Mandatory military training and halcyon times
The Manila ARMY is on red alert!
After completing his mandatory military training last October, BTS member J-Hope is coming to town in April. His return to live performance is just another example of Korea’s cultural phenomenon seamlessly blending with its unique social systems, including conscription. Only in Korea can you go from crooning love songs to serving in the military and still leave fans scrambling for your comeback tour.
For those who grew up or into swooning over K-pop idols, the idea of seeing them trade glitter for camouflage is both jarring and fascinating. But what exactly does military service mean for Koreans and us in the Philippines? What about the rest of the world?
Korea mandates military service for men aged 18 to 28, requiring 18-21 months depending on the branch of the armed forces. It’s a rite of passage shaped by the ongoing threat from its northern neighbor, where mandatory service stretches an intimidating 10 years for men and seven years for women. It’s just one of the dissimilarities between the two Koreas, with Pyongyang taking “mandatory” to a whole new level, where you qualify for a retirement party upon discharge.
Meanwhile, here in the Philippines, the idea of compulsory military training has resurfaced. Under the National Service Training Program, college students may choose between Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC), Civic Welfare Training Service, or Literacy Training. ROTC usually gets the fewest volunteers.
Discussions about reinstating mandatory ROTC have stirred lively debates, with a hefty P27 billion price tag adding to the drama. Proponents argue it builds discipline and patriotism; critics call it a potential return to a culture of violence. Basically, it’s like a sequel to a movie nobody’s sure they wanted.
Other countries offer their own spins on mandatory service. Israel and Singapore enforce universal conscription, emphasizing their geopolitical realities and compact populations. In Israel, service comes with social esteem for young soldiers, while Singapore’s strict system covers even post-service obligations.
Military service is often billed as a crash course in discipline and patriotism. For older generations, it’s a moral furnace for forging civic-mindedness. In places like Finland and Switzerland, veterans return with an aura of prestige, often landing leadership roles.
But there’s a flip side. Forced military service interrupts careers, education and personal dreams. Just ask J-Hope (Jung Ho-seok) and Jin (Kim Seok-jin), who paused performing onstage for their ARMY of followers in order to perform their duty for the country’s army. That’s dedication: shelving stadiums full of screaming fans to practice marching drills. It’s the same case with the rest of the Bangtan Boys who will have to wait for their turn to resume work and civilian life.
In less democratic regimes, conscription locks youth into ideological indoctrination. Even in free societies, some see forced service as a detour rather than a destination. And then there’s hazing, the elephant in the ROTC room, or barracks. Upperclassmen sometimes treat programs like secret fraternities, where hazing is “discipline” in disguise. It’s an antiquated hierarchical society that could lead to emotional or physical scars, or worse.
For women, mandatory service brings extra challenges as they navigate male-dominated spaces while dodging outdated stereotypes. That’s a far cry from the empowering, discipline-building ideal.
Younger Filipinos may see ROTC’s value in fostering discipline, but many also worry about normalizing militarization in a society already grappling with complex security challenges.
A recent trip abroad hammered this home: I saw US soldiers casually strutting about in Manhattan with their firearms, contrasting with Seoul’s unarmed conscripts strolling city streets. Even in Japan, where I studied years ago, jail guards only carried batons. It’s a gentle reminder that firepower isn’t the only form of strength.
Around the world, military service reflects unique histories and needs. Russia and Turkey maintain massive armies through conscription. Switzerland’s system is so ingrained that reservists keep rifles at home, turning their kitchens into armories.
In Israel, a gender-inclusive draft sparks debates about combat readiness versus emotional tolls. But hey, if Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman can fight a war in heels, surely the discussion isn’t over.
By contrast, Japan and Germany have abolished conscription, opting for professional armies. Their pasts make the decision both obvious and practical.
Evidently, mandatory service is a double-edged sword. It can instill discipline and camaraderie or unduly burden young people who may be mentally immature to deal with the realities of armed conflict. For some, it’s a noble calling; for others, a necessary evil.
As the Philippines debates ROTC amid tensions in the South China Sea, budget dramas, impeachment hearings, elections, and even the brewing war between Vic Sotto and Darryl Yap, we must proceed cautiously, learning from global examples.
The renowned pacifist physicist Albert Einstein once said, “You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.” It kinda makes “military training” an oxymoron, doesn’t it? Whatever path we take, perhaps, it’s best to prepare our youth not just for conflict but, more importantly, for peace, progress, and the future.
And if you’re lucky enough to score a golden ticket to J-Hope’s concert this April, remember: even the most disciplined soldiers have a groove in their step, a beat in their lips, and a song in their hearts. Hup, two, three, four! Hit it!
