A final draft of our first volume on issues of equality is almost ready to go into design. However, interesting details about subjects we thought we finished exploring continue to come to our attention. They are providing greater depth and colour to the stories we plan to soon publish. There is so much compelling information about so many things at the CLGA that new material demanding our attention keeps bubbling up.
Last week, we learned about a gentleman by the name of William Atkinson. In 1959, he was forced to resign from the Royal Canadian Navy after it was discovered that he was gay. At the time, he was a senior officer with the rank of Lieutenant Commander. As will be discussed in the Stories Project publication, it was widely believed in the 1950s and early 1960s that the Soviet Union recruited homosexuals as moles. This assumption was used to justify an RCMP “witch hunt.” Their mission was to ferret out and dismiss gay men who had access to sensitive government information. Targets included members of the military. That era’s offensive against men who risked their lives to serve and protect this country is a stunning example of the kind of extreme and irrational fear that helped coin the term “homophobia.” As an interesting aside, this expression first appeared in print in 1969. The article, written by a psychologist, was published in — of all places — a straight men’s pornographic magazine in the US called Screw.
Methods used to detect homosexuals included lurking around bars, public parks, private residences, and other spots where gays gathered. Targeting lesbians was unnecessary given that women were already barred from access to state secrets. Given their “emotional constitution,” they were considered weak and open to manipulation (boy, how far we’ve come!). Two years before the state’s spy apparatus was turned on Atkinson, he happened to meet one of these agents whose job it was to sniff out gays. He told Atkinson that his job was to visit naval bases and “employ any dirty trick” available “to trap and … guillotine homosexuals.”
Detailed accounts of what befell individuals such as Atkinson once their secret was out are rare. Fortunately, his case is well documented. His sense of injustice compelled him to not only record the circumstances of his ouster but to try, unsuccessfully, to have them published. Immediately after he was driven out of the navy, he penned a manuscript about his experiences. In 1961, he wrote the following to a gay friend explaining his motivation for sharing his story publicly, albeit under a presumed name: “I’d like very much to publish something. If people like ourselves don’t, how in hell can we expect to ever ease the more than unnecessary nonsenses we have to suffer?” Ominously, he typed “Personal; Very Secret; Burn After Reading; Etc. Etc. (Must have security, old boy)” at the top of the letter. While this sounds like it was lifted straight out of a James Bond movie it appears to be Atkinson’s darkly humorous reference to the dangers of being outed at the time.
While Atkinson portrays his RCMP interrogators as taking a “sadistic delight” in baiting him into admitting his true sexual orientation, his subsequent dismissal was “quietly, humanely efficient.” He was also given the opportunity, which he took, to resign under a face-saving pretence and was honourably released. Consequently, very few knew the reason for his abrupt departure. He “tried hard to leave gracefully, with head high.” Nevertheless, he could “never wholly erase from [his] consciousness an awful, massive sense of degradation and humiliation.” He was forced to give up the only career he ever knew and a pension that was soon due to him. He thus wrote, “My peace of mind, my finances, and my future had received a stunning blow.”
Atkinson introduced his manuscript with a quote. He sourced it from a fictional character’s horrific encounter with injustice that stood in for his own:
Years later he stated that most homosexuals lived “constantly in the shadow of disaster of some kind and [were] conditioned to try, at least, to roll with the punches.” “Like so many of us,” he said, “I maintained a facade for most of my life — for viewing by non-gay society. It’s extremely difficult for me to open up to anybody, because I spent so many years suppressing what I wanted to do or be, and acting in the presence of the world.” He added, “time is a great healer … but I feel the RCMP et al [were] more than sufficient … to have pierced my defences. After all these years, if I remember, I still hurt. You never get over that sort of thing, at least I don’t.” He also recalled how, in his youth, he fought hard against his homosexual tendencies. He stated that he wanted to “avoid joining the ranks of the damned.” In a sense, that is exactly what happened after he was removed from his senior post.
The fact that people could be legally dismissed for being homosexual as late as 1996 in some jurisdictions is well documented. Nevertheless, Atkinson’s testimonials provide a gripping visceral account that puts a human face on the destructive forces that intolerance wields. They serve as a compelling caution against ever marginalizing others for being different.
