9 minute read
Called to Serve
must live in a military barrack, cut off from the civilian world, with just a few of his personal belongings, pausing his life for 21 months of mandatory service—the consequence of a constant threat of war on a divided peninsula. Since the creation of military conscription in 1957, all South Korean men from the ages of 18 to 32 are required to perform roughly two years of military service. They are estranged from normalcy, living in an uncomfortable situation for a long period of time with people that may not be easy to live with—the “badcrazy” kind of people, as South Korean Ki Park would put it.
At one point in his life, every adult Korean male
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Park began his training on January 5, 2016, pausing his life at The American University of Paris to return to Korea. He spent his first day receiving his new wardrobe while being reprimanded by officials. Though intimidating for some, Park was not fazed—this was a normal part of life, endured by all Koreans like him. Although he admits that 21 months is a long time viewed as a waste of time by many of his peers, for Park, the army gave him something.
“I think I am given pride,” he says. Park’s branch played a key role in protecting the country from North Korean invasion during the Korean War, a fact that reminds him of his value to his country. Before he served in the army, he only felt patriotic when Korea made headlines. Being noted for having the best food, winning a sporting event or for playing an important role in a political event. Now, Park thinks of his country with reverence. “I will always go back and fight,” he says. “I would die for my country.”
Soldiers in the United States Armed Forces would probably say the same thing, but would any regular citizen share that belief? It may seem that since the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776,
Americans have been completely and utterly obsessed with personal freedom—waving it around like a flag in the fight over the right to own guns, socialize health care, nationalize industries and other intrusions Americans have long considered to be none of the government’s business.
What then, does freedom and individuality look like to someone who must drop everything they are doing at the age of 18 and serve in their country’s military? In places like Singapore and South Korea, personal autonomy is faced with a dilemma that manifests itself in compulsorymilitary service.
There are many reasons for conscription. Countries like Armenia, Israel and Iran fear invasion of external threats but also use the draft as a way to seek a common identity. Advocates of the military draft often argue that a conscript military is more “representative” of society than a professional army that draws its staff disproportionately from the poorly educated, the lower classes, ethnic minorities or otherwise marginalized strata of society. Conscription is not only more egalitarian but has the ability to serve as a melting pot for groups that would otherwise have little mutual contact, thereby forging national identity, loyalty to the nation or social respect. The Israeli Defense Force does so by integrating diverse strata of Israel’s society, including immigrants from the scattered Jewish diaspora. In post-unification Germany, conscription was defended as a way to bring males from the eastern and western parts of the country together.
Although abandoned in 1973, there are still many proponents of the American draft, most of whose sentiments echo those of Israeli, Singaporean and South Korean conscription. In a speech in October 2017, John Kelly, a retired four-star general and President Trump’s Chief-of-Staff essentially said that those
who haven’t served in the military—meaning nearly all Americans—cannot really understand those who have. “We don’t look down upon those of you who haven’t served,” Kelly said. “In a way, we’re a little bit sorry because you’ll never experience the wonderful joy you get in your heart when you do the kind of things our servicemen and women do.”
In a New York Times editorial, Clyde Haberman addressed Mr. Kelly’s remarks, mentioning that although incredibly patronizing, they deserved serious consideration. “Reviving the draft would mean that most American families have skin in the game when their political leaders embroil the country in a war of choice. It doesn’t take much of an intuitive leap to guess that the last 16 years of war would have unfolded differently if more than a tiny cadre of America’s sons and daughters had to fight.”
Joseph Kum is a dual citizen of the Philippines and Singapore—he was born in the Philippines and then raised in Singapore until he was 9 years old. Not a resident of Singapore at the time of his conscription, his experience with Singaporean enlistment altered the way he viewed his national allegiance. His failure to file an exit permit before moving overseas led to a long drawn out legal debate, resulting in him being fined and blacklisted. At only 13 years old, he was sucked into a painful legal battle with the government of a country he did not even consider home—all because of the draft.
A small and vulnerable country in a turbulent world, Singapore’s decision to revert to compulsory service was a reaction to the aftershocks of economic crisis, disease, terrorism and above all a lack of unification. Internally, fault-lines were emerging between what was traditionally known as race and religion, creating divides between foreigners and locals, old and young generations. On March 14, 1967, national service became compulsory for all 18-year-old male Singaporean citizens and permanent residents.
Kum refers to the “horrendous” period in which Japan invaded Singapore as both traumatizing and catalyzing. From the time of its establishment as a British trading post in 1819 to its independence in 1965, Singapore has always had a bit of an inferiority complex—its diverse society, along with lack of land and resources has led many to foster the belief that the country would be untenable as an independent state. “Singaporeans are paranoid individuals,” Kum says. “They are too scared and anxious for things yet to happen.”
But whether or not Singapore’s military plays a concrete role in protecting its nation is up for debate. Unlike countries like Israel, South Korea and Taiwan, Singapore is not currently faced with any clear threats to their sovereignty. Many Singaporeans see the military as a device to “delay” an attack, as in the event of a real war, the tiny nation of Singapore would not stand a chance against any of its aggressors. For many, national service is seen as a chore, a waste. For Kum, his contract to Singapore is a way of being held hostage. Although mandatory service technically lasts for two years, servicemen are still required to serve 10 years in the national reserve, returning to complete training from as little as two weeks and up to one month per year.
