How women veterans are silenced, pushed aside, and ostracized by the veteran organizations that are supposed to help themOn a cold, snowy afternoon in Massachusetts in winter 2009, I was approached at the front door of the facility I was working with at the time. Two men from a local veteran service organization - which will remain unnamed at this time - had inquired about recruiting veterans at the facility in which I was in charge, handing me brochures and sign-up forms to pass onto the group of male veterans living on-site. They kept mentioning how proud they were of the "men" who served our great nation and how it is everyone's mission to support our brave "men" fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.
"It's great that you're doing so much for these men, but what about women?" I asked, completely not expecting the immediate, thoughtless responses.
"We have a women's auxiliary," said one of the men.
"Well, what's the difference between being a regular member and being a member of the women's auxiliary?" I asked.
"The women's auxiliary is for the wives of veterans, they participate in bake sales and other similar events, baking cookies and such to raise money for the men," the other responded proudly.
"I'm not a wife of a veteran. I'm a veteran myself. And why would I want to bake cookies? I just want to be treated like the veteran that I am." I responded, expressionless.
Both men stood in front of me as wide-eyed as a deer facing the headlights of a semi. They looked at each other, almost appeared embarrassed, until one of them nervously stated, "Well, you could join. I guess we never thought about having women join...You were in combat? How?"
From this interaction alone, my interest in joining had gone from "mildly interested" to "I'd rather die, thanks." And to make matters worse, the experiences I've had with other veteran service organizations have been far worse. This was, by far, a humorous incident by comparison.
"Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery, for where a heart is hard they make no battery."
One day during this snowy period in Massachusetts, I received a phone call from a veterans nonprofit based in Arizona. It was one of the veterans I had talked with at a conference in some swanky hotel in Washington D.C. a few months earlier. We'll call him Rufus...simply because it rhymes with "dufus," in which you'll read why shortly and see that I'm being kind in that reference. Rufus invited me out to a veterans event in Tucson, all travel, lodging, and more would be covered by his organization and all I had to do is show up. I looked outside, seeing feet of snow and dead plant life, and thought about being in a desert for a weekend in January as opposed to wintery hell. Without hesitation, I took the offer to check out the event.
After driving carefully on icy roads and heading towards Boston Logan International Airport at o'dark thirty, I gleefully hopped onto a flight headed for Arizona and kissed the wintery abyss bye-bye for the weekend. Upon arriving in Tucson, I met up with a group of other veterans from other states who were on their way to the same event, which was located in the Painted Rocks area of Northwest Tucson. We arrived at the site as the sun began to set when another veteran exclaimed, "Turn around and look at the mountain, quick!" As a few of us turned, our eyes were met with beautiful brilliant colors. The Santa Catalina Mountains were bright pink accented with shades of purple.
"I'm going to move here," I thought.
As romantic of a notion it may seem, something about being in the desert again - sans IED's, small arms fire, and the like - brought me a sense of peace that I hadn't felt in quite a long time. I wanted more of it. Seeing the mountains change colors only flipped the light switch in my brain. I wasn't happy living in Massachusetts, working for a questionable organization, dealing with the aftermath of my divorce, and generally rebuilding my life in an environment that didn't offer what this place could. A few months later, after receiving an offer for a position in Phoenix, I planned for a week-long move/road trip from Massachusetts to Arizona. I packed up everything I could fit into my compact sedan and everything else got sold or was given away, purging everything that I owned that wouldn't fit in my car in a matter of two days. I drove from Central Massachusetts, stopped in Virginia, then onto Florida to spend an extra day with family. Then I took I-10 all the way from Jacksonville to Phoenix by way of Baton Rouge, San Antonio, and Las Cruces.
Living and working in Phoenix is a completely different animal from making a life in Tucson. Albeit, the two cities are less than two hours apart, but I maintained regular contact with Rufus' organization - although they were far more motivated to use my name on grants geared toward women. I later accepted a position in Tucson and it didn't take long to see Rufus' behavioral changes and how he often vacillated between what felt like resentment and admiration toward me - it was unnerving. Yet I attributed the traits to possible trauma and it was evident he was still looking for a way to make peace with his past, which he often ruminated over and over.
