Obedience
I'm actually a little nervous posting this one because it contains a lot of information about my life that I've never revealed on these platforms before. But my friend said I should so here goes nothing.
This essay was written for an Italian magazine about my experience refusing to join the military. I really like it.
We are primed to serve in the army from the time we can talk, yet often hear discourages of its existence.
Five year old boys dressed as soldiers with toy rifles, a kindergarten teacher patting my head and saying that by the time I turn 18, we won’t need a military anymore. This cognitive dissonance forms our reality from our youngest days.
I never knew what I wanted to do in the army, nothing about it appealed to me. But when I was little my mom talked about the occupation, that it was dangerous and hurtful to others. I was a clueless child but knew well enough to love justice. Old enough to know what’s wrong in the world, but too young to understand I can’t fix it alone. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had made up my mind to go a separate path.
When I came out as trans it became clear to those close to me that I am not going to serve. Regardless of my political affiliations, I live in a transphobic country. The army can have as many trans-supportive programs as possible, it won’t change the people I will have to cohabitate with.
Outside of my circle was a different story. In many ways I was now a complete pariah, an extension from my previous left-wing opinions. This was the most flagrant way to go against the grain. Even the other social outcasts were enlisting, I didn’t belong with them anymore. I was more alone than ever before and happier for it.
We didn’t learn about the actions of the army in depth, the more we knew the easier it would be to question them. We heard of wins in vague details and losses with much more. It was important to accentuate everything about the soldiers except why they were there in the first place. Seeing someone die so young of violence is sad. It gets less sad when you find out they were only there to tear an innocent family apart for no reason but their ethnicity. I have sympathy for all human lives but that sympathy gets stretched thin living in this country.
My first time in the enlistment office was a long and stressful day. I didn’t tell the army that I was trans, because I knew it would make them try to recruit me harder. Funny how that works. So I show up with weird hair, unusual clothes, and papers from my therapist and psychiatrist that say I’m not fit to serve.
I was more nervous than necessary, the notes were true. I was physically weak with awful eyesight and dependent on psychiatric medication. I would not make a good soldier, the best thing I could do was sit around at a desk and push meaningless papers around for two years. There was no incentive to enlist me. They tried anyway, of course. Because for most people it is not about what you can actually do, it’s three other aspects: numbers, unity, and control.
Upon reaching the front desk I was directed up to the doctor’s office. She’s a kind woman with a Russian accent and a tight braid. She tells me I need to get another eye exam before my profile can be determined. I know it’s going to be low, so whatever.
The personal interview is simple. I tell the interviewer that I am both incapable of enlisting and that I don’t wish to, citing my moral differences. This happened back in 2022, everything seemed peaceful at the time. I still knew the military could never be the place for me. I was met with some resistance but the interviewer relented when I revealed the papers declaring my lack of mental capacity to be involved in the army. I was told I’d be summoned for another interview with a psychiatrist, and that was it.
I ended up having to complete some medical details without seeing the psychiatrist so I didn’t go. A few times, actually. Enough times to be served an arrest warrant. The warrant wasn’t that serious because I was still in high school but it solidified something in my head, the knowledge that our service is never really about service. It’s about listening to the lies we’re fed, putting our heads down, going along with what everyone expects us to do. It’s about obedience.
I hadn’t done anything wrong but for all intents and purposes I was a criminal. If I were to be stopped by a cop for any reason I’d be arrested and taken to the nearest enlisting office. I was fifteen years old. My only crime was asking to see a psychiatrist before a decision was made about my autonomy in the next three years.
My parents didn’t mind, weirdly. I didn’t give them the full details of the warrant but its appearance wasn’t shocking somehow. I’ve been going through what they’d hoped was a rebellious phase, so maybe they thought I was playing it up or something. Or maybe they didn’t care. Either way, it didn’t seem so serious to them. At the time I didn’t care but looking back I find it offputting. They’d supported my decision when I made it, backed me up fully. Not for my political reasons of course, just safety. It counts for something though, right?
My life of crime ended when I got tired of all the empty threats they were sending me by mail. I came to the enlistment office on a rainy day with all the new papers I needed and a guarantee I’ll be allowed to see a psychiatrist.
I got there ten minutes before my scheduled time. The sidewalk bricks were colored dark by the water, the asphalt roads shined with potential car crashes. I wore a heavy leather jacket with matching boots, black jeans and some band t-shirt. The weekend before I also shaved my head and I was carrying a large black umbrella. Considering they still thought I was a girl and I had shaved it during a panic attack, it was easy to believe in my mental instability. I still showed up ten minutes early. I may be unstable, but I still like to keep time.
They kept me out in the rain. I remember that distinctly because of how pissed I was. I did them the courtesy of showing up after they’d refused my request for months. I showed up early. It was freezing cold out, raining sideways. They left me outside in the rain. Didn’t even let me wait indoors. It was such a small moment compared to everything the military makes other people go through, but it made me so fucking angry. Maybe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back or something. Maybe it was raining outside and the wind was so bad it got under my umbrella. Maybe I was on my period, it was a long time ago. But I was unreasonably upset at a small inconvenience and I knew I’d be leaving that day with the papers saying I don’t need to enlist. Or I would raise hell for having to make the drive over here again.
The interview was smooth sailing. Of course it was, I’d been suffering from clinical depression for years at that point. I’m inching towards a decade nowadays. Besides, a young girl from a religious family shows up in a hardcore punk band shirt and a buzzcut and you’re not gonna release her? I could’ve just as easily been carrying a sign that says “don’t give me an assault rifle.” It would have been really funny though.
So I get my release forms signed and I’m free from the military forever. Except in every other aspect of my life, because I’m in 11th grade and that’s all anyone wants to talk about other than parties. And I don’t get invited to those. I asked to be excused from military related events, but my teacher said she wanted to make sure everyone’s ideas were heard. Except for mine, of course. It’s too extreme to say we shouldn’t be killing children, silly me.
It was everywhere and it still is, no matter where I go. Once you start noticing all the subtle (and not so subtle) encouragements we get to love the establishments you never stop seeing them. I don’t know what to do about it, especially with how normal it is to everyone around me. At some point you stop seeing what the adverts want you to see and read the truth of what they need us to think: don’t worry about it, don’t look at us too closely, don’t think about the repercussions. It’s a lot of don’ts, because when you finally do you learn that it’s not about protection. It’s not about care or any sense of morality. It’s all to keep us from questioning, to make sure we stay quiet and obey.