• Listen to the entire program

GUEST: Camilo Mejia, author of Road from Ar Ramadi

In 2004 Staff Sergeant Camilo Mejia was court-martialed by the US military for desertion. A veteran of the US war on Iraq, Mejia had spent 8 years in the military and eventually filed for conscientious objector status, becoming the first publicly known US soldier to do so. Now, his first book and memoir, Road from Ar Ramadi, details his journey from a willing participant in the Iraq war, to a war resister. This journey includes first hand experiences of prisoner abuse, discord among his demoralized comrades, and the incessant brutalization of Iraqis by American soldiers. Mejía was eventually convicted of desertion by a military jury and sentenced to a year in jail and a bad conduct discharge. He was released from prison on February 15, 2005 and since then has spoken at innumerable peace rallies and marches against the Iraq war. Throughout his book, Road From Ar Ramadi, Mejia is painfully honest about his own complicity in the war. During a visit to Los Angeles, he joined me in studio and I began by asking him to read a section of his book about a conversation with an Iraqi store owner.

Rough Transcript:

Camilo Mejia reading from his book Road from Ar Ramadi:

At one point, pressed by Mohammed search for questions, and having run out of other answers, I suggested to Mohammed that we were in Iraq to bring freedom to the country and its people. “Freedom?” Mohammed looked at me incredulous. “Yes,” I insisted with a straight face, not even believing my own words. “But you said that you don’t even want to be here,” pressed Mohammed also with a straight face. “I don’t,” I continued. “And you said that your contract with the Army was over,” continued my friend, reminding me of something I had told him in the past. “Yes, I said that,” I admitted. “Then why are you here?” “Because the army can keep you in after the end of your contract,” I explained, sensing where he was going with his questions. “At least if there’s a war they can.” “Against your will?,” he asked with his eyebrows raised. “Yes,” I said quietly. “So how can you bring freedom to us, when you don’t have freedom for yourselves?” I was unable to answer that question, but I remembered thinking that Mohamed just didn’t now how armies worked, even though I was aware he had been conscripted into the Iraqi army in his youth. Besides neither freedom nor its absence had anything to with my participation in a war that I had opposed from the outset. My misfortune was tied to a decision I had made at age 19. When I signed the military contract, I forfeited most of my rights. From that point on I had to push aside all other considerations, political, moral, and spiritual, in pursuit of whatever mission I was ordered to undertake. “No,” I kept telling myself, “freedom had nothing to do with it.” But deep inside, I felt differently. I knew that in the end, no one could force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I knew I could say “no” to keep prisoners from sleep deprivation, and to blocking ambulances on their way to the hospital. I could say “no” to senseless missions that put the lives of both soldiers and innocent civilians in unnecessary danger. I could assert my freedom and say “no.” The problem was that everyone else was doing what they were told, and the easiest thing was to keep my mouth shut and think that Mohammed just did not understand. I hadn’t just lost the freedom to think as an individual, with moral and spiritual values independent from the military, I had also lost the freedom to accept the fact that I wasn’t free.

Kolhatkar: And that was Camilo Mejia reading from his book Road from Ar Ramadi: The Private Rebellion of Staff Sergeant Camilo Mejia. Camilo, welcome to Uprising.

Mejia: Thank you Sonali.

Kolhatkar: So, I want to get to addressing what you just read, but before we do that, let’s stop. A little bit earlier, You’re from Nicaragua originally and yet you came to be fighting on Iraqi soil in an American war. Who were your parents and how did their political inclinations and their involvement in Nicaraguan politics influence who you are?

Mejia: Well both of my parents, um, my father being from Nicaragua and my mom being from Costa Rica, but, you know, moving to Nicaragua from a very early age, uh, were involved in the uh Sandinista struggle to overthrow the uh, Somosa dictatorship uh, that ruled Nicaragua for close to um 40 years, a little more than 40 years and uh both of them were really um I suppose prominent in the Sandinista government after the uh triumph of the revolution. So, in the beginning I wasn’t very influenced as far as my behavior and my uh my my political attitudes because I was very sheltered, you know, from the reality of the Nicaraguan people. I had grown up in uh relative uh privilege in Nicaragua and never had to uh work for a living, never had to uh question where things came from, I just took them for granted. And when I moved to the United States all that changed. I found myself in a position where I had to work for a living and I had to as myself, how am I going to pay for my tuition to go to college, uh what am I going to do if I get sick and I have no medical insurance. So all these questions came to me also at a time when I had been traveling for quite some time and didn’t really have a sense of community. So the military seemed like the perfect place to get the things that I had grown up with but that I suddenly found myself without. Um, and then I suppose that the war in Iraq was a catalyst for me because um it prompted a lot of questions and analysis um that I had never had before. Um when I found myself in a situation where I felt like I was an invader and an occupier, you know, in an imperialist war, I remembered my own reality when I was a child and when I lived in Nicaragua, and when Nicaragua was basically uh being attacked by the United States, you know, both economically and you know, militarily, you know, through the proxy military known as the “contras.” And I suppose that then my upbringing in a in a revolutionary household had a lot to do with my later refusal to return to Iraq.

