Mike Lyons – Another Butterfly on the Wheel Imprisoned for being a conscientious objector

He's the kind of person who'd notice if you were feeling down. As a child he was thoughtful and outgoing at the same time. He always had loads of friends. He loved football, fearless when it came to tackles. When he joined the Navy he wanted to do his duty, defend his country and all those other noble and diffuse things.

At first it was a good part of his life, training to be a medic. He'd high hopes of going out to some far flung place after a disaster - bringing the kind of aid only the Royal Navy could provide. These were the dreams he'd been sold when he was recruited in. He worked hard. Sometimes the going was tough. Anyone who has ever been through basic training and then a lengthy medical training in the military knows this.

But he stuck it out. And the way of life, the friendships, the honour of serving his country suited him. So much so that when he was first drafted to Afghanistan he was ready to go. There were plenty of reasons for him to do his tour of duty. He'd be working in a forward operating base providing care to the sick and injured causalities of war. Most of all, he'd be doing the job he'd been trained for, and doing it to the best of his ability.

When he first started asking questions about the war out there, he got official answers. Somehow it didn't seem enough but he was busy preparing to go to war. Instead of their dream wedding, he and his wife married hurriedly so that she'd be his next of kin if anything were to happen to him out there.

Then, extremely rapidly, the press started printing extracts from Wiki-leaks about the conflict in Afghanistan. Michael became interested. Why shouldn't he be? Soon, he'd be right in the middle of it and it seemed like a good idea to find out exactly what was going on – and why. He had so many questions. He's always had a curious, analytical mind. When he focused it on the information leaked to the media, he grew troubled.

Finally, after a disastrous seminar on battlefield ethics, he knew he couldn't be a part of a war situation that seemed pointless and out of control. He realised that being a medic had changed. Instead of putting all his energy into caring for his patients, he was also expected to be a combatant. In other words, medics were supposed to engage in the fighting as well. On top of that, he wouldn't be allowed to treat certain patients. This went against the Geneva convention.

So did the idea that a medic was both a non-combatant and a combatant. It didn't make sense. Besides, the cause he was supposed to be fighting for was to his mind, indefensible. He had an awakening, an epiphany, a moment of clarity. If he felt this way it could only mean one thing - he was a conscientious objector. A person who objects to a conflict on the grounds of conscience.

The label sounds old-fashioned and quaint to our modern ears. But it's the sound of revolution if you really listen. During all the months of appeals, rejections and the threat of disciplinary action if he did not comply with the order: “...go to the armoury, take up a rifle and commence training...”; Michael stayed firm in his convictions.

What were those convictions? That he was a medic. That he would not fight. That he was there to save lives. That's what he was and who he was. It's what he trained to be. He never lost sight of that.

Ever since he was sent to a military correctional unit (this is not a prison – as it announces on their website), letters have been pouring in. They're from people offering him support. You can understand why. Apart from the fact that he's stood up to the entire Naval establishment, his ethical stance shows courage and fortitude; as well as a new way of looking at the role of the military.

And let's face it, there's something weird about the fact that in 2011, a person can be imprisoned for their beliefs about peace. When so much is made about free speech and the rights of the individual to make informed choices – how is this possible? Ever since he went away, I've been trying to figure out why he's actually in prison. None of it makes any sense.

One thing is for sure though, Michael's heart won't change. Because this was a choice made directly from there. If he'd wanted to get out of going to Afghanistan because he was a coward, he could easily have faked an illness. Or failed the rifle shooting course. No way. He stood up for what he believed in. And for that, I will always be proud to say that I'm his mother and he's a great son.

Here's a link to his support page on Facebook: 
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Support-Michael-Lyons/128755363877582 


And a poem by Wilfred Owen that I learned at school.  It was written about the war to end all wars.  Sadly, it still resonates today: 

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918