Proving ground or breeding ground for psychological problems?
Contrasting views on the value of national service
RICH, POOR, tall, short, cerebral or intellectually unaware, for decades now thousands of young men have had to share the same experience at the peak of their adolescence; conscription in the National Guard.
Every January and July, the induction camps are filled with lines of bare-headed teenage boys kissing girlfriends and mothers goodbye as they reluctantly pass through the army gates to begin a two-year period of military service. Those gates often represent the difference between a life that’s footloose and fancy-free and a regulated existence where the individual is blended, with a fair amount of coaxing, into the whole.
The two most commonly used, if contradictory, maxims whispered by well-meaning uncles into the ears of young conscripts on their way to the training camps are: “Logic ends where the army begins” and “Army is the University of Life”.
You can also bet your bottom euro that any Cypriot who has already done his compulsory service will always say the same: “It was much harder in my day”. At a glance, this seems perfectly true, given current perks introduced to the army like mobile phone use, internet cafés and hired chefs.
But the generational gap in the level of “difficulty” of military service should be put in context. Thirty years ago, young boys were not growing up in an environment where concepts like human rights, multiperspectivity and critical thinking were bandied about. Thirty years ago, 18-year-olds knew from their fathers not to answer back or question their superiors. There was little room for the kind of dialogue where the young conscript says to his officer: “Well, convince me first why I should and then I’ll do it.”
The fact that an estimated 20 per cent of conscripts try to get out of doing their service, claiming psychological problems, raises a number of questions that this article cannot answer: Is army evasion more socially acceptable today or does the stigma remain? Does military conscription in today’s environment increase the chances of depression among teenage boys?
The Sunday Mail spoke to four men who all served in the National Guard at some point in the last 35 years to hear their views on life in a conscript army.
THINGS WERE STRICT
“It was really strict when I joined. We didn’t have any mobiles, put it that way, and the food was appalling,” said Dimis Kalimeris, a 53-year-old commercial pilot from Kyrenia.
Kalimeris was due to be drafted in July 1974, but as a result of the coup and invasion, registration did not take place until November 1974.
“They were really hard times because for the first seven months, they woke us up every morning at around 4am before dawn to go in the trenches and man the machine guns. They were worried about another air raid. We slept in our clothes. It was a really hard time,” he said.
Before the war, the government had decided to reduce military service to 12 months, but after the invasion, the proposal was shelved, and the new recruits of ’74 ended up doing three years.
“At that time, we didn’t have a choice. Now it’s very easy. If you can’t do it, you don’t. Back then, you had to have real psychological problems. Now, you have a choice, that’s the problem with it today,” said the pilot.
Asked to comment on the conditions at the time, Kalimeris was clear that boys have it much better today.
“My son just finished the army. He had his own car to drive back and forth from the camp, his own mobile so he could call his parents and friends at any time. If he had a problem, he could talk to his officers, who were more understanding about it. If he wanted to get out for psychological reasons, he could have managed it.”
Kalimeris recalls that there was little room for favouritism in the army unless you had real money or power, creating a real esprit de corps. The barracks in the training camps didn’t even have fans never mind air conditioning. The training was longer, the state of the road network made trips home difficult, while the hardware comprised of Second World War British-made Martini-Enfield rifles.
“One relative of mine had a hard time in the army because he was a declared communist. He used to get beaten up. The left-wing really suffered at that time. I was always neutral,” he said.
Based in Troodos, the radar mechanic only got out twice a month, a far cry from the multiple weekly outings of most conscripts in today’s army.
“I don’t think it’s necessary any more. If they kept it to ten months instead of 25 then it might be useful to help build character, otherwise it’s a waste of time and money,” concluded Kalimeris.
WASTED YEARS
Theodoros Theodorou (not real name) agrees that two years is a real waste of a man’s life at an age when enthusiasm, curiosity and energy levels are possibly at their highest.
The 33-year-old acknowledged that the army brings people together from all walks of life, making it a real “experience”, but that camaraderie was damaged by nepotism and unequal treatment.