Kolhatkar: How did your parents feel about your joining of the Florida National Guard?

Mejia: Well, we have to back track, because I first I joined in the active duty military back in 1995. And this is when I really got the reaction from my parents; the National Guard was really just a continuation of my first enlistment with the active duty army. And you would think that because both of my parents had been involved in an anti-imperialist struggle, that they had some political opposition to my joining the military. But that was not the case at all; both of my parents were really afraid of my joining the military because they didn’t want their son to go to war or to end up killed or having to kill people, and their reaction was, I imagine, very similar to the reactions of any parent, and I remember both my mom and dad were not just in opposition to my joining the military because of the danger, but also because they felt like I wasn’t really made to be a soldier because I was not, I just didn’t have the personality or the character to, you know, to lead a military life.

Kolhatkar: When you went to Iraq for the first time, with your squad, you were the squad leader, what did you expect that you would be doing there? Um, What had you been told that you would be doing there?

Mejia: Well, when we first deployed, um, I can say that I am very proud to say this, but when we first deployed, I was really shocked when we actually invaded Iraq because of so much opposition, and up until that point, although I did not believe in the politics behind the war, I did not believe in justification behind the war, I really did not think that we were actually going to invade, you know, there was so, such strong opposition to the war, you know, with the UN Security Council with the weapons inspectors with Saddam Hussein using all kind of backdoor, you know, ways, out of, you know, being invaded, you know destroying missiles, and things of that nature. And with such strong opposition in the United States and all over the world, you know, with ten million people marching and demonstrating against the war, to me it was not possible that the, United States Government and Military would actually invade, and for a while I felt like we were there to basically just scare Saddam out of power, So uh, that’s why I, you know, while I was in Jordan I took a picture holder holding a sign, well somebody took a picture of me holding a sign that said, “Give Peace A Chance,” because there some debate within my unit, as to whether there would be a war or not. Some people were saying, “give war a chance, give war a chance,” jokingly. And my attitude was “no, give peace a chance, give peace a chance.” So we didn’t really have clarity, as far as, what would happen, you know, are we were going to invade, or is this just going to be just a huge show of force? And then once we invaded, uh my my uh my belief was that we were going to be there uh briefly, and that we were going to run Saddam Hussein out of power, and that we were going to return. I never imagined that we were going to uh to stay. Uh obviously now, I feel very differently, and I am almost ashamed having believed these things, but when I was there my expectation was that this was going to be a quick mission and that we would be home in no time. And um, also, I also believed that uh when we uh arrived in Iraq that the people were going to be very welcoming and that we were going to have good relationships with the people, and that’s one of those things that I talked to my mom about, that, you know, my mother seemed very worried when I told her that we were gonna go to from Jordan to Iraq, because she said that, you know, we were going to face a guerilla warfare and, you know, an uprising by the people.

Kolhatkar: She had some foresight.

Mejia: She did, and, I, I, you know, I felt like, I had all the answers, and I tried to convince her that no, that we were going to do peaceful missions and humanitarian work, and uh, I really did believe that.

Kolhatkar: I’m speaking with Camilo Mejia one of the first publicly known conscientious objectors of the Iraq war. We’re talking about his new book Road From Ar Ramadi: The Private Rebellion of Staff Sergeant Camilo Mejia. Let’s talk about what happened once you came to Iraq. In your book you describe an evolution among your fellow troops of this attitude that started out being very “gung ho,” very “let’s see some action,” to one of “resignation” and a sense of not really knowing why they were there. What was that evolution a result of?