One minute he was asking me, "How can you just be like a...dude?" - which was in reference to my casual views on subjects that he thought would make most women "emotional." In his eyes, I appeared callous, detached, and impervious to emotional pain and he constantly questioned why I didn't appear affected by things that seemed to traumatize him. This wasn't true, but it was his perception. The next minute he was singing praises of my physical appearance as evidenced by drunk-texts I had received in the middle of the night from him where he would wax poetic about my eyes, lips, and figure. I treated him like a friend and forgave a lot of his short-comings, believing that he needed far more guidance - not by me, but the actual founder of the organization who was supposed to be training him - and the founder knew Rufus was a hot mess.
However, this friendship and any confidence I had in him soon took a nosedive. He had attempted to get a little beyond our friendship one night while we were on a trip out-of-state and knowing him - let alone his wife and three children - I passed. The following day, in attempt to deal with the awkward situation as adults, I discussed it with him, letting him know it was because I care about him as a person that things should not traverse beyond a certain boundary and he appeared to agree. Unfortunately, when we got back to Tucson, it was an entirely different story. He had painted a picture of himself in an entirely different light, making himself a helpless victim in a fabricated story that made me look like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Needless to say, I called a time-out.
It was a whirlwind of a nightmare. In short, the founder of the organization stood behind Rufus and justified his behavior as a response to me being a "strong-willed, assertive woman" that he didn't know how to handle. I was mystified. The founder basically arrived at gaslighting (see article) me and protecting Rufus. The other women in the organization, one a non-veteran and the other an Air Force veteran with histrionic features, once rallying to my side, stood silent and washed their hands of it. This organization had used me, attempted to garner attention for funding through my affiliation with Team Lioness, attempted to victimize me, and turned on the gaslight when I protested their behavior.
When Women Turn Their Backs to Other Women
The reaction of men in Rufus' shady organization was disappointing, but they had a history of it that slowly unraveled the closer that I looked. However, it was the reaction of other women, veterans and non-veterans alike, that was the most heartbreaking. Some of these women would sympathize with me on the horrible ways men treat women, particularly in the military and veteran community, then go on to volunteer their personal time to help the same men and organizations in anything that they asked. It baffled me, but then it dawned on me. Some women were there enjoying the attention they got from men and continue to be there for all the wrong reasons. If they really cared about veterans, men and women alike, they wouldn't be stepping on women veterans like me to be the only pair of ovaries in the room. That's a little too Axis II for my taste. Women who perpetuate the "women are nurturing and shouldn't be in combat" arguments stating that we need nail salons to breathe as well as access to upscale hair care and shopping make people like Rufus and his comrades squeal with glee, painting women in a helpless, witless, superficial light - and that makes me want to shout my groceries.
On the same note, there are those who are simply afraid to go against the grain. The majority of these organizations are dominated by men, and even if they're minorities, it is in no way a guarantee of solidarity for a minority female veteran. I've seen women in the thick of these situations fall like a house of cards for a variety of reasons and while some may attribute it to trauma or a deficiency in self-esteem, I'm going to call it what it is: a lack of a spine. It has nothing to do with being a woman or any label one could affix to justify this. Integrity is integrity. I've seen and experienced things firsthand that would make one's toes curl, but in no way could I use my past as an excuse to tolerate and validate abuse. Things may slip past you, but when the elephant is obviously present in the room, it is one's duty to speak. Perhaps I'm being harsh and I'm probably going to get a lecture on empowering women, but that's been tried, my friend. I'm going to keep it sounding like a slap in the face, because silence is far worse. Speak up.
Finally, amidst histrionic types or women who won't rise to the occasion, I definitely appreciate women who do take a stand, those who don't give in, and keep their words in action - especially where it matters most. It is because of these women that I can maintain my sanity in what has felt like "Alice in Wonderland" since I've returned from deployment in 2005. For all the women who do stand their ground, don't take no for an answer, and keep fighting against bigotry, abuse, and defamation, I thank you. I'd give you a medal, but there's probably an a**hole from another veterans organization who will try to steal that too, then call you a helpless princess or a slut. So please accept my thanks in lieu of any potential hassles.
