A Gay Cop's Struggle

By T.J. Wilham
Copyright © 2009 Albuquerque Journal
Journal Staff Writer
          Matt Wolke worked for one of the toughest police departments in the country for more than two years and was never ridiculed for being gay. Then he came to New Mexico.
        Four years ago, when Wolke and his partner, Pat Davis, were going through state law enforcement certification, someone in the class made a wisecrack about how there were too many gays in New Mexico.
        "I held my tongue and didn't say anything," he recalled. "I wanted to keep my job. I had never experienced anything like that before."
        Wolke, 30, is now one of the most respected members of the Bernalillo County Sheriff's Department. And he recently joined the "boys club of all boys clubs" — the SWAT team.
        Wolke says he is the first man in the department's history to be openly gay.
        "Matt is an excellent cop and a good person," Sheriff Darren White said. "That's all that matters. That's all that should matter."
        But it wasn't. Not at first. Gaining acceptance in his first few months on the job was anything but easy.

Coming to N.M.
        Wolke and Davis both worked for the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, D.C., when they decided to move to New Mexico in 2005.
        At the time, Wolke was working in a street crime unit getting shot at "almost daily" and had recently been run over by a suspect. Davis had been involved in a police action shooting. Somewhat burned out and wanting to move out West, Davis, 30, started looking for jobs.
        Davis was offered a position with the University of New Mexico Police Department as a lieutenant, and Wolke decided to go back to school.
        But Wolke's education lasted about two weeks. He applied for and was accepted to the Sheriff's Department.
        At UNM, Davis' homosexuality wasn't much of an issue, although two fellow officers filed a complaint with the Department of Workforce Solutions accusing the chief of favoring Davis and another officer because they were gay. Workforce Solutions ruled there was enough probable cause to warrant suit, but according to court records one had never been filed.
        Davis has since left the department and is now the spokesman for Bernalillo County District Attorney Kari Brandenburg.
        It was different for Wolke.
        The worst began one evening, when Davis began having seizures at home. When Wolke called 911, the dispatcher realized he was an officer and called Wolke's co-workers to the scene. When the other deputies arrived, Wolke said, they treated him like a domestic violence suspect.
        Things went downhill at the hospital. Hospital staff wouldn't let Wolke into Davis' room, even though he explained they were partners. They owned a house together, shared bank accounts and had rings.
        Wolke was forced to wait outside.
        While in the lobby, a drunken man became unruly and interfered with hospital staff, so Wolke pulled out his badge and tried to calm the man. Supervisors accused him of trying to "badge his way" through the emergency room to see Davis.
        The next day, Wolke was called to his captain's office and told he couldn't take sick time to care for Davis because the two weren't married. If he didn't show up for work, a lieutenant told him, he would be disciplined.
        "My eyes were welling up with tears," Wolke said. "Back on the East Coast, if you were a cop, it didn't matter who you were. You were taken care of.
        "The only thing I could think of saying was, 'Here is your badge, here is your gun, and I will see you in court.' In the rarest moment of maturity in my life, I didn't say anything. I knew I needed to process this and not act out on emotions. I said, 'Fine. I get it. I will be at work today.' "
        Wolke's captain sent out an e-mail to all supervisors informing them that Wolke was gay, to monitor his behavior and to notify the captain about any problems.
        Wolke acknowledged the e-mail could have been interpreted to mean if anyone harassed him to let the captain know.
        Still, he was mad. He was ready to quit, But he didn't. He never complained. Never hired an attorney. Instead, he simply kept his anger to himself and worked harder.
        "I figured if they pushed me out, it is going to be 10 times worse for the next (gay cop) that comes in," Wolke said. "Being as stubborn as I am, I decided to stay and prove them all wrong."
        White said he wasn't aware of how Wolke was treated at the time. Had he known, he said, "I would have put a stop to it immediately. I am very disappointed that he was treated that way."
        White said a department policy prohibits deputies from creating a hostile work environment for others. There is no policy that specifically addresses homosexuality.
        Over time, Wolke's hard work earned him respect. He was assigned to the department's gang unit and ultimately selected for a sniper's spot on the SWAT team.
        Even then, SWAT commanders asked him if he could handle the jokes, to which Wolke responded: "Only if you can take it back."
        "They laughed, and next thing you know, I was on the team," Wolke said.
Moving on
        Davis and Wolke met while on the force in D.C. Both have police backgrounds, but otherwise are very different.
        Wolke has a goatee, tattoos of sniper rifles and eagles. He never earned a college degree. Davis is finishing a master's degree in criminal justice, is very clean-cut, hates tattoos and wouldn't be caught dead on the SWAT team.
        But if they could marry legally, they say, they would.
        Davis and Wolke can't be on each other's health insurance, they don't get the tax benefits afforded to married couples, and if something were to happen to Wolke while on duty, Davis wouldn't get the survivor benefits a spouse would receive.
        "If Matt were to get shot in the line of duty, I am not guaranteed that I would be allowed to visit him in the hospital right now," Davis said. "Matt is on the SWAT team, and I worry constantly that something could happen to him."
        Things have changed since Wolke first joined the Sheriff's Department. Everyone knows he's gay and few care, he said.
        "As rough as an experience it was with those few supervisors when I first came on, I had more supervisors who over time gave me support, telling me it didn't matter if I was gay," Wolke said. "I have had plenty of people pull me aside and tell me I have changed their impression of what a gay person is.
        "We are not sexual deviants walking around, floating around the room. We are doctors, lawyers and cops."