Mejia: Well, you can’t uh just uh pinpoint one single reason and I don’t think I will ever have the complete answer to that question, but I think that some of issues involved include uh the fact that, you know, being in a National Guard unit, we were not being treated the same way as, you know, soldiers from the regular army, or soldiers from elite units in the regular army. You know, a lot of the people that believed in the war, and even believed that we should be there, really resented the fact that we did not have the same equipment but were expected to carry out the same missions as the regular army. For instance, we didn’t have bullet proof vests, when our trucks were destroyed by you know, roadside bombs, you know, we didn’t get replacements, we only had but one armored humvee per unit of over 100 soldiers, and uh, at one point we had to stop patrols because we didn’t have enough water during the hottest hours of the day. And um so a lot of people were really uh becoming uh disaffected with the mission and with the way that we were being treated. So, you know, you have issues with the mission, but you also have issues with equipment and the way that soldiers are being treated. And then another thing was that being in an infantry unit, and for a lot of people we had been infantrymen pretty much our entire careers, you know, and I had already been in the military for close to eight years when I arrived in Iraq. We were not really following the procedure that we knew we should follow, you know, we not making ourselves unpredictable, we were following the same routes over and over, leaving posts at the same time, returning at the same time. So we were making ourselves very predictable to, you know, the resistance fighters to attack us and to set up ambushes and things like that …

Kolhatkar: …and why was, why were those orders given for you to do that?

Mejia: My, my belief, my feeling, is that this happened because we had officers who had been in the infantry and in the military for over twenty years, but had absolutely no combat experiences, so in order for them to get promoted, in order for them to glorify their military résumés, they had to go out there and seek that combat, which was something really unnecessary because of the place we were in, you know, we were going to be attacked regardless. But the fact that they went out of their way to expose soldiers to instigate firefights created a lot of resentment. And um, this was also made very clear and obvious, you know, when you thought about the speeches that we received from some of our unit officers, you know, prior to going to Iraq. When they made the promise that we basically would not return to the United States without, you know, certain awards that you only get, you know, while in combat. So they were basically promising that we were going to do everything within our powers to go out there and, you know, engage in combat.

Kolhatkar: just to get some sort of badge….?

Mejia: Exactly. They had this badge called, The Combat Infantry Badge which is a badge you get for being in combat, and is one of the “must gets” when you’re an infantry officer if you really want to be promoted.

Kolhatkar: Now in your book you talk also about what you experienced in Iraq in terms of the military orders that you were given as sort of circular logic where you would go out on patrols and your job was to make sure that those patrols weren’t attacked. But of course if you didn’t patrol you wouldn’t be attacked, is that commonly done in the military?

Mejia: Well, um. I can only assure you that it was done in my particular case, but I have heard from other people that this is normal. I think it was in the news that a unit of truck drivers, you know, a number of people in Iraq, refused to go out on a mission because it just made absolutely no sense. You know, they were delivering fuel that was foul and going to a place where they didn’t want the fuel, through a road where they knew they would get attacked. So it wasn’t just my unit that was conducting these suicide missions that made absolutely no sense, um but my feeling is that this is widespread man, it’s happening all throughout Iraq and it’s been happening from the very beginning. And uh, when you think that, when you look at things like that you also realize that, you know, there can be all kinds of opposition to the war and the mission in Iraq that are not necessarily political.

Kolhatkar: And it also seemed as though the point, at least to me, the point of doing that was to let the Iraqi people know that you were there, who was in charge, you know, just to basically have your presence on their streets.

Mejia: Exactly. What they say that the mission is, is never really the real mission, you know, when they say that we’re out there to, you know, win hearts and minds, or to rebuild the country or, to bring freedom or, to, you know, overthrow a dictator, I think that, my feeling is that we’re there for profit, that we’re there to control, you know, the natural resources of Iraq, and, you know, to secure this geopolitical strategic point, um and the way to do that is by oppressing the people, because nobody wants to be conquered, so it becomes necessary to install a state of fear and a state of, you know, complete obedience to the occupying power.

Kolhatkar: Camilo, in telling your story I noticed that you played a role while you were in the military, you know, before the real serious questioning in your mind started, that you tended to be one of the more cautious soldiers you were worried about safety, you were able to notice things that your other soldiers weren’t noticing, about, you know, people who might be putting you in danger, about Iraqis who might be ready to throw grenades et cetera. How was that attitude perceived among, maybe not in your squad, but your superiors, and, you know, what did it reflect about the military?

