attempt to assist us in that exit process. I also thought, surely several people would raise their hand and get up, “Excuse me,” as I move through the crowd, “It was really a pleasure getting to know you all. I do hope we keep in touch. Goodbye now.” No, it didn’t work that way. I raised my hand and I was the only one.
They called me into the office, with four Drill Sergeants and another unlucky fellow Private who stayed in the room but backed into the corner to clearly indicate he wasn’t there with me for any kind of support. I stood at Parade Rest in front of the desk, as told to do. “So, you want to go home huh Nichols?” Still, part of me is thinking that this is possible now, we can all acknowledge that there has been a terrible mix up, I wasn’t supposed to be there. “Drill Sergeant, yes Drill Sergeant,” I appropriately responded.
“That’s fine Nichols, you can go home,” Drill Sergeant Whitehorn responded, surprisingly, but of course added the fine print,” After you spend 8 weeks of hell here!” Oh beautiful. No, really, thanks! I appreciate your consideration. Now could I get the room with the view please and could you have someone grab my luggage for me? I didn’t respond right away, perhaps in shock at again being so close to going home, but fooled again. There wasn’t a need for a response. I was back out with the other soon-to-be soldiers and we continued the process of our first day at Basic Training. And yes, after that I quickly realized there was no hope for returning to the false comfort of my previous life.
After Basic Training I attended AIT (Advanced Individual Training). Here I learned what I needed to become a Telecommunications Operator/Maintainer, or for short 74C. During my time there, at Fort Gordon, I received my first duty assignment. I remember being in a large room with my fellow soldiers and this woman at the front told us to fill out the form in front of each of us. The form was a list of different duty stations where we would rank them in the order which we preferred. I think my order was Hawaii as #1, then Fort Lewis (to come back to Seattle), and #3 was somewhere in California, to be back on the west coast. All of our papers were filled out, picked up, and the lady left the room. Just minutes later she returned and pretty much divided the room in half and said, “this half is going to Germany and this half is going to Korea.” I was on the Germany side.
I went home for Christmas in 1996 and then immediately, after that well deserved break, shipped off to Mannheim, Germany. The start of my two years in Germany felt really lonely and the uncertainty of my future scared me. Part of that uncertainty was in regards to my work placement. The unit I was assigned to had too many 74C’s, so at first we were doing duties like shoveling snow. Again, just like in Basic Training, I had this feeling arise inside asking “why am I even here… why did I join?” However, I kept remembering more words of advice from my father, “The Army is what you make of it.” I realized later, life is really what you make of it. I started to practically whistle while I worked and started to find joy.
Then the Battalion Commander, a Lieutenant Colonel, realized that he wasn’t getting someone new for the S-1 (personnel department) Finance Clerk position. He asked the Company commanders if they had a soldier they could spare for a temporary assignment (two weeks) in the S-1 shop. I’m not sure how my name came up, but I was offered to fill in and when I was told of this position I gladly accepted (as if I had a choice).
In the two weeks that I was there I learned a lot about Microsoft Excel, the filing system we had, and other important duties typically assigned to someone who specialized in that area. When the two weeks were completed the Battalion Colonel came up and personally asked me to stay, since he heard good things about me from the office Lieutenant. I was locked in a respectful At Ease position when he asked me, a Private First Class, “Nichols, you’re doing a great job. We need you here. Will you remain here for your entire two year tour?” I gladly accepted, again, it wasn’t like I could tell the Commander of the Battalion, “You know what Sir, I really appreciate you asking. I would like to negotiate our terms. The pay really sucks, and needs to be increase. The hours are crazy, let’s work out maybe an actual 40 hour work week. I’ll take a lot at your offer and get back to you.” No, I was grateful that I wasn’t shoveling snow anymore, and that I was doing things which really felt like they were important and part of the overall mission. The position of Finance Clerk for those two years allowed me so much freedom and I believe opportunity that other positions would not have offered.
A few weeks after being in Mannheim I started to make friends. Corinna, also a 74C, was the first friend I made. She was also someone whom I wanted to date. I would constantly try and spend time with her and even brought her flowers and cleaned her entire barracks room. Over and over I was denied an ability to move forward with her. She wasn’t interested, but certainly appreciated my effort! Rather than dating we became friends and she is still one of my best friends today.
