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“On the strength of one link in the cable,” an old naval officer once wrote, “dependeth the might of the chain.” It’s a military maxim, but it contains plenty of truth for those of us in the news business, especially these days. In a time when the American citizenry’s distrust of media reaches ever new lows, we journalists know that any error of fact, any failure to do the due diligence on what we publish under our banner, is a gross disservice to the community we seek to entertain and enlighten. If people are to take us seriously, we must take seriously our power to tell and share true stories.
Last month, Task & Purpose published an essay by Peter Delacroix, the pseudonym of an author who claimed to be a Navy corpsman with 25 years in uniform, multiple downrange deployments, a Purple Heart, and a Combat Action Ribbon, who had “transitioned from female to male after retiring from the Navy.” The author’s story described, in disturbing detail, the sexual assaults and harassment he had suffered in the service. It ended with an impassioned and eloquent appeal for the military to do more to prevent and punish sexual assault: “Time, at long last,” it concluded, “to believe us.”
As a matter of course, when we receive an outside opinion contribution from a reader, the assigning editor takes a few steps to ensure that the author’s opinions, whatever they may be, are buttressed by facts. That process is especially critical when a piece makes serious factual allegations. For example, when a U.S.-born Army veteran and T&P; reader wrote us in early June to detail his harrowing run-in with Customs and Border Patrol agents in Vermont, we preinterviewed him, verified his service, and reached out to CBP for confirmation of the incident and a comment on it — which they provided us. The result of this process, in that case and many others, was an important contribution to our community’s conversation — and one we could stand behind.
That process was not followed with Delacroix's piece; it should have been. That process was also not formalized; it will be now.
On Wednesday, several weeks after Delacroix’s piece published, we were alerted to the possibility that he had not correctly represented himself as a veteran. It was then that we realized our process had not been followed; that should never have been a possibility.
As an individual and as a manager of a newsroom, I abhor transphobia, stalking, victim-shaming, and abuse. Much of the skepticism we saw expressed on social media over Delacroix’s story and identity was grounded in this bad-faith, hateful, and violative behavior. We cannot and will not endorse that behavior.
Nevertheless, we tell true stories, and so we set out to do what should have been done before publishing: We set out to establish the truth.
In these endeavors, I reached out to Delacroix Wednesday; he was not helpful. “I regret ever writing that essay, or having it published,” he wrote me, listing the personal abuse and threats he and family members had received after readers divined his personal contact info from details in the story we’d published. “Retract the story, do what you need to do, but I'm done with having to prove myself or have my privacy so thoroughly invaded.”
We followed up — was there nothing he could provide to substantiate enlistment, or deployments, or decorations, or duty stations? Could he really not share any service documents, deployment keepsakes, recruit training graduation photos, citations? We received no response.
We searched records, but could verify few details. We spoke with common members in the community, who fared no better. And we consulted veterans who specialize in stolen valor and tracked this case. We found no compelling or conclusive evidence to support any of Delacroix’s claims of service.
“I think finding the truth in this particular situation is important because this isn't simply someone who spent all their time during a deployment on a FOB, making up stories about getting into a firefight or something,” one veteran who independently investigated Delacroix’s claims told me. “This is someone who has made claims of receiving a Purple Heart.”
That lack of credibility has serious consequences. “Sexual assault in the military is a very, very serious issue,” the veteran added, “and all Delacroix has done is help undermine other people who have either been assaulted, or could possibly come forward in the future.”
As result of all of this, I cannot stand by this story. Task & Purpose is retracting it. I don’t do this lightly. But our commitment to our audience and to the truth requires it.
The USS Eagle 56 was only five miles off the coast of Maine when it exploded.
The World War I-era patrol boat split in half, then slipped beneath the surface of the North Atlantic. The Eagle 56 had been carrying a crew of 62. Rescuers pulled 13 survivors from the water that day. It was April 23, 1945, just two weeks before the surrender of Nazi Germany.
The U.S. Navy classified the disaster as an accident, attributing the sinking to a blast in the boiler room. In 2001, that ruling was changed to reflect the sinking as a deliberate act of war, perpetuated by German submarine U-853, a u-boat belonging to Nazi Germany's Kriegsmarine.
Still, despite the Navy's effort to clarify the circumstances surrounding the sinking, the Eagle 56 lingered as a mystery. The ship had sunk relatively close to shore, but efforts to locate the wreck were futile for decades. No one could find the Eagle 56, a small patrol ship that had come so close to making it back home.
Then, a group of friends and amateur divers decided to try to find the wreck in 2014. After years of fruitless dives and intensive research, New England-based Nomad Exploration Team successfully located the Eagle 56 in June 2018.
Business Insider spoke to two crew members — meat truck driver Jeff Goodreau and Massachusetts Department of Corrections officer Donald Ferrara — about their discovery.
These CIA officers were the first US boots on the ground in Afghanistan after 9/11 — and one was 'Marine Todd'
Before the 5th Special Forces Group's Operational Detachment Alpha 595, before 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment's MH-47E Chinooks, and before the Air Force combat controllers, there were a handful of CIA officers and a buttload of cash.
The last time the world saw Marine veteran Austin Tice, he had been taken prisoner by armed men. It was unclear whether his captors were jihadists or allies of Syrian dictator Bashar al Assad who were disguised as Islamic radicals.
Blindfolded and nearly out of breath, Tice spoke in Arabic before breaking into English:"Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus."
That was from a video posted on YouTube on Sept. 26, 2012, several weeks after Tice went missing near Damascus, Syria, while working as a freelance journalist for McClatchy and the Washington Post.
Now that Tice has been held in captivity for more than seven years, reporters who have regular access to President Donald Trump need to start asking him how he is going to bring Tice home.
"Shoots like a carbine, holsters like a pistol." That's the pitch behind the new Flux Defense system designed to transform the Army's brand new sidearm into a personal defense weapon.
Sometimes a joke just doesn't work.
For example, the Defense Visual Information Distribution Service tweeted and subsequently deleted a Gilbert Gottfried-esque misfire about the "Storm Area 51" movement.
On Friday DVIDSHUB tweeted a picture of a B-2 bomber on the flight line with a formation of airmen in front of it along with the caption: "The last thing #Millenials will see if they attempt the #area51raid today."