To This Marine, Her Gender Is an Asset

I have always enjoyed the argument that I cannot be in the infantry because I have to squat to urinate. It's ridiculous that anyone would build a separate head in the field because a woman needs privacy. When a male Marine walks away from the platoon to relieve himself in the field, the others pointedly look the other way. I simply have better things to do than worry who might be watching me answer the call of nature.

What do I look like when I'm wearing a load-bearing vest, flak jacket, helmet, two canteens and my M-16? Well, I ain't the prom queen, that's for sure. But as much as the military asks that I give up my individuality to become part of the group, there is one thing I cannot leave behind: my gender. As much as I can work to be the best warrior I can be, I can't undo years of societal influence overnight. Certainly not by shaving my head.

Demi Moore tries to do just that in "G.I. Jane." No, going hairless doesn't cause Moore to grow the anatomy required to be a guy, but the gradual defeminization of her character underscores the common belief that women can't compete in the warrior arena unless they try to be men.

"G.I. Jane" is the fictitious story of Jordan O'Neil, the first woman to undergo Seal training, thanks to the political machinations of a Texas senator (Anne Bancroft). After the other female candidates are weeded out for being too butch -- too masculine -- and too athletic, the selection panel settles on O'Neil. A few days later orders are cut and O'Neil is sent out with little fanfare and no time to prepare physically or mentally for the brutal challenges of intense Seal training. But she outlasts many of her male counterparts. Her development as a warrior is guided by a D.H. Lawrence-spouting Master Chief Urgayle (Viggo Mortensen), who eventually gains a sort of respect for her, albeit in what seems like last-minute sentimentality. Her teammates give her the "Aw, do we have to have the girl on our team?" treatment, and dish out mildly crude remarks and gestures. Accurate enough. To give O'Neil credit, she blows most questionable behavior off as juvenile. The longer she hangs tough with the boys, the more they claim to respect her.

But to keep hanging, O'Neil divests herself of any trace of femininity -- and this is where "G.I. Jane" has a problem. I'm not saying O'Neil should have made time to be more feminine; on the battlefield and in training that is never a concern. That she had to expunge her feminine traits to gain acceptance, however, is the film's betrayal of the cause it seems to want to champion.

Other female film warriors haven't gone to such extremes. Capt. Karen Walden (Meg Ryan) in "Courage Under Fire" didn't require a radical haircut to gain respect. She was competent in the cockpit, professional and squared away. Although we never saw her doing reverse sit-ups in a steamy barracks, we knew she achieved a perfect score on her physical fitness test. Scenes with her daughter underscored that although she was part of the Army, she was also part of a family, a person as well as a leader. Even Sigourney Weaver's Ripley in "Aliens" was the resident expert. She gained respect from Marines for her willingness to lend a hand and to put her life on the line for them. Some of the fiercest fighting in the film occurs when she defends her "family." Walden and Ripley were plagued with doubt and fear but used common sense, ingenuity and intestinal fortitude to do what they had to do. The female warrior role taken to the extreme is Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor in "Terminator 2," who becomes a fighter specifically to protect her son. She's a bad-ass mother, but the pressure of knowing what she knows lands her in the nut house. That's where those Joan of Arc references the naval officers keep spouting in "G.I. Jane" would have been appropriate.

While "Jane" isn't the first film to show a woman kicking butt military style, it is the first to pretend to be serious and meaningful about it. Lt. Jordan O'Neil's competency as an intelligence officer is clear from the start. Her physical ability slowly improves. But to achieve that transformation into a warrior, she gives up her hair, her period and her privacy. It doesn't stop there. She drinks shots at the bar and smokes cigars at home to solidify in our minds that she's got the cojones for the job.

Scantily clad workout shots and a shower scene aren't enough to gloss over her new-found masculinity. And let's face it, when you find yourself giving your instructor three-word imperatives about what to do to your nonexistent genitalia, it may be time to reevaluate. That the film's rallying cry invokes the one male feature O'Neil can't easily acquire is not so much a tribute to willpower as it is a final insult.

When I went through Officer Candidates School, the instructor's recommendation was to retain my personality and my femininity. Why not embrace what makes us different and use it to our best advantage in the field? Skilled leaders and good warriors know their assets and use them to their best advantage. A leader's unique qualities can be the catalyst that wins the battle.

A pity, then, that the protagonist of "G.I. Jane" works so hard to play down her differences. They might just be her saving grace in a battle she has yet to fight.

Stephanie Murdock, who is on independent duty at Westover Air Force Reserve Base near Springfield, Mass., has been in the Marine Corps for three years.