Several months after moving to Mannheim I started to become comfortable with my new life, new friends, and wonderful work position. I also started to settle into a new routine that allowed me more time to explore Germany, as well as who I was. I was finally away from home, away from that conservative, religious, and ignorant environment and ready to explore my individuality.
One thing I quickly picked up was drinking and partying with my fellow soldiers. It seemed to happen every weekend in the barracks.
One weekend started off just like the others: a combination of music, alcohol and soldiers of the opposite sex flirting with each other.
During the partying a group of us decided to stumble up to the attic's rec room. We started to play pool but then quickly realized that pool wasn't going to be the highlight of our evening. The highlight would simply be drinking and BSing. We were satisfied with lounging around on the available couches as we continued slamming shot after shot of everything from Gold Slogger to Tequila.
We all quickly became very drunk. As the night turned into the early morning hours the group in the attic slowly dispersed. Soldiers passed out either right there on the couches or back in their rooms.
Eventually the only two individuals remaining in the attic, awake and barely able to function, were myself and another soldier: SPC Turner.
I sat at the far end of the room nursing my nearly empty bottle of whatever alcoholic beverage was readily available (at that point I was so drunk it didn't really matter). I simply wanted to enjoy the sensation of it's soothing liquid warming me from the inside out. I curled up on the sill of the large lonely attic window as I remained lost in my own world. A world which consisted simply of the bottle, R&B tunes filling the attic space, and a peaceful view of the lush German forest behind our barracks.
However, Turner interrupted my silence as he came over to share my drink. He laid right next to me and I obligatorily passed my bottle to him, as we shared the remaining contents. Even though I wanted to continue enjoying my solitude I recognized the unique bond that soldiers share and engaged in some BSing.
As we continued to pass the probably now empty bottle back and forth I could tell that he was a bit nervous. Although I didn't think about it much at that point because most of my attention remained with the stillness of the serene forest.
After my final moment of taking in this amazing picturesque view I realized my drinking buddy's slurred speech had ceased. I turned my head back toward him, to investigate the silence, and I found his face within inches of mine.
Right there in the barracks, in front of our passed out comrades, he kissed me. I later realized that I wasn't taken back by the fact that this was a man I was kissing. Perhaps the alcohol slowed my thinking process down enough that my mind couldn't intervene. Prior to any judgment, any "logical" understanding of what "should" be, I simply felt. The alcohol numbed my logical reasoning while my feelings were free to take this new sensation all in.
I allowed his lips to explore mine as an unfamiliar tingling sensation shot through my entire body. The slow, sweet, passionate kiss filled the air with an aura that kept him and I safe in our world. My world of isolation and loneliness was suddenly invaded with a power that made me vulnerable and weak, yet safe, all with a simple kiss. My first kiss with another man.
Since we pretty much had the entire room to ourselves we just sat there and continued to kiss. I melted into this mans lip locking action and didn't even consider the fact that... ummmm... well... this was a man! I just let my fellow intoxicated soldier take the lead and my drunk ass was completely at ease while I sunk deeper and deeper into that moment.
After a short while he probably figured that we were playing it too risky by kissing in the barracks and asked me if I wanted to come back to his place.
Oh, you see, I forgot to mention one minor detail. He was married. As you can imagine there can be pluses and minuses association with this fact. Thankfully for us we had two pluses: 1) because he was married the Army provided him and his wife with a private apartment and 2) his wife was back in the states. :-)
(side note) I later found out they had marital problems. Imagine that.
I drove us to his place, less than 1/4 of a mile away, even though I was way too intoxicated to drive. In my defense, this is the only time I drove drunk (and yes when I was doing the background check with the King County Sheriff's Office I admitted this on my application - no, not the part about kissing my fellow soldier, but about the drinking and driving).
Thankfully we safely made it to his apartment. Both of us were pretty drunk and tired so we decided to go straight to bed. Convenient right?
He started to undress in front of me, as I followed his lead. Down to our skivvies we just starred at each other for a moment from opposite sides of the bed. Then simultaneously we grabbed the blanket and sheets, pulled them back and jumped on in.
The highlight of the evening was simply rolling around and kissing. Our underwear never came off and we didn't bring sex into the picture (not even Clinton sex). Shortly into our kissing we were so tired and drunk that we just passed out wrapped up in each other's arms.
The next morning I woke up and he was on the couch. I asked, "what's going on?" He said he had a massive headache and was hungover. I was hungover a bit too but I was also so high from this newly discovered joy of knowing me a bit more, that it overshadowed any headache from the hangover.
