Moral Injury
By Madeline Dougherty
2005
Lieutenant Henley, 32nd Company Officer at the United States Naval Academy, spotted the folded rectangle of paper on his office floor as soon as he opened the door. Odd, he thought and picked it up. The paper contained a single line of typed script.
Midshipman Bishop is gay.
LT Henley regarded the note for a moment before turning it over to find the backside blank. He looked again at the front. Times New Roman, he thought. Very professional. Henley had just set the note on his desk and turned to his coffee maker when his senior enlisted leader, Senior Chief Swanson, knocked on the door jam.
“Come on in, Senior.” Henley waived him in and gestured to a chair.
“Good morning, sir. Did you see the note?” Swanson asked.
“The one on my floor? Yes.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
Henley paused to think before he continued pouring coffee grounds into the filter.
“How do you know about the note? Did you put it there?”
“No!” The senior chief looked offended at the question. “I saw it this morning when I came in to make coffee.”
Henley looked at his single serving coffee pot then back at his senior enlisted leader.
“You use my coffee maker?”
“Sure,” Swanson answered. “I thought that was the staff coffee maker. The one the midshipmen use in the wardroom is disgusting.” Henley buried his irritation. He wasn’t selfish by nature; he just felt that after four and half years of boiled shipboard coffee from a communal urn, he’d earned a personal coffee pot. He also didn’t like the idea of Senior Chief Swanson in his office alone. Henley made a mental note to buy the senior enlisted leader his own coffee maker for Christmas and moved on.
“We’re not going to do anything with the note.”
“Why not? We have to! If we have evidence that a service member is gay, we have to investigate.” Swanson was adamant.
“We don’t have evidence,” Henley responded. “We have a note, probably from another midshipman. Besides, they call everything gay. Their classes are gay. Their professors are gay. Yard patrol craft are gay. Liberty rules are gay. Calling something gay has stopped having anything to do with sexuality.”
Swanson sighed, then shrugged.
“It’s a new Navy,” he said. “On my first ship back in – I don’t know ’91, ’92… The captain busted a whole ring of faggots, like five of them went to mast. They all got kicked out.”
Henley didn’t comment on the epithet, but shot the chief a tight-lipped stare.
“Sorry.” Swanson continued in half-hearted apology. “Homosexuals. I guess faggots isn’t politically correct anymore.”
“I don’t think it ever was,” murmured Henley. He sat and swiveled his chair to face the senior chief across his desk. Before speaking, he cradled his coffee mug and blew across the contents.
“We are not going to do anything. We will chalk it up to an adolescent prank and ignore it. However, I will hang on to the note. If anything else comes up, we’ll revisit. Fair?”
Swanson nodded and braced his hands on his knees to stand.
“And Senior,” Henley continued. “Don’t go looking for evidence. Leave the kid alone.”
The senior chief nodded again and stood.
“We’ve got that battalion meeting at 10, sir.”
“Yep,” Henley replied. “I’m going to head down about 10 minutes early. I’ll grab you before I go?”
“Yes, sir. See you then.” Senior Swanson nodded once more and left Henley’s office.
Henley poked the power button on his computer tower and sipped his coffee while the system booted up. He wasn’t sure when he’d last spoken to Midshipman Bishop. With 113 midshipmen under his charge, most of whom were fairly self-sufficient, Henley really only got to know his problem children and those in leadership positions. Bishop was neither. He was a senior who had been a platoon commander in the fall and was slated to be – Henley double checked the whiteboard behind his desk – company admin officer in the spring. Good billets, but nothing prestigious or competitive. Henley remembered Bishop had been selected to attend flight school after graduation and had seemed excited about the prospect. That was really all he knew about the young man.
Henley set down his coffee and opened the computer program containing all midshipman records. He pulled up Bishop’s. His grades were good, maybe a little above average. Quantitative Economics major. He’d spent two years on the cross-country team without earning a letter before finding a home in the marathon club. Other extracurricular activities included a community service organization and the Korean Midshipman Club. Henley puzzled over the second activity, considering Bishop’s pale, freckled skin and sandy hair, before remembering that Bishop roomed with Midshipman Kim. Nice they get along, he thought.
