Tailhook 1991 and Other Perplexities

was a victory celebration. The crowd was upbeat but certainly not out of control. Many beer cups were to be seen, but there wasn’t much sign of hard liquor.

“This,” I said to Diz Laird (a retired aviator and an of­ficer of the Tailhook Association for many of its forma­tive years), “is different from the old days.”

I was at the convention and on the third-floor terrace that Saturday night. It was after the awards banquet, about 45 minutes before the arrival of the Secretary of the Navy, the Chief of Naval Operations, and the executive direc­tor of the Tailhook Association. Like them, Diz and I did not see or hear anything untoward.

What I observed was different from the old days. “These guys are better behaved than we were,” I told my wife. “They don’t drink as much, and they seem more mature.” There was a boisterousness—especially around the suites, where rival squadrons took turns ragging each other—but the hard edge that can lead to brawls was not there.

After I returned home, the first reports of sexual ha­rassment hit the papers. “What convention did you at­tend?” my wife asked.

It is tempting to speculate about what happened and why. First, the inexcusable behavior probably occurred over a relatively short time. Otherwise, more people, in­cluding the Secretary of the Navy, would have seen it. The bad actions seem to be an aberrant spike in an at­mosphere that was far from riotous.

Second, the incident must have involved a relatively small number of people. I am not sure how many peo­ple that corridor could have accommodated for such a purpose without totally blocking the passageway—a dozen, perhaps two dozen? Out of a convention atten­dance of 3,000 (and an organization membership of 16,000), fewer than 1% got very badly out of line. Even if my estimate is low, and without making any excuses for their atrocious behavior, what occurred in that corri­dor was statistically and behaviorally anomalous.

When the Navy’s Washington leadership learned of the incident—partly from one of the victims, Navy Lieutenant Paula Coughlin—the Secretary of the Navy took action and launched an investigation. It is not clear who was in charge, but both the Naval Investigative Service and the Navy’s Inspector General were involved. In a press re­lease, the Secretary terminated all Navy support of and connection with the Tailhook Association. The investi­gation is ongoing.

There had been a clear violation of naval directives and regulations and Defense Department policy, and probably criminal activity. No one in authority, except perhaps some senior officers who may have been present, knew what Went on beyond that. The Secretary of the Navy went pub­lic immediately, before he knew what, who, or how many Were involved—something that no one who was not there could know or be in a position to evaluate.

Now there is on the street the kind of juicy, circulation­building story the press loves. While responsible, inter­ested members of our society express legitimate concern over identifying and punishing the perpetrators, every group or organization with a stake in eliminating sexual harassment or achieving equal rights for women comes forward, anxious and willing to assist in getting the mil­itary in line with the rest of society. There is nothing wrong with that, either, if the military as a whole or all of naval aviation really needs straightening out.

In spite of criticism by vocal and vociferous critics of the military—who seem unconcerned with the military’s reason for existence: readiness to fight—not all of us are convinced that either the military or naval aviation is in such antisocietal condition that it needs outside help to get its act together.

Everyone, inside and outside naval aviation, wants to see the guilty identified and dealt with appropriately. There is little doubt that will happen. Disciplinary actions may include trial, conviction, and punishment—though it is more important to prevent the reprehensible behavior from recurring than it is to punish individuals. We don’t need revenge as much as we need to fix the problem. But, in accordance with the American way, only the guilty should be punished.

That is not the way it has worked so far. First the Tailhook Association and naval carrier aviation were in­dicted, tried, and convicted in the press. The naval ser­vice as a whole was tarred with the same brush, as was the rest of the U.S. military establishment by associa­tion. Then, the U.S. Senate, in its eagerness not to be per­ceived as tolerant of sexual harassment, withheld promo­tions and transfer orders for some 4,000 Navy and Marine Corps officers. These officers’ only crime was serving on active duty in the sea services at a time when a certain nastiness was going on in Las Vegas. The Senate finally partially relented—approving travel orders and granting promotions to those officers who could prove they did not attend the Tailhook Convention. As for the rest, they would receive their earned promotions and transfers only after they could prove that, having been in Las Vegas, they were innocent.

Why does that trouble me? Is it because of a funda­mental principle I associate with the U.S. judicial system: innocent until proven guilty? That’s the one. Had some­thing similar occurred to a group of civilians, lawyers would be lining up to advise them on whom to sue first. But perhaps not. It was, after all, that same governing body that in the early 1950s passively stood by while Sen­ator Joe McCarthy systematically violated the civil rights of a significant number of civilians and men in uniform. The last I heard, senatorial privilege does not require a citizen to leave his civil rights in the corridor before en­tering a Senate chamber.

