April/May

Learning from Sweden
Guy Dauncy

Designing the Next Golden Age
Jay Harman

Winning the Oil Endgame
Amory Lovins

America Beyone Capitalism
Gar Alperovitz

Troubled Water
Compiled by Anita Roddick & Brooke Shelby Biggs

Should We Buy Bottled Water?
Molly Young Brown

Water Can Change Your Life
Book Review of The True Power of Water by Masaru Emoto

A Point of Clarity Begins a Conscientious Objector's Journey
Amy Pincus Merwin & Steven Merwin

Help your Peace-loving Child Avoid the Draft
Helen James

Reframing Peace
Eric Sirotkin

From Hurt to Heart
Eryn Kalish

The Movie Mystic
Stephen Simon

Savoring Arts Education
Martha Phelps Cotton

Tools For Intuitive Mastery
Dawn Lianna Overeem

Life is a Fire
John Darling

Cosmic Calendar
Salina Rain

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Help Your Peace-loving Child Avoid The Draft

“It isn’t enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn’t enough to believe in it. One must work at it.” - Eleanor Roosevelt

By Helen James

On the eve of the Gulf War, while I was marching for peace with hundreds of other protestors, I spotted a familiar mop of shiny red hair down low in the crowd. Sure enough, it belonged to my then nine-year-old son, Adam. I hadn’t encouraged him to take up the politics of adulthood, but he and his buddies had convinced another parent to take them to the rally. We joined forces and I walked and talked with them as they struggled to understand the deeper meaning of that day.
As I stopped to take a photo of the boys with their handmade peace signs, a tired, frail looking man, covered with war medals and peace buttons, began limping toward me as fast as he could manage. He’d broken ranks from his group, Vietnam Vets Against The War, and had a look on his face I will never forget. He came close and embraced me, pulled back, stared into my eyes and said, “If my mother had done that for me, I wouldn’t be like this now.”

We shared a moment of silence, and then parted with a handshake.

The vet was right—my son was not being raised to be a soldier, and someday Adam might need to show his draft board the photo we’d just taken to prove that fact. While this seemed only remotely possible and a long way off, I reminded myself some parents start college funds when a child is born, and so I tucked the photo away.

Adam is now twenty-two. The photo resides in a cardboard file box along with about two-inches of paperwork, clippings, and family history all documenting how he was raised as a conscientious objector—a “CO.”

We kept adding to his CO file through easier times even when it seemed completely unnecessary. For a while a combination of “smart weapons,” smaller wars, high unemployment, long enlistment, the military’s intensive multi-billion dollar recruiting efforts and claims for educational and job-training benefits created what most considered a permanent solution to providing a shrinking military with ample volunteers.

Then came the War on Terror.

Now politicians of both parties warn us this war will last a lifetime. Troops are being commanded to serve more time than they signed up for, and according to some, army recruiting numbers are down. It’s a fact of life—nations reinstate conscription whenever they need soldiers. Most experts agree opening a second war front means the draft is back. Women could be asked to serve, and neither Canada nor college will provide refuge as they have in the past. Some politicians are calling for compulsory national service for all young people, 18 through 26—a noble sounding enterprise which is often a prelude to military conscription.

Ironically, at the very same time America is also telling children “Use words, not fists!” Public schools now routinely teach conflict resolution and quality children’s television encourages kids to “talk it out.” Especially after the tragedy of Columbine, children are being raised with the message that violence is not a solution. But then will they be drafted and taught to kill?

This could already be creating internal crisis for some in the military. Who knows how many soldiers may find it difficult to rationalize how they were raised with what they are now being told to do; we do know more and more soldiers are refusing to fight and would rather face court marshals. Many young civilian men are feeling a deeply disturbing inner conflict and some are turning toward conscientious objection. National CO organizations report ever increasing numbers of calls coming in asking, for example, how to register for the draft as an objector. (Current advice is to write in ink “I am a Conscientious Objector to war in any form” across the middle of the registration form, and then make and keep a copy before turning it in.)