Henley looked at the note once more before dropping it into the bottom drawer of his desk. It settled against the spare racket balls and other office detritus collected there. He closed the drawer and turned back to his email and the further onslaught of the day.
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The second note arrived two weeks into spring semester.
Midshipman Bishop is gay. He has a boyfriend at the University of Maryland.
Henley sat at his desk and studied the missive. Same paper. Same font. Same method of delivery. At least Senior Chief Swanson had stopped using Henley’s coffee maker and so had not seen the note. Henley considered the Department of Defense policy: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Harass, Don’t Pursue. He had no intention of pursuing in this incident. In his mind, it was still just a prank.
Does it count as harassment if I’m the one being harassed about someone else being gay? Henley wondered if Bishop was receiving similar notes. Would notes to Bishop contain threats? Blackmail attempts? It wasn’t as if Henley could ask Bishop. Policy made that clear: Don’t Ask. Henley did care about his midshipman, though. He wanted them to be safe and successful, not only because it made his life easier, but because he genuinely wanted them to graduate and go on to fulfilling careers.
They’re good kids, he thought. They’re alright.
Henley refolded the note and dropped it with the first amongst the racket balls.
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Four weeks later, Henley stepped outside and took a long breath of fresh air. It wasn’t quite spring yet, but the sun was warm on his face so he took a moment to let the heat seep through his body and relax his shoulders. Fridays brought mixed emotions for a company officer. He looked forward to Friday all week, but as soon as it arrived, he felt a creeping anxiety about all the things that might happen over a weekend. Midshipman were notorious for questionable weekend decisions resulting in late night phone calls to company officers and uncomfortable conversations with battalion officers. Henley had listened to his peers’ horror stories of calls announcing fatal car accidents or sexual assault. So far, his weekend calls had been easy: a midshipman in the emergency room with a broken arm; another midshipman needing to go home due to a death in the family. Most weekend phone calls were not pleasant, but they were simple enough to deal with. Still, he jumped every time his phone rang outside working hours.
Henly shook himself and started toward the gate that led to downtown Annapolis. He didn’t usually go downtown for fear of meeting a midshipman who recognized him, but he’d agreed to meet a couple of his fellow company officers for a beer. He figured it was early enough that most midshipman wouldn’t be out yet.
Lost in his own thoughts, Henley rounded the first corner off base and nearly ran into a figure standing on the sidewalk fiddling with a flip phone.
“Sir!”
“Midshipman Bishop!” Bishop looked as surprised as Henley felt. He hadn’t wanted to meet any of his charges, but now that he had, he felt compelled to make conversation. His mind raced for something to say until he saw the duffel bag at Bishop’s feet.
“Going somewhere for the weekend?” he asked, inwardly cringing at how stilted it sounded.
“Uh, yes sir. Just UMD for two nights. My overnight liberty was approved. I’m coming back early on Sunday. I’ve got a paper due on Monday I need to finish. It’s for my Types of Fiction elective.” Bishop was babbling a little and Henley tried to quell the young man’s nervousness.
“Nice. UMD has a beautiful campus. You have a girlfriend there?” He asked and immediately regretted it. Aside from the anonymous allegations, it was a creepy question.
“Ah, no. Just some friends I know from marathon club. I crash on their couch.” Henley nodded and tried to think of a response, his mind still on fire with the embarrassment of his last question. An awkward silence fell between them. Surprisingly, it was Bishop who broke the tension.
“We’re doing a 20-mile training run on Saturday morning if you want to come.” Bishop glanced at his company officer with a gleam of humor.
“Um, no. No thanks. It’s been a long time since I was in that kind of shape.”
They chuckled, both of them well aware Henley had never been in that kind of shape.
“OK, well. Have fun this weekend. Stay safe. Enjoy the run.” Henley was back on firm company officer ground with general well-wishing and the admonition to “stay safe”.
“Thanks, sir. Will do. You, too.”
When Henley reached the end of the block, he turned to look back at Bishop. An older station wagon had pulled up to the curb. The driver rolled down the passenger window and said something to Bishop that made him throw back his head and laugh. The midshipman tossed his duffel in the back and settled into the front with the enviable grace of the young and athletic. He looked like any other college student being picked up by a friend. Henley continued to the bar, thirstier than he had been before.
