u/FriendsOfDorothy123

During the early 1990s, while I was stationed at Yokosuka Naval Hospital in Japan, I was going through my own investigation tied to homosexuality allegations during the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” era and the years surrounding it.

At the same time, another event shook the military community in Japan — the murder of Navy sailor Allen Schindler in 1992 in Sasebo, Japan. Schindler was beaten to death by another sailor in what later became one of the most widely recognized anti-gay hate crimes in U.S. military history.

I still remember hearing sailors openly say he “deserved it” simply because he was believed to be gay.

At the time, I worked at Yokosuka Naval Hospital’s alcohol rehabilitation department. I remember the atmosphere of fear, silence, and hypervigilance that existed then. People watched what they said. Many hid who they were completely. Some feared criminal investigation more than anything else.

Years later, I began realizing how deeply that fear affected many veterans psychologically long after their service ended.

I’m currently working on a writing/history project called The Friends of Dorothy Project, focused on preserving stories from LGBTQ veterans and service members who lived through investigations, silence, fear, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” Article 125 cases, or related experiences during that era.

This is not about politics or attacking the military. It’s about documenting lived experiences and understanding the emotional impact many carried for decades afterward.

If anyone would like to privately share experiences or memories from that time period, you can contact me at:

friendsofdorothyproject@gmail.com

Stories can remain anonymous if preferred.

C. Mark Wathen

Navy Veteran

Friends of Dorothy Project

For those unfamiliar with the phrase, “Friends of Dorothy” was historically used within the LGBTQ community as a quiet coded way for gay people to identify one another safely during decades when openly discussing sexuality could be dangerous socially, professionally, or legally. The phrase became especially meaningful during military service years when secrecy often felt necessary for survival.

Years later, I began realizing how deeply that fear affected many veterans psychologically long after their service ended.

During the early 1990s, while I was stationed at Yokosuka Naval Hospital in Japan, I was going through my own investigation tied to homosexuality allegations during the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” era and the years surrounding it.

At the same time, another event shook the military community in Japan — the murder of Navy sailor Allen Schindler in 1992 in Sasebo, Japan. Schindler was beaten to death by another sailor in what later became one of the most widely recognized anti-gay hate crimes in U.S. military history.

I still remember hearing sailors openly say he “deserved it” simply because he was believed to be gay.

At the time, I worked at Yokosuka Naval Hospital’s alcohol rehabilitation department. I remember the atmosphere of fear, silence, and hypervigilance that existed then. People watched what they said. Many hid who they were completely. Some feared criminal investigation more than anything else.

Years later, I began realizing how deeply that fear affected many veterans psychologically long after their service ended.

I’m currently working on a writing/history project called The Friends of Dorothy Project, focused on preserving stories from LGBTQ veterans and service members who lived through investigations, silence, fear, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” Article 125 cases, or related experiences during that era.

This is not about politics or attacking the military. It’s about documenting lived experiences and understanding the emotional impact many carried for decades afterward.

If anyone would like to privately share experiences or memories from that time period, you can contact me at:

friendsofdorothyproject@gmail.com

Stories can remain anonymous if preferred.

C. Mark Wathen

Navy Veteran

Friends of Dorothy Project

For those unfamiliar with the phrase, “Friends of Dorothy” was historically used within the LGBTQ community as a quiet coded way for gay people to identify one another safely during decades when openly discussing sexuality could be dangerous socially, professionally, or legally. The phrase became especially meaningful during military service years when secrecy often felt necessary for survival.

Years later, I began realizing how deeply that fear affected many veterans psychologically long after their service ended.