In Switzerland, military service is mandatory for all men upon turning 18. Jean-Yves Pidoux, who served in 1978, lasted two days in the military. His favorite descriptors when recalling his time in the army are stupid and unbearable. “I have very little sympathy for physical violence and ordinary machismo,” he says, “I have always been very opposed to the use of weapons, and did not understand how one can put one’s life at risk by threatening the lives of others. I made the reflection of Victor Hugo, who said in essence that if there are wars, it is because there are armies.”
Like Singapore, Switzerland’s army is not a direct response to external threats—the Swiss army fought its last war in the Napoleonic Wars in alliance with Great Britain and Russia, and that war ended in 1815. At roughly 150,000 troops, the Swiss army is about the same size as the Austrian, Belgian, Swiss, Norwegian and Finnish armed forces combined, excessive when put in the perspective of Switzerland’s tradition of neutrality in international affairs. It’s important to keep in mind that conscription in Switzerland is not the same as, say, the two- to three-year tour of duty that most Israelis begin at age 18. But there’s also a difference in the nature of the risk as well. Since 2007, Swiss conscripts aren’t even issued a box of ammunition. The risk of a shooting war with neighboring Austria isn’t exactly the same as the very real risks of any number of security challenges that conscripts in the Israeli Defense Forces face.
South Korea’s conscription comes from a place in history, but the threat of conflict remains very real. As the nuclear threat from North Korea looms larger than ever, South Koreans are soberly evaluating their country’s military readiness. Although the history of modern South Korea is short, its remnants still linger. New forms of militarism have been created in the interaction between the present and the past, and they find themselves entrenched throughout South Korean society.
Many recruits enter this phase of their lives simply hoping for normalcy to await them at the other end of their training. But South Korean military officials describe the mandatory service as less an interpretation than a conversion: citizens become soldiers, and during five weeks of basic training, the recruits pitch tents, climb ropes, walk 18 miles through darkness and emerge as different people. South Korea’s compulsory military service remains controversial, with politicians debating its merits and dangers. But in the meantime, conscription leads to something less hypothetical: a cycle in which men enter the service, adapt to lives of potential danger, then try to re-adapt to the
lives they knew before. In fact, it is often seen as the primary rite of passage for Koreans.
But while military service is a formative experience, in many cases, it is only for half the population. Currently, only nine countries have laws allowing for conscription of women into their armed forces: China, Eritrea, Israel, Libya, Malaysia, North Korea, Norway, Peru and Taiwan. Other countries—such as Finland, Turkey, Singapore and South Korea—still use a system of conscription that is only obligatory
for men. If mandatory military service acts to give power to its participants—in the form of pride, training and social experience—then why will it not extend that power to the entire population?
In 2017, a petition to make it compulsory for women in South Korea to serve in the national army went viral, collecting over 70,000 signatures in three days, with 123,204 signatures overall.
Gender cannot be overlooked in the military debate. Serving a country may very well be empowering, but it is important to note to whom that power is granted. All over the world, even where women can serve, the military is a masculinized institution. The organizational culture of armies is heavily gendered—female soldiers everywhere face discrimination and sexual harassment. Would the creation of a draft simply enhance these issues, and give more power to an already male-dominated, overtly masculine entity?
“An exclusively male draft perpetuates hyper-masculinity,” says Singaporean Valerie Tan. “It shows us that men have to be some kind of protector of aggressor in society and that women should stay home and care for children.”
“More problematically,” she says, “this is a reflection of an incredibly deep-seated ideology that can’t be easily changed. Underlying our society is that men contribute more than women, and the rewards they receive—that take many forms—are just passively accepted.”
Recalling his first few days in the Swiss army, Pidoux notes with disgust the extreme machoism and anti-intellectual nature of his fellow conscripts. On his first day, the soldiers spent their free time playing card games. But by the second day, they had ditched the cards for wrestling matches and telling fart jokes.
“For those who found this period tolerable, the argument for serving was that it would allow them to get to know other young Swiss from other parts of the country. The argument of the army as a place of ‘cultural’ integration for a country divided into regions quite different from each other, where different lan-
guages are spoken, was the least inadmissible one to me,” he says. “But subjugation to militarism and obtuse standardization, as well as an abject view of masculinity, still seem to me to be more decisive than the alleged integration and consolidation of a rather fictitious national unity.”
An increasing sense of passivity is emerging in the younger generations of conscripts. Joseph Kum reflects on his father—a proud man who believes in the strength of Singapore and his own duty to protect it. Split between two countries, he does not share the sentiments of his father, but perhaps he is not alone. Ki Park remarks on the new generation of South Korea. “Young people now are influenced by new ideals from other places in the word that we see on TV and the internet. We aren’t really thinking about Korea.”
One rationale for a draft is that each of us has an obligation to our state because we are members of a nation. But as technology advances and the world becomes increasingly globalized, borders are more
porous and communication between people is easier. Joseph Kum, although a dual citizen, feels loyalties to neither Singapore or the Philippines. Instead, he sees himself as a “global citizen.” In an increasingly globalized world, are purely nation-based identities still relevant? Must we define ourselves by the country we live in, and therefore feel the need to protect that identity through institutions like the military?
According to Kum, Singapore’s draft did not take away or grant him power. It did not force him to think a certain way about his country, or even others. Instead, power comes from a person’s own individual way of thinking.
“I think way beyond the boundaries of citizenships, race and nationality. I think that these things are what divide us. It divides us as human beings and it divides us as citizens of the world.”
BY AMANDA CLIZBE
PHOTOGRAPHED BY SOPHIA FOERSTER