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The next week brought rain and the return of winter’s chill. In an attempt to stay dry, Henley cut through the basement post office. He found Kim, Bishop’s roommate, leaning against the bank of post office boxes and laughing as he flipped through snap shots.
“Midshipman Kim.” Kim looked up and straightened.
“Hi, sir.” Henly glanced at the photos in Kim’s hands and raised his eyebrows in question. Kim turned the pictures so Henley could see them.
“They’re from Ring Dance last year, sir. My girlfriend brought some of those disposable cameras and she finally got them developed.”
“Is that your girlfriend?” Henley asked pointing to a young Asian woman in the group photo.
“Uh, no sir. That’s my sister. That’s my girlfriend.” Kim said and gestured to an excited looking blonde woman with a toothy smile.
Idiot. Henley winced at his assumption.
“Your girlfriend looks really nice.”
“She is.”
“Your sister came to ring dance?” Henley asked.
“Yeah, she was Bishop’s date.”
“You’re letting your roommate date your sister?” Henley asked with mock surprise. Kim laughed.
“No, they just went to the dance together. She really wanted to go and Bishop didn’t have a date. I think he was kind of interested in more, but she wasn’t. She just wanted to go to the dance.” Kim shrugged. “I think they still had fun, though.”
“Looks like it,” Henley agreed. The photo indicated a group of happy young people enjoying the evening. Henley said goodbye to Kim and continued through the post office, trying not speculate on Bishop’s relationship to the woman in the picture.
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The third note arrived the Monday before spring break.
Midshipman Bishop is gay. I have proof.
Henley’s first thought was Well what am I supposed to do with that? Followed shortly by This has to stop. He stepped out of his office and addressed the midshipman at the watch desk.
“Can I see the duty roster for last night?”
The midshipman on duty obligingly rummaged in the logbook and produced a printed watch bill with names scribbled into the blanks. The four midshipman who had rotated through watch the night before were all freshman. Henley glanced at his watch. Classes started in 15 minutes. He’d have to track down the night duty standers after lunch. Henley borrowed a post it note from the duty desk and wrote down the names. Within minutes, rumors would be all over the company that something had happened over night, but there wasn’t much Henley could do about that. The best he could do was act like it was nothing serious and wait for speculation to die down in the wake of the next big rumor. He smiled at the watch stander.
“Thank you. Have a good day.”
“Yes, sir. You too, sir.”
Speaking to each of the night duty standers proved unhelpful. Of the four, one said he’d been at the desk all night catching up on homework. Two had toured the company area a couple of times during the two-hour shift. One had used the bathroom. The fourth midshipman guiltily admitted that, in addition to walking his tours, he’d left the company area to visit the vending machines on the floor below.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was hungry.” The midshipman tensed, waiting for his company officer to berate him. Henley considered telling off the young man, but decided against. Even if he’d only toured the company spaces, the midshipman would have been out of sight of the duty desk and Henley’s office door for several minutes. Midshipman tended to walk very slowly at night so time passed more quickly.
“It’s OK. This time.” Henley said. “Next time bring your snacks at the beginning of watch.”
The midshipman nodded and visibly relaxed. Henley had a feeling that for the rest of that traumatized midshipman’s naval career, no matter how long, he would always report to watch with snacks in hand.
Henly returned to his office and dialed his sister Ally’s number.
“Little brother!” she chirped.
“Big sister,” he answered.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of a weekday call?”
“I know it’s short notice, but can I come up to Maine for spring break?”
“Of course!” she answered. “But you know most people go south for spring break. Brunswick isn’t exactly a vacation destination in March.”
Henley laughed. “No, it’s OK. I just want to get out of Annapolis for a few days.”
The siblings decided on dates and chatted for a few minutes. Henley heard a door slam in the background, followed by muffled conversation.
“Jan says hello,” Ally translated.
“Hello, Jan,” Henley answered automatically.
“She says she can’t wait to see you. Stay as long as you want.” Henley smiled.
“Tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her, too. And meeting the new dog!”
They said their goodbyes and hung up. Henley felt better than he had in weeks.