I had just experienced the best romantic night of my life (up to that point) and all we did was kiss and actually sleep together.
He, on the other hand, couldn't believe what he had done. He even made the comment, "I can't believe how comfortable you were to take off all your clothes and stand in front of me with nothing but underwear."
At first I didn't understand what he meant by this statement because he TOO was in front of me with nothing but underwear. But then I realized that the alcohol really did have an effect on him and although he was definitely bi-sexual, he tilted toward the homosexual end of the scale only after a bit of liquid courage. As a sober man he wanted to hide from what had just occurred and not revisit these "mistakes" again.
Of course as I was sobering up I was twirling around inside with my own gay pride parade marching on! I'm here, I'm queer... with still a little fear. (hey, this was the Army)
It is kind of ironic how the military brought me out, but for the first time I realized something amazing... that... I'm GAY! And more importantly it felt so GOOD!
Soon after coming out to myself I wanted to come out to someone else. I asked Corinna if we could go on a walk because I needed to talk to her. We journeyed behind the barracks, through the trails in the forest that surrounded this small base. I told her how scared I was to tell her what I was about to say and I told her that she couldn’t tell anyone. She agreed that she wouldn’t. Then, through tears of confusion and fear, I blurted out “I’m gay.” She hugged me and was very supportive.
Three months later I remember being in the S-1 shop one weekend, catching up on work, and Corinna stopped by after her softball game. She said she had something to tell me. She explained that these past couple months, while she had been playing softball, she felt attracted to some of the girls. She came out with it, “I think I’m a lesbian.”
The following months we were definitely available for each other. However, I still felt the need to tell more people. There was a mixture of being excited about revealing this new part of who I was, scared of what it meant for my future and connection with my family, and a desire to simply be honest. I told several individuals directly, including supervisors, but it was always on a one-to-one basis. I received support from them and was advised to not tell anyone else, for fear of getting kicked out.
Then one weekend I was really having a rough time. The weekends were hard for me, because I had too much time to think and fester on the fear and shame I was constantly feeling. I felt depressed, lonely, and at times like it was hard to get out of bed in the morning. I felt the need to open up more and possibly receive counseling.
I spoke to my First Sergeant and told him what I was going through and how I was feeling. He was very kind to have listened to me and allow me to be open and honest with him about my sexual orientation and not use this flawed policy of DADT to kick me out. He asked me to not tell anyone else but also made sure I was supported by calling Corinna down to his office and making sure she was there for me.
I started to fell better about the fact that I was a gay man and also the fact that I was in the military. I felt so good about it that I wanted to continue telling people. However, I had told most of the people I trusted and wasn’t sure telling more people would be wise – as I did want to complete my four-year enlistment.
One person I wanted to tell, but I knew it would be too risky, was my Company Commander. I was only a Private, or maybe Specialist by this time, and she was a Captain. Typically two individuals, with such a range of rank between them, don’t socialize. However, Capt Merchant and I would often run together after hours, just her and I. In fact, someone made a comment to her about it and we had to stop spending time together. After all, she was my company commander and it really was an inappropriate relationship.
I never did tell her I was gay but during Halloween that year I kind of was able to reveal my secret. We were all dressed up in our Halloween costumes for our company run and I was dressed in just a running outfit. I typically liked to run with the guidon (company flag) which meant that I would run right next to the commander.
When I was in the front of the formation with her she looked at me and asked, “What are you dressed as?” Without hesitation I confidently replied, “I’m a gay soldier Ma’am.” She said, “What???” with a very confused look. I replied pretty much that there were “gay’s among us” and we didn’t know who was gay or who was straight, so that was the point of my “costume” that anyone could be gay. It was my perfect opportunity to come out to her without really coming out.
Many people have asked me, “If you were able to be out in the military as a gay man, why’d you want to leave?” I initially intended on doing my four years, getting my college money, and getting out. However, I would have seriously considered staying in if it wasn’t for this terrible policy of DADT.
Even though I was able to tell many people that I was gay and never was discharged, I had to fear all of the time the fact that I could have been discharged and had to worry about the wrong people finding out. I still had to live a lie to many of the soldiers. When I brought my boyfriend to functions, he was my “friend,” and I just wanted to hold his hand and show those “macho” guys that two men could be in an affectionate, loving relationship.
