Funeral not for a Friend

By Ronda Bernstein on 06/01/2011 @ 11:00 AM

I’d like to share an event that I attended that was probably one of the oddest events of my No Limits career thus far – a New Orleans-style funeral for the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (DADT).

While odd, after all, how often does one throw a funeral for a law, it was very effective. The Unitarian Universalist Church in Arlington, Virginia (UUCA), in conjunction with the national UU social justice arm, Standing on the Side of Love, held this funeral to celebrate the repeal of DADT, but also to remind us that until it is signed by the President, Secretary of Defense, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, it is still law.

The “funeral” opened like any other with the presentation of the “deceased”, in this case a scroll with a portion of the law handwritten upon it. The minister welcomed everyone and stated that this death was a cause for celebration. He then offered words about DADT’s “life.” Now, normally at a funeral, nice words are said to remember the dearly departed. Not in this case. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell passed on at the age of 18 and not a day too soon.” Others added, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was mean-spirited, embarrassing, hurtful and contrary to every American ideal.”; “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell should have been dead years ago, but was kept alive with the same bigoted reasons that worked to keep blacks and women out of the military.”; and, “Goodbye and good riddance.”

Three former US Navy personnel came to eulogize Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and share the impact DADT had on their lives and military careers. Joan*, a retired Navy captain, shared how she went to work each day afraid that each call into her superior’s office would be a presentation of discharge papers. She also shared how she didn’t dare put her partner’s name on any official documents, even as emergency contact. So when the plane slammed into the Pentagon briefing room where she had just left a meeting, her partner of eleven years, would have been the last to know had she been one of her seven colleagues that didn’t make it out.

After Joan, Mike*, also a retired Naval captain, told how as a medical officer he served in silence, not even offering a personal level of support to those that did come out to him in the confidence of his office. However, one day during an officer’s lunch, when all at the table laughed when another officer referred to a visitor as a “faggot”, Mike had enough. He told the other officer that he didn’t feel that bigotry was a characteristic that the Navy looked for in her officers and that the use of the word, “faggot”, was no different than “nigger, spic, or chink”.

Finally, Julie* spoke about her short-lived Naval career. She’d joined the Navy right before Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was born. After serving for four years and considering reenlisting, she was called to officer’s quarters where she was told she was being investigated after someone sent an anonymous photo in of her with her arm around another woman’s shoulder at a party.

Clearly, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had done much damage during its life. Now it was time to lay it to rest. In a procession led by a Dixieland jazz band, the “body” was taken to its final resting place in the church garden. Various members of the congregation took turns throwing dirt on the body to be sure it was good and buried. With a triumphant “When the Saints Go Marching In” playing, handkerchiefs waving and parasols open, everyone returned to the church for a good Southern-style repass and the charge that we need to remember that until Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’s death certificate is finally signed, it could still rise from the dead to live anew.

*Names changed.

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