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Maine was a wonderful respite, despite the miseries of mud season. Both Ally and Jan had to work, but they whiled away evenings playing cards and drinking local beer. Henley spent his days putzing around the house. He shoveled the heavy, wet spring snow and played endless games of fetch with Freddy, his sister’s Jack Russell terrier.
Freddy and Henley had taken to each other immediately. One evening, Henley sat examining the dog snoozing by his knee during a game of rummy.
“Oh Freddy,” he crooned. “You’re too cute. Were you named after Freddy Mercury? You just don’t have the front teeth for that.”
“Actually, she’s named after Frederick the Great of Prussia,” said Jan. Henley wasn’t sure if she was kidding; Jan was a European history professor, after all. Jan read the confusion on his face and snorted, but didn’t offer any clarification.
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On his last night in Maine, Henley told Jan and Ally about Midshipman Bishop and the notes. They responded with concern, anger, and sadness in turn.
“What are you going to do?” asked Ally.
“Nothing right now,” Henley replied. “There’s nothing I can do. I don’t have any real evidence and Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell says I can’t go looking for any. Not that I want to, anyway.”
“It’s really not fair,” said Jan. “You said he’s otherwise good? Qualified to serve and all that?”
“As far as I know,” said Henley. “I mean, he runs marathons, which shows a serious lack of judgement, but other than that… yeah, good kid.”
“What’ll you do if this anonymous person does provide evidence?” Ally asked.
“I don’t know,” Henley sighed. “By the letter of the law, I have to report it. Technically it constitutes a legal order so I don’t have cause to disobey it.”
“Just because it’s legal, doesn’t make it right,” Jan murmured.
Henley agreed. If the anonymous individual provided evidence, would he report it to his chain of command? Not reporting it would put his own career at risk - not that Henley had any particular ambitions - but he disliked the idea of closing off the option of a full career. He also realized any evidence made him vulnerable, too. If this anonymous person knew Henley had evidence regarding Bishop’s sexuality and did nothing, it opened Henley up to threats and blackmail as well. On the other hand, reporting Biship – assuming he was gay – felt decidedly underhanded. The kid hadn’t done anything that would make him a poor officer or a bad pilot. Maybe Bishop wouldn’t grow up to be an admiral. Maybe he’d just fulfill his commitment and get out. Did it matter? Bishop was willing and able to serve and the Navy needed officers. Why did the Navy want to quibble? Henley knew all the arguments about living in close quarters and everything else, but if lesbian and gay people were already serving incognito, surely it couldn’t actually be that much of a problem. Making people hide, thought Henley, just makes everything worse. For everyone.
“I don’t know.” Henley returned to the conversation. “Maybe he’ll graduate before anything else happens so it won’t be my problem anymore.”
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The evidence arrived in a manilla envelope two weeks after spring break. Henley found the package on his office floor first thing on Monday morning. Before he made coffee, Henley upended the contents of the envelope on his desk. His stomach contracted as he realized what he was seeing. Without looking any closer at the pile of documents, Henly rose to close and lock his office door, then made himself a cup of coffee. Thus fortified, he began to sift through the pile. Most of the documents were photographs with a handful of printed emails and two transcripts of text messages. Some of the pictures were innocuous on their own: two young men with their arms across each other’s shoulders at a college bar. Others left no doubt about the nature of the relationship between to the two men.
After Henley had forced himself to examine every document, he stacked the pile neatly, returned everything to the envelope, and dropped it into the bottom drawer of his desk. Henley left his office, careful to lock the door behind him. He stuck his head in Senior Chief Swanson’s office to tell him he had some things to take care of and would be back in a couple of hours. Then Henley went for a long, long walk.
When he returned, Henley opened the bottom drawer and removed the manilla envelope. He paper clipped the first three notes to the envelope face down and carried the package down two flights of stairs. Henley stopped in front of his battalion officer’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked.
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The investigation was mercifully brief. A captain from the admissions department came to conduct interviews. Henley answered the questions honestly, while still trying to justify his delay in alerting the battalion officer to the notes. He did what he could to remind the investigator of Bishop’s good standing and accomplishments as a midshipman, but the captain appeared uninterested in Henley’s opinions. Since he was part of the investigation, Henley was advised not to speak to Bishop on the subject. Instead, he could only watch as Bishop wilted under the strain of the situation.
