On May 13, 1996, I raised my right hand, took a solemn oath to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic,” and bore “truth, faith, and allegiance to the same.” With those words I began my journey of public service as a sailor in the United States Navy.

More that a decade has passed since then, and although I upheld that oath, and wish to serve and protect my country again, I am now being rejected simply because I’m honest about who I am. The United States military desperately needs trained, dedicated personnel like me, but like many of my fellow LGBT patriots, I am denied that right under the bigoted and outdated policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

DADT is a flawed public policy that not only destroys the lives of great service members but deters young patriotic American gay youths from serving in our country’s armed forces and reaping the benefits of learning self-mastery and discipline and leading a life founded on the core values of “honor, courage, and commitment.”

Today, supporters of DADT are using the same antiquated lies about threats to unit cohesiveness as the basis of their argument against gays serving openly. These fallacies are very similar to the ones used in the past to argue against African-Americans, Native Americans, Asians, Latinos, and women serving in our military. However bigots want to spin discrimination, each of those groups has produced soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen who have helped win wars and secure peace and tranquility, and some have given their lives to preserve freedom and democracy. Many have become great generals, leaders, heroes, entertainers, civil rights leaders, artists, and Medal of Honor recipients such as Gen. Colin Powell (U.S. Army), Sen. Daniel K. Inouye (U.S. Army), actress Bea Arthur (U.S. Marine Corps), Carl Gorman (U.S. Marine Corps), and John Ortega (U.S. Navy). Yet even as I write, LGBT heroes remain unsung, serving in silence, and the sacrifices of their significant others are forgotten.
 
In the Navy I became an air traffic controller -- a job only a select few are suited for due to the high stress. My experience fashioned me into a self-motivated, highly dedicated, and disciplined team player and I rose in rank from E-1 (Seaman Recruit) to E-6 (Petty Officer 1st Class) in less than five years of service. Throughout my eight-year military career, I sought out and held several positions that were normally reserved for personnel of higher rank, including air transportation officer (ATO) aboard the forward deployed, Japan-based carriers USS Independence and USS Kitty Hawk, and base operations chief at the Naval Air Station in Point Mugu, Calif. In both positions I was responsible for the safety and security of many people, and I was entrusted with millions of dollars in equipment. As a result of my leadership abilities I became a highly decorated sailor and had earned letters of recommendation that would prompt my selection to become a naval aviation officer.

I was never a threat to unit cohesiveness. In fact I shared bonds of friendship with fellow straight sailors that still remain strong today. My most fond memories of the Navy come from my three years at sea. Two of those years were spent forward deployed aboard the last of the Navy’s all-male carries. I lived and worked in cramped quarters with 5,000 other men with very little privacy. As a matter of fact, it was in the Navy that I met my first gay friends. And although I was not out, there were a number of fellow shipmates who knew or suspected that I was gay, yet it did not matter to them because we were all one big family. Together, we lived and laughed, shared our victories, and mourned our losses. We went into areas of conflict and battle together, and we shared our hopes and dreams for our futures and the futures of our families together.