When I turned 18, the looming lottery of National Service was on the horizon. In the year males turned 20, marbles were drawn from some mysterious government barrel. If your birthday was on a selected marble, you were “called up” to be a Nasho. This involved 10 weeks of boot camp and two years of military service. It included the possibility of tours of duty in the controversial US war with North Vietnam. It was the era of “All the Way with LBJ.”
My calling to ministry was nascent but not yet formed, and my nature was pacific but not yet articulate. Nevertheless, my boyhood obsession with Mahatma Gandhi and his non-violent approach to peace-building lingered in my adolescent psyche.
I recall studying Bernard Shaw’s “Major Barbara” around the same time. Retrospectively I am struck by the similarity of the dilemma that the playwright explores. A Salvation Army officer’s ideals are in conflict with those of her wealthy arms-manufacturing father. His war profits are offered to fund her failing mission. Ultimately, Barbara transforms, realizing that her father’s power can be used for good. She decides to work with him to effect change from within the system.
I decided to take the passive-aggressive option of applying for a non-combative role in the Citizen Military Forces (CMF).
CMF was considered an alternative to National Service in Australia. Individuals might choose to serve six years in the CMF. This provided a part-time service option for those who did not want to commit to full-time national service. This allowed individuals to fulfil their national service obligations while maintaining their civilian lives and careers.
At the appointed time, I rocked up to the recruiting office. I submitted to physical and psychological examinations. They gave me a time to return to Keswick Barracks to complete registration and collect my kit with further instructions.
A nervous two weeks later I attended the barracks. Immediately, I was drawn aside by a crusty sergeant who said, “We are not proceeding with your registration. Go home, your eyesight is no good and you are colour blind. I don’t know how you can see to drive!”
Did I feel relieved or insulted? Perhaps a bit of both. Certainly bemused. Sure I wore coke bottle glasses but I could see perfectly well through them. And colour blind? I can see colours and shades that others are oblivious to! (I’ve discovered since that this may be due to an extra cone that expands my spectrum.)
The long arc of time reveals that my pathway to study for ministry was not impeded by the distractions of compulsory government obligations to which I had formed an ambivalent posture.
And today I have many words for conscientious objection. The purpose of this reminiscence however, is not to initiate an old debate, but to reflect on how unexpected twists and turns on our pathways inform and influence our destinies.
Wondering Pilgrim 
I like the final para: “purpose of this reminiscence however, is not to initiate an old debate, but to reflect on how unexpected twists and turns on our pathways inform and influence our destinies”. Careers happen in all sorts of serendipitous ways. You capture that well. My marble didn’t come out and I danced around our home with glee. I dread the thought of military service and didn’t want it then. However avoiding also lead on to the dilemma: how to respect those who do military service while holding an alternative view
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Yes, Graham, those were interesting times. The Moratorium marches in Adelaide somehow became more compelling after I moved to COB in Melbourne, even though I did not participate. I still wonder whether my ambivalence was due to military service (I had no problem with a non-combatant role) or the question of what on earth we were doing in Vietnam. It was a time when many of us, no matter what course we took, became a little older, just like the previous generation that had a world war to contend with.
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not sure how I became anonymous, I am Graham
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LOL, I worked that out some time ago! 😀
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