On a Wing and a Prayer

After accusations of intolerance, the U.S. Air Force Academy preaches religious respect. Critics call the effort a Band-Aid.

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By SARA LIPKA

Colorado Springs

On a February afternoon here at the U.S. Air Force Academy, a few dozen cadets trudge into a small, square room. The blinds are drawn, and at 12:05 p.m. an instructor dims the lights and turns on a video.

The freshmen, gawky in their fatigues and heavy boots, slouch in their seats and stare dutifully at the screen. An image of the academy's superintendent, Lt. Gen. John F. Regni, appears before them. "We must ... recognize and respect the right of all our uniformed and civilian members to hold the spiritual values and beliefs of their choice," he says.

Today's lesson is part of a new sensitivity-training program called Respecting the Spiritual Values of All People, or RSVP, which is now mandatory for all 8,500 students and faculty and staff members on this 19,000-acre campus. The academy started the program last year, after current and former cadets had complained that some evangelical-Christian officials were proselytizing and harassing people on the campus who did not share their beliefs.

An Air Force investigation last June found that while there was no overt religious discrimination at the academy, its leadership had failed to establish guidelines on appropriate forms of religious expression and to accommodate the religious practices of minority faiths.

Academy officials call RSVP a thoughtful response to the controversy that had roiled the campus. Thanks to RSVP, as well as other recent efforts, they say, the academy has become a more open, tolerant place. Some cadets agree that people here are more respectful of religious diversity — or, at least, that they are more careful about what they say.

Has the Air Force Academy straightened itself out?

Not quite, critics say. Some alumni and a former chaplain, as well as a divinity professor from Yale University who helped develop RSVP, describe the program as a Band-Aid solution designed to keep the academy out of trouble — not to promote meaningful dialogue. They also believe that new Air Force guidelines on religious expression give evangelical-Christian officers a wink and a nod to continue their proselytizing. The critics are urging Congress to declare religious proselytizing by military officials unconstitutional. Five alumni, of various faiths, have sued the Air Force for violating the separation of church and state.

Cadets and staff members now discuss religion gingerly, as if tasting hot soup. And officials insist that they have learned their lesson.

The vice superintendent, Maj. Gen. Irving L. Halter Jr., concedes that the academy had a problem. "There were people here a year and a half ago who, once this was really looked at, had clearly gone a little too far," he says. "We told the world about it, we didn't hide it, we said we need to fix it."

"We've done some solid things," says the former fighter pilot, "and we're on a journey to continue to make it better."

Beyond 'Team Jesus'

The trouble at the academy started two years ago. In December 2003, several dozen faculty and staff members signed an annual Christmas greeting in the campus newspaper, paid for by Christian Leadership Ministries, that said, "We believe that Jesus Christ is the only real hope for the world." The following February, cadets found fliers promoting The Passion of the Christ, the controversial film, on their place settings in the dining hall.

That summer, at basic training for new cadets, a staff chaplain urged those at a worship service to proselytize their bunkmates lest they "burn in the fires of hell," according to a report by observers from the Yale Divinity School. Also at basic training, cadets regularly held a march, which they dubbed the "heathen flight," for those who declined to attend an after-dinner service.

During that time, the academy's commandant, who is the highest-ranking cadet commander, frequently described himself as a born-again Christian. At public events, he led cadets in a Christian call-and-response, with a "J for Jesus" hand signal.

In November 2004, the head football coach, Fisher DeBerry, displayed a banner in the locker room reading in part, "I am a Christian first and last. ... I am a member of Team Jesus Christ."

But academy officials say things have changed. The long-running Christmas greeting has not appeared in the Academy Spirit for the past two years. A month after the Passion of the Christ fliers were distributed, Lt. Gen. John W. Rosa Jr., superintendent at the time, issued an official apology to all cadets. "The manner in which the communication was delivered was inappropriate," he wrote in an e-mail message. He also announced a new review policy for all fliers.

Chaplain Capt. Warren Watties, who led the service observed by the Yale team, has taken a post outside the academy, as has the vocal commandant, Brig. Gen. Johnny A. Weida. Mr. DeBerry still coaches football, but athletics-department officials say they removed his banner the day after it went up. And the academy has banned the term "heathen flight."

Maj. Phillip C. Guin, a Methodist chaplain, dismisses accusations of continued religious intolerance. "People that are criticizing us on the outside," he says, "don't know what we're doing on the inside."