I also had three specific situations happen that I don’t believe I would have had to worry about if DADT didn’t exist. The first was a soldier calling me a “faggot” in front of formation. I wasn’t even present, when he referred to me in this endearing way. However, my friends told me later what he had said. I was furious and told my Sergeant’s. I was ready to demand that they did something about it, but I didn’t have to because they were upset as well. They spoke to his Sergeant’s and before the end of the day this soldier was crying and apologizing at my barracks room door. The Sergeants were ready to give him an Article 15. When I felt like he was really sorry though I told them that it wasn’t necessary, so they just gave him a counseling statement.
The second situation was a little more complicated. I was working in the S-1 shop one day when this soldier came in to be processed back from deployment. This man was really hot. When I saw him sitting on the couch, waiting to be helped, my head snapped back to check him out and he noticed. He smiled at me and nearly winked. I looked around, realizing, yes, he was smiling at me. I half smiled back, confused at what was playing out in front of me. Then a soldier I worked with, Diane, came into the room and saw the man. She gave him a hug and then introduced me. It was her husband.
Over the next several months the three of us actually hung out together and I would often watch their son when they wanted private time. However, I continued to have this feeling that the husband wanted to do more than just hang out. One evening they invited me over to their apartment on base for drinks. This evening though I didn’t see where Diane was and it was just him and I together, drinking in their living room. Before I knew it he was all over me, feeling me up and really turning me on. I had only kissed the one guy by this time and was completely excited about the possibility here.
Then he told me that Diane was in the bedroom. He brought me to the bedroom and wanted the three of us to have sex. I got into the bed, laid right in the middle of the two of them, and then he said, “I want you to f*** Diane.” I turned to him and explained that I was gay and I didn’t want to have sex with a woman. He was very drunk, it was all very confusing, and he became quite angry. He grabbed me and threw me out of the bed after I said several times I wasn’t interested in having sex with her. I snatched up what I could of my belongings, not getting my shoes, and walked back to my barracks room in bare feet.
The next day Diane told me that her and her husband were going to tell our Sergeant that I was gay and get me kicked out. I decided to see Sergeant Patterson before they could. I sat in front of SSG Patterson and said, “Diane and her husband are going to try and get me kicked out because I’m gay. I need to tell you everything that happened,” and proceeded to tell her every detail of what happened from the first day I laid eyes on Diane’s husband to the previous night.
She patiently, and respectfully, listened to my story and then said I could go. Later that day Diane and her husband did tell her that I was gay and tried to get me kicked out. I would have loved to know the exchange that took place in that office, but the result was that the conversation stopped with SSG Patterson. She never brought up to the chain of command that I was gay, and I continued to serve my country.
The last situation that happened was when I was stationed in Savannah, GA. By this time I was a Sergeant myself and I wanted to be honest with my two soldiers about who I was. I told them both I was gay. The guy, who was a few years older than me, didn’t care at all. The female soldier, who was 36 years old (I was promoted to Sergeant when I was 20), seemed to have an issue with me in general. She tried to get me kicked out because I told her.
However, again I went to my First Sergeant before she did and told him that I was gay and I wanted to remain in and finish my four years. Honestly, I don’t know how it all worked out but I was able to finish my time and although I had close calls, I never was disciplined or released of duty under DADT.
I really appreciate everything I gained from my time in the service. I am so proud to have been able to serve and I love sharing stories about my service with others. I am surprised by how many people today don’t sign up for just four years. I wish more people would make that sacrifice for our country. I don’t particularly like machismo environment and attitudes, nor do I think we should be so war focused (I’m definitely a peace loving guy), but I think there is so much more to gain from being the military: discipline, structure, camaraderie, travel opportunities, etc.
When President Obama signed the repeal of this policy, then he slammed the desk saying, “It’s done!” I was so happy that no one else would have to go through the stress that I and other soldiers had to encounter simply because of who we love. It will strengthen our military to allow soldiers the freedom to tell whomever they please about their personal life. It will strengthen the military to allow soldiers to live honest, loving lives. It will strengthen our Armed Forces to have soldiers who are disciplined not for expressing the truth of who they are, but for discriminating against their fellow soldiers based on something as simple as sexual orientation. I am so happy that today is the first day of liberty and peace for our over 65,000 estimated LGBT soldiers. The last thing they need to worry about is whether or not they will lose their job, their livelihood, if they choose to be honest with their fellow soldiers.
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