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Pride in uniform


By Tech. Sgt. Samuel Morse
374th Airlift Wing Public Affairs

Perhaps the phrase, “Have pride in your uniform,” evokes flashbacks of basic training or a particularly exacting first sergeant, but in the spirit of National Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride Month, I think we can look at this phrase in a new light.

I’m proud of my nation, my president, my Air Force and my colleagues for giving us the current state of LGBT rights in the United States. As a bisexual service member, being able to put on my uniform and live the core values of integrity, service and excellence to their truest meaning has instilled immeasurable pride in wearing that uniform. The past year has seen some significant changes to LGBT rights as a whole, but no change has been more pivotal to those of us serving in the armed forces than the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” last September.

“Because we repealed ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ gay, lesbian and bisexual Americans can serve their country openly, honestly, and without fear of losing their jobs because of whom they love,” said President Barack Obama in his proclamation of LGBT Pride Month for June 2012.

It’s hard to imagine the repeal only happened a few short months ago. Life has gained a sense of normalcy I never had thought possible prior to the repeal. Just being able to answer the question of “What did you do for fun this weekend?” openly and honestly is a breath of fresh air.

About two months ago, Tokyo had its first pride parade, which will continue annually. I walked the parade route through Harajuku and Shibuya with 11 other service members from bases around Honshu. I can’t begin to describe the feeling of walking with the 2,500-person-strong parade and seeing the 2,000 spectators, Japanese and a few Americans I recognized from base, all cheering us on and waving rainbow flags. Participating in an event like that would have been unimaginable just two years ago.

My pride isn’t limited to just the repeal of DADT, though. Obama referred to LGBT rights as simply being human rights, and said his administration continues to engage with the American and international communities to promote and protect those rights.

I attended a reception in honor of LGBT Pride Month at U.S. Ambassador John V. Roos’ house in Tokyo on June 4, and I spoke to some of the guests representing LGBT communities from around the world. It was truly eye-opening to see the great variation of acceptance people see depending on where they are born. Countries like Holland have supported LGBT equality since World War I, while other countries still consider homosexuality to be a criminal offense. As our country continues to move forward, I am incredibly thankful to be American, and to live in this age of new possibilities.

So here it is, my “pride in uniform.” I’m proud of my government and my commander-in-chief for allowing me to serve openly. I’m proud of my country for fighting for my rights just as much as I fight for theirs. I’m proud of my unit for accepting me for who I am and holding my value as an Airman above my orientation. I’m proud of my LGBT friends for showing honest solidarity as we embrace this new future. I’m proud of the rest of my friends for supporting me through the good times and especially the bad, regardless of their own orientation. Mostly, I’m proud to be a bisexual Airman serving the world’s greatest air power.

As the month of June comes to a close, be proud of the fact that we have successfully done what some have said would destroy unit cohesion and morale, while instead strengthening the bonds with our fellow service members though honesty. Be proud of those who came out of the proverbial closet to bravely fight for their rights before it was socially acceptable to do so. And, if you are part of the LGBT community, be proud of who you are, because the only person who can ultimately define your true worth is you.

Photo: U.S. Air Force Senior Airman Luke Bullard, left, and Master Sgt. Marc Maschhoff, both from Misawa Air Base, Japan, pose for a photo June 4, 2012, at the home of U.S. Ambassador John V. Roos in Tokyo. The ambassador held a reception Monday evening to commemorate Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride Month, which President Barack Obama has proclaimed each June since taking office in 2009. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Samuel Morse)

Never forget

By Senior Airman Grovert Fuentes-Contreras
Provincial Reconstruction Team Zabul

QALAT CITY, Afghanistan — It was a day like any other, but one I’ll never forget; it was beautiful, with the sun rising behind the New York City skyline. I was a seventh grader sitting in class waiting for my teacher to call attendance.

Nothing seemed different from the day prior. Children were in the corner rushing to finish last night’s homework as the teacher was walking in with her bag full of books in her right hand and coffee in her left.

“One of my students says he just saw a plane go in the twin towers,” says Michele Mortoral with worry in her voice as she is rushing into my class.

“Tell him to stop kidding around,” jokingly says Jane Lynch, my seventh grade teacher.