The Tailhook Association is another matter. The asso­ciation may exemplify the belief that, if someone is bom under a bar sinister, he is illegitimate to the end. Despite its somewhat raunchy beginnings, the Tailhook Associa­tion, particularly in the past two decades, has been grow­ing as a professional organization and forum for carrier aviators and their military and civilian leadership.

I was impressed by the convention’s two days of pro­fessional sessions, which covered various aspects of pre­sent and future carrier aviation. Most notable was a series of presentations by senior naval officers, explaining pol­icy and future plans for the Navy and naval aviation.

Young officers were encouraged to—and did—question and challenge their seniors. The sessions compared fa­vorably to programs of the more established, more pres­tigious Association of Naval Aviation (ANA). ANA con­ferences generally attract an older audience, who are more likely to be retired. Participation by active-duty aviators is much higher at Tailhook. Both organizations contribute, each in its way, to the welfare of naval aviation. The Tail- hook Association has much to offer. It is unfair to char­acterize the present organization as primarily focused on telling sea stories, raising hell, drinking, and chasing women.

As for the incident itself, it would be easy for me to say I am as shocked, surprised, and dismayed as was Lieu­tenant Coughlin—an aviation officer physically molested by her peers and ignored by acquaintances who failed to come to her assistance. The words come easily, but it prob­ably is impossible for any man to imagine or truly em­pathize with what a woman feels when she is thrust into a position where she is powerless, at the mercy of a number of out-of-control men. I can, however, express my desire to see the molesters dealt with quickly, summarily, and severely. A proper first reaction to this “un-officer­like conduct” may be to make the participants “un-offi­cers” as expeditiously as possible. We can go on from there. But first, let’s be sure we have the right culprits tied to the offenses for which they actually were responsible.

That may take care of the issue from a criminal stand­point. But it is too facile to conclude that a firm admoni­tion to naval aviation to straighten up and fly right will fix things completely. There is more to it than that. If we are serious about stopping this sort of behavior, we must examine the sources of tension and the practices, attitudes, and policies—written and unwritten—that impede true in­tegration of women into the military. Even if we succeed, we will not necessarily get rid of all the nutballs who are capable of stuff like the gantlet. They exist in any orga­nization—naval aviation included—but only as a small minority, we hope. Nevertheless, we can create an envi­ronment in which no one, however far off-the-wall, can persuade himself that such conduct will be tolerated. Only then can we be sure it will not happen again.

History tells us that the truly awful things done by'ihan usually are made possible by the inaction of men of good will. According to Lieutenant Coughlin, one of the worst aspects of her experience was that no one—even individuals she recognized, men she knew from flight train­ing—came to her aid. How could that be?

Some, including part of the press and members of Congress, believe this demonstrates how far naval avia­tion, specifically the carrier aviation community, has fallen.

I have a problem with that characterization of an entire community, and not just because I don’t want to believe it. I know and have known many members of that com­munity, past and present. I spent years as part of it. Per­haps I have a better handle on what sort of people they are. Admitting that I am reluctant to believe the worst about the majority of this aviation community, I ask: “Is there an explanation for why Lieutenant Coughlin was left to her fate by some of her peers?”

Try this: They saw Lieutenant Coughlin being given a hard time by some male officers. She is a commissioned officer, a naval aviator, a product of the same training they are: obstacle courses, survival training, hand-to-hand com­bat, leadership, and the rigors of flight training. Is it pos­sible that their initial reaction might have been, “Paula can handle those clowns!” It might have taken a moment for them to shift their assessment of the situation from a fellow officer dealing with a difficult situation to that of a young woman being physically abused by men. When things are happening quickly, it can be difficult to judge how bad things are going to get until it is too late.

Well, maybe. But that does not explain the ugly gant­let business in the first place. What on earth gave these guys the idea that they could behave like that and get away with it? I suggest that the answer lies in the perception of permission; these people convinced themselves that they had permission. Part of the fault lies in the fact that, despite the best intentions to effect true integration of women into the services, the military system is sending mixed messages to both men and women about what they should expect and what is expected of them. There are in­justices. There is friction. There is frustration. When given expression in ready rooms, clubs, and private settings, they can convince the oddball that women, not the idiosyn- cracies of the system, are to blame.                                                                                                  ■*««.

I don’t believe that it was accidental or coincidental that ^ more than half of the women molested in that third-floor corridor were naval officers. It had little to do with sex; it was an exercise in humiliation and challenge—like a school yard taunt, “If you are so tough, try this!” In a way, that makes it worse. Blatant sexual harassment might be H easier to stop.

