MY CONSCRIPT SERVICE
By GERARD BOUTELLEAU
ti rigOT till you've done your military service," our French provincials say when a too enterprising youth wants to rush suddenly into a career. Their advice is wise, for in France no permanent commitments can be entered into before that decisive date in every individual's social life. The period of military service is in fact for each of us an epoch, a turning-point, the transition from adolescence to manhood. It leaves an equally deep impression on the life of the peasant, the townsman and the worker. Much later, when the conscript has returned home, when he has forgotten his military training and the handling of arms, he will always remember that first introduction to manhood which has left an ineffaceable mark on his life.
This experience, common to all citizens, seems so neces- sary for the education both of the individual and of the nation that peoples who have been familiar with it for years cannot but wonder what substitute could be found for this physical and moral discipline if all danger of war should one day disappear. Gymnastics, sport, university life, would be no equivalent, for his education has its value, at any rate in France, only in so far as it constitutes a complete though temporary breach with environment, family, home, local interests.
What, then, is the meaning, the attraction, the practical effect of the human melting-pot which suddenly reduces you to anonymity? The mere idea that every man in the State ought to be summoned to the defence of his country and that such a duty may imply the sacrifice of life itself, sets every individual on the level of moral equality which lies at the very foundation of military education. This principle once admitted, its effects and social consequences can be examined. Every individual " specialises " in his social life, and this " specialisation," often over-emphasised, is the greatest class-barrier to harmonious relations between men in different social positions. Specialised education, especially in France, disastrously ignores essential and primitive elements. Now, military service, with the discipline it im- poses, is an education in precisely those elements which apprenticeship and social training have neglected or dis- torted. Through military service the peasant, quick and tough but unskilled, acquires a mechanical training which he finds extremely useful later on. The artisan, skilful but lacking in physical endurance, has to submit to a training which develops his physique. The student, intelligent but undisciplined, is obliged to adapt himself to strict orders. The individual, of whatever type, cannot develop except through the influence of this education, which, though primi- tive, inculcates the highest moral virtues. Under the guise of unity, individual diversity, which is the very essence of the strength of democracy, is far from being weakened and is on the contrary increased.
For a certain number of young men, the elite perhaps— certainly for the pupils of the higher schools—military ex- perience does not begin with their actual entry into the army. For two years they receive preparatory training, they have passed examinations, and when they are called up for service they are at once drafted into the training-schools for officers. The breach with the family is just as sharp, but these young men find themselves in the same social atmosphere—that of a university. But the great majority of Frenchmen, even those who later may become reserve officers, wait to be called up at the command of the military authorities, who may dis- patch them to barracks in the most unfamiliar surroundings. For them the change of climate is revolutionary.
I remember going off in this way not long ago with the other young men of my class, my coat on my back and a pass in my pocket ordering me to a regiment in Tunis. At Marseilles, at Fort Saint-Jean, the point of embarkation, were some hundred young men hailing from every province in France. There were Bretons, Parisians, blond Alsatians, artisans, students, a whole heterogeneous troop which was to spend the three-days' crossing on the ship's deck with the emigrants. We no longer had names, we were simply num- bers. We had to accept the hair-crop, the uniform, the sergeants' orders, and very soon each of us lost all marks of individuality and for the first time I experienced the most intense loneliness. It took me some time to understand that I was not alone in my feelings ; my unknown companions, whom at first I thought so different from myself, felt it as much as I did.
Military apprenticeship reduces existence to its most elementary form. Physical exertion, discipline, the routine life of the platoon or the squad, quickly obliterate contrast and differences and bring out similarities never apparent before. A wholly new form of comradeship is established on a very simple foundation. You are able to understand then individuals so different from yourself who in civil life, in spite of every endeavour to understand each other, would remain mutually incomprehensible. Conscript life offers rich possibilities for social contacts. The peasant who speaks with so pronounced an accent has the same reactions as the artisan, lacking in culture but rich in wit ; so and so, accustomed by training to -hard work, suddenly reveals rare artistic taste. Conscript service brings out in every indi- vidual all his special qualities and at the same time all he has in common with others.
All these young men are disposed to enrich each other's experience and to profit by the advantages offered to them. They are still sensitive and approachable. They are not yet scarred by life; they are only zo—all of them are only zo. At college, too, young people are of about the same age, but army life is very different. For most of them military service is perhaps the only moment in life when they have not to support the weight of a thousand anxieties. It is a carefree time. There is an atmosphere of genuine fraternity. It is true to say that only in military service is this basis of understanding and comprehension of your neighbour to be discovered, for he appears to you with the same anonymous character as yourself. Clad in the same uniform he is still your neighbour, but at the same time your double, so it is not surprising to find that military service is above all a social experience, a human experience. But this experience is valuable only because it is short.
It is clear that to obtain all its benefits it is necessary to adapt oneself to rules which admit of no exception, to a brutal anonymity. There are some who do not adapt them- selves. These do not merely fail to derive some benefit from their period of service ; they are destined to suffer. But are not all those who cannot adapt themselves destined to suffer anyhow?
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