Media Relations
When asking other people about how they perceive women veterans, based on media portrayals, it's a mixed bag. From, "I didn't know women were in combat," to "aren't military women slutty?" it's an interesting variety. From not knowing what women do in the military to perceiving military women as insatiable damsels, it's safe to say that the media isn't exactly doing what it can to help us out. When I was speaking with a journalist with a newspaper in Arizona, she at first appeared to be looking to speak with women veterans in general, but I had come to find out that she, amongst many, only wanted to speak with women veterans who had experienced Military Sexual Trauma (MST). While I'm glad that such a controversial subject is being discussed publicly, it makes the media appear uninterested in everything else. There are historical milestones that women are making, which very well can be controversial if that's the real goal. If we're to discuss one subject surrounding women - and MST is a male issue as well - we need to discuss everything, not pick and choose. In the end, women veterans suffer for a journalist's lack of insight - or conscience for that matter. For whom are such journalists downplaying women's contributions? Why are so many threatened by women being able to be assertive, strong, and capable? And why are we allowing the media to continue to perpetuate stereotypes?
No Minorities or Combat Veterans...If You're a Woman
One of my least favorite memories since returning is a particular trigger of mine. Those who know me well know exactly what that is before reading the following lines. While at a conference in Washington DC, a group of women and I were discussing our experiences in the military, life since being back from Iraq and/or Afghanistan, and everything under the sun from good restaurants in the area to books we've read recently. When someone asked about my experiences with racial discrimination in the military, as well as in life in general, they followed after my response with, "You must get mistaken for a lot of ethnicities you're not even associated with, doesn't that get annoying?" I laughed and explained how one of my best friends and I met. In high school, she approached me, stated her name, then asked if I was Afghan. I said no, but that was our ice breaker and we've laughed about it ever since. It was an innocent inquiry, and gender and race are the first things people see; so long as it's not vindictive, I don't care. All of a sudden, a Caucasian female veteran immediately chimed in and exclaimed, "That's ridiculous, you look Chinese, maybe even a Hazara," then laughed maniacally. Wow. She advocated on repealing DADT and may chime in here and there on MST, but was laughing about minority issues?
Apparently, racial discrimination is hilarious for her. This was someone who actually participates in quite a few veterans discussions and she attempted to use race to undermine me, even belittle me when race is not to be used in such a manner. It's my trigger. Women who use race to put minority women down, keep us ostracized and believe that making us feel that we don't belong will always have a special place in my heart in praying that Karma is swift and generous in her gifts. Women who engage in this brand of emotional manipulation are, in my eyes, of the same stock of exploitative men in veterans nonprofits. If they can't **** you one way, they want to **** you in another special way. The means by which the AZ nonprofit attempted to exploit me was my combat experience, while this woman veteran went after my race for her personal pleasure. If you're a woman who is a minority and a combat veteran, you really have limited avenues to turn to for help. Therefore, alternate routes are constantly being pursued and discovered.
Welcome Home
Not too long ago, I received and e-mail from Rufus' organization, discussing a car show fundraiser with pin-up girls - which screamed "Yay, we support our boys!" It was an e-mail that included their brochure and the words "Welcome Home," which showed that they were still using two photos of me, despite my requests to remove them. Have I discussed this with numerous people? Oh, yes. Has anything been done to resolve this situation? Barely. Getting anyone, regardless of gender or race, to act against "one of the guys" or someone other women swoon for or fear is tough-going. Since then, Rufus has targeted another woman veteran who came to me for help and while I've been asking around, anywhere I can, no one wants to help. But will I stop speaking out about it? Hell no.
Many organizations and individuals may attempt to downplay the achievements of women veterans, dismantle their reputations, ostracize, victimize, and try to back us into a corner. But we will not stop. We will not be silent. This is just the beginning. That condescending "Welcome Home" will not be taken lightly. My home, my country, is not going to see me tolerate any more of this abuse. I'll feel the words, "Welcome Home" when these snake oil-selling individuals are run out and abusive "advocates" are silenced so those of us who have experiences to share can actually be heard without the hollow lip-service, clamor, and megalomania. In the meantime, many of us who continue to walk around like Alice in Wonderland missing home, will continuously fight until those words seem true, genuine. None of us will rest until we get there and while there may be no "room at the inn" for women veterans in many spaces, we don't need to share any room with those who seek to tear us apart. I'll gladly keep going on my merry way.
