Without Mental Reservation

 Without mental reservation?

unsolicited, (unpublished) article sent to NJEA Review magazine (New Jersey Education Association)

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“So, Mr. Fitz, should I join the navy or the air force?”

Melina’s question caught me off guard.  In the mock draft we did only two weeks prior, she chose, “Apply for conscientious objector (CO).”  She gave very sound and impassioned reasons.  When asked by her classmates what would happen if her CO application was denied, Melina answered, “Flee to Canada.”  In real life though, here she was asking which branch to join.  “Neither,” I wanted to say to her.  

*

In 2000, I signed up for the navy through the Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC).  I wanted to serve my country.  It seemed like an honorable path.  The uniforms, the parades, the “hometown hero” banners, the flyovers and returning troops at the ballgames, and the World War 2 movies all convinced me that the navy was for me.  My parents weren’t thrilled by the idea, however, and my own history teacher, Brother Ernest Miller, gently challenged me to interrogate what “serving my country” entailed and whether the military was the only way one could serve.  I could not articulate excellent answers, but Brother Ernest was a good teacher.  Neither he nor my parents ever told me, “Don’t go.”  They supported my decision.  

The attacks of September 11, in my sophomore year of college, confirmed my belief that the navy was my vocation.  I was commissioned an officer in 2004.  I took the oath “without mental reservation or purpose of evasion.”  I served tours on the USS Pelican in Bahrain, the USS Cardinal in South Texas, and the USS Cowpens in Japan.  

In the navy, I met some very good people, and I visited some very interesting places around the world.  Yet, soon into my service, I began to hate it.  My superiors were dehumanizing, the work was alienating, and the pace was grueling, especially when out to sea.  I was simultaneously stressed and bored, and also very lonely.  Much of this could have been expected when I signed up for the navy.  It wasn’t supposed to be easy.  The deeper cause of my struggle though, I came to understand, was that I no longer believed in the mission.  The 2003 US invasion of Iraq had precipitated a moral crisis.  I viewed that war as blatantly illegal, immoral, and unnecessary, and I worried, “What if I was sent to Iraq?  What if my ship were to fire Tomahawk cruise missiles at Baghdad?  Would I do the right thing?  Even if I was not directly involved, was I already part of the larger military machine?”  Military life is all-encompassing, and so I could not escape the moral crisis.  It weighed on me most waking hours.  In 2005, I painstakingly assembled an application for conscientious objector status, with outside counselor support and letters from mentors who could attest to my integrity, including Brother Ernest.   

I did not submit the application in the end.  To prove CO status, one has to show they’re against all war, and I was not entirely a pacifist.  More poignantly, submitting the CO application would have upended much of my life.  I feared potential ridicule and shame inside and outside the navy.  I was too scared to go through with it.  And so, I gritted my teeth and completed my obligation.   

*

We hope that our students follow their consciences, in both the urgent and the mundane, in civilian and in military life.  However, what must precede the conscience-following is conscience formation.  Educators can and should play a role in that process.  Ample opportunities exist--for social studies and other teachers, educational support professionals, counselors and administrators--to nudge our students into this necessary introspection.   

My students especially enjoy the mock draft, which can be done in one day or multiple days.  I typically do it with Vietnam, but teachers can do it alongside any real or even made up war.  (For the sake of inclusion, we make the draft open to all genders, sexual orientations, and ability levels.)   Using an improvised lottery, we draft three-quarters of the class, and those students have to decide: report for general military duty, with the potential for combat; apply for non-combat military roles, but if denied, you could get sent to general duty; flee to Canada; stay, refuse, and face possible arrest and up to five years in prison; declare CO status; or injure yourself.  Students spend time reflecting on and writing their decisions.  Those who are not drafted work together to develop difficult questions for each group.  Then the draftees report for duty or to another station (e.g. prison) around the room.  They share their reflections about their decisions, and then the non-drafted ask their questions:      

“What happens if you are given an unlawful order?

“Can you even find Vietnam on a map?  Do you even know who Ho Chi Minh is?”

“Why flee to Canada when your country needs you?”

“As a draft dodger, are you willing to have a felony conviction on your permanent record?” 

“If you’re against all war, what would you have done about Hitler?”

“Won’t this weigh on your conscience when you’re older?”

 We give time and space for the draftees to share.  Initially, no one is allowed to argue.  We respect the individual answers.  Only after we let those answers hang in the air for a bit do we open it up for the groups to cross-question each other.

“Why are you shirking your duty while I’m over here ready to fight for our country?”

“Can you tell us what ‘fighting for your country’ actually means?”

In addition to the draft, I try to give my students regular, shorter opportunities to “enter the story” alongside well-known and lesser known characters throughout US history: e.g. the 54th Massachusetts regiment in the Civil War; David Fagen in the Spanish-American War; Ray Bridgman in World War I; Smedley Butler in the gunboat wars; Marek Edelman or Franz Jagerstatter in World War 2; Tim O’Brien, Susan Schnall, or the GI resisters in the film Sir! No Sir! in Vietnam; Tomas Young or Chelsea Manning in Iraq.  Not all of these were war resisters, but each faced complicated individual moral choices inside specific political contexts.  

“What if David Fagen confided in you that he was thinking of defecting?  What advice would you give him?....  Would you snitch on him?”

“Would you join Susan Schnall and go to the protest in your uniform too?”  

I often place this type of reflection alongside the more typical assignments, and I have found student engagement to be higher on both when they’re able to regularly enter the story.  In these scenarios, there are no wrong answers, as long as they’re authentic.  

*

At the end of February, this year, the US began bombing Iran.  In addition to the lives snuffed out and the geopolitical fallout, the Center on Conscience and War reports that their GI rights hotline has been ringing nonstop since this war began, with servicemembers trying to learn their rights, in case they need to disobey unlawful orders or get out entirely.   

*

At the Catholic prep school I went to, military recruiters did not visit.  They are, however, very active in Passaic, the lower-income district where I teach.  For many of our students, college is unaffordable, and the military offers a steady job and benefits.  The marines put on pull-up contests and offer free swag.  The national guard drives humvees at the homecoming game, and the army embeds into video games.  The navy promises money for college, and the air force makes half-assurances that you probably won’t be placed in harm’s way.   I served with past and future recruiters.  They were fine individuals, but their job is to get enlistees.  

The military and potential war is a serious undertaking--perhaps the most serious of undertakings--and in my estimation, we don’t treat it seriously.  We resort to an easy, reflexive patriotism that does not ask many questions.  What does it mean to serve one’s country?  Is that our highest or only calling?  And, how do you define a country?  Is it the geopolitical interests of the ruling class or the working people who live there, their water, their sacred places, their health, their schools, and their families and dreams?  Our students need the time, space, and tools to think critically, to feel deeply, and to define and keep refining their authentic selves.  More important than any state standard or any memorized battle or war hero, we want our students to explore and be their authentic selves.

“If I had to do it all over again, Melina, I personally wouldn’t.  But, you have to make your decision.  Make sure that is informed.  And, we will support you.”