Academy, Heal Thyself

In February's RSVP session, after the introduction from General Regni, cadets must write and share responses to the question: "What challenges might you face in your workplace as a result of being in the religious minority?" At this moment, all freshmen — called "doolies," from the Greek doulos, or slave — are split up by squadron, answering the same question in 36 rooms throughout the campus.

Maj. Elizabeth A. Orie, director of climate and culture at the academy, leads Squadron 19 through a discussion of why it is important to learn about religious diversity. "Obviously, for some of you, you could already be a minority here at the Air Force Academy," she says. Of the 4,422 cadets, 43 are Jewish, 21 are Buddhist, 13 are Muslim, and eight are Hindu. Major Orie asks the Christians, who form 92 percent of the cadet population, to imagine that they have just been deployed to another country, such as Iraq. There, she says, "you are, no kidding, part of the minority." What challenges, she asks, might that pose?

"You could have different values than the other people," says one cadet. Major Orie nods. "What issues might you confront?" she asks.

"Just ignorance of religious needs," says another cadet. "Just religious intolerance."

Major Orie clicks through PowerPoint slides displaying statistics on the religious populations of the academy, the Air Force, the United States, and the world.

"It's important for people to understand," she says, "that because a person may not believe in God or whatever your particular faith system is, that something is driving them, and we're all working toward a common interest."

After the session, a few cadets, whom the academy has selected to speak with a reporter, say the training has made them more respectful of other religions.

"You really do have to be careful about what you do and what you say," says Brett R. Lesser, a freshman who identifies himself as a nondenominational Protestant. "Offenses can be taken when you didn't ever intend for them to be."

Out on the main walkway, passing cadets share similar thoughts about the new program. "There are people who can be a bit extreme, but I think a lot of the training has kind of reduced that quite a bit," says Jonathan A. Lattimore, a junior who belongs to the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, one of the academy's various worship groups.

"People are more aware of other people's religions," he says, "and know where not to step, what not to say around people, or stuff not to say, period."

In addition to the RSVP program, the academy has taken steps to accommodate cadets' specific religious needs. Chaplains recruited two representatives from each of 11 faiths last fall to join an interfaith council that meets monthly.

Monica S. Herrera, a junior who is one of the group's Jewish members, says the council gives her a forum in which to discuss religious issues. There is, she says "definitely more of an awareness of the different faith groups that are here and the different things that are important to them."

Ms. Herrera adds that she has not encountered religious intolerance at the academy. "I have never been personally approached and told that I need to go be Christian," she says.

The council alerts academy officials to potential concerns. Last fall, for instance, it warned that the use of American Indian symbols on a "spirit banner" hanging in the dining hall was inappropriate.

The council also reviews lists of religious holidays, which the chaplains send to all cadet supervisors in an effort to accommodate cadets' schedules. Previously, cadets who sought to be excused for religious observances had to contend with more red tape — although they must still obtain approval through their chain of command.

"The onus for accommodation is on commanders and the institution" rather than on cadets, as it was before, says Major Guin, the Methodist chaplain. And commanders are responding, he says. Although cadets are not permitted to keep food in their rooms, officials granted Muslim cadets an exception during the month of Ramadan last year, so they could eat before sunrise in preparation for their daily fast. When Jewish cadets complained that maintenance workers were snacking in their kosher kitchen, officials gave the students special storage space and a refrigerator with a lock.

"There's an openness now that perhaps wasn't there in the past for cadets," says Major Guin. "They're willing to speak up."

One Academy, Under Guidelines

Michael L. (Mikey) Weinstein begs to differ. A 1977 alumnus of the academy who is Jewish, he does not buy the notion that the campus has become a more tolerant place. Last fall Mr. Weinstein, his older son, Casey, a 2004 graduate of the academy, and three other former cadets sued the Air Force.

They have accused the service of "adopting a formal and informal policy of evangelizing, proselytizing, and otherwise actively challenging the religions of its members," in violation of the Constitution's Establishment Clause. The suit is pending in a district court in New Mexico, where Mr. Weinstein lives.

The 14-year Air Force veteran sees little merit in the RSVP program, which he equates with "putting lipstick on a pig."

"Right now the spotlight is on the academy," he says, "so they're trying to be good little boys and girls."

He is not the program's only critic.

The Rev. Melinda Morton, a Lutheran minister who was a chaplain at the academy until last summer, helped design the RSVP curriculum with two other Christian chaplains. "We were all giving our lifeblood to this," she says, "and trying to do it in a very balanced, helpful, educationally inspiring way for the cadets and for the staff." Many nights the trio worked until the wee hours of the morning, she remembers, and their spouses would bring them hamburgers from Wendy's.

