Don't Ask, Tell

Last week’s repeal of the military’s “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy may seem like a victory only for gay and lesbian service members, but, in truth, it is a victory for anyone who struggles to reveal his authentic self. And that’s all of us.

As kids, we’re told, “Just be yourself.” But that’s harder than it looks. At least, it is for me.

I don’t easily speak my mind, which is why I write.

When I write, I have hours to collect my thoughts, craft a scene, change this to that until a deadline finally forces me to press, “submit.”

Conversation, however, is now. Questions beg answers. Events deserve reactions. Slights require a response. That’s when my personal  “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy kicks in.

In the face of conflict, my mind races and my throat tightens.

I may want to say, “That was a snide and hurtful remark.” But I don’t.

I may feel, “This is outrageous,” but something milder like, “I’m disappointed” squeaks out.

I may want to shout, “You bitch!” But instead I say, “Bye, gotta run.”

Years ago, when I worked as a feature writer, an association of gay and lesbian journalists formed to support my colleagues at Gannett News Service and USA Today, which were then headquartered in Rosslyn.

This was 20 years before Rachel Maddow waved her gay flag freely on television; it was the time when many gay and lesbian journalists were newly out, and they sought strength in numbers.

The group announced its kickoff event on a flyer taped to an elevator wall. Within hours, someone slashed the flyer to ribbons, a visual threat to anyone who planned to attend.

We went, anyway. The meeting room was packed with gays, friends of gays, and people who were curious about gays. The keynote speaker was Deborah Mathis, then the GNS White House reporter with caramel-colored skin, a pageboy cut, and a I'm game-for-anything look.

Deborah started her remarks addressing the question on many minds.

“No, I’m not gay,” she said, and then talked about the invitation to speak, the shredded flyer, her friend’s concerned question, “Aren’t you afraid of what people will think?”

I’ve remembered Deborah’s answer for the past 20 years.

“What do I have to be afraid of?” she said. “I’m free. I’m the freest black woman there ever was.”

I was thunderstruck at the simplicity and profundity of, “I’m free.”  I felt like Oz’s Dorothy, who after dancing along the yellow brick road, fighting flying monkeys, melting a green-faced witch, finally realizes she’s had the power to determine her destiny all along.

“I’m free” became, and still is, my mantra.

When protest catches in my throat, “I’m free” pushes it out.

When fear of failure cements my legs, “I’m free” kicks me into gear.

Freedom, of course, is not always a state of mind.  “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” was public policy that grudgingly allowed gays and lesbians to serve in the armed forces, so long as nobody knew. The law told gay troops to die for their country, but to live invisibly, which is no life at all.

The ban on serving openly in the military has been lifted, but the goal to live authentically continues to challenge us all.

For that struggle, I offer this affirmation: “I’m free. I’m the freest black woman there ever was.”

Lisa Kaplan Gordon writes about her real life every Wednesday in the McLean Patch.