Gays in the military

The debate on the status of gays, or more really homosexuality itself, in the military seems to be starting up again, I guess because of those hearings on the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy the military currently uses.

One of the funniest things about the whole situation is that I keep seeing these commercials of the Army trumpeting the 60 year anniversary of the integration of armed forces and how ahead of the curve the military was on the issue, while it remains one of the last institutions to outright ban homosexuality today.

As is plainly obvious, this policy is completely and unjustifiably unfair, but I am reactionary enough to support it and go even further. I’ll give you two practical reasons why, and then why I’m wrong on both, plus one more personal argument.

First, and this is a very old argument going back at least to the Roman general Marius, homosexuality “disrupts the military hierarchy.” Should professional soldiers be professional enough that they don’t like the little head do the thinking for them? Of course, but 18 to 25 year olds that regularly go long periods without sexual contact are not the best candidates for this, and they make up the vast majority of our recruits. They’re going to be horny and no amount of conditioning is going to prevent that, unless we want to start staffing our army with castrati.

You’re probably saying that most of this applies to women, who are already accepted in the service, and yes, I’m against that for the same reasons above. Many women are capable of military service and some have proved or are proving it, but we’ve also seem some of these problems prove themselves as well.

So it’s not that gays can’t fight or that an attraction to the same sex makes you incapable of being a good soldier. Alexander the Great conquered half the classical world loving boys half the time. But unless we legalize and institutionalize prostitution (call them “morale officers”) sex is going to get mixed with professionalism, and that almost never works. “Almost” because the Sacred Band of Thebes is reported to have done pretty well in the ancient world, but that’s an argument for open segregation more than anything.

Anyway, if you support heterosexual women being allowed in the military, gays and lesbians don’t pose any more of a threat to cohesion and performance than they do, likely much less because they are far fewer in number. And you can say, like Texas Rep. Ron Paul, that the issue is entirely about conduct, not sexual orientation. “Don’t Ask, It’s Irrelevant.”

My second argument against allowing openly homosexual people from serving in the armed forces is that the military is overwhelmingly socially conservative. A lot of very good soldiers are going to be lost because they are religiously and/or viscerally homophobic.

Now you should say, “Sixty years ago, there were probably a lot of very good soldiers who were racist. That was no reason to stop integration then.”

And you are right. However, I would think that 1948 was a much better time to begin desegregation than 1944, and since the purpose of reforming the policy is ostensibly to drive up recruitment (not just be more fair), turning away all of those ignorant redneck boys who get looked down on so much by the open-minded left but are responsible for allowing us all the luxury of being open-minded, is probably not the best idea. However, if the War on Terror is to continue indefinitely as many argue, then now is as good a time as any.

Finally, I can’t speak Spanish and Canada is too far away, even for someone without flatfeet. When I get drafted in 2012 to help invade Pakistan, I want the ability to pull a Jimmy Hendrix so I can stay a 4-F coward at home.

But mainly all that other stuff.


Not even usual

The other day some of my faraway family came into town for a visit, and I got a chance to see my little cousins. I say, “little.” One is nine the other just turned a dozen, so they’re already pretty grown-up. Or at least I thought I was so at that age.

I can’t stand the 12-year-old. She’s started staring at people. Not to any practical purpose or to win a staring game, but just to do it.

It doesn’t bother me that she does it to me; it bothers me that she does it all. I had thought that was my thing.

Yes, I was that kid in Junior High and High School. But it was okay because I had figured out that it was socially taboo to stare at someone for a long period of time with an expressionless face, and I had figured it out on my own. By doing this simple thing, I could make other people intensely uncomfortable, which is far more entertaining that it has any right to be or you may be able to appreciate now.

But now she’s doing the same thing and for the same reasons (at least I assume), and that was my thing that made me oh so clever and unique.

She’s a cute girl, and will likely grow up to be very well-liked and well-adjusted, but I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive her this, ever.

