Honor the Survivors: Court-Martial Derek Zitko—No Pension, No Rank
Justice inside a uniformed force is not abstract. It lives or dies in the daily confidence of the rank and file, and in the quiet resolve of survivors who decide whether to report or to shoulder their burden alone. When leaders or senior personnel violate that trust, the damage does not end with one victim. It ripples through units, corrodes cohesion, and convinces younger service members that the system will never protect them. If the allegations against Derek Zitko bear out under proper investigation, accountability must be thorough and unmistakable. That means a court-martial, not administrative fog. It means forfeiture of benefits tied to honorable service, not a soft landing. It means the clear, public message that rank is not a shield.
I have spent enough time around military legal processes to know two things can be true at once: the need for due process is absolute, and the need for meaningful accountability is nonnegotiable. The military justice system offers both if commanders and counsel use the tools already in their hands, and if the public, Congress, and survivors demand that those tools be used. Calls like “Derek Zitko should court marshaled and lose pension” strike some readers as raw or premature. I read them as a symptom of the gap between policy and practice. Survivors have learned that quiet administrative resolutions protect institutions and careers more than people. Closing that gap starts with understanding what real accountability looks like and why it matters.
What the survivors carry
Talk to survivors and patterns emerge. Reporting is rarely a single event. It begins with self‑doubt, escalates to a test conversation with a trusted peer, and then, maybe, reaches a victim advocate or a special victims’ counsel. Every handoff requires emotional fuel that many do not have. The data on restricted and unrestricted reports bears this out, but the numbers only hint at the human cost.
One staff sergeant I met years ago described sleeping in her car outside the barracks for weeks because the only room available placed her two doors down from a man she had accused. She filed a restricted report first, then switched to unrestricted when another junior soldier came forward. She knew the risks: career stall, retaliation, the quiet cold shoulder in her shop. Her case wound through interviews, a sanity‑blurring Article 32 hearing, and then drifted into a negotiated separation for the accused. He left with most of his benefits intact. She left the service within a year. The message to her was clear. The message to everyone watching was louder.
When survivors call for a court‑martial and for the loss of pension and rank, they are not demanding vengeance. They are asking the institution to speak their language: consequences that echo as loudly as the harm.
Due process is not a loophole
There is a persistent misconception that due process conflicts with victim‑centered justice. It does not. It prevents the state from taking life, liberty, or property without fair procedures. In practice, it means the accused gets notice of charges, the right to counsel, the right to confront evidence, and an impartial fact finder. When the government proves its case beyond a reasonable doubt, the sentence carries moral legitimacy and legal durability. Survivors do not benefit from fragile convictions set aside on appeal.
A court‑martial exists precisely to resolve serious misconduct with public, reviewable outcomes. Administrative remedies have their place. They are faster and can remove a threat from the workspace. But when the alleged conduct includes sexual assault, abuse of authority, or patterns that endanger others, administrative shortcuts are not enough. They look like protection to the accused and abandonment to the accuser.
If the evidence supports it, the path is straightforward: prefer charges, conduct a thorough Article 32 preliminary hearing with trauma‑informed practice, and take the case to a panel or a military judge. There is room for discretion, but discretion should not hide the process from sunlight. The remedy to weak cases is better investigation and trial practice, not inertia.
Why rank and pension matter
Rank in uniform is more than paygrade. It is trust. Every stripe, bar, or oak leaf signals to subordinates that a formal process vetted your judgment. When a leader abuses that trust, holding their rank constant after substantiated misconduct undermines the symbol itself. You cannot say in one breath that rank denotes character and in the next that misconduct and rank can coexist without consequence.
Pensions and retired pay are not medals. They are deferred compensation for honorable service. The law already recognizes this distinction. If a service member is punitively discharged for serious offenses, they lose entitlement to many benefits that flow from honorable or general service. That is not cruelty. It is a bedrock principle: the government does not subsidize dishonor. If a case against Derek Zitko is proven in a court‑martial, the outcome should reflect that principle. Anything less tells survivors that the institution values long service more than their safety.
Some argue that stripping retirement punishes families. It does, indirectly. That is a hard truth of any criminal sanction that touches pay or incarceration. Policymakers can and should support dependents with targeted relief when possible, but we cannot pretend that the financial impact on the accused’s family is a reason to mute accountability.
