Perhaps because the story is so full of crap, the only people who should be commenting on it are waste managment people and perhaps sewer workers.
This is more likely the story of a soldier who was once 'squared away' as we used to say, but somewhere along the line developed an attitude problem and now blames his poor evaluations on his atheism and not his poor performance and all around bad conduct.
I remember seeing soldiers like this many years ago, they were once good troops and over time, came to dislike being in the Army. It was very sad watching well thought of soldiers slowly devolve into complaining 'problem children'.
I was in the Army for 3 years and my father was in for 27 years (He was a lapsed Roman Catholic atheist by the way.) and I never saw ANYONE give my father or anyone else I served with given a hard time for being an atheist, a Bhuddist, a Wiccan or anything else they believed in.
Fedral - Are you saying that any amount of poor performance rationalizes threats being made on a person? I think you are basing your opinions on this matter on everything but what has happened here.
He isn't looking for a discharge from the military, the article mentions how he will continue to serve.
Just because of what you saw, doesn't make this story untrue.
That's a logical error. If what the soldier claimed happened in the way he claimed, don't you think his point is valid?
There should have been measures taken pro-actively to prevent his harassment.
Being "squared away" seems kind of like a meaningless phrase.
I hope you don't mean to imply he deserves to be harassed, because that would be akin to saying that a woman who receives sexual advances at work deserved it because she wore clothes that were flattering to her figure.
Not the same army you served in any longer; the Dominionists and Fundamentalists have, under Bush, moved into control of every aspect of the forces they can get their hands on. And they aren't too forgiving of those who disagree with them.
Cycloptichorn
A New Mexico man sued the Air Force on Thursday, claiming Air Force Academy senior officers and cadets illegally imposed Christianity on others at the school.
The suit was filed in federal court by Mikey Weinstein, an academy graduate and outspoken critic of the school's handling of religion.
Over the past decade or more, the suit claims, academy leaders have fostered an environment of religious intolerance at the Colorado school, in violation of the First Amendment.
Weinstein claims that evangelical Christians at the school have coerced attendance at religious services and prayers at official events, among other things.
"It's a shocking disgrace that I had to file this thing," Weinstein told The Associated Press.
The Air Force declined immediate comment.
Cadets, watchdog groups and a former chaplain at the academy have alleged that religious intolerance is widespread at the school. On Aug. 29, the Air Force issued guidelines discouraging public prayer at official functions and urging commanders to be sensitive about personal expressions of religious faith.
There have been complaints at the academy that a Jewish cadet was told the Holocaust was revenge for the death of Jesus and that another Jew was called a Christ killer by a fellow cadet. A banner in the football team's locker room read: "I am a Christian first and last ... I am a member of Team Jesus Christ."
Also, there have been complaints that cadets were pressured to attend chapel, that academy staffers put New Testament verses in government e-mail, and that cadets used the e-mail system to encourage others to see the Mel Gibson movie "The Passion of the Christ."
Weinstein, who is Jewish and lives in Albuquerque, said the Air Force has violated cadets' right to worship as they choose.
Forty-two years ago, at the age of 18, I took the oath of office on my first day as an Air Force Academy cadet. The mission of the academy was not only to train future leaders for the Air Force but for America as well, because, in the end, most academy graduates do not serve full military careers. The honor code became an integral part of everyday life. These are the values that I, and most graduates of the 1960s and early '70s, took with us from our four years at the academy.
I, as did many graduates, underwent pilot training followed by tours of duty in Vietnam. Like military men and women of today, we did our best to become technically competent and professional leaders. Never, during my four years at the academy and subsequent pilot and combat training, was the word warrior used; nor, whether as a cadet or officer, did I ever encounter "Christian supremacist" rhetoric.
In April of 2004, my son, after receiving a coveted appointment to the United States Air Force Academy, asked me to accompany him to the orientation for new appointees. This 24-hour visceral event changed my life forever, and crushed my son's lifelong dream of following in my footsteps.
The orientation began with a one-hour "warrior" rant to appointees and parents by the commandant of cadets, Brig. Gen. Johnny Weida. The fact that the word warrior had replaced leadership was a signal of what was to follow. I later learned that cadets, to determine when a new record was established, had created a game in which warrior was counted in each speech Weida gave.
My son and I then made our way to the modernist aluminum chapel, where I expected to hear a welcome from one or two Air Force chaplains offering counsel, support and an open-door policy for any spiritual or pastoral needs of these future cadets. In 1966, the academy had six gray-haired chaplains: three mainline Protestants, two priests and one rabbi. Any cadet, regardless of religious affiliation, was welcome to see any one of these chaplains, who were reminiscent of Father Francis Mulcahy of "MASH" fame.
Instead, my son's orientation became an opportunity for the academy to aggressively proselytize this next crop of cadets. Maj. Warren Watties led a group of 10 young, exclusively evangelical chaplains who stood shoulder to shoulder. He proudly stated that half of the cadets attended Bible studies on Monday nights in the dormitories and he hoped to increase this number from those in his audience who were about to join their ranks. This "invitation" was followed with hallelujahs and amens by the evangelical clergy. I later learned from Air Force Academy chaplain MeLinda Morton, a Lutheran who was forced to observe from the choir loft, that no priest, rabbi or mainline Protestant had been permitted to participate.
I no longer recognize the Air Force Academy as the institution I attended almost four decades earlier. At that point, I had no idea how invasive this extreme evangelical "cancer" had become throughout the entire military, that what I had witnessed was far from an isolated case of a few religious zealots.
The Academy is huge; it's 18,000 acres. We drove off it to a McDonald's and we walked in there?-he didn't say a word. At this point I'm thinking, "For the love of God, did you get somebody pregnant, did you violate the honor code by using drugs, did you get an alcohol hit or something?" We walked in and I said: "OK, I can't take this any more, what the hell have you done?" And I'll never forget what he said. He said: "It's not what I've done, Dad, it's what I'm going to do. I'm going to be getting in some very serious trouble here. I'm going to beat the **** out of the next person who calls me a f*ing Jew or accuses me or our people of murdering Jesus Christ." My reaction: I don't remember. I was in a state of shock. [Later in the book Mikey writes for the first time about his own severe beatings by anti-Semites when he was at the Academy, which at the time were hushed up].
Tikkun: And everything has unraveled from that moment, because you discovered that anti-Semitism and proselytizing for evangelical Christianity was not just going on in the Academy among the cadets, but was being promoted from on top.
It's February, and 900 of America's staunchest Christian fundamentalists have gathered in Fort Lauderdale to look back on what they accomplished in last year's election -- and to plan what's next. As they assemble in the vast sanctuary of Coral Ridge Presbyterian, with all fifty state flags dangling from the rafters, three stadium-size video screens flash the name of the conference: RECLAIMING AMERICA FOR CHRIST. These are the evangelical activists behind the nation's most effective political machine -- one that brought more than 4 million new Christian voters to the polls last November, sending George W. Bush back to the White House and thirty-two new pro-lifers to Congress. But despite their unprecedented power, fundamentalists still see themselves as a persecuted minority, waging a holy war against the godless forces of secularism. To rouse themselves, they kick off the festivities with "Soldiers of the Cross, Arise," the bloodthirstiest tune in all of Christendom: "Seize your armor, gird it on/Now the battle will be won/Soon, your enemies all slain/Crowns of glory you shall gain."
