Patriot, perhaps an over-invoked description, surely fits those who volunteer to serve the nation in uniform. But among them, it is humbling to consider the depth of devotion to a nation and an institution that, when it became so acute, failed to treat its own fairly. It is more humbling when that failure is acknowledged, which the Army did last week.
I joined the faculty at South Texas College of Law after retiring from a 22-year Army career, most of which was as a Judge Advocate General officer (military lawyer). When I arrived, a librarian showed me historic documents from the 1917 Camp Logan military trials. These courts-martial followed what the Army designated a mutiny by the men of the Black 3rd Battalion, 24th Infantry Regiment.
Sent to Houston by the Army to guard construction sites for training white conscripts being sent to Europe to fight Germany, these soldiers endured frequent incidents of racism from Houston police and white citizens. On the night of Aug. 23, they became convinced their encampment was to be set upon by a white mob. The Black soldiers disobeyed orders from inept white officers who abandoned the post, armed themselves, and marched out to establish defensive positions. A confrontation with local authorities and citizens ensued, resulting in numerous deaths.
Though vaguely aware of the incident and resulting trials, I was unaware of the extraordinary injustice these soldiers suffered. Nor could I have imagined that the Army would acknowledge this 106 years later.
Last week, at the Buffalo Soldiers National Museum, the Under Secretary of the Army Gabe Camarillo announced that all 110 convictions were overturned, and all the soldiers were posthumously awarded honorable discharges. This concluded a six-plus year effort I was privileged to be part of, helping organize a team of remarkably devoted advocates for clemency, restoring honor to these patriots.
That effort began in earnest when I asked my close friend and fellow retired Army JAG lieutenant colonel, Dru Brenner-Beck, to lead the clemency effort. Brenner-Beck, after reviewing thousands of pages of trial records from three general courts-martial, was stunned at the depth of the injustice. The first trial—the largest single trial in U.S. history—involved 63 defendants represented by one Army major, who was not a lawyer.
That trial, like the subsequent two mass trials, reflected a blatant inversion of the presumption of innocence, the most fundamental "process due" for any criminal defendant, even a soldier in 1917. Almost all defendants were convicted based on inconclusive evidence and the mere fact of their presence when crimes were committed. Unless a defendant could prove he wasn't there during the confrontations that night, he was guilty. And because the United States had declared war on Germany, a provision of military law allowed the commanding general who ordered the trials to approve convictions and sentences—including death sentences—with no legal review. Thirteen soldiers were hung within days of his approval, followed by six others following subsequent courts-martial. Not only the largest criminal trial in U.S. history, this was the largest mass execution in U.S. military history.
Dru Brenner-Beck's tireless research uncovered truly disturbing evidence that further illuminated the reality that these men never had a chance for a fair trial. Among this evidence is a letter from the chief prosecutor for the trials commending the major who represented the defendants for not corrupting the process with evidence of racial bias. Thus, in addition to the inherent conflict of interest in representing multiple defendants in each trial, it was clear he didn't even do so zealously.
Supported by countless advocates, researchers, law students, and John Haymond—a remarkably gifted historian (also a retired Army non-commissioned officer)—a clemency petition was submitted to the secretary of the Army. We were fortunate to have another close friend and former JAG colleague working as a senior civilian attorney for the Army general counsel. When he learned of this historically obscure injustice, he determined that the Army must "fix this." And it did.
When the under secretary announced the decision to a room full of descendants, Black veterans, currently-serving soldiers, and those who worked tirelessly for this outcome, I was overwhelmed, an outcome I did not anticipate. I tried to imagine how men who devoted their lives to serving an Army they loved must have felt when that Army failed to reciprocate the commitment to honor and justice. I tried to imagine how difficult it must have been for them, and indeed for all minority service-members, to endure demoralizing racial discrimination while serving a nation founded on a commitment to equality and equal justice.
Many have rightly recognized that the Army's decision restored the honor to the men of the 3/24 Infantry, honor earned in the face of immense challenges. Whether on the battlefields of Mexico and the Philippines, or the streets of Houston, or before the courts that convicted them, they faced adversity with the courage the Army expected of them. But it was really the U.S. Army whose honor was restored; it was restored by leaders who had the courage and integrity to acknowledge how the institution failed its own, learned from that error, and acted to assuage the injustice inflicted 106 years ago. Never have I been prouder to call myself a soldier.
Geoffrey S. Corn is George R. Killam, Jr. chair of Criminal Law and director of the Center for Military Law and Policy, Texas Tech University School of Law; distinguished fellow, JINSA Gemunder Center for Defense & Strategy; member, Center for Ethics and the Rule of Law Advisory Council; and a retired U.S. Army lieutenant colonel.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
Uncommon Knowledge
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