This is the part no one wants discuss, because admit- k ting to any problems in integrating women may be pro- &, viding ammunition for those who do not want women in p uniform—much less in combat—under any circumstances. (■ Some of those individuals will use any seemingly plausi- ¹ ble argument to achieve their ends.   t.

It all starts with combat. There is no current program P ¹ for bringing women in the U.S. armed forces into combat If roles. In the absence of a master plan, we seem to be mov­ing incrementally in that direction. In the meantime, the traditional military differences between combat troops and support forces remain pragmatic and significant realities.

They influence everything a military person does, including assignments, billets, duty stations and rotations, ships and ship locations, and lengths and frequency of deployments.

To say the combat prohibition for women simply denies them only one of many possible missions amounts to a j kind of misrepresentation.

The star on the sleeve or the shoulder board of a woman naval aviator signifies an unrestricted line officer. But fe­male line officers are, in the real world, restricted line of­ficers—like a special category of undesignated limited- duty officers. They are left with a kind of officially sponsored Alice-in-Wonderland belief that something is so which is not so—and with expectations, not all of which are realistic.

It is not all roses for men, either. They are told, in ef- feet, “Open your hearts, minds, souls, and, especially, the professional doors of your arcane profession to these young women. They are good, dedicated professionals who will be an asset to the service. Their joining us is good for the country, good for the service, good for them, and good for you. Besides, it won’t hurt or inconvenience you.” And it is all true . . . except for that last little part.

Let us look at three hypothetical naval aviators, each of whom is more than competent, all of whom are doing precisely what the system requires of them.

Lieutenant Gish

Lieutenant Joe Gish, U.S. Navy, is an F/A-18 Hornet pilot in a carrier air wing. He is coming off his third long deployment in four years, one of which included a war in the Middle East. It was in all the papers. Gish is a senior lieutenant, soon to come up for lieutenant com­mander. He loves his job and he is good at it, but he has Problems that are not unique in carrier aviation. Back in LeMoore, California, he has a wife and two small chil­dren. They are not happy. His wife, in fact, made it clear that she wants a husband more than six months out of every year—in the fast turnaround between deployments, ^even that six months is not real. Much of it disappears in marriage may be lost. He loves his job and he loves fly­ing, but not at the cost of his family. Only a year ago there seemed an acceptable compromise: In the chaos follow­ing deregulation, airlines hired military tactical aviators in droves. Retention of trained pilots became such a problem that the Defense Department came up with bonuses and other inducements to persuade pilots to stay in military cockpits instead of climbing into commercial ones. That option was lost when even major airlines started going belly up faster than the bankruptcy courts could ac­commodate them.

Now Lieutenant Gish sees two choices: get out of the Navy into an unattractive job market or go to shore duty, preferably to one of the few good flying jobs remaining to the shore-based Navy. At least his timing is good. He is overdue for rotation.

Lieutenant Winifred Door

Lieutenant W. T. Door, U.S. Navy, is one of the new breed of female naval aviators. She ranked number two in her class of 25 in basic training at Pensacola. That rank­ing earned her one of the coveted jet billets—there were five the week her class was graduated—and guaranteed that her Advanced Training would be in T-2s and A-4s at

^R H. KOTY

Lieutenant Joe Gish is an F/A- pilot in a carrier air wing. He loves his job and loves Hying, but his long absences could cost him his family.

Weapons deployments to Fallon, Nevada, or Yuma, Arizona, and ^short off-shore cruises for ear­ner refreshers and work-ups.

Either he finds some way to be more of a full-time hus­band—if only for a time—or his

These hypothetical aviators are doing all that is asked of them, but each of them is to some extent disappoint­ed, frustrated, or unhappy. These sources of friction and discon­tent must be dealt with, if effective integration of women into the milit­ary is to be achieved.

Lieutenant Winifred Door earned one of the coveted jet billets in her training class. Now she trains male aviators for the carrier deployments and future combat missions she aspires to but cannot attain.

Lieutenant Dan Dilbert has dreamed of flying jets since junior high school. Because he was sixth in line for five jet slots, he flies helicopters. Lieutenant Door was one of his classmates who beat him out.

Kingsville or Beeville, Texas.

She had to be good to rank that high in her class. Every­thing counts toward final grades, but flight grades count most. Even at their standard­ized, impartial best, flight

grades remain largely subjective. Since most of her in­structors were male, you can bet she earned her grades and the jet billet that came with them. She proved her­self again at Kingsville, where she continued to excel and was retained as a flight instructor. She trains male avia­tors for carrier deployments and future combat missions to which she aspires but cannot attain. She is a major league player, but she is restricted to minor-league ball. She cannot, under present rules, ever be part of The Show.

