When my grandfather, Andrew Wesley Willis, returned from World War I with the 148th Artillery division by boat and then train, his back tall and straight, four battle stars were pinned to his uniform from the Marne, Belleau Woods, Chateau Thierry and St. Mihiel.
At Chateau-Thierry and in a forest north of there, Belleau Wood, about 30,000 Americans were killed or wounded.
After 18 months of duty, on Nov. 11, 1918, 99 years ago, the war was over and with it the fear of a knock on the door with a telegram saying that a loved one was captured, injured, or dead. His betrothed, Amy, my grandmother, waited on the windy platform and heard the train whistle from a distance as it worked its way up through the flat lands and mountains and into the Big Horn Basin of Wyoming.
Papa’s life and our whole family history was influenced by those years he spent away. Being a hero brought opportunities and pushed him to succeed. I believe that is how he became the first in his family to enter college and later teach at a university and serve as a colonel during WWII.
The situation was different for the African Americans who entered the armed forces in in World War I.
In a secret communiqué concerning African-American troops sent to the French military stationed with the American army, August 7, 1918, General John Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) in Europe wrote:
“We must not eat with them, must not shake hands with them, seek to talk to them or to meet with them outside the requirements of military service. We must not commend too highly these troops, especially in front of white Americans.”
Many African Americans fought bravely (in segregated units) even with such negative attitudes from the highest places and many were kept from fighting and put in service roles that were considered to be more “fitting.” As early as June 1917, black labor battalions, or stevedores, were responsible for loading cargo ships with supplies bound for France. They built roads, constructed ammunition dumps, cooked, built warehouses and salvaged materials. The French awarded their bravery that was not awarded by the United States forces.
As with my grandfather, their participation in the war opened their eyes to the possibilities of a different way of thinking and living. One of those returning soldiers was Charles H. Houston, who became a civil rights giant and director of litigation for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. His work paved the way for Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, the Supreme Court ruling that struck down segregated schools. Houston, who died four years before that decision, was nicknamed “the man who killed Jim Crow.”
When President Trump announced that he was barring transgender individuals from serving in the U.S. military, he was wrong. I’m glad that our Sen. Orrin Hatch came out in support of transgender persons in the military. I sent him a thank you letter and I believe it is important for us to reach out to people whose beliefs may not generally align with our own when they take an important stand such as that.
In my letter, I wrote of the transgender people in the religious community I serve. Two women proudly stood up when I asked from the pulpit, “Are there any transgender veterans with us today?” Our congregation gave them a standing ovation. I wonder how the world would be different if they had not served. Whose lives did they save?
Let us not add exclusion to the suffering of war. This is not the legacy we want to leave. It is a legacy we want to heal. The price for becoming heroes is high and that opportunity and the empowerment it can give should be open to all.
Call the White House. Write to your senators and representatives. Tell them that to exclude transgender people from the military is wrong. Just as the citizens of Germany during the 1930s and 40s, we need to consider: Who will be excluded next?
Patty Willis, pastor at the South Valley Unitarian Universalist Society.
Rev. Patty Willis is pastor of the South Valley Unitarian Universalist Society.