Gay soldier

Editor&8217;s note: This commentary is authored by Brad Peacock, of Shaftsbury, who is an independent contender for U.S. Senate in November. He is a farmer at Clear Brook Farm in Shaftsbury, where he was born, brought up, and has resided for the majority of his life. He is a veteran of the U.S. Air Force and a graduate of the University of Vermont.

During the past year, we've all observed the reprehensible examples of discrimination originating from this president and his White House. One such case of divisiveness has materialized as President Donald Trump has moved to prohibit the majority of transgender troops from serving in the military. This immediately triggers a flood of memories regarding the pain and humiliation I experienced when I was discharged from the military for being gay.

I was eighteen years of age when, unbeknownst to my parents, I voluntarily enlisted to serve my nation. I remember that day with exceptional clarity, as I couldn't have been more proud to emulate my grandfather's footsteps, a man I admired and who also served in the Air Force himself. I was raised in a modest family, in a rural region in the southwestern corner of Vermont. Like many young men and women in my community, college was not a viable option for me, and so I surmised my greatest opportunity for a higher education and a brighter future would be through the military. My strategy was to serve my time, and utilize the benefits of the GI Bill, thereby accomplishing two aspirations: service to my nation and eventually graduating from college.

Off to basic training I proceeded, where I held no illusions about the challenging transition ahead. I remember how apprehensive I was that initial night, ushered off the aircraft in Texas, placed on buses in complete silence until we arrived at the base. Then nothing but shouting, and picking up and putting down our gear until we moved in total unison as a team. I won't regale you with further specifics of training, but it suffices to say it was a swift period of personal growth. During that brief span, I gained self-assurance and a sense of purpose, while connecting with my fellow comrades from across the nation — every race, religion, and culture coming together to mature as a team and safeguard this country. I had demonstrated that I was capable of succeeding on my own.

Directly after basic, I went to tech school for my security forces instruction. During this phase, I started to transform. What I had repressed for an extended period started knocking on my soul. My service, my brotherhood, my bond to the people around me intensified, yet I couldn&8217;t confide in anyone, because if I did, everything I had labored so hard for would be taken away. I began feeling despondent. I finished tech school, but prior to heading to Shaw Air Force Base for my initial tour, I was granted thirty days of well-deserved leave. I was exceedingly proud to have earned the security forces badge and beret, and I recall arriving at the airport feeling three inches taller in my dress blues, with a sensation of fulfillment I had never encountered previously. I was welcomed at the airport with a hero&8217;s greeting by my entire family with a massive sign that declared, &8220;Welcome home, Brad! We are so proud of you.&8221; Back in Vermont, I recollect feeling like I was contributing to something bigger, for both my country and community.

When I arrived in South Carolina, circumstances rapidly deteriorated. I became further depressed, and most nights couldn&8217;t sleep. I would awaken at one, two, or three in the morning, and go out to the track and run, sometimes for hours, merely to suppress the pain. Here I was, surrounded by individuals who genuinely cared for me, in a stable environment for one of the initial times in my life, and having to conceal who I was. Ultimately, I started seeing a therapist on base, and my life changed irrevocably.

I came out as a gay soldier. The reaction was immediate. Due to the ruinous policy of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, I was dismissed from the military for being gay, albeit they labeled it an &8220;anti-social personality disorder.&8221; Discharged from the family I had created, and simply for being who I was, rejected and sent home, I felt like a disgrace. After volunteering to serve, after raising my right hand and swearing to defend, protect, and give my life for this country, I was discriminated against by my own government. There would be no GI Bill for me, no support network; there would be no hero&8217;s welcome home this time. Only countless inquiries, worries, deceptions, and so much shame that it nearly caused me to pull the trigger and end my life. How could I face my family, my friends, my community, as a failure? How many courageous men, women, and trans people have ended their lives because of the shame our government has imposed upon them, for merely being who they are?

Now, after eighteen years of carrying this pain around, I am speaking out to ensure no trans soldier will end their life because they feel rejected by this government. I will not stand idly by while this president and numerous Republican members of Congress attempt to shame trans people who have signed up to make the ultimate sacrifice. I will not remain silent to witness this disgraceful, disqualifying discrimination happen again. Lives are at risk.

Now is the moment, America, to stand firm and rise united, embracing each other for all of our differences. Now is the time to open our arms and strengthen our communities, so that we all have a place to belong and call home, where we are celebrated and loved for precisely who we are. I understand firsthand the power of an open and loving community, where people still wave, still stop to say hello, in an acknowledgment that you exist in the world — you matter. These are the connections and simple acts of kindness that can and do save lives. I know this to be true, because my community opened their arms and helped save mine.