Mejia: Well, I think that the key point is not so much that the other soldiers didn’t notice that we were unnecessarily being placed in danger, but that, you know, we have this culture of fear and blind obedience and silence in the military where that although you know you may be doing the wrong thing, not just in terms of, you know, the morality of it, but in terms of the strategic and military soundness of a particular mission, that the tendencies for people not to say anything, or not to question orders, and that’s where the difference was between myself and other, for instance, squad leaders and, you know, other people within my unit. That whereas we all realized that, you know, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this mission over and over in the same exact way, you know, for five or six consecutive nights, I was the only one saying something about it. So it wasn’t so much that I was more aware of what was happening but that I simply, you know, spoke about it. And um, the effect that that had, particularly by my leadership was that that they no longer felt like I was reliable. I wouldn’t say they, but maybe a couple of people felt that I was no longer reliable because they knew that if they did something that went against the soundness of the mission, or if they did something that unnecessarily exposed soldiers or civilians that I would say something so I was uh somewhat, you know, uh I was treated differently, you know, I was not trusted with the same missions as the other squad leaders for a while but then they realized that, you know, that I was perfectly capable of conducting any mission that if they could only put up with my mouth, that I was, you know, that I had a perfectly capable squad. And uh…

Kolhatkar: I understand at one point you were asked to inject more testosterone into your leadership.

Mejia: Yes, and this was actually before the war started, this was, this happened in Jordan because I got to the point in the military where I no longer wanted to basically humiliate soldiers under my command. I wanted to establish a relationship based on respect and communication and this wasn’t very welcomed by my leadership you know, who expected in infantry squad leader to yell, and to drop his soldiers and make them do push ups, and things like that in order to gain their respect and their obedience, and I disagreed with that um. So I was called by my platoon sergeant who said to me “I would like to see more testosterone in your leadership style.” Meaning that he just basically wanted me to be a jerk to my soldiers and I said, “no.” Well I said that I know what he meant but I didn’t really change my ways and that also, I suppose that contributed to my being transferred from that platoon to a different platoon.

Kolhatkar: Would you say that all of these things laid the groundwork for your later rebellion?

Mejia: I suppose there were signs, to, you know, to what was to happen I had no idea what would happen. These were just things that I felt, you know, and that I felt compelled to do, but I didn’t have, I didn’t have any idea of what was going to happen, you know, I didn’t have any idea that we were going to end up in Iraq, you know, abusing people and conducting all kinds of senseless missions.

Kolhatkar: Let’s talk about your interaction with the Iraqi people. What went through you mind one of the first few times you found yourself shooting at an Iraqi, whether, you know, a civilian or an insurgent, um do you remember at all what was going through your mind?

Mejia: Um, I’m not exactly sure what was going through my mind, I have no memory of that necessarily, but I do remember the actions and, you know, by remembering that I think you can get to the state of mind that I was in, and I remember that the first time we opened fire on a person, you know, an actual human being, was during the this protest that was that took place in Ar Ramadi outside of one of the government buildings the mayor’s cell, that’s what we called it, and we uh, they were basically protesting the occupation, they had a sign that said, “No Bush, Yes Saddam,” and they were basically expressing their anger at the occupation and demanding that we leave their country. And at one point the uh, the protest turned violent and they started throwing grenades at the building, and my squad and other people were ordered to take defensive positions on the rooftop, and then we were given the order to open fire on anybody who threw a grenade. And it became pretty obvious whenever somebody was going to throw a grenade because the crowd basically, the protest got quiet and everyone moved as one to one place away from where the place where grenade would eventually land. And um, this happened and you now the crowd shifted to one side of the street and out of this corner emerged this young man, perhaps a teenager, and he had his hands in his pockets, and then he um well he had something in his hands, he was swinging his, almost swinging his arms, its very hard to remember the exact details, but he, well he had a grenade, and he threw the grenade and we opened fire on him, and uh, well its just one of those things that I, that I have trouble remembering uh the details of, but at the same time I can’t stop, you know, its one of recurrent memories that I have because it was the first time that we actually fired at a human being, or that I personally actually fired at a human being, and uh, I remember I remember seeing this young man alive and walking and breathing, and I saw him through the sight of my rifle, and you know, when I opened fire on him, he, I don’t know, I have no recollection of him going down, but I do remember him being dragged by people who came from the crowd his body basically, hid dead body taken back into the crowd after he threw the grenade. And um, I don’t know I suppose this is something I think about when people tell me, “well you knew you were joining the military, you knew you were going to go to war.” Nobody really knows what they are getting into when they join the military to go to war, nobody really knows war until they’ve experienced war. And this is one of the things that people need to understand, when they ask the question, “well you knew what you were getting into,” you know, we don’t we don’t trust people to drink until the age of 21, but we do trust them to carry a rifle and to be placed in a situation where they can kill human beings at age 17. So, I think it’s very unfair to expect a 17 year old man or woman to know what they are getting into when they sign up.