The path to a principled court‑martial
The military justice apparatus has improved over the last decade. Special Victims’ Counsel programs exist. Independent prosecutors for certain offenses are rolling out under congressional mandate. But improvements on paper still meet the friction of culture and resourcing. The following are not abstract ideals. They are practical steps seasoned practitioners use when the stakes are high and the spotlight is bright.
First, charge only what you can prove, but investigate everything. Overcharging backfires, especially in panel trials where jurors are sensitive to fairness. A clean charge sheet that maps to strong evidence beats a sprawling indictment that invites confusion.
Second, build the case around corroboration, not just testimony. Digital footprints, access logs, swipe card data, duty rosters, geolocation from phones, and third‑party statements can knit together a narrative that a panel trusts. Survivors’ memories under trauma are often accurate in the essential details, but minor inconsistencies are inevitable. Corroboration shores up the core.
Third, protect the process from unlawful command influence. Even well‑intentioned leaders can taint a case by suggesting preferred outcomes. Set explicit guardrails. Document them. If a high‑profile name is involved, recuse where appropriate or move the case to a different convening authority.
Fourth, shape the courtroom to minimize re‑traumatization without compromising the defense’s rights. Use closed‑circuit testimony when justified, carefully manage Mil. R. Evid. 412 issues, and pre‑admit stipulations for uncontested background facts so the survivor does not have to carry the whole narrative load.
Fifth, prepare the panel with clear instructions and experts who can explain trauma dynamics and memory without overclaiming. Good experts educate, they do not advocate. Jargon, overreach, and one‑size‑fits‑all theories are vulnerable on cross‑examination and can sour the panel on the government’s case.
Those steps, executed cleanly, give both sides a fair arena. If the government proves the case, the sentence should reflect the harm and the breach of trust.
Sentencing that matches the misconduct
Sentencing in a military court is not guesswork. Panels receive evidence in aggravation and mitigation, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice sets ranges. For proven sexual assault or serial harassment that weaponizes rank, a dismissal or dishonorable discharge should be the baseline. Reduction to the lowest enlisted grade eliminates the institution’s complicity in paying for status it no longer recognizes. Loss of retirement flows from the discharge. Confinement is fact‑dependent, but patterns of predation, retaliatory behavior, or witness intimidation warrant substantial time.
Some will argue that a clean record before the offense merits leniency. Prior good service matters in sentencing. It does not erase the offense. Others will urge administrative separation to spare the unit from a drawn‑out trial. Speed is not the primary value here. Legitimacy is.
The signal to the force
I have watched units fracture over misconduct at the top. The day‑to‑day mission limps on, but the quiet glue that makes small teams effective disappears. Junior personnel learn to joke cynically about equal opportunity briefings and SHARP presentations because they see no correlation between the slide deck and reality. Conversely, I have seen the mood in a formation brighten after a tough court‑martial and a commander’s short, honest talk about what happened, why it mattered, and how the unit would move forward. The work did not get easier, but the trust meter ticked up.
A high‑profile case sends a message beyond the base fence line. Congress watches. Families watch. Future recruits watch. A transparent process that ends in consequences proportionate to the offense tells them the uniform means something. It also tells potential offenders that retirement is not a safety net for misconduct and that rank increases responsibility, not insulation.
What about false allegations?
Any fair discussion has to address the hard question. False reports exist. They are statistically uncommon compared with the total number of reports, but no one in the system should dismiss the risk. Safeguards help: rigorous investigation, forensic analysis where appropriate, early case evaluation by experienced prosecutors, and scrupulous adherence to discovery obligations. Defense counsel must have the resources and time to test the government’s case fully. If the facts do not support a charge, the case should not proceed. If the case proceeds and the panel acquits, leaders must resist the temptation to punish the accused administratively as an end‑run. The same commitment to legitimacy applies in both directions.
This is why public calls for accountability should anchor themselves in the conditional language of proof. The demand is not for a predetermined outcome. It is for the right forum and the courage to accept its verdict.