The chaplains regularly presented drafts to faculty and staff members for comment. "At every turn, we were confronted by a very hostile evangelical community," Ms. Morton says. "It became obvious to us that the goal of the academy was simply to kill this program, ... morph it into something worthless."

When the senior Air Force chaplain, Maj. Gen. Charles C. Baldwin, saw a version of the RSVP program, he asked her, "Why is it that in your presentation the Christians never win?"

Other officials who reviewed the curriculum cut out proposed discussions of proselytization, Ms. Morton says. The chaplains had also suggested including clips from Schindler's List and a film about American Indian spirituality, she says, but Air Force officials nixed those ideas, citing time as an issue. After multiple drafts, RSVP went from 90 minutes to 50 minutes.

Before conducting the first training sessions, Ms. Morton submitted the curriculum for instructors to Kristen J. Leslie, an assistant professor of pastoral care and counseling from the Yale Divinity School who had visited the academy.

"We didn't think it was a very powerful curriculum," says Ms. Leslie. "It was the academy's attempt to respond to some of the concerns, but it didn't make me sit up and go, Wow." The tone of the program, she says, seemed more careful than thoughtful.

Mr. Weinstein and Ms. Morton, as well as politicians including U.S. Rep. Steve Israel, a Democrat of New York, say the Air Force's new guidelines on the free exercise of religion hinder the academy's efforts to promote religious tolerance.

Last August, in response to the complaints about proselytizing at the academy, the Air Force drafted an initial set of guidelines that strictly limited even nonsectarian prayer in public settings and private discussions of religious faith between superiors and subordinates. Evangelical groups complained about the proposed rules, which they considered too restrictive. Seventy members of the U.S. House of Representatives and three senators sent a letter to President Bush calling the guidelines "censorship of Christian beliefs."

In response, the Air Force drafted new guidelines in February, which effectively lifted the earlier restrictions on public prayer and the discussion of religion. The new rules allow officers to talk about their faith with cadets "where it is reasonably clear that the discussions are personal, not official, and they can be reasonably free of the potential for, or appearance of, coercion."

Watchdog groups, including the Anti-Defamation League and Americans United for Separation of Church and State, say the new guidelines allow for proselytizing. But Christian groups applaud the move. "We were very pleased to see the emphasis on free exercise of religion," says Tom Minnery, vice president for public policy at Focus on the Family, a fundamentalist-Christian organization based in Colorado Springs.

"We feel," he says, "that people should be able to share their deepest-held beliefs with one another, ... and we do not believe that there is a restriction any longer."

Tight Lips

General Halter, the vice superintendent, does not see much difference between the two sets of guidelines. "Hey, you've got to be sensitive," he says. "That doesn't mean you have to clam up completely, but pretty much you've got to think about how something could be perceived before you say it."

But the academy does not make it easy for people on the campus to speak freely. The media-relations office must approve all interviews with cadets and staff members. A media-relations officer either observed or participated in the interviews The Chronicle conducted at the academy. The office denied The Chronicle's repeated requests to interview a Muslim cadet.

During an interview in the Jewish Chapel, the academy's rabbi, Chaplain Maj. Gary J. Davidson, glances repeatedly at the chief of media relations, Meade C. Warthen, and speaks in slow, deliberate sentences.

"There is a heightened awareness here at the academy about religious respect and tolerance," he says. "They're still striving and will strive to fix this problem the best they can."

The rabbi looks uneasy when the conversation turns to the new guidelines.

"Don't worry," Mr. Warthen tells him. "If you start getting into an area that's way out of your league, I'll let you know."

Officials here are more comfortable discussing their plans for further sensitivity training. The RSVP program is scheduled to continue into next year, with at least three more sessions, the first of which will explore the tenets of various world religions.

Next fall one of two imams in the Air Force will become the academy's first Muslim chaplain. Also in the fall, the Special Program in Religious Education, in which leaders of local congregations visit the academy on Monday nights to meet with cadets, is scheduled to include for the first time a representative of the Colorado Springs Freethinkers, an atheist group.

Data from the annual "cadet climate" survey, conducted in November, will soon offer officials more insight into how — or if — the academy's religious atmosphere is improving.

"We don't want to declare victory too fast," says General Halter. "There's a zero-percent chance we got it 100 percent right the first time."