Last week, we learned about a gentleman by the name of William Atkinson. In 1959, he was forced to resign from the Royal Canadian Navy after it was discovered that he was gay. At the time, he was a senior officer with the rank of Lieutenant Commander. As will be discussed in the Stories Project publication, it was widely believed in the 1950s and early 1960s that the Soviet Union recruited homosexuals as moles. This assumption was used to justify an RCMP “witch hunt.” Their mission was to ferret out and dismiss gay men who had access to sensitive government information. Targets included members of the military. That era’s offensive against men who risked their lives to serve and protect this country is a stunning example of the kind of extreme and irrational fear that helped coin the term “homophobia.” As an interesting aside, this expression first appeared in print in 1969. The article, written by a psychologist, was published in — of all places — a straight men’s pornographic magazine in the US called Screw.
Methods used to detect homosexuals included lurking around bars, public parks, private residences, and other spots where gays gathered. Targeting lesbians was unnecessary given that women were already barred from access to state secrets. Given their “emotional constitution,” they were considered weak and open to manipulation (boy, how far we’ve come!). Two years before the state’s spy apparatus was turned on Atkinson, he happened to meet one of these agents whose job it was to sniff out gays. He told Atkinson that his job was to visit naval bases and “employ any dirty trick” available “to trap and … guillotine homosexuals.”
Detailed accounts of what befell individuals such as Atkinson once their secret was out are rare. Fortunately, his case is well documented. His sense of injustice compelled him to not only record the circumstances of his ouster but to try, unsuccessfully, to have them published. Immediately after he was driven out of the navy, he penned a manuscript about his experiences. In 1961, he wrote the following to a gay friend explaining his motivation for sharing his story publicly, albeit under a presumed name: “I’d like very much to publish something. If people like ourselves don’t, how in hell can we expect to ever ease the more than unnecessary nonsenses we have to suffer?” Ominously, he typed “Personal; Very Secret; Burn After Reading; Etc. Etc. (Must have security, old boy)” at the top of the letter. While this sounds like it was lifted straight out of a James Bond movie it appears to be Atkinson’s darkly humorous reference to the dangers of being outed at the time.
While Atkinson portrays his RCMP interrogators as taking a “sadistic delight” in baiting him into admitting his true sexual orientation, his subsequent dismissal was “quietly, humanely efficient.” He was also given the opportunity, which he took, to resign under a face-saving pretence and was honourably released. Consequently, very few knew the reason for his abrupt departure. He “tried hard to leave gracefully, with head high.” Nevertheless, he could “never wholly erase from [his] consciousness an awful, massive sense of degradation and humiliation.” He was forced to give up the only career he ever knew and a pension that was soon due to him. He thus wrote, “My peace of mind, my finances, and my future had received a stunning blow.”
Atkinson introduced his manuscript with a quote. He sourced it from a fictional character’s horrific encounter with injustice that stood in for his own:
- “[N]o matter what bargain” he “struck with the Grand Inquisitor” he was “being destroyed. No one could recover from as terrible a humiliation as this man was now suffering … he would bear the stain of a condemned heretic” that society “would turn away from … with loathing.
Years later he stated that most homosexuals lived “constantly in the shadow of disaster of some kind and [were] conditioned to try, at least, to roll with the punches.” “Like so many of us,” he said, “I maintained a facade for most of my life — for viewing by non-gay society. It’s extremely difficult for me to open up to anybody, because I spent so many years suppressing what I wanted to do or be, and acting in the presence of the world.” He added, “time is a great healer … but I feel the RCMP et al [were] more than sufficient … to have pierced my defences. After all these years, if I remember, I still hurt. You never get over that sort of thing, at least I don’t.” He also recalled how, in his youth, he fought hard against his homosexual tendencies. He stated that he wanted to “avoid joining the ranks of the damned.” In a sense, that is exactly what happened after he was removed from his senior post.
The fact that people could be legally dismissed for being homosexual as late as 1996 in some jurisdictions is well documented. Nevertheless, Atkinson’s testimonials provide a gripping visceral account that puts a human face on the destructive forces that intolerance wields. They serve as a compelling caution against ever marginalizing others for being different.