Then There Was Nunn

By Margaret Carlson/Washington

Last Wednesday, Defense Secretary Les Aspin walked into the Oval Office, assumed his customary slouch in a chair across from the President -- and admitted defeat. It was the eve of the President's self-imposed deadline to come up with a compromise on the military ban on gays in the armed forces. However, despite nearly six months of studying and analyzing, arguing and negotiating, Aspin's report could just as well have been made in January. With Vice President Al Gore, David Gergen, George Stephanopoulos and National Security Adviser Tony Lake sitting in, Aspin told Clinton that the policy dubbed "Don't ask, don't tell" -- a politically unsatisfactory solution in which the Pentagon would not inquire about, and gay soldiers would not volunteer information on, sexual orientation -- was all he had been able to get out of the Joint Chiefs. And if that was all Aspin could get out of his chiefs, that would be all Clinton could get out of the military-sympathetic Congress.

After Aspin's nearly two-hour briefing, the President decided to let his deadline come and go. The Administration would later gravitate toward a new formula -- "Don't ask, don't tell, don't pursue" -- that would meet the military's requirements while trying to define what one official called a "zone of privacy" for gay servicemen and -women. But the military's chief congressional ally, Armed Services chairman Senator Sam Nunn, was taking no chances. Ending his truce with the White House, Nunn announced that he would introduce legislation to codify a strict interpretation of "Don't ask, don't tell" -- one that would preserve the policy that declares "Homosexuality is incompatible with military service."

The search for a compromise was ill-fated from the start. The Joint Chiefs had always been dead set against change. And they remained so throughout days of intense negotiations in windowless rooms in the Pentagon. Indeed, they treated the entire debate like a national emergency. Amid discussions with Aspin, they met three times on July 2, more than anyone remembers their convening in one day during the entire Vietnam War. One chief referred to homosexuals as "fags," and the Marine Corps Commandant, General Carl Mundy, passed out antigay video tapes at meetings. Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman General Colin Powell, while talking cooperation with the White House, instigated behind-the-scenes opposition to the President. In a speech in Annapolis, he had told sailors he would understand if they chose to resign in the event that they ultimately disagreed with the President's decision.

Meanwhile Clinton discovered that getting what he wanted without a fight with Congress was impossible. He had one significant ally in Senator Bob Kerrey, the Congressional Medal of Honor winner who lost a leg in Vietnam. In a speech last week, Kerrey admitted that his own experience in the Navy SEALs had caused him initially "to drift toward the military point of view." But he changed his mind in May after he heard Marine Colonel Fred Peck testify that he would not want his gay son to serve in the Marines, fearful that his son's life would be threatened by fellow soldiers. Kerrey said, "I must tell you, Mr. President, in that moment, I said, 'Time out.' It's time for the military to change."

But that moment has not arrived for Nunn, and may never come. On Friday, the Georgia Senator surprised even sympathetic colleagues by announcing on the Senate floor that Congress would have to pass a law on the gay ban -- no matter what Clinton decided. His language was tough and restrictive. "There should be no change in the current grounds for discharge for homosexual acts or statements and marriages." He included among his targets anyone who "demonstrates a propensity to engage in homosexual acts." These were fighting words, since one point of the six-month study was to give Nunn his time in the sun, days of televised hearings in which he could assert his authority over the process. Out of this came a willingness on Nunn's part to live with "Don't ask, don't tell" -- and, it was assumed, to keep lawmakers from tinkering with the policy. All seemed well until Nunn's speech, which came across as a pre-emptive rebuke to Clinton.

Part of the President's new formula was revealed late Friday. His policy would go beyond "Don't ask, don't tell" to "Don't pursue." It would forbid the military to inquire about an enlistee's sexual orientation not only upon entering the armed forces but at any time during service. The new policy would put an end to witch hunts in the service by raising the standards required to launch an investigation, ending vigilante squads and MPs with cameras waiting outside off-base bars. The policy, said an official, would allow homosexuals in the military "to quietly have a life."

But how quiet a life? Oddly enough, conduct will be shown greater tolerance than talking about it. Simply going to a gay bar or marching in a gay parade would not start up an investigation. But talking about it -- as well as repeated reports of such activity -- would. These hairs are split in a five- page addendum to the proposed policy. While it admonishes commanders not to harass suspected gay soldiers, it also says that overt activities like holding hands and kissing would set off an inquiry. There remains no distinction between behavior on and off base. As a White House official summarized, " 'Don't tell' means don't tell. It would be unwise to say, 'I am gay.' If you do, you enter a danger zone."

The Administration, trying to tiptoe carefully between the military-service chiefs and its gay-activist constituents, believes it has succeeded in keeping part of a campaign promise while improving the lot of gays already in uniform. The White House also seems to be taking heart from the fact that the so-called compromise means spinach for everyone. But the costs are heavy. Aspin and his aides lie bloodied on the floor of the Pentagon briefing room. Nunn's threat to legislate even harsher restrictions on gays remains real.

Meanwhile the President's gay constituency is disillusioned. Says Barney Frank, a homosexual member of Congress: "The victims of the prejudice would rather lose with the President on their side than win a small gain with him being perceived as having moved away." One Administration official says he wishes Clinton wouldn't insist on saying his moderated version of the Joint Chiefs' position is progress. "It would be better if he would admit that he had to compromise on a difficult issue, that this isn't what he believes, that this is what he was forced to accept or Congress would legislate a ban that would make life hell for those gays now serving." He adds, "Just don't say this is a good thing."

With reporting by Michael Duffy and Bruce van Voorst/Washington