This weekend my Battalion in the Ohio Army National Guard had our mandatoryannual sexual assault prevention training. This is typically something thatis dreaded amongst all soldiers, regardless of age or rank. You sit in apacked, dark room watching a power point presentation with a few video clipsor, as DoD has moved to in recent years, a poorly executed and low budgetfilm that lasts about an hour. Typically these trainings generate little tono conversation (other than the whispered jokes between buddies about thepoor acting in the films or what they could be doing instead of sitting inuseless training). Soldiers sit sucking down coffee, Mountain Dew, MonsterEnergy drinks or 5 Hour Energy shots and do their best to stay awake. Halfthe room is doing the "Blackberry Prayer" -- sitting with their head bowedslightly as if in prayer, with thumbs moving furiously over mobile phonesnestled half concealed in their laps, texting, emailing or surfing the webin an attempt to stimulate their minds and not nod off. By the end of thetraining, a quarter of the soldiers are standing up along the edges of theroom in a last-ditch effort to stay awake -- not because they don't want tomiss a second of the enthralling training, but because they don't want toget caught sleeping by their supervisor. The supervisors half pay attentionto the training and instead stalk around the room in the shadows, hoping tocatch a soldier with their eyes closed and dole out the appropriatepunishment. I have seen, on more than one occasion, a soldier almost fullyasleep while standing up propped against the wall. This same scenario playsout on a yearly basis in Guard, Reserve and Active Duty units in the Army,Air Force, Marines, Navy, and Coast Guard across the world. This much-neededtraining has been diminished to a "check the block" requirement that almostno one pays attention to and that certainly no one talks about.
It's no secret that sexual assault and sexual harassment cases are on therise at an alarming rate throughout the Military. Multiple high profileincidents have made their way to the main stream media, causing the puckerfactor for top Military and Government brass to skyrocket and draw anonslaught of anger and criticism from citizens across the world. While thistrend is considered despicable and an embarrassment to most honorable andupstanding service members -- it's generally still not something talked aboutin the open. It's discussed in hushed tones behind closed office doors orempty hallways. A few concerns are expressed and some armchair quarterback"solutions" to the problem are tossed around and then then everyone goes onabout their normal routine. What's even worse, in the units where there isan incident of assault or harassment, most of the time the conversationcenters around the latest rumor -- who did what, how did it happen, who wasright, who was wrong, personal opinions and accusations get tossed around,lines are drawn, sides are taken -- and it all still happens in hushed tonesbehind closed doors. Rarely is the topic or sexual assault and harassmentdiscussed openly and frankly in a safe and truthful environment.
All of the above has applied to every unit I've ever been in and is even howI personally have acted and viewed the mandatory snooze fest that is sexualassault response and prevention training. Until this weekend.
This weekend my Battalion tossed the Army-provided training out the windowand instead chose to play the documentary The Invisible War. I had seen thedocumentary about six weeks prior. I had heard of the documentary and orderedthe DVD and watched it at home. It was eye opening to say the least. The dayafter watching it, I contacted my Battalion Commander and told him I wantedto play it for my Battery (56 soldiers). I wanted to run it by him first andsee if watching the documentary could satisfy our annual requirement forsexual assault training. He had seen the documentary as well and surprisedme by taking it one step further -- let's play it for the entire Battalion(approx. 250 soldiers). By chance, a soldier in our Battalion happened toknow one of the females whose story is told in the documentary and mentionedto her what we were doing and wanted to know if she was interested inattending. Our Battalion Commander extended to her the offer of attendingthe screening but also to address the soldiers afterwards if she wascomfortable doing so. She was. What played out that Sunday morning was thesingle most amazing experience I have had in my 10+ year military career.
