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Firstly, may I congratulate my good mate Jenko on two years of superb blogging. Whilst his posts are less frequent these days than his readers would like (to which he ascribes the pressures of being a successful consultant, which take him away from his blog editor), they are always a fantastic read.
Even when you don’t agree with him, which in this instance I don’t. Thankfully our friendship is built on a foundation stronger than sand and is able to allow such a divergence of views.
In a recent post Allan reiterates his idea that the draft is not a good idea. But Allan is coming from, it would seem, a utilitarian perspective. Let me offer a humanist, psychological perspective.
Whilst not being black, poor and unemployed I was, at 21 years of age, white, poor and unemployed. So I volunteered to join the Royal Australian Air Force, ending up in a Communications Operator role (aka ‘glorified typist’), a role with which I stuck for six years.
What I learnt in that six year period was nothing more than I learnt in my first two years — the remaining four were just more of the same.
But in that first two years I learnt how to fire a rifle; we have gun laws in Australia and so we don’t grow up with the right to arm bears or bear arms, which explains why our national ‘death by firearm’ score in 2003 was 290 (by comparison, the US score was 30,136). Oh, and here’s a comparison of U.S. gun homicides to other industrialized countries: In 1998 (the most recent year for which this data has been compiled), handguns murdered 373 people in Germany, 151 people in Canada, 57 people in Australia, 19 people in Japan, 54 people in England and Wales, and 11,789 people in the United States (source: Illinois Council Against Handgun Violence). But I digress…
In that two year period I also learnt how to type (probably the most valuable ‘tangible’ skill I have ever learnt).
In the first 10 weeks (‘boot camp’) I learnt how to shave properly without causing my skin to get ‘angry’; I learnt how to iron; I learnt how to darn; I learnt how to polish and care for shoes and other leathergoods; I learnt how to shut up and listen rather than mouth off; I learnt how to get along with 23 other males who I didn’t know from Adam but had to share rooms, showers, ablution blocks, breakfast and bedtime short-sheeting pranks with.
I learnt how to see another’s point of view; I learnt how to differentiate short-term behaviour from long-term risk; I learnt what ‘consequences’ meant (that one cannot just do what one feels like without there being an ‘outcome’, either positive or negative, for myself and/or others); I learnt to read a map; I learnt how to operate a radio; I learnt how to move quietly in the dark of a forest; I learnt how to work as part of a team where individual goals had to be put aside for the common goal of the team.
I learnt how to lead by example; I learnt how to fold and put away clothes neatly; I learnt how to have the coat hangers and shirts all facing the same way.
Most importantly, I learnt that there was someone even more important than me. His name was Corporal Hayman and he was our Flight’s Corporal. Taking the focus off myself and recognising that I wasn’t the all-important deity I thought I was became key to my maturation, a maturation the RAAF fought hard for and won in a battle against my testosterone-fuelled egomania.
The feeling of pride that surged through me when I marched in our Flight’s Graduation Parade after 10 weeks of boot camp, the sense of achievement when all 24 of us put our feet down as one, ran through our rifle drills perfectly and made our mums cry was one I will never forget. That was 27 years ago and there is a shiver running up my back as I type this.
We don’t need to send our draftees off to conflict; we don’t need to send them unprepared to areas where only angels and professional soldiers should fear to tread. There are plenty enough tasks and duties for them to perform away from the front lines.
But we need to give our youth the opportunity to find self-mastery over short-term egoism; we need to give our youth the knowledge that there IS someone who carries a bigger stick than them and who must be obeyed; we need to give them the knowledge that in life there ARE consequences.
I look back and am fiercely proud that I served my beloved country. It may have been boring at times (and it was), I may have been unhappy at times (and I was), but NOTHING beats the feeling that bubbles up inside when I know that I have given of myself to something greater than mere me.
I am fiercely proud that if someone asked me ‘what have you done for your country?’ I can answer that I served, that I was shot at by angry Malaccan Straits fishermen who resented massive Orion P3s circling them at 100 feet above the water while the Captain leaned out the window and took photos of them for later analysis by the Intello, that I was part of a small group of people who willingly trained and worked to protect the rights of others to live in a safe and secure island continent.
I may not have given thousands of hours of my time to charity, I may not have served soup in soup kitchens for the poor, but like charity workers and others who care for others I have done something that took me out of myself and that let me contribute back to this country I love.
I challenge us to allow our teenagers the same opportunity, even if just for two years.
