THE INVISIBLE WAR: RAPE IN THE MILITARY

A San Diego Navy vet speaks out in a deeply important and shattering new film

by Matthew Fleischer

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“When you get raped in civilian life, you go to a court that’s independent and unbiased to seek justice and recourse. When you get raped in the military, your only recourse is to go to your commander, who knows you and likely knows your rapist.”
–Amy Ziering, producer, “The Invisible War”

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Navy veteran Allison Gill says she was violated three times during her military service in the early aughts: once when she was raped by a fellow service member, once when she tried to report the crime and was told to go away, and a third time when she tried to get the Veterans Benefits Administration to acknowledge her sexual assault-based PTSD and authorize treatment—only to denied and stonewalled for three years and counting.

“To go to countless therapy sessions and truly get to the place where you believe that this is not your fault, and then to be denied and denied and denied,” she tells WitnessLA, “it sets you back in your therapy. That’s a devastating thing for a survivor, to tell them ‘we don’t believe you.’”

Gill is one of the dozens of military victims of sexual assault featured in the new documentary The Invisible War, which opens nationwide Friday. The film offers an astounding portrait of military veterans living with the trauma of sexual assault—perpetrated by their brothers in arms. This epidemic of rape in the military is seemingly impossibly widespread. Since World War 2, nearly 500,000 military men and women have reported being raped during their service. 3,000 military on military rapes were reported in 2011 alone—and authorities think the actual number could be six times higher.

Almost worse than the act itself is the treatment these victims receive from military authorities when they attempt to report these crimes. I ran into Gill at a recent screening of The Invisible War at the Los Angeles Film Festival, and we spoke about the film and about her ordeal. “When I went to report my sexual assault to military police, I was told I was silly,” Gill remembers. “They said I’d been drinking, I’d put myself in a bad situation and I should ‘suck it up.’ They threatened that if I filed a report and it was found to be false, I could be dishonorably discharged. They talked me out of it.”

According to the film, 80 percent of military rape victims do the exact same thing—stay quiet.

“The thing that hits me like a ton of bricks was the barrage of women in the film who said the exact same thing as I did,” says Gill. “I’ve never met anyone that went through what I went through. It blew me away that everyone’s story is the same.”

That story too often includes Gill’s problem of getting the Veterans Benefits Administration to acknowledge she suffers from sexual assault-induced PTSD from her attack. She first filed her claim 2009, was denied, she appealed, was denied again, and is still waiting for the results of her second appeal three years later.

Gill happens to be graded 30 percent disabled by the VBA, based on other injuries she suffered during her service, which entitles her to free medical care at the VA. But because the VBA refuses to acknowledge that sexual assault is the cause of her PTSD, she has to pay for any meds her therapist prescribes for treatment out of pocket.

It could be much worse. Military sexual assault survivors who have their claims denied, are not graded 30 percent disabled or more, or do not meet the minimum service threshholds, do not receive free care from the VA at all. They are subject to co-pays and other fees for PTSD treatment and other basic medical care.

Gill is very clear in distinguishing between the difficulties she’s had with the Veterans Benefits Association and the actual VA hospital system. Despite her ordeal, after getting out of the Navy, she wound up working for the VA in San Diego, a job that she loves.

“I’m a pretty patriotic person,” she says. “I wanted to serve my government in some capacity. I wanted to give back something. It made sense to me to give back to my country and serve veterans at the same time.”

Gill has found one unusual form of therapy to heal the mental wounds the VBA declines to acknowledge: standup comedy. The local press in her adopted hometown of San Diego has dubbed Gill the city’s “funniest woman.” (Incidentally, if you’re too busy to drive south to check out her act, she’s going to be at the Hollywood Improv on Friday August 10th.)

“The way I cope is I fill my life up with stuff to do, so I don’t have time to sit and think,” she says. “After my service I went back to school to get my master’s degree. I go to yoga 6 times a week. I’m always doing something, or on my way back from doing something. Some people medicate with drugs or alcohol. I medicate with having shit to do.”

HOMELESS VETERANS REINTEGRATION PROGRAM HELPS VETS STRUGGLING TO TRANSITION TO CIVILIAN LIFE & WORK

Nearly one in four 18- to 24-year-old veterans were out of work in May, according to Bureau of Labor Statistics, as So Cal service providers scramble for funds to help

by Matthew Fleischer

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This past Tuesday, U.S. Secretary of Labor Hilda Solis announced that her department was awarding 64 grants, totaling $15 million dollars, to help provide job training to homeless veterans across America, under the banner of the Homeless Veterans Reintegration Program. “No veteran should have to go to sleep in their car or under a bridge,” she said to a group reporters on Tuesday morning, estimating that these grants would help 8,600 homeless veterans find work.

Seven providers in LA, Orange and San Diego Counties were given grants ranging from $277,796 to $300,000. The news was met with a huge sigh of relief from Southland HVRP service providers, who were sweating out the grant process, given the current political climate of austerity fetishism.

“The English call it ‘squeaky-bum time,’” Karl Calhoun of Volunteers of America, Los Angeles says of the hyper-tense moments before his organization received an official notice of renewal on its previous three-year $300,000 grant “We’ve been renewed a few times, but you can’t take these things for granted. Not in this economic climate.”

VoALA gives job training and placement assistance to 150-200 homeless veterans and veterans under “imminent threat of homelessness” annually. Those under “imminent threat” weren’t always eligible for HVRP services, but Calhoun tells me the feds have come around in recognizing the necessity. “It’s absurd to wait until a guy is on the street to provide him services.”

Calhoun cites the recent example of a VoALA client who lost a painting job after his union contract expired. The vet looked for work for months with no success, and was about to be evicted from his apartment when he finally came to VoALA looking for job placement help. VoALA was able to find him work painting massive storage drums at an oil refinery—dangerous work perfectly fitted for the adrenaline-accustomed veteran.

“He was close to being on the street. Now he makes $37 an hour,” says Calhoun. “Suffice it to say, he can pay his rent.”

Success stories like this can be difficult to come by. While the majority of military vets are diligent, hard-working, and highly skilled, their training frequently doesn’t do them much good in civilian life.

“They have discipline that far exceeds what civilians bring to the table,” says Calhoun. “But the skills they’ve learned often don’t translate to the commercial world. Knowing how to fix a tank, for instance, under severe time restraints in a hostile environment, is impressive, but not necessarily useful to potential employers when vets are applying for jobs back home.”

That gap between military training and commercial usefulness is exactly where these grants are aimed. The number of vets who need help in bridging that gap it daunting, particularly in the Southland.

According to statistics from the California Department of Veterans Affairs, 8.7 percent of all veterans in the United States live in California, with the vast majority–nearly a million–in the Southern California. As of 2010 there were 346,000 veterans living in Los Angeles County and another 234,000 living in San Diego County alone, numbers that will increase as American service people continue to come home from Iraq and Afghanistan.

There’s no exact count for the number of homeless vets in the region, but the common estimate is that more than 8,000 Los Angeles veterans are homeless. Thousands more are at-risk, due to the effects of PTSD, traumatic brain injuries, as well as the current economic malaise that has swept over the country for the past four years.

“The recovery is sputtering at best,” says Calhoun. “I think employers are willing to hire, but they’re gun-shy. They’re waiting to see what happens with the election and the economy.”

But that doesn’t mean veterans are completely out of options.

“We’ve steered plenty of our clients towards the G.I. Bill,” says Calhoun. “They were living on the street. Once they learn how to access the provisions of the bill, they get the equivalent of around $15 an hour to complete their studies.”

A little bit of guidance can go a long way.

Photo by George Frey/Getty Images.