During the duration of the 98-minute film, soldiers' eyes were glued to thescreen. Mobile phones stayed tucked away in pockets. Whispered jokes andconversations between buddies were nonexistent. Supervisors standing in theback of the room didn't move around the room but instead stood still asstatues, watching as the various stories were told on the screen.Occasionally, soldiers could be seen dabbing at the corners of their eyes,wiping away silent tears. At several points throughout the film, audibleexpressions of shock, anger and disbelief were heard. When the film ended,there was silence. When the lights came on, most of the soldiers just sat.Several stood and stretched and conversation began again. The generalfeeling in the room (in my opinion) was, "Wow that was powerful -- but timeto get back to the humdrum of drill weekend." The Battalion Commanderwalked to the front, asking people to sit back down. He said "No breaks,just sit back down, we aren't done yet." He made a few statements about howpowerful the film was -- and then introduced the guest speaker that only afew people knew was there. Kori Cioca -- the former Coast Guard member whosestory was one of those told in the film. Heads whipped around, almost notbelieving that she was actually here, at our unit, to speak to us. And thenthe first of many amazing things from that morning happened -- as this tinywoman made her way up the center aisle of the auditorium, soldiers beganclapping and then stood. As she realized that all these soldiers werestanding for her, tears rolled down her cheeks. I can't imagine how it madeher feel to have a room full of combat-tested soldiers, most of whom toweredover her, give her a resounding and heartfelt standing ovation.
For the next hour and a half, the soldiers of 1-174th Air Defense ArtilleryBattalion openly and honestly discussed the topic of sexual assault andharassment in our military. The questions that Kori was asked were varied --what does she think about the Army's Sexual Assault Prevention Responseprogram and Unit Victim Advocates; has the lawsuit that she's a part of madeany headway; what happened to her perpetrator; how did she get involved inthe documentary; how is her medical care progressing; etc. In addition toquestions, a lot of soldiers raised their hands just to be able to thankKori and tell her what an inspiration she is, how strong she is and how herstory resonated with them on a personal level. Kori answered every singlequestion and thanked every person with the most sincere honesty and opennessthat I've ever witnessed. And she didn't sugar coat anything. She elaboratedon some of the details of her story that were not in the documentary,details that were extremely personal; she discussed her current medicalsituation; she openly talked about her struggles, both physical andemotional. She opened up, to a room full of strangers, about the mostviolent invasion of her physical body and how it has affected and changedher. She cried, and several soldiers cried with her. She laughed, andeveryone laughed with her. But she was real. At one point in the discussion,Kori relayed a story of regret that she had, that she felt as though shewere responsible for someone else being assaulted. And as she was expressingher regret and choking up as she was talking, a soldier spoke up and justsaid "You can't blame yourself. It's not your fault. It's his fault. He'sthe one that attacked her. Don't blame yourself." I was stunned, honestly,and it gave me chills to hear this burly man speak up in support of a womanhe has never met and offer his support. And I realized that every singlesoldier in that room suddenly had a real face and a real story to put to theissue of sexual assault and harassment. And it finally became not only real,but personal. I'm not naive enough to think that there weren't any soldiersin the room to which this issue is already personal. Whether in the militaryor civilian world, more soldiers in that room have been affected by thisissue than anyone will know. But now they know they can talk about it ifthey need to. Now they know their brother or sister in arms to the left orright of them will support them and help them.
After the conversation was over, soldiers lined up to shake Kori's hand or togive her a hug and thank her for being the amazingly strong woman that sheis. I have no doubt that soldiers left that room changed. Soldiers whowalked into the room complaining about having to sit through boring sexualassault prevention training yet again walked away with a completelydifferent outlook. But the training won't stop there. Now that the subjecthas been thrown into the open and is not looked at as taboo anymore, we aretalking about it. We are brainstorming ways to ensure that something likethis doesn't happen to our soldiers, and if it does, what we will do toprotect and shelter the victim and ensure the prosecution of theperpetrator. In all my years attending sexual assault prevention training, Ihave never once heard anyone talking about it after it was over. But now weare. And now we understand that there is work to be done, and in order tomake a difference we have to talk, we have to stand up and speak out againstit and we have to do it together. Because only together are we notinvisible.