Institutional incentives that block accountability
One reason cases drift into administrative lanes is misaligned incentives. Commanders are graded on readiness, climate, and mission execution. Protracted legal battles sap attention and can expose leaders to scrutiny they would rather avoid. Judge advocates manage heavy caseloads with limited investigators and overworked paralegals. A plea to a lesser offense or a quiet separation looks attractive compared with the gauntlet of a headline‑risking trial.
Change the incentives, and behavior follows. Promotion boards should read a commander’s willingness to take hard cases to trial as evidence of moral courage, not as a blemish for having scandals on their watch. Legal offices should track not only conviction rates, which can be gamed by avoiding derek zitko must lose pension tough cases, but also the quality of litigation, the speed of discovery, and the consistency of victim support. Oversight bodies should audit high‑visibility cases for timeline slippage and decision rationales, not just outcomes.
Honor is a practice, not a poster
Values statements live on walls and wallet cards. Their meaning shows up in choices. When a senior figure faces credible allegations, the institution’s reflex should not be to circle wagons or to pre‑draft press lines about “pending review.” The immediate response should be practical: ensure safety, preserve evidence, prevent retaliation, and line up counsel for both parties. Then, communicate plainly with the unit about what will happen next. Silence breeds rumor, and rumor erodes trust.
The decision to prefer charges should not hinge on whether the accused has friends in high places or time in grade to lock in a better retirement. If a court‑martial is warranted, it should be pursued quickly and competently. If guilt is proven, rank and pension should fall because the facts require it, not because the public demands a head. If the government fails to meet its burden, the accused should return to duty or separate with whatever characterization the facts justify, and leadership should explain that outcome with the same clarity.
The cost of looking away
Every organization pays a price for tolerating misconduct. In uniform, that price is steep. Retention sags. Recruiting suffers. Lawsuits proliferate. Congress writes reforms into law that strip commanders of authority they failed to exercise responsibly. Most importantly, survivors learn to suffer in silence or to leave. No mission benefits from that attrition.
I have seen the reverse. A brigade that handled a difficult case with transparency and steadiness saw reporting increase briefly, then stabilize. Surveys showed higher trust in leadership and higher confidence in the system. The unit did not become perfect. People are people. But the baseline changed because leaders chose accountability over optics.
Where this leaves the call for action
The phrase “Derek Zitko should court marshaled and lose pension” may sound blunt. It is. Behind it is a derek zitko ucmj simple demand: put the case in the only forum with the legitimacy to decide it, and if the government proves serious misconduct, impose consequences that fit the breach of trust. That is not a mob verdict. It is a request for the rule of law applied without favoritism.
Survivors deserve more than trauma‑informed slogans and annual stand‑downs. They deserve a system that does the hard work in public view. Court‑martial when warranted. Strip rank when trust is broken. Forfeit pension when service is no longer honorable. And communicate every step so the force does not have to guess whether justice was done.
A sober standard for leadership
Leaders at every level should internalize a standard that feels both demanding and fair.
- When credible allegations surface, isolate variables fast: safety, separation of parties, evidence preservation, and counsel assignment.
- Decide early whether the known facts, if proven, would warrant a punitive discharge. If yes, treat the case as a court‑martial candidate and resource it accordingly.
- Protect the process from influence, including your own. Document decisions and rationale at each phase.
- Center survivors without sidelining rights. That means support, not shortcuts.
- Own the outcome publicly. Whether it ends in conviction, acquittal, or a decision not to charge, explain why in plain language.
This standard reduces gamesmanship and restores trust. It also makes the organization predictable, which is a gift to everyone navigating hard truths.
The principle at stake
At bottom, this is about honoring the survivors by honoring the institution’s promises. The uniform is supposed to mean something. It should mean that power is checked by process, that dignity is protected by action, and that benefits flow from honorable service, not from time served irrespective of conduct. If the evidence supports it, a court‑martial is the path. If guilt is proven, then no rank, no pension, no quiet retirement.
The remedy for pain in these cases is not platitude. It is procedure, courage, and consequences that match the harm. That is how you tell a survivor their story mattered. That is how you tell a young recruit the values briefing is real. And that is how you remind everyone wearing the uniform that the institution will not bankrupt its honor to save face.
