Mass Conscientious Objection

Advocating the Right to Not Kill

Recently I was encouraged by an invitation from my friend Kerry Christopher Dugan to mull over mass conscientious objection as the only sure way to eliminate war. Responding to my reflection on war I had posted on Facebook, Kerry said, "Conscientious objection is where the real power to end war lies. I knew Eileen Egan, who lobbied for the decriminalisation of the Sixth Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Kill, at the UN, where the resolution was adopted 36 years ago, adding the Right to Not Kill to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights."

Mass conscientious objection has often been heralded as a potent force against the machinery of war, a moral declaration that challenges the foundations of militarism. The simple act of refusing to fight—or even to pick up a weapon—is not just a personal stance; it's a collective repudiation of violence, a profound rejection of the systems used to normalise war. But is it enough to stop war entirely?

The power of mass refusal lies in its ability to disrupt. Wars depend on the obedience of people—soldiers, logisticians, labourers, and propagandists—to fuel their engines. If the young, en masse, refused to don uniforms, if they rejected the rituals of enlistment altogether, the machinery would falter. History offers us glimpses of this dynamic.

During the Vietnam War, draft resistance in the United States evolved into more than a political statement—it became a cultural uprising, a tidal wave of defiance that reshaped the national psyche. Young men burnt their draft cards in public ceremonies, students occupied university campuses, and communities rallied in solidarity with those who refused to fight. This collective act of resistance profoundly eroded public support for the war, forcing America to confront the moral and practical failures of its involvement in Vietnam. The uprising wasn’t just about avoiding the battlefield; it was about rejecting the legitimacy of the war itself, an unmistakable message to political leaders that the will of the people could no longer be ignored.

Decades earlier, on the other side of the world, Gandhi’s strategy of nonviolent non-cooperation in colonial India had demonstrated a similar truth: mass refusal can destabilise even the most entrenched systems of power. In Gandhi's vision, refusal was not passive but deeply active—a form of moral resistance that sought to expose the violence and injustice inherent in colonial rule. Indians boycotted British goods, refused to pay unjust taxes, and walked away from government jobs. By withdrawing their consent, they paralysed the British administration, undermining its authority without firing a single shot. Gandhi’s movement revealed a profoundly universal truth: no empire, no war machine, no system of oppression can survive when the people it depends on choose not to participate.

The success of Lech Wałęsa and the Solidarity movement also underscores the power of collective action against entrenched systems of oppression. It demonstrates that when people refuse to participate in unjust systems—be it oppressive governments or war machines—they can create fractures that lead to systemic change. While the context of Solidarity was political and economic rather than directly anti-war, the principles of nonviolent defiance and moral courage are universally applicable to movements seeking to dismantle systems of violence and oppression.

In this sense, Wałęsa and Solidarity serve as a profound example of how mass refusal, when strategically organised and morally driven, can challenge seemingly insurmountable systems of power. Whether in the context of a workers’ strike or a conscientious objection to war, the lesson remains the same: unified, nonviolent resistance has the potential to reshape history.

In all three cases, refusal was not just an act of defiance; it was a form of invention. It created a new narrative, a shared identity among those who resisted, and a vision of a world free from the violence of war and oppression. These movements remind us that power, no matter how formidable it appears, is ultimately sustained by the compliance of the many. When that compliance is withdrawn, even the mightiest systems can crumble.

Mass conscientious objection is a moral act, and moral acts resonate. They ripple outward, challenging not only the practicality of war but its legitimacy. When young people reject the uniform, they reject more than an outfit—they reject a symbol of violence, the normalisation of killing, and the tacit acceptance of war as a solution. This refusal forces society to confront its complicity, to ask hard questions about the values it upholds.

Rebuttal is never easy and is usually accompanied with peril. For history also teaches us that those who resist are often met with harsh reprisals. Governments facing mass objection have imprisoned, ostracised, and even executed dissenters. The bravery required to stand firm in such circumstances is immense, and it is this bravery that often limits the scale of conscientious objection. Fear, societal and even family pressure, plus the sheer weight of state power, can stifle even the most principled resistance.

Moreover, war is rarely a standalone phenomenon. It's the violent tip of an iceberg, rooted in deeper systems of power, economics, and geopolitics. Imperialism, resource competition, arms dealing and authoritarianism—these forces sustain the conditions for war. Refusing to fight addresses the symptom but not necessarily the cause. Even if soldiers refuse in their thousands, what of the corporations that profit from conflict? What of the ideologies that glorify conquest and domination? What of the political structures that perpetuate inequality and division?

This is not to diminish the impact of conscientious objection. Far from it. But to maximise its impact, it must be part of a larger movement of resistance. Nonviolent actions—protests, strikes, economic boycotts—can amplify the disruption. Education and cultural shifts can erode the societal support that sustains militarism. Political advocacy can work to dismantle the systems that perpetuate conflict. And global cohesion can transform isolated acts of defiance into a transnational movement for peace.

Imagine a world where millions refuse to fight. The economic costs of war would skyrocket. Recruitment would become an insurmountable hurdle. Governments would face a legitimacy crisis, unable to justify their actions to a population that no longer consents to violence. And if this refusal crossed borders, if it became a global phenomenon, it could strike at the very core of the war economy. The foundations of conflict, built on compliance and fear, would begin to crack wide open.

But stopping war entirely requires more than refusal. It requires imagination and cooperation. A world without war is not merely a world where people refuse to fight; it's a world in which peaceful alternatives to violence are woven into the fabric of society. It's a world where disputes are resolved through dialogue and diplomacy, where resources are shared equitably, where power is decentralised, and where peace is not just the absence of conflict but the presence of justice.

Mass conscientious objection, then, is not the endgame but the spark. It is a declaration, a refusal to participate in the futility of violence. But its true power lies in what it inspires—a movement, a culture, a structure that makes war obsolete. The challenge is immense, but so too is the potential. If enough people refuse to fight, they do more than stop a war. They begin to imagine—and build—a world where war itself is unthinkable.