“It wasn’t just about who you know – your conditions and training depended to a great extent on which unit you were in. We used to have to march and jog around the camp at 6am while soldiers from other units would look at us as if we were from out of space,” said Theodorou.
“The training was haphazard. I spent a month driving the old Second World War Bedford trucks going in circles round and around a dirt path. At the end of the month I my ‘training’ had ended and I was expected to know how to drive a completely different vehicle, the Steyr military truck which can carry 20 passengers,” he said.
The hardest to swallow for Theodorou was taking orders from officers, whom he considered “incompetent, insecure and riddled with superiority and inferiority complexes”.
“They would make us set out in the middle of the summer heat with our full back packs, make us dig trenches, and then force us to fill them up again as they sat in the shade. I wouldn’t have minded if we had learned something useful.
“But there was no professionalism, they just seemed to focus on silly ways to break your spirit. What’s the point of toughening you up if you’re not properly trained to actually use the weapons available and fight?”
Predictably, he too agreed that young teenagers have it easier today. “I used to have to wait in line for up to 40 minutes to make a five-minute phone call. For breakfast we had cement blocks that you could only eat by softening them in hot milk, the army was trying to get rid of its wartime stock before it expired.”
Theodorou saw some things that will stick in his memory. “I was attacked by an axe-wielding madman once but they pulled him away, while another guy was unfortunate enough to have someone ejaculate all over him just after he came out the shower.”
TOUGH BUT NECESSARY
For 25-year-old air steward, Victoras Iordanous, the army is a tough but necessary exercise.
“It was tough but I used to handle it. I was in one of the toughest units, the black berets, or tank division. After ten months they sent me to a guard post near the Green Line right next to the Turks, on the opposite side of Lefka and Morphou.
“It was far away from the world. You could only see UN, Turks and the odd stray dog. We had no electricity, apart from a generator we ran after 5pm. Once we had no water for three days,” said Iordanous.
During his days in the wilderness, he met former NG commander Evangelos Florakis before he died in a fatal helicopter crash in 2002.
“He called us commandos, and gave us cigarettes. W
hen the captain went to take a cigarette, he said ‘no, they’re for the boys’. He was standing less than 100 metres away from the Turks.
“It was an amazing experience. He made us feel that we are fighting and defending for a reason. I felt proud for my country that I met him,” he said.
Iordanous noted the biggest problem in the army was psychological not physical hardship. “Also the inequality is difficult – some have a hard time while others live like pashas.”
He said those who have problems, like a number of hard drug users he cohabited with in the barracks, should not stay in the army because they could make life difficult for the other soldiers.
“I learnt a lot in the army, that you have to choose who to help and not be a sucker, to take care of myself, to be more responsible and to deal with loneliness. One year would have been enough though,” he said.
IT SET ME BACK
Antonis Petrou (not real name), 22, was discharged from the army two years ago after completing a full service and some more. That’s two years too late for him.
“No way did it make me more mature. If anything it made me more desensitised. It really set me back. For two years of my life I had to stay locked inside, 24/7, I couldn’t evolve as a person in society. I couldn’t get a job. Since I’ve been out, I’ve had two promotions in my job already. Imagine where I’d have been if I started four years ago,” said Petrou.
“I didn’t help my country in any shape or form as they tell us we do. The army is there for people to see so we can say we have an army. We don’t do proper training. They don’t know even know what they are trying to teach us. Many times I saw officers unable to figure out how to use a weapon; it’s a joke,” he said.
The 22-year-old’s biggest problem was the attitude of officers. “They try to insult you and belittle you as a person. They have no capacity to discuss, only to insult and shout without explaining themselves so I can understand. They threaten you without reason. One guy did it so much I threw my gun at him and they sent me to Kyperounda.”
Petrou is adamant that any life lessons learnt in the army he could have learnt elsewhere in life, without the need to give up two years of his life.
As for the cost, he has since given up on his ambition for higher education, and finds himself a much angrier man.
“They broke my nerves. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I was always angry, shouting. It changes your psychology. Even now, I still have a short fuse. I would prefer no-one to go. If I could help my friends avoid it, I would,” he said.