There are some things I just don’t like to acknowledge, and my lack of uniqueness is one of them. Yes, yes, we’re all unique and beautiful snowflakes, but when you’re a child, you’re told and can honestly believe (because everyone else seems to believe it) that you’re really super special and no one else is like you. When you’re five being bright is enough to be called a genius. No one is actually talking about you, they’re talking about what you may one day become. But life goes on and potential shrinks and one day being “smart for your age” no longer matters, just being smart does. By early adolescence, you aren’t actually as smart, artistic, or athletic as you had been convinced you were, but you still want to be special. And as you exit childhood, you start to realize other people actually perceive you. If you can’t excel, one of the ways to stay special is just to do something weird.

Maybe I’m drifting off topic here, but what an amazing revelation it was then that you can affect someone else’s life by doing nothing but looking, just looking. How proud I might be of figuring it out–if not for a cousin coming along to throw in my face it’s just something some people do.

Not that I didn’t know all of this before. Working at a convenience store quickly horrified me as I (and I’m sure anyone who’s worked a customer service job) realized that people are all the same. If you place us in a given situation, we will all behave in the same way, ask the same stupid questions, and make the same tired jokes everyone before us has, all the while fully convinced of our own individuality and wit.

So I wasn’t even weird. I was just common without virtue or benefit. It’s insulting, and she insulted me whether she realizes it or not.

I’m totally not getting her anything this Christmas.

I hate my job.

Sometimes I try to give my blogs shocking titles in the hopes of increasing readership. It doesn’t seem to be working, but I don’t think, “I hate the consistent requirements of life and futile struggle against entropy” would have enticed anyone. Forgive being misled into clicking.

In a way, though, that is an accurate title. As much as the newsroom is fun to be around, the demands of my occupation are positively ludicrous. I have to come in bright and early at 3 p.m. five days a week and sit at a computer reading things until midnight with only a one-hour lunchbreak. Just a few months ago, 18 hours was considered a full load, and here I am working 40. Oh, and roofers think they have it bad having to be outside all day, but when I drive in the afternoon in my car, sometimes I burn my hand on the metal part of the seatbelt and it stings like you wouldn’t believe. Then once I’m in the office, I have to have a sweater for when the air conditioner goes on the fritz.

But the worst thing is that every day is a new day, and every paper, too. For example, the other day one of the other copy editors caught a potentially libelous comment that was going to be printed in the (you people say the meanest things). It was my page and I didn’t see it, but she did and for all I know saved Freedom Communications from a hundred thousand dollar lawsuit or settlement. But the next day was a new one, and doing her job very well on one day did nothing to help her the next. Today’s problems don’t care about yesterday’s triumphs.

My tongue is nearly all the way out of my cheek by now, so I’ll keep it in the middle of my mouth from here on. I joked about college credit hours, but schoolwork in general is nice in that it’s cumulative. I guess you start over each semester or year, but you can do well enough through the beginning that you can take off the end. It’s not that nothing is like that in “the real world,” you can be financially successful at one point in your life to the point you can take it easy later. In fact, I think that’s the whole purpose of working and retirement. But for the most part, consistency is key.

It sucks that you have to brush your teeth every day to prevent bad breath and rot. Brushing your teeth fantastically on Tuesday doesn’t mean a thing Thursday. You can’t work out enough in a day to last you for the week, or work out so well before the age of thirty that you stay healthy afterward. You can’t clean your house so completely cleaning is no longer necessary.

This must be what God was talking about when he cursed Adam. Not just the toil of laboring against the thorns, but that the thorns would always grow back and Adam would always have to eat. He would have to work hard, and not just hard, but work always.

Slow and steady doesn’t win the race. That’s nonsense. The hare would beat the tortoise on any given day. But slow and steady wins every race after the hare decides to stop running them. The stalactites keep dripping whether fight them or no.

Life, like death, is inexorable and unconquerable. It’s futile to catch mistakes on a paper when there’s just going to be more tomorrow. It’s futile to clean because it’s just going to get dirty again anyway. Meaningless, meaningless, we hate the futility. But we like our newspapers accurate and we like our things clean, and we steal little victories here and there, and hopefully we can rejoice in them while slowly, steadily losing the war.