First audience: as a member of Veterans For Peace (VFP), I read Elmer’s book with great appreciation. When we began our organization, we consciously chose to include conscientious objectors in our ranks. After all, they were directly impacted by the onslaught of militarism in this country, and they certainly adhered to our basic principle — to abolish war with nonviolent direct action. The author’s detailed, well-researched history deepened my understanding not just of the roots of conscientious objection, but also of the tremendous commitment it took to battle for one’s rights in the legal courts and the courts of public opinion. Bravo to the men and women who have engaged in that struggle.
The second audience that emerged during my initial reading was that of a Peace Studies teacher. For close to a decade I taught such a course to first year students at our local university. I focused on nonviolent direct action using Alice and Staughton Lynd’s History of Nonviolence in America as our course text. Their book provides a superb collection of original essays ranging from the early 17th century Quakers to those who protested the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. On more than one occasion I would remind students (who were primarily eighteen and nineteen years old) that conscription is hovering in the wind, just one congressional act away from their lives. And no doubt, I intoned, a resurrected Selective Service apparatus will include women as well as men. Were I still teaching this course, I would use Jerry Elmer’s text as a primary resource, making sure that our university’s library had one in reserve.
But there’s more for young people to know of this history. Throughout his book, Elmer informs us that the Selective Service’s major purpose was not just to provide soldiers for our country’s wars. It was (and is) designed to “channel” young men into professions not of their own choosing but what the powers-that-be consider most important for the nation’s well-being. So over the years multiple levels of classification have been erected to move young men around. You can be 1-A (i.e., prime choice for the military) or II-S (a student) or II-A or II-C (deferred due to occupation) or IV-B (an official exempt by statute) or IV-D (clergy), etc etc. You get the point. With an enforcement element firmly established in the Selective Service system, there were scores of officials roaming around making sure that you were in the right classification. Of course Elmer also points out how historically this system has been really, really fucked up. Incompetence and chaos reigned throughout its history. There were lots of ways to dodge the hammer if you were creative and smart enough and morally aware … which I wasn’t.
That brings me to my third audience. I was drafted in October of 1968 out of graduate school. When I got my “Greetings!” letter, I immediately called my draft board in Rochester, New York and told them I was a student. I was calmly informed that graduate students were not eligible for student deferment, and I better get my ass up to Buffalo, New York on January 9, 1969, or I’d be doing time in the jail system. Oh yes, there’s another personal wrinkle here: my parents were immigrants from Canada, so I had lots of family living across the border. And, oh yes, my three brothers had all joined the National Guard to stay out of the draft. What was up with me? Long story. But, quite frankly, it’s because I lacked the aforementioned “awarenesses.” Now bring in Elmer’s revelations about the Selective Service System. It was by design (thanks to Lewis B. Hershey) an inherently disorganized organization where local boards could do what they wanted to do. Some said that young men in graduate school were exempt; some said they were not. In any case, a smart and creative young man could immediately question the legality of his draft board’s policies, and appeal. And appeal again. And again. And since the system was riddled with incompetence, one was almost guaranteed a lengthy process that would delay entry into the military. This tack that Elmer takes in his book pointing out the scores of ways to dodge the draft that I did not take caused me many “Goddamn” moments and “Holy Shit, I could have…” moments as I read along. Sigh.
And here’s my final audience — I ended up in Vietnam for 13 months in 1969 and 1970. I saw firsthand what my ignorance and morally myopic stance wrought out there in the world. I will forever be haunted by that lapse in judgment. Hence, my deeper appreciation of Jerry Elmer and his work. He should be listened to carefully. Especially if you’re a young man or woman, or parent of both, or grandparent of both, or if you have a moral fiber in your body.
Jerry Elmer has done us all a great service through his meticulous research and clearly written text. The book is loaded with references to documents that can be used for multiple reasons. And, finally, he has provided us with clarifications of many terms. For example, he points out the difference between being a “draft dodger” and a “resistance activist.” The former employed various tactics to protect only himself (more than once the author mentions how bone spurs were suddenly of great concern); however, the latter put himself and herself in legal jeopardy by openly defying the Selective Service system. The second category included people who were not directly threatened by the draft — i.e., young men between the ages of 18 and 26–but chose to step up to the system on others’ behalf. Older people stood up and encouraged young men to not cooperate with the system; women came forward and encouraged their lovers and brothers to stand with them in public protest against what some referred to as “involuntary servitude.”
Please consider adding Conscription, Conscientious Objection, and Draft Resistance in American History (Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands Press, 2024) to your personal library and to your local college and public libraries. That’s the kind of service we need to employ to protect all of us from unnecessary and illegal wars.
Rawlings is a Vietnam veteran and the author of four collections of poems: Orion Rising, A G.I. Portrait, In the Shadow of the Annamese Mountains, and A Baker’s Dozen (children’s poems). He is a founding member and former poet laureate of Veterans For Peace.