"Raise your right hand, and repeat after me," an authoritative voice commanded.
I was 17 years old, in a room beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, and my parents had agreed to support my unwavering commitment to serve as a fresh recruit in the United States Army.
While a gleaming sense of honor enveloped me, there was an undeniable fear lingering in my eyes, stemming from the daunting task of standing tall as a queer soldier.
This fear was not new, but from past trauma from the experiences I had growing up. During my childhood, I was constantly reminded that being queer was not something to be proud of.
Being overcome with feelings of loneliness and abandonment was normal, especially when I heard the quiet whispers behind my back. I didn't feel like a man, but rather a complete outcast for one simple reason: I liked boys. I never could comprehend how something that seemed so small led to so much hate.
That was until I saw hate turn to murder.
I enlisted in the Army in 2017, shortly after the devastating Pulse nightclub shooting. During this moment, I couldn't help but be consumed by its harrowing aftermath. The thought relentlessly played over and over again in my mind.
A profound realization struck me: Love should be inconsequential, for we all wear the same uniform.
As a proud Army Officer, I have dedicated years of my life serving to protect the precious freedoms we hold so dear. But as a gay man, I have been fighting my whole life to enjoy the very privileges I am entitled to as both a beholder and protector of them.
I was one of few soldiers who joined the service before graduating high school, but the administration at the time, which I believe was homophobic, chose to act as if I never existed because of my queer identity.
The hate that I experienced growing up on Long Island was my first encounter with how others would treat me as a queer soldier. I have been distrusted as a leader, talked about behind my back, and disregarded.
The challenges that LGBTQ+ service members have to face are no small feat, but I draw inspiration from our ability to rise above the doubt and excel.
It is my personal mission to break down barriers and challenge preconceived notions that we "can't" all because of who we love. My response to this has always been: "Watch me."
In the past, discriminatory policies such as "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" have forced thousands of soldiers in similar situations as myself to choose between the people they love and the country they love at the cost of dismissal and disgrace.
While this 1993 law was repealed a decade ago, its legacy sadly lives on through those expelled from the military due to their sexual orientation, who have been denied honorable discharges and the benefits it comes with them.
According to CBS News, figures reveal there were 35,801 individuals discharged due to their sexual orientation from 1980 to 2011, and 81 percent of these soldiers were denied honorable discharges.
These soldiers were stripped of support systems that should have helped reintegrate them into society. Instead, these LGBTQ+ veterans have been abandoned by the very institutions they swore to protect.
The current brand of LGBTQ+ oppression within the military revolves around erasure, as the Pentagon has cracked down on drag performances under pressure from extremist lawmakers.
They have brushed aside a beloved tradition dating back to World War II and shoved a whole new generation of LGBTQ+ members of the military, such as myself, back into the closet.
Although many of these policies have been reversed, I feel that the mindset engrained within them lives on. Many people still hold misconceptions and biases against LGBTQ+ soldiers, believing them to be less capable or a disruption to unit cohesion.
This unfounded prejudice has supported the stigma in the military community that LGBTQ+ soldiers joined for the wrong reasons. I have chosen to educate other soldiers, rather than let their biased viewpoints prevail.
I make it clear to those I have served with that people like me do not want to rub our identities in their faces. We just want to be treated with respect for our merit and leadership.
Today, in 2023, I am encouraged by how far we have come, but I have become increasingly concerned about where we are headed.
As the confetti, costumes, and rainbow-themed logos are tucked away until next year, the shadows of discrimination, prejudice, and inequality continue to hang heavy over the shoulders of the LGBTQ+ community.
And if the political tidings are any indication, their insidious grasp will only continue to tighten on our freedoms and liberties.
As I have monitored recent policy decisions, it is more and more clear to me that the choice between who we love and where we belong is not a struggle exclusive to the military, but one universal for LGBTQ+ Americans.
With the Supreme Court decision on Creative LLC vs. Elenis, businesses could now be permitted to refuse service to same-sex couples.
In writing that "our Nation's answer" to "ideas we consider 'unattractive'" is "tolerance, not coercion" in the majority opinion, I believe Supreme Court Justice Niel Gorsuch essentially enables and empowers Jim-Crow-era systems of segregation against the LGBTQ+ community on the basis of the First Amendment.
We cannot sit idly as our hard-fought progress erodes and our fundamental rights are trampled upon. While exercising our right to vote holds profound significance, it alone is insufficient.
As a society, if we do not fight back and demand change, we will continue to move backward.
We must boldly challenge our leaders, celebrate queer jobs, and affirm to every American that inclusivity knows no bounds. This belief is what fuels the spirit of our soldiers, including myself, who fight to safeguard this very freedom that is entitled to all.
Brian Femminella is a Gen-Z LGBTQ+ activist and tech entrepreneur. He is an outspoken voice in the queer and trans community, including through his work in the military as an Army Officer.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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