The investigation concluded that Midshipman Bishop was guilty of homosexual acts and would be administratively separated from military service. The anonymous note sender was never identified. In a dorm that required midshipman to keep their doors open at all times during the day, it could have been anyone. For a time, Henley suspected Kim, but the young man seemed genuinely stricken at his roommate’s dismissal for what he described as “a stupid fucking reason.” Henley didn’t argue.
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Three weeks before graduation, Bishop knocked on Henley’s office door. He was wearing civilian cloths with a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“They told me I needed to check out with you, sir.”
Henley nodded and gestured for Bishop to come in and take a seat.
“How’s it going?” Henley couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Sucks.”
“Yeah.” The two men let that sentiment hang in the air for a moment.
“I did want to say thank you, though, sir,” Bishop said. Henley looked up in surprise. “For not making a big deal about everything.”
Henley nodded. He’d tried to be as frank as possible about the investigation and outcome with the other midshipmen in the company. His hope was to encourage professionalism and to stave off the inevitable rumors. Perhaps he’d been more successful than he’d assumed.
“How’s your friend doing?” asked Henly.
Bishop looked blank for a moment and then shook his head. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be, sir. I broke up with him. He didn’t need all of this.” Bishop waived an arm to indicate the Naval Academy and possibly the entire Navy.
“They’re going to going to let you graduate, though?”
Bishop nodded. “I don’t get to go to graduation and I won’t commission, obviously.” Bishop gestured to his attire. “But I get a diploma because I’ve met all the academic requirements. It’s so close to the end of the semester my professors agreed to pass me based on my ‘performance to date’. The only one who didn’t agree was for an elective I don’t need to graduate so it didn’t matter. That instructor was an ass hole anyway.”
Henley knew all this. He also new that since Bishop would not be repaying his education with military service, he would receive a bill for the eye watering amount of money he now owed the United States Government.
“Have you talked to the alumni association? They might be able to help with tuition repayment or legal fees or something.”
“Yeah,” Bishop said with a shrug. “I don’t know if they’re going to be able to help me, though.”
Henley recalled rumors the alumni association had helped a lacrosse player who’d been dismissed after cheating his way through electrical engineering. Surely they could help out a kid who’s getting kicked out after passing his classes on his own, he thought. Instead, he said, “There’s another alumni association. One for…” Henley trailed off.
“Gay boys?” Bishop supplied with an ironic smile.
“And girls. I assume,” responded Henley. He passed Bishop the business card of a member he’d tracked down in the local area. “Might be worth a call.”
After a pause, Henley asked, “So, what’s next?”
“Home,” replied Bishop. “North Carolina. I don’t really want to stay there, though. I’m thinking about law school. Maybe Georgetown… or UCLA. I have a brother in Los Angeles.”
Henley nodded, “Good plan.” He fished in a drawer, pulled out his personal business card, and slid it across the desk to Bishop.
“If you need a letter of recommendation or a reference or something, don’t hesitate.”
“Thanks, sir,” said Bishop. He pocketed the card before glancing at the door. “I better get going. I still need to check out at the main office.” He stood.
“Alright then,” said Henley, rising from his chair. They shook hands. “Good luck. Wherever you wind up.” Henley marveled at the inadequacy of his words.
Bishop nodded once more and was gone.
2025
Captain Henley, commanding officer of Naval Reserve Center San Francisco, sat down at his desk and opened his email. Since he was on the west coast, he often awoke to relevant national news in the form of text messages from the east coast commanding officers in a shared group chat. Today’s texts had been rife with speculation about the flood of executive orders emanating from the White House. One order in particular had caught the attention of the group. Henley conducted a quick search and clicked on the link provided.
Executive order 14183: Prioritizing Military Excellence and Readiness
Henley read the order in its entirety twice before sighing and placing his head in his hands. He thought about some of the reservists under his command.
“Oh God,” he whispered. “Not again.”
****
Madeline is a former Marine helicopter pilot and current Navy Reservist. In her civilian career she has been an airline pilot, air ambulance pilot, and high school physics teacher. She has lived all over the country and is currently in the middle of moving, again. This time to San Diego, California.