Kolhatkar: I don’t remember who exactly said this, but I remember a quote by someone well known, who said “If killing were part of human nature, the military wouldn’t spend so much time and effort training people to do it, training people to put aside their humanity to do it.”

Mejia: Exactly, I couldn’t agree more with that. And I think that a key issue that you touched upon with that quote is “humanity.” You’re forced to suppress your humanity because that’s the only way that killing people becomes bearable, by dehumanizing human beings into enemies, and targets, and objectives.

Kolhatkar: In your book you have relayed several incidents which clearly you are not proud of. What was the process of writing about these acts that, you know, I can sense you consider shameful acts that you committed, how, you know, how did it feel, was it a difficult process?

Mejia: It was uh, well it took a year to write the book, and um, I’d say a good 60 to 70% of that process was just thinking, you know, it was basically, you know, having this conversation with myself, and uh just reflecting on everything that happened, you know, it was uh, it was a very painful process, you know. I was returned to Iraq, and I returned to my missions, and I returned to my moral conflicts, and uh, I remember writing for hours, uh when in reality what happened was that I would write for one or two hours, and stare at the computer for five or six because, you know, going back to some of those memories uh was such a difficult thing to do, that, you know, it required uh just a lot of uh thinking and analysis and reflection and uh coming to terms with myself and with uh the person I was and the person I’ve become.

Kolhatkar: What did you learn about the people of Iraq and their culture during your time there, inasmuch as you could, you know, being a soldier and being in the position that you were; what were your reflections and observations of how people of Iraq interact with one another, and how their culture is in some ways different from American culture?

Mejia: Yeah, well uh one of the main things that strike me these days is how much is made of this ages old violence between shias and sunnis. Um, when I was in Iraq I saw none of that. You know, I saw that people were very united, you know, I, you know, I had a hard time, you know, believing how some of these people had never seen each other. And you know, we would stop them at a traffic control point and they would just basically interact as members of the same family. And when you talk to Iraqis over there they will tell you that, you know, “we are Iraqis,” you know, “we’re not,” I mean they will tell you that “we are sunnis and shias,” but, you know, “we’re Iraqis, number one thing in our lives is that we are Iraqis” and even more than that, that “we are Muslims.” There isn’t that, you know, that distinction, you know, there isn’t that distance between the groups in Iraq, and that’s on of the things that I learned when I was there, uh which strikes me here because much is made of this split between two groups, and I just ask myself, you know, perhaps if we were occupied in the United States, you know, the same case could be made of the split between the catholics and the protestants, but nobody would believe that somehow because we’re catholics and protestants, we’re going to just kill one another. That claim makes absolutely no sense to me. But that’s one of the things I learned about them. And then another thing that I was very surprised by is the incredible hospitality and their incredible humanity even towards someone who, you know, was wearing a foreign uniform and was armed, you know, from head to toe um, occupying their country, you know I never really felt like they hated me. You know, I never felt like because I was an occupier, you know, they they had some sort of personal hatred toward me. They expressed many times that they did not want to be occupied, but they were always able to rise above the differences and see the human being in me they were always able to share for instance their food with me, their tea even the Qur’an, I had a friend who shared the Qur’an with me we had all these philosophical and spiritual conversations and to me that’s just something amazing I could not imagine how I would react to someone from a different continent different culture and speaks a different language whose occupying my neighborhood you know the schools churches, basically every public place. I could not imagine how I would react. I am not sure I would be capable of that level and type of humanity that they displayed toward me.

Kolhatkar: Let’s move ahead in the story that you’ve written about how you came to make a decision that uh this was not something you wanted to do, and I noticed in your book that there’s no sort of clear cut moment where it happens, where there’s some epiphany, that it’s a series of events that lead from one thing to another that finally lead you to where you were when you decided to file, fill your conscientious objector status. It started out with the issue of your immigration status while you were still in Iraq. Describe that, that whole, your immigration status situation for our listeners and how that played a role in, your eventually, you know, being where you are in the decision you made.

