“Sometimes you have to have a crisis to speed up change.” — Barbara Pope, former Assistant Secretary of the Navy, commenting on the Tailhook incident

In 1991, a sexual assault scandal called Tailhook rocked the U.S. Navy. Tailhook is now part of our nation’s history and collective shame, but if you were born after 1990 or don’t follow military matters, you may never have heard of it.

In brief, the scandal revolved around a convention in Las Vegas, drunken naval aviators, an after-hours party, and a pervasive “Top Gun” mentality. After — long after — top brass received repeated reports of serious sexual misconduct committed by the men against military and civilian women during the convention, an internal investigation was conducted. The initial findings were found to be unsatisfactory and were followed by a second investigation by the Department of Defense.

Despite numerous eyewitness reports and photographs of the stomach-churning details, only about a third of the men involved were given what amounted to light slaps on the wrist. The main witness, Lt. Paula Coughlan “resigned from the Navy in May 1994 amid claims she was being harassed and abused for blowing the whistle on the partiers.”

I was a musician in the Coast Guard Band at the time. When the scandal broke, leadership across all five branches of the military panicked and scrambled to CYA (cover your ass). Why? Because Tailhook wasn’t an isolated occurrence, everyone knew it, and heads were about to roll. As it happens in the twisted logic of such scandals, all the women were virtually “guilty” by association with the courageous women who spoke up and testified about the night in question. In an effort to intimidate and shut us up, we were harassed daily in covert and overt ways. Women were suddenly and disproportionately heavily scrutinized and “written up” over every little infraction, no matter how small. I got a disciplinary letter because my uniform socks weren’t “black enough.”

I was young, a new member of the band and entirely in denial of how powerful and deeply entrenched the good old boy culture was. It was the band after all, not a battalion. There arose a situation between me and a much older, male colleague. We were both brought up on charges, but only I was ultimately bullied into leaving. He got to stay and collect his nice, big pension.

That was 30 years ago. Women still only make up around 17 percent of active duty military. I sincerely hope that these women are today being treated with the respect and dignity they deserve. (A possible sign of “progress”: I recently found out that the Manhattan VA hospital just acquired a mammogram machine.)

I’ve long since moved past that painful time. What happened to me is a distant memory that pales in comparison with dozens of horror stories I’ve heard over the ensuing years.The justifiable shock and outrage following the allegations in the recently released New York Magazine article has been a grim reminder that there is still much work to do to make sure that ALL musicians are protected in our workplaces. No one can now claim ignorance of the problem. Meaningful change must be made.

The leadership and internal policies at Local 802 have changed since 2018 and this administration will be accelerating the pace of further change. We are taking swift and decisive action right now to make sure that members have a safe place to go, that we remain inclusive, and that you always feel that we have your back.

I hear you and I see you. The current leadership of Local 802 understands that the responsibility now falls on our shoulders to work on member education, violence prevention and culture change in our community. We will provide members with the best resources available, including setting up an anonymous hotline, discussion groups, and more.

We will be part of the solution. Please watch for more details in the June issue of Allegro.