A Military at War Needs Its Gay Soldiers
By ALASTAIR GAMBLE

New York Times


WASHINGTON -- It was only two months after I started learning Arabic at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, Calif., the military's primary language training center, that a group of Arabic-speaking terrorists attacked the World Trade Center. For many of my classmates, the attack was enough of a motivation to learn. For others, it was the taped interview with Osama bin Laden that strengthened our resolve. Either way, the events of Sept. 11 caused all of us to work even harder at mastering Arabic.

I've always had a knack for learning languages, and I found myself picking up Arabic easily; I quickly became a confident speaker. As the course went on, my vocabulary grew from the simple to the relevant. I was able to converse not only about daily activities but also about military operations, economics and politics. The Middle East news broadcasts that my class watched between lessons became clearer each day. So did the tapes of Osama bin Laden.

By the end of the semester, eight of the 40 or so students who had started the class with me had failed out, and my eight-person section had fallen to six. I sometimes thought about what my future would hold. I imagined that in due time I would be able to use the language and my interrogation skills to question operatives of Al Qaeda.

Often our commander spoke to our group about the real-life application of Arabic that was in our future. And given the shortage of Arabic translators and interpreters in the military and intelligence communities -- about half of the Army's Arabic language expert positions are vacant -- our role in the war on terror would be vital.

Unfortunately, my service was cut short. There was something about me that, despite my skills and aptitude for the work, made me incompatible with military culture: I'm gay. The military's "don't ask, don't tell" policy makes no exceptions, even for personnel it needs desperately.

From the beginning of my time in the Army, I tried hard to hide my sexual orientation. I wanted to serve. It wasn't always easy to keep my secret. One day a good friend from my language class approached me after noticing that I'd been spending a lot of time with a male soldier from another unit. She asked me if we could talk about what was going on. Leery of the military's policy on gays, I was nervous about answering in English, so I said, in Arabic, "I prefer men." She laughed and teased me for not telling her sooner.

But not everyone was so understanding. One night my boyfriend was caught in my room after visiting hours. Though we were not found in any embrace, inspectors found romantic notes we'd shared. Typical punishment for breaking visitation rules is 10 days of restriction and 10 days of extra duty, which I completed. But four months later I was dismissed from the Army. My boyfriend, who was studying Korean, was dismissed eight weeks later.

Instead of fighting in the war against terrorism, I am now an observer, left to wonder how our country can afford to lose the talents and dedication of gays who are denied the right to serve. In 2000, the military dismissed more than 1,200 service members because of their sexual orientation. Over the last few months, eight other Army linguists have been dismissed for being gay.

The military invested thousands of dollars in my two years of training. In addition to the cost of intensive language courses, interrogation school and weapons training, it paid for a background check for my security clearance. Considering how many years the military has been throwing gays out, just imagine how much money, training and skills have been wasted already.

Alastair Gamble is a former specialist in the Army.