Mejia: Well, what happened was that when you join the military as a non-citizen with a green card, or with a permanent residency card, you’re not really supposed to go beyond the initial eight year contract without at least applying for citizenship. And what happened in my case was that my eight years with the military were coming up, and also that my uh my green card was expiring. So I wrote a letter to my commanders explaining that and because of that they eventually ended up sending me back to the United States to take care of that. While I was in the United States, I realized that my deployment had been basically illegal, that, you know rules…

Kolhatkar: Illegal?

Mejia: Illegal. That I, I was never really supposed to leave the United States, I was never supposed to leave my hometown of Miami. And uh that many rules had been violated and later on we found out that even an international treaty between Costa Rica and the United States was violated, um, but the military basically uh ignored these rules and said, you know, “you were illegally deployed to Iraq but, you know, you were given a two week leave permit, so you know, if you violate that then, you know, you’ll get in trouble.” So it was, I felt, for a moment, I felt like I was caught in the twilight zone because they’re telling me “your entire deployment is illegitimate, yet within that deployment you were given a two week leave and you have to honor that.”

Kolhatkar: Which, and for listeners who aren’t aware, you ended up staying beyond your two week leave.

Mejia: Absolutely, so what happened was that after I, you know, was told by the military, you know, “we basically want you to go back to Iraq, we don’t care that, you know, your status is expiring,” um I convinced myself that the thing to do was to go back to Iraq I didn’t want to get in trouble with the military, I did not want to be given AWOL or absent without leave, or desertion status.

Kolhatkar: And that two week leave by the way, was meant, at least by your superiors, meant for you to clear up your immigration status and basically apply for citizenship because they really really wanted to keep you there. And let’s just take a quick detour. It seems as though the Army was extremely desperate to keep you there, not necessarily because they thought you were the most valuable soldier, because they didn’t want anyone to leave right?

Mejia: Well, I think it was a combination of both uh what happened is that they started putting pressure on me to apply for citizenship because they knew without my applying for citizenship they could not legally keep me in the military. So there may have been some of that. And uh there also, perhaps just the fact that I was an infantry squad leader. It’s not just a matter of the numbers but, you know, but when you’re a staff sergeant and and….

Kolhatkar: They’ve invested in you

Mejia: They’ve invested in you and, you know, and they need the leadership to stay in Iraq and they need uh, you know, they need you, you know, to be an example of obedience, you know, of not basically questioning authority, you know it’s okay if private does it, but not a staff sergeant, not someone who’s in charge of an infantry squad. And then there’s also the issue of numbers, you know. Uh They they were not getting replacement soldiers, you know, as the active duty sometimes gets, you know, when the Florida National Guard unit that we were in, we were taking all kinds of casualties, but these casualties were not being replaced. So our our commander basically was risking losing his command because if you lose a certain number of soldiers, you go under combat strength, so they were keeping soldiers after they were injured or had all sorts of medical problems even though they weren’t effective to any mission just because they want to keep the numbers high. So there were many factors as to why they did not want me to stay in the states but what happened then I was I basically told myself to go back to Iraq because I had been denied officially permission to stay you know. And uh, but I was very conflicted because it wasn’t really a matter of the legality of my status in the military or the United States, it had more to do with what we were doing in Iraq and, you know, my my role in the war, you know, my inability up to that point to say , you know, this is a criminal war an illegal war and what are we doing there, we’re brutalizing these people, you know, we have absolutely no right to do. But I was being pulled, you know, between these two uh camps, you know, or whether to obey what the military is telling me or whether to basically do what I feel is the right thing to do and it was a very uh difficult time uh I was very afraid and I basically didn’t have the moral courage to say, “I’m doing this because it is the right thing to do,” I just basically did not get back on the plane. And I told myself that I would go back the next day, and I kept telling myself that I would go back the next day, because I was so afraid of making that decision not to go back to Iraq, so it just sort of happened you know..

Kolhatkar: You just put it off.

Mejia: Yeah and I, then one day I realized that , you know, I have to do something, have to uh, to uh you know, prepare for a court martial and I have to uh write a conscientious objector claim and explain why I refused to participate in the war.

Kolhatkar: So what finally gave you the courage to turn yourself in?