My classmates are rushing to the windows to see one of the twin towers on fire, with dark smoke rising into the beautiful blue sky. The sky is beginning to turn gray, as if it is about to rain. My friends are beginning to panic and the teachers are trying to calm us to the best of their ability. There is fear and worry in the room. I am staring out the window wondering; “Why is this happening…Did the pilot fall asleep…Isn’t there a co-pilot?”

We are starting to wonder where our families are. I’m worrying about where my father could be. He is a messenger and does trips between North Jersey and New York City daily. There are days where he has to go in and out of New York City about six times a day. My mother is at her restaurant taking orders, like every other morning.

The teachers at Lincoln School are working really hard trying to continue class to keep it off our minds, but there is no way that is possible. I switch classes, from homeroom to math class. Ms. Rachel Mullane is teaching in front of the class.

Some of my classmates are staring out the window, looking at one of the twin towers burning the sky with smoke like a lit cigar. Some of them are actually paying attention in class, not understanding how big and historical this is. The rest, like me, are sitting at our desks worrying about our families.

“There is the other one,” someone yells, while pointing out the window. His pointing finger freezes in mid-air while his arm slowly shifts from left to right. He is following the plane like a sniper following a target. The class is in complete shock and very quiet, just watching.

At 9:03 a.m., I am watching a Boeing 767 hit tower two in front of my eyes. I am 12-years-old and my eyes are completely dry and focused, but at least ten other pairs of eyes are tearing. My classmates begin to panic. They feel like running out of the classroom, but Mullane is blocking the classroom door so no one can leave class. Safety is a teacher’s responsibility so it’s understandable.

“Attention!” says a familiar voice over the loudspeaker, “We are under attack but we need to remain calm.”

The voice is Michael Ventolo, my principal and a very happy person, but in his tone, I know this is too serious to think of him as a happy person behind the microphone. Fear and worry have just thickened the air. I can smell it.

“Grovert Fuentes” says Mullane, “Your mother is downstairs. Pack your books, you can go home.” I am relieved to know that my mother is well and I can go home with my mother and little brothers. One of my brothers is five and in kindergarten, in the same school as me. My two-year-old brother is at home with the babysitter.

The look my mother has on her face, I have never seen before. She is a brave woman with lots of courage. Her face reassures me that this is a serious situation.

On the ride home, my mother is telling me how worried she is about my father. She can’t get in touch with him. She’s taking red lights and breaking the speed limit. We arrive home and continue calling my father, but no answer. The cell phone towers are down and we can’t get through. The calls that can get through are giving us the busy tone.

For the next few hours, my mother and I are glued to the television, waiting to hear details. At 9:37 a.m., we find out that the Pentagon is also hit. We do not know what to do, nor what to expect, but we do know that the president is about to come on TV and make a speech.

“Today we’ve had a national tragedy,” says the President of the United States, George W. Bush. “Two airplanes have crashed into the World Trade Center in an apparent terrorist attack on our country.”

Finally, around 11 a.m., my father calls to tell us he is safe, and has just exited the Lincoln Tunnel, but is stuck in New York City. He is also telling us that traffic is frozen and many people are abandoning their vehicles to run through the tunnel, to the New Jersey side.

5 p.m. comes around and my father comes home. Our family is united and we are happy to see each other again.

A decade later, I am away from my family again.

I am a combat photographer standing on Afghan soil with plenty of Taliban around me. Some ask me why I volunteered for this deployment. On Feb. 21, 2010, shortly after my return from Iraq, U.S. Army Sgt. Marcos Antonio Gorra died in the line of combat. He was a hometown friend, who died on this same soil I stand on today. He died for freedom and for those towers.

I’ve been exposed to explosives, rockets, and gunfire, yet, I’m still glad to be where I am now; I’m defending what I saw 10 years ago and trying to keep the fight on their soil instead of ours.

Many ask me my reason for joining and I say, “My biggest reason is because of 9/11. It is a day that I will never forget.”

Photo: U.S. Air Force Senior Airman Grovert Fuentes-Contreras, a combat photographer assigned to Provincial Reconstruction Team Zabul, stands on top of Alexander’s Castle in Qalat City, Afghanistan, July 17, 2011. (Courtesy photo)