Krista Benson

I was naive. I believed that President Obama's 2016 decision to allow transgender troops in the U.S. military would stand, so I spent my time worrying about other political firestorms. And then on Tuesday, the Supreme Court granted President Trump's request to block most transgender people from serving on active duty in the military. It came as a jarring reminder never to get comfortable in feeling safe as a trans person—and I began to realize, with a sense of growing dread, that this had all happened before, more than two decades ago, when another U.S. president instituted the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.

I am a transgender woman. It took me so many years to understand that fact that I still feel a deep patience for outsiders trying to comprehend it for themselves. Everyone’s story is different, but I was that toddler who ran through church in little boy’s overalls with a white sheet of paper on my head screaming, “LOOK! I’m a nun!” I was the kid who shyly mirrored the girls’ dance routines from a removed distance on the playground, out of sight of the boys pegging each other in the back with a football. Some kids like me are happy to grow up in the body they were given, but from my earliest memory, what I saw in the mirror just felt so painfully wrong. I wished that I had been born a girl every single day of my life.

I took the only option I felt I had—I joined the Navy.

The discomfort I felt in my own body, and the confusion I felt about my place in the world, was crushing, all the more so because I couldn’t tell anyone else. I was desperate to figure it out, but no matter much I searched, there were no books, icons, or inspirational activists to be found in the 1980s card catalog of my local library. There were only psychiatric textbooks and a few freak show characters who seemed to always end up dead or killing someone else by the end of the story. My hometown of Nashville was not the place to discover those things at the time, so I took the only option I felt I had—I joined the Navy.

I am a veteran, and the military was my way out of a difficult life in the South where I had no money and no other prospects. I joined knowing that someone with my gender issues and attraction to men would not be welcome, regardless of the evolving labels they assigned to me. But how different could it be from the life I was escaping in Tennessee, where I had to hide these feelings every second of my life or risk rejection and violence?



The author in a guard bunker in Al Jubail, Saudi Arabia where she was stationed during the Gulf War to render medical aid to the Marine who stood guard. Courtesy

I remember very well the sick disappointment we felt on active duty in the early 1990s, when Bill Clinton’s election promise to repeal the ban on gay and lesbian service members was thrown out post-inauguration in favor of the ominous Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy. I was serving in the U.S. Navy’s Hospital Corps on a remote Aleutian island, off the coast of Alaska, after spending the Gulf War with the Marines in the Middle East as part of the Fleet Marine Force. Our hopes had been so high, only to be dashed at the last minute.

A secret group of people like me on our island had begun to peek out of the closet and imagine doing our jobs without fear of imprisonment (or worse). Our group included the three lesbians who worked in the airplane hangar, the two gay men who meticulously ran enormous administrative departments, myself who suppressed deep truths about my gender, and others who never even connected with our hidden network. After the great disappointment of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, we withdrew back into the shadows.



Trans people are some of the most resilient and self-aware humans I’ve ever met.

I still take so much pride in having served in the Navy. It was one of the most difficult and rewarding experiences of my life. I left after my four-year commitment was up because my gender issues had grown too pressing to deal with under the threats of imprisonment and violence that were Don't Ask, Don't Tell’s legacy. When I left, the Navy lost someone who had been willing to give their all—including their life.

When outsiders hear “transgender people in the military,” they might imagine trans women dressed like drag queens tripping across a battlefield in high heels, predators in the women’s locker room, or expensive surgeries on the taxpayer’s dollar. And most people probably don’t think of trans men at all, which is a particular problem because they end up having so little representation in the discussion.

These fears have not manifested in the 20 countries that currently allow trans people to serve openly, including large countries like Australia, Canada, Germany, and the U.K. Trans people are some of the most resilient and self-aware humans I’ve ever met, because we’ve had to fight so hard to be who we are. Joining under so much scrutiny speaks to a deep conviction to serve and to do it well. The overwhelmingly vast majority of sexual assault in the military is committed by non-trans men against non-trans women. Currently, the U.S. military is said to spend five times as much on Viagra as it would be projected to spend on transgender-specific health care. These fears are simply unfounded.

Courtesy

I agree that service members are there to fulfill the mission of the military, and so military readiness should be top priority. It is a unique job, and a unique calling. If transition is so distracting that it would destroy a person’s military readiness, then just like any other distraction, it must be considered as a possible reason to separate or not join in the first place. But there are already trans men and women serving on active duty, and serving with distinction. Trans people have already been serving for decades in foreign militaries. We already have programs in place to help members with issues that can temporarily take someone out of readiness while ultimately improving their lives, such as pregnancy, injury rehabilitation, recovery, and therapy. Trans service members are a vanishingly small group of people, and it is extremely unlikely that our highly motivated few would put any significant strain on the resources of the systems already in place.

I encourage you to look up the Army’s Shane Ortega, who was the first service member to come out as transgender while on active duty, or Navy SEAL Kristin Beck, who is the first openly transgender member of that elite group. These are strong, committed Americans who have stood ready to lay everything on the line. My time in uniform is done, but I hope that the brave trans men and women still able to serve will be given their chance, too.

Calpernia Addams is an author, musician, actress and activist. She served in the US Navy Hospital Corps with the Marines as part of the Fleet Marine Force during the Gulf War.



Calpernia Addams Calpernia Addams is an author, musician, actress and activist.

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