Mejia: Well a number of things uh I think. On one hand, I was giving interviews, because a part of me realized that I had to speak out to tell people what had happened in Iraq and you know at that time, you know the uh corporate media you know were reporting that moral was high and that things were going great in Iraq, and I felt like I had to uh bring my experience and tell people, “No, Morale is not high and, you know, soldiers want to return, and we’re not doing good things there and we’re not welcome. And so I started giving out a number of interviews which helped clarify things in my mind, put things into perspective. And…

Kolhatkar: And you were using a false name?

Mejia: And I was using a false name, I was doing my best to avoid uh being apprehended by the military because I wanted to surrender voluntarily to avoid the charge of desertion. And also I started working on a conscientious objector application, which made me reflect on what war and my participation and how I felt about war. And also because I, I received counseling from people uh at a place called the Peace Abbey in Sherwood, Massachusetts which is a multi place retreat for people who who want to practice and learn more about non-violence which has a lot of information about people who have basically dedicated their lives to peace and who have sacrificed everything for peace and non-violence and to denounce the horror of war, and uh where I came into, I came face to face with uh with the reality of war, not just the war in Iraq, but war in general and how destructive it has been to humanity and how much damage it has done. So going to this place and receiving this counseling uh was key because suddenly I realized that my fear of being incarcerated, and my fear of being called a traitor and a coward, you know, my fear of the military, was really not that justified, that my sacrifice was not really that great compared to what so many people had sacrificed to stop war and to promote peace, so…

Kolhatkar: And did you meet other folks, say, who had resisted during the Vietnam War?

Mejia: Absolutely the uh, the founder and director of this place, his name is Luis Ronda, is himself a conscientious objector to war but also during, you know, the Vietnam War when he made his stand. And my attorney Louis Fong was a West Point Graduate, you know, who had been sent to Harvard by the military, So he was some sort of a success story. And he was the first West Point graduate to say, you know, “I’m not going back, I’m not going to Vietnam.” He himself faced 25 years of incarceration in a military jail. His trial lasted a whole year so eventually he got his conscientious objector status and an honorable discharge. But he really understood what I was going through. And uh I also uh worked with uh people from the Veterans for Peace organization, and people from Military Families Speak Out and later on with people from Code Pink. So I received a lot of support and uh and counseling from different organizations.

Kolhatkar: So you suddenly found yourself surrounded by people who felt about the war as you did?

Mejia: I did. I did. I did come into contact with a lot of people who felt the same way, and that was very empowering because up until that point, I had the support of the family, but I did not know there was a whole web of peace and justice organizations that were waiting for people like me to come out against the war and to provide their support. I really felt um like I was not alone anymore.

Kolhatkar: Let’s talk about the trial. Uh what is your opinion of military justice after you, after you went through this trial? And uh tell our listeners what the outcome was.

Mejia: Military justice is an oxy moron to me. I don’t think the two words combine very well. The conviction rate in military court rooms is 98 to 99 percent. So it’s just basically a means for the military to enforce discipline and to punish dissent and disobedience regardless of whether that disobedience is justified or not. And disobedience in the military is actually a duty when it’s in response to an unlawful order, which is the case of the entire war in Iraq which is illegitimate by international law standards. Um in the particular case of my trial, we were basically denied basic guarantees the law is supposed to afford the defendant. Um the vast majority of our witnesses were not allowed to testify, my reasons for not wanting to go back to Iraq were not allowed to reach the jury, my claims of war crimes were not allowed to reach to the jury, my conscientious objector claim was not allowed to reach the jury during the deliberations or the actual trial. And uh, and there was a lot of prejudice against me, you know, I remember that the first day of the trial they had barricaded the entire block that the courthouse was in and they had working dogs sniffing around the courthouse and you know, they had, both military and civilian police patrolling the area. So the atmosphere was that of you know, them trying this you know, incredibly dangerous evil person.

Kolhatkar: Even though you turned yourself in.

Mejia: Even though I turned myself in and the basis of my defense was conscientious objection and non-violence, but you know, their response on their part was to treat me as if I was some kind of like maximum security evil monster. So there was a lot of prejudice you know, there were a lot of violations of the law, and uh, eventually, I think the military tried me politically, you know, not legally, and you know, they just sort of made a statement with my case, that you know, they would not tolerate dissent within the ranks and they would not allow conscientious objection as a way out of this illegal war.

Kolhatkar: What is your current immigration status, as well as, your current military status, and also how much time did you serve in prison?

