military | Leaving Pakistan

This gays in the military thing has been going on for a long time. Earlier this week, a defense bill that would repeal the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy got blocked in the Senate by a Republican-led filibuster. Back in the early 90s I was co-publishing a gay magazine called Metroline with my friend and colleague Bill Mann. Anytime something gay would hit the mainstream news, they would call us for a comment.

“It’s the Gayle King Show,” Bill said, the phone pressed to his ear. “They want one of us to go on the show this afternoon to talk about gays in the military.” Gayle King, also known as Oprah’s BFF, was a prominent African-American news anchor who had her own show in Connecticut.

Bill didn’t want to do the show. “I didn’t shave today,” he said. “And look at what I’m wearing. I can’t go on television like this. You do it,” he said to me.

“Me?” I responded. “I don’t think I know enough about gays in the military to go on television.” I was in my early twenties and was not an expert on much, let alone the military. But Gayle King was Oprah’s best friend, and going on her show would be good visibility for our rinky dink publication.

We had editorialized about the issue in the magazine, calling for lifting the ban. Though we were careful not to liken it to the ban on African-Americans in the late 1940s and early 50s when the military balked at integrating African-Americans into the armed forces, a comparison made by many gay and lesbian leaders.

White soldiers will not shower or sleep in the same barracks as African-Americans. Mixing African-American troops with whites will weaken a unit’s cohesion. “These are arguments that opponents of integration were making 50 years ago,” gay leaders would say. “Substitute ‘gay’ and ‘lesbian’ and it’s the same arguments being heard today. The common denominator is prejudice.” That may be true, but these were leaders who had done little, if anything at all, to build alliances with African-American communities. Not to mention that there are many differences and nuances. African-Americans have a history of slavery in this country, after all. Bill and I understood that discrimination against African-Americans was not the same as discrimination against gays and lesbians, so we were careful not to make this comparison.

When I got to the set in downtown Hartford. I took the elevator to the basement where the show was filmed. On a commercial break, before the gays in the military segment began, Gayle motioned for me to come over and put me at ease. Without mentioning that she was preparing me for the show, she casually asked me questions about the issues.

And then the real thing started. Live. “Joining us today is Surina Khan, co-publisher of Metroline, a local gay and lesbian newspaper,” Gayle said as the cameras panned over to me. I was trying not to look like a nervous wreck.

Gayle was gentle. “Tell us why you think the ban on gays in the military should be lifted,” she said.

I went on and on about equal rights this and equal rights that. “We deserve the same rights as everyone else,” I said.

As the interview progressed I got more nervous. Gayle was calmly talking about how there were many people who opposed lifting the ban.

“What do you say to people who are concerned about unit cohesion?” She asked. I was sure I did not have any idea what she was talking about.

“Units will be cohesive,” I responded as if I knew what I was saying.

“Well,” Gayle said, looking slightly puzzled. “There are soldiers who do not want to serve with gay service members and military officials are concerned that they would not perform properly if forced to do so.” I think she was trying to explain unit cohesion to me.

I had no idea how to respond. And then things really began to devolve. “Well what about the Blacks, Gayle? What about the Blacks?” I couldn’t even pull myself together to clearly articulate the comparison, which I knew I should not be making, to the integration of African-Americans into the military. I kept repeating, “What about the Blacks?” as Gayle’s head tilted to one side and she looked at me quizzically. Gayle cut to a commercial, and I sat there, thinking I cannot believe I just said that, on live television. To a Black woman.

When I got back to the office, Bill asked how the show went.

“Don’t Ask,” I said as I considered crawling into a filing cabinet.

My father came from a long lineage of military men. They held distinguished titles like Air Marshall and Brigadier General. In the early 1960s, before I was born, my father retired from the Pakistani Navy and went into the chicken business. After that he was still known as Commander Afzal Khan or Commander Saab.

My father with his brothers and my grandfather.

My grandfather is seated in the middle, the only one of the grown men not dressed in military attire and my father is standing directly behind him. The super-imposed photo on the upper left is another brother, Asif, who died in a plane crash while serving in the Air Force, before this photo was taken.

My parents were married in 1954. My mother, Sunnaiya, or Sunny as she was called affectionately by family and friends, was just eighteen years old, my father about nine years older. Shortly after their wedding, my father was posted to the UK. And my mother, who came from a wealthy family, had to adjust to living on a military salary. She wrote in a letter to a friend in November 1954, “Can you imagine I do all the sheets and towels by hand? I cook, clean, wash, iron, and in short am a drudge of all work and yet don’t seem to mind in the least as Afzal’s image is always in my mind and his love in my thoughts.”

The love between Sunny and Afzal was strong, but I’m sure living on a tight budget had its challenges, especially for a woman who was used to every luxury. At one point while they were living in England, as my mother once recounted to me, she said to my father, “I wish we could have chicken for dinner just one night.” And he replied, “If you wanted chicken for dinner, you should have married someone else.”

Hearing this story growing up, I always thought it was romantic that my father chose to go into the chicken business. His business choice probably had more to do with the fact that Pakistan was a new nation, not even twenty years old, and there were many opportunities in building the agricultural infrastructure of the country, but I think it’s romantic that he chose chickens.

Here’s a photo of my parents as a young married couple.

I think it was taken when they were living in the UK.

In any case, he purchased a subsidiary of Arbor Acres Inc., which was headquartered in Glastonbury, Connecticut and went on to become a very successful businessman until he became ill and passed away in the late 1980s. Now the family company is basically defunct, although my eldest brother continues to benefit financially from my parents estate. He’s the only one among us who got anything from their estate, refusing to share it with his siblings, but that’s another story.

Here’s my father with Pakistani President Ayub Khan, touring the Arbor Acres farms. Ayub Khan was the first military ruler of Pakistan, from 1958-1969.

In its heyday, the motto for Arbor Acres was “Chicks is Our Business.” I wonder if I took this very literally on some kind of subconsious level. For one thing there is this issue that I am a lesbian, and now I work in women’s philanthropy. Chicks is my business too.