If the draft is reinstated, under existing regulations a young conscript wanting to claim CO status will need to prove he has a “sincere” objection to all wars. He will have to show what he believes and why, how he came to believe it, and how his actions prove he practices what he believes. His belief, according to the law, has to be religious, moral, or ethical, not political or pragmatic. It is unnecessary to prove church attendance, affiliation, or a belief in God.

Even though the law requires objection to all wars, it is not necessary for a CO to know what he might have done in the past or would do in the future. This interpretation of the law protects CO’s from hypothetical questions like, “What would you have done in 1942?” or “What you do if someone attacked your family?”

Nor do CO’s have to be pacifists. J.E. McNeil, the Executive Director of Washington based inter-faith peace organization, CCW, sometimes counsels CO’s who are also policemen, avid game hunters, former gang members, or involved in martial arts. She says, “A prize fighter could be a conscientious objector. Mohammed Ali was both. There are CO’s in favor of the death penalty. What makes a CO is his deep opposition to war.”
It is, however, necessary for a CO to prove his sincerity, and that’s where documentation comes in. Conscripts may get as few as ten days to put together supporting evidence for a CO claim. Should my son ever want to prove the depth of his convictions, he’ll already have a scrapbook full of documents tracing his beliefs over his entire life. Here’s what’s goes into a CO file:

A personal history and diary. In Adam’s case, his diary, or scrapbook, contains chronological entries including clippings, photos, and flyers from events we attended, such as Peace Day Parades. There are a few of his relevant drawings and paintings, lists of all the anti-war books we read together, plus those he read by himself as he grew older. There are lists with comments about movies or television shows which, one way or another, influenced him toward peace. There are a few of his poems about caring for animals or people in need. As his parent, I noted significant life patterns and changes, such as his becoming vegetarian, and also recorded how he helped others—when he joined a wildlife rescue society, and when he organized a 4H food drive. And the diary records ways he worked directly for peace, such as studying conflict resolution and marching in that Gulf War rally.

Letters which serve as character references and statements of family values. One summer when I picked Adam up from camp, his counselor reported that he’d happily hiked and participated in all the activities, but wouldn’t join in break-time war games. Wondering why children were even doing that in the first place, I asked her to put what she’d just told me in writing, explaining it was for his CO file. She wrote, “Adam let the other children know he was against war games and informed them death was a very real consequence of war. I found him to be very strong in his attitude to promote non-violence.” There is also a letter from his godmother explaining to him as a child why one may object to war. Adult family members’ letters to legislators, newspapers, etc. calling for peace are in the file too, plus personal statements of their own beliefs about war and peace, and their affiliations with peace organizations, etc.

Documents about religious or spiritual practices. In our case, we included evidence of church membership, records of church activities, awards, etc., and quotations from our religion’s views on war. Adam worked hard for his Cub Scout religious medal and it is, of course, kept in his file along with more mature teen-aged letters between Adam and our religious leaders. But remember, it is not necessary to have a formal religious practice or a belief in God to prove conscientious objection.

Anything which shows a child’s concern for life and the unity of nature. The documents in my son’s file aren’t so much “goody-goody” as they are examples of his healthy preference for life-affirming, not life-destructive pursuits. We also kept any and all evidence of his very autonomous thinking style and his not-so-mainstream upbringing.

Many of these documents have been folded, stapled (but not put in envelopes) and mailed back to our family in order to have them postmarked, thus proving their dates. Some draft counselors suggest actually notarizing significant records.
Adam’s file is neither a protest nor a political statement. It’s a record of his continuing, heartfelt hope for a peaceful world and a summary of his and his family’s beliefs. Keeping the file was never much of a focus or issue; it was kept in the background. But still it reminded us as parents to keep up age-appropriate discussions about the ethics of war and peace, violence and non-violence, and provided a continual opening to explore important moral issues while we worked together as a family for peace.
Adam’s own growing introspection and reading contributed as much or more than anything we adults ever offered him. He’s an adult now, and a fiercely independent one. I have no idea where his path will take him, and only he will determine what values he will hold tomorrow. But at least I know if his beliefs about war are put to the test of a draft board, he’ll be able to show them the complete record of one young man’s peaceful heart.

This article first appeared in Mothering Magazine Issue #128, Jan/Feb 2005.

Helen James is a photographer, retired teacher, mother and grandmother, who lives in Northern California.