Mejia: Well uh my immigration status hasn’t changed, I’m still a resident and that hasn’t been affected at all,

Kolhatkar: You never applied for citizenship?

Mejia: No I never applied for citizenship. My status with the military is that I am on indefinite leave because we are appealing the conviction. So I am not really, for all practical purposes, I am really not in the military anymore, wearing a uniform, you know, or training, reporting to any officers and uh, I was given a sentence of 12 months, but I only served about 9, a little bit less than 9 because of good conduct, because I didn’t get into any major problems in the jail so I got out 3 months earlier.

Kolhatkar: And were you basically discharged with uh, dishonorably discharged?

Mejia: No, my sentence was 12 months of incarceration in an Army jail, demotion to private from staff sergeant, and a bad conduct discharge, plus forfeiture of my pay …

Kolhatkar: Bad conduct discharge…

Mejia: but the bad conduct discharge is not final until all appeals are over. So we’re appealing that, so that means I’m still in the military, you know, I still have an ID, and you know, I mean I don’t get paid or anything, but I’m still in the system.

Kolhatkar: Now, what, is it important for you to be honorably discharged?

Mejia: It’s important to set a precedent, you know for people to have the right to apply as conscientious objectors, and to bring to military courts, you know, their reasons why they don’t want to participate in a war that they perceive as illegal and immoral, and um, I think that if war crimes are being committed, we need to prosecute those who are committing those crimes beginning at the very top, and because of that I do think that it is important to get that honorable discharge, not because I think there is honor in the actual discharge, but because I think it’s a fight worth fighting.

Kolhatkar: Finally, Camilo, do you mind reading one last section from your book for us?

Mejia: sure.

Camilo Mejia reading from his book Road from Ar Ramadi:

When the time came, for me to be escorted out of the courtroom, to be taken to jail, I asked for a moment to say goodbye to my family. I embraced my stepfather, uncle, aunt, grandmother, I then turned to my beloved mother. Seeing her reminded me of where my moral strength had come from. She raised me to always question and to always do the right thing regardless of the consequences. There were no signs of defeat on her face. She told me she loved me and she kissed me goodbye. As I walked out of the courthouse I was not sad or bitter, nor was I afraid. Instead I experienced a deep sense of empowerment on that beautiful day. Looking back, I can see what a long trip it had been to arrive at an understanding of my life that today seems perfectly clear. I realize now that my refusal to participate in a morally indefensible war, was one I should have made from the very beginning. But it took the experience of going to war for me to see things in a broader perspective and realize that I was deep down a conscientious objector. It can be claimed that a particular war is justified politically, or that it has the support of the international community, and the blessing of international law. But these arguments can never convey the images, the sounds, the smells, or anything that remotely depicts the full horror of war. Escaping those arguments is the irreversible damage that war always inflicts upon humanity and upon everything worth loving on earth. War ultimately is the destruction of life. Even if before deploying to Iraq I had been convinced by the lies that we were going to find weapons of mass destruction, and that we were fighting against global terrorism, and even if those lies turned out to be true, there’s no doubt in my heart that today I still would hate and oppose all war. There were times in Iraq when I failed to see things the way I was supposed to as a soldier, when I knew what we called target were in fact homes, public squares or markets, when I knew that what we called enemy combatants, terrorists, or Saddam loyalists were in fact people, sons, daughters, parents, human beings. On those occasions when I destroyed human life, in failing to refuse my orders, I also failed myself, my soldiers, the Iraqi people, and humanity. I should have resisted my orders, and I should have fought for the dignity and preservation of life. I didn’t because I was too afraid. Because even without chains and shackles, I was still a prisoner. A prisoner of my own fear. I knew the right path to take. I knew what my actions should have been. But I didn’t feel free to do what in my heart I knew to be the right thing. I now know exactly what it was that so empowered me as I left my trial. Though I was handcuffed as I walked down the steps of the courthouse to the police vehicle that was the moment I gained my freedom. I understood then that freedom is not something physical; but a condition of the mind and of the heart. On that day I learned that there is no greater freedom than the freedom to follow one’s functions. That day I was free in way I have never been before.

Kolhatkar: Camilo Mejia, reading from his book Road from Ar Ramadi. Camilo Mejia thank you so much for joining us today.

Mejia: Thank you for this.

Special Thanks to Anthony Ponce for transcribing this interview