This is one of two personal essays the INDY is publishing in light of the war in Iran by local writers. Read the other, “When America Bombs Little Girls” by Desmera Gatewood, here.
I remember getting two things in the mail on my 18th birthday: a free razor from the Gillette corporation and a letter on official U.S. government letterhead compelling me to register for the military draft. Commerce and war, this was my inheritance as a newly minted American man.
It was 2008, the Iraq War was in full swing, and I chose to register as a conscientious objector. I believe more young men should understand this right to refuse to engage in acts of government-sponsored violence against other human beings.
Federal law requires all males to register with the Selective Service System upon reaching their 18th birthday. To refuse to register, I read in my letter, is “a Federal crime punishable by a fine of up to $250,000 and up to 5 years imprisonment, or both.” The form attached to the letter gave me two options: to register for the draft or to declare my exemption status (I am female; I am currently on active duty; I am confined in a penal institution). In reality there is a third option: to register as a conscientious objector (CO), one who refuses to bear arms on moral grounds. Although mandatory military conscription, with its lotteries and draft cards, may be a relic of 20th-century conflict, seeking CO status remains the only process allowing a young person to formally declare their opposition to war.
Growing up in a Quaker meeting, my exposure to acts of civil disobedience started early. I came of age in the 21st-century post-9/11 frenzy of anti-Muslim hatred and jingoistic propaganda, an era future historians will now certainly extend through the present day. Older men in my Quaker meeting who had registered as conscientious objectors during World WarII and the Vietnam War taught me the process of registering as a CO. In this new era of active American warfare, I can pass along the knowledge to other young men who are interested. Religious affiliation is not a requirement, and CO status is available to atheists and members of all the world’s religions and denominations.
The process is simple and satisfyingly low-tech. First you find the checkboxes for “Exemption Statements” at the bottom of your form, and beneath them you draw and check your own box. Beside it you write your own statement of conscience. Mine said, “I am a conscientious objector, lifelong Quaker, and pacifist.” (I also enclosed an essay on how I arrived at my pacifism.) And then—this is the fun part—you photocopy and mail the form to yourself so that the completed form receives a U.S. postmark to date and validate its existence. An elderly man, my grandmother’s first cousin who performed government-mandated “alternative service” as a conscientious objector in the 1940s, explained to me how this crafty bit of documentation would prevent local draft boards from claiming that CO forms had been lost. Then you mail the original back to the Selective Service System, PO Box 94633, Palatine, Illinois.
In Quakerly fashion, this process was quiet and matter-of-fact—but radical nonetheless. I found inspiration in the powerful feeling of changing an official government contract with my own handwriting. I loved that all the sweet uncles and grandfathers in my peaceful community—with special assistance from my own mother—were teaching me to oppose the U.S. government. And I loved the feeling of making a theoretical, moral idea into an action, a choice, a tangible piece of paper. I believe it was the only time in my young life I was asked to promise, in writing, that I believed in something deeply enough to act upon my conscience, even if it meant breaking the law.
I recognize that becoming a CO is largely a symbolic act. I doubt I’ve ever in my life so much as inconvenienced the American war machine, but I am grateful I registered as a CO because it planted a seed in my young mind. I noted well that resistance to war and imperialism—and our quotidian slide toward outright fascism—can come from small, private acts of refusal. I tend that seed to this day. If any of y’all are turning 18 soon, I encourage you to do more research on the process. Note that CO status is not a personal Get Out of War Free card; your reason for refusing service “must not be based on politics, expediency, or self-interest.”(1) In past drafts, COs were given domestic alternative service that was often very difficult and dangerous. Many have been denied by local draft boards and sent overseas to fight anyway.
As an 18-year-old you cannot end this war, but it is your right as an adult male American citizen to refuse to participate in violent conflict in the name of your government. I found the process of officially declaring my conscientious objection to be a lot more meaningful than buying shaving cream for my new razor.
Joseph Terrell is a songwriter living in Pittsboro. He is a member of the band Mipso.
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