Lieutenant Dan Dilbert

Lieutenant Dan Dilbert, U.S. Navy, was in the same primary and basic-training class as Lieutenant Door. Dan is a good officer and a good aviator. He ranked sixth in his class, one shy of qualifying for the jets he had dreamed of since junior high school. He joined the Navy because he wanted to be a carrier jet pilot.

He does not know this, but, in the class ahead of his, he would have ranked fifth, and there were seven jet slots available. In the class next behind, there were only four jet slots, but his grades would have ranked him third.

It was strictly the luck of the draw, plus, of course, the grades. In Dan and Winifred’s class, the number one student was a graduate of Embry-Riddle who entered pri­mary training with 1,800 flight hours; commercial, in­strument and instructor ratings; and an aviation-oriented Bachelor of Science degree. In a flight-training program geared toward the fast learner, this guy’s experience pro­vided a convincing facsimile. Some of his classmates would later catch him and be better pilots, but not before the completion of basic training. From the day they started to fly, the Embry-Riddle graduate was a shoo-in for num­ber one unless he found a way to blow it. He didn’t.

Winifred Door is a better pilot than Dan Dilbert, but, if she weren’t there ahead of him, Dan would be flying jets. She earned her place, but her superior skills can never be used to their fullest under the present rules. Dan’s lesser skills could be. Consequently, the country might get a bet­ter return on investment from Dan’s service than from Winifred’s. Dan is a squared away guy, but he is not happy with the situation. He is not angry. As a team player, he doesn’t think he has the right to be. He is disappointed, however, and some of the edge is gone from his zest for the service.

Lieutenants Door and Gish would be happy simply to exchange cockpits: she going to sea as a combat-qualified carrier pilot, he to a good flying job ashore, with time to get reacquainted with his family. Dilbert would love to turn in his helicopter for a fixed-wing jet airplane. None of that is likely to happen. The combat restriction re­mains—so much for Gish and Door. In the inevitable downsizing of the Navy and other services, there will be fewer jet cockpits—so much for Dilbert.

We are led to an obvious conclusion: Much of this would go away if we abolished the combat restriction for women. But this may be a little too obvious. Senator Sam Nunn, who understands these things, has given the best, possibly the only answer. When asked if a partial solution might not be to increase the percentage of women in the services, he replied, in effect, that the only accept­able justification for either more women or removing the combat restriction is to improve the combat readiness of the armed forces. Social reform, however desirable, just is not a good enough reason.

There is a body of opinion that says if any country can make viable the employment of women in combat, we can. However, history provides little encouragement. So far as we can tell, every modem nation that has tried it has failed. Reputedly, that includes China, Israel, and the former Soviet Union. My guess is that it probably will happen here—but slowly, and only for special missions and functions.

In the meantime, each of our hypothetical naval avia­tors is performing well in the system. Each is to some de­gree disappointed, frustrated, or unhappy with what is hap­pening to his or her career. As a member of a minority in the service, Lieutenant Door would be least likely to complain. And even if Lieutenants Gish and Dilbert keep their problems to themselves, their friends may be un­happy, even angry, for them.

In such an environment, women in uniform can become targets of resentment, or worse. Paradoxically, capable of­ficers like Lieutenants Door and Coughlin do just fine working and operating with their male colleagues. They are respected and liked. It is only in the abstract—when men regard women as a collective entity instead of indi­viduals—that we have problems.

The Neanderthal behavior of a few in Las Vegas should and will be dealt with. I believe that, if all 26 molested women had been civilians, those responsible would have been dealt with long before now, and much more qui­etly. That 14 of the 26 women were naval officers sug­gests something else was going on. In some crazy way, the bad apples convinced themselves that their behavior would be tolerated and that they had permission to sin­gle out military women. That, I believe, is what we should most concern ourselves with.

Difficulties like those which trouble our three hypo­thetical officers must be approached rationally by men and women of good will. Sources of friction, discomfort, and seeming inequities must be minimized or removed. It will take the best efforts of all to solve the problems that stand in the way of effective integration of our female colleagues into the armed forces. To perceive the events of last September simply as sexual molestation by a group of slavering mad dogs may not be altogether productive— any more than is using the affair as occasion to beat fa­vored single-issue drums. Perhaps it is time to stop fin­ger-pointing and get on with a difficult job.

Captain Linnekin, a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, received his wings in November 1945. He served in various fighter and training squadrons, flying a wide assortment of trainer, fighter, and attack air­craft. He recently retired for a second time, after 23 years with the West- inghouse Defense and Electronics Center in Baltimore. He is the au­thor of Eighty Knots to Mach 2: Forty-five Years in the Cockpit, published by the Naval Institute Press.