Young men in North America and Europe (but not in Asia) tend to th.docx

Young men in North America and Europe (but not in Asia) tend
to think they need more muscle to be attractive. One study
presented 200 young American men with 100 images of men
with various levels of muscle. Researchers measure level of
muscle in kilograms per square meter (kg/m2) of fat-free body
mass. Typical young men have about 20 kg/m2. Each subject
chose two images, one that represented his own level of body
muscle and one that he thought represented "what women
prefer." The mean gap between self-image and "what women
prefer" was 2.35 kg/m2. Suppose that the "muscle gap" in the
population of all young men has a Normal distribution with
standard deviation 2.5 kg/m2.
What is the approximate P-value?
Make a conclusion regarding the hypotheses and put it in
context of the question.
Someday They’ll Have a War and Nobody
Will Come
by Staughton Lynd
There is a contradiction in U.S. law concerning conscientious
objection.
The Nuremburg Tribunal was premised on the concept that an
individual
must refuse to commit war crimes in a particular war. High-
ranking Ger-
man and Japanese personnel who were found to have violated
this man-
date were executed. The Nuremburg concept has been

incorporated in the
United States Army’s manual. Yet, the law of conscientious
objection still
requires a member of the military to object to service in all
wars, that is,
to be a pacifist, in order to qualify for conscientious objection.
This must
be changed.
I must begin with a scholarly correction. The title of this talk,
‘‘Some-
day They’ll Have a War And Nobody Will Come,’’ is one of
those
quotations that has been in your head forever and that you are
sure is
right. However, it is wrong. The correct quotation—which I
consider
less felicitous—turns out to be ‘‘Sometime they’ll give a war
and
nobody will come.’’ Moreover, I was quite certain that the
quotation
came from a play by Irwin Shaw called ‘‘Bury The Dead.’’ That
is
wrong also. The quotation is from Carl Sandburg’s ‘‘The
People,
Yes.’’
Both ‘‘Bury The Dead’’ and ‘‘The People, Yes’’ were published

in
1936. Thus, neither was a product of the period between
September
1939, when Germany invaded Poland, and June 1941, when
Germany
invaded the Soviet Union, the period that Communist Parties
termed
the period of ‘‘phony war’’ and during which persons in and
close to
the Party strenuously opposed war preparations. Indeed, in
1936, the
Communist Party was encouraging young men to go to Spain to
fight
Note: ‘‘Someday They Will Have a War and Nobody Will
Come’’ appears
in From Here to There: The Staughton Lynd Reader, edited by
Andrej Grubacic
(Oakland, CA: PM Press, 2010) www.pmpress.org.
PEACE & CHANGE, Vol. 36, No. 2, April 2011
� 2011 Peace History Society and
Peace and Justice Studies Association
156
in the International Brigades. Accordingly, I presume that the

passion-
ate antiwar sentiments of these two literary works expressed
what we
might call the ‘‘World War I syndrome.’’ In some liberal and
radical
circles in 1936, there was still a wide and deep opposition to
war
caused by the horrors of 1914–1918.
David Dellinger, in whose memory I delivered the original
version
of this talk, was one of a very small number of persons whose
paci-
fism continued into and throughout World War II. David was
one of
the Union Theological Seminary Eight who not only refused to
fight in
the Second World War but refused to register for the draft.
David
served two terms in federal prison and helped to lead long
hunger
strikes protesting racial segregation, censorship of mail, and
other
objectionable prison practices.

While David was doing his second prison term for war
resistance,
his wife Betty was pregnant. David tells in From Yale to Jail
how
when he was on hunger strike at Lewisburg the warden came to
his
cell and said, ‘‘She’s dying. She has sent a message telling you
to go
off the strike so she can die in peace.’’ David said, ‘‘Take me to
her.’’
The warden refused and David concluded, correctly, that the
warden
was lying. The prisoners won one of the major goals of their
hunger
strike concerning the censorship of mail. David was given a pile
of let-
ters from Betty telling him that she was well and supported the
strike.
The Dellingers’ oldest child, Patchen, was born soon after.
When the Union Eight were released from prison, Union offered
them readmission on condition that they would avoid any course
of
action that would publicize their draft resistance. Five of the
eight

refused and went instead to Chicago Theological Seminary.
Another opponent of the military Goliath, David Mitchell, pio-
neered in the 1960s the position that I wish to explicate tonight.
David
Mitchell said that he was not a pacifist. He refused to
participate in the
Selective Service process because he believed that the actions
of the Uni-
ted States in Vietnam were war crimes, as war crimes had been
defined
at Nuremburg after World War II. He spent two years in prison.
With these forerunners in mind, we turn to the message of
another hero, Ehren Watada. In the military, justice is
administered by
court-martial. In the court-martial process, there is a proceeding
simi-
lar to the convening of a grand jury. It is called an Article 32
hearing.
The hearing officer decides whether there is sufficient evidence
to jus-
tify a court-martial. On August 17, 2006, at Fort Lewis,
Washington,

there was an Article 32 hearing for Lt. Watada. Early in the
hearing,
Someday They’ll Have a War and Nobody Will Come 157
the prosecution played video clips from his recent speeches. In
one of
these speeches at the national convention of Veterans for Peace,
Lt. Watada said, ‘‘Today, I speak with you about a radical idea
….
The idea is this; that to stop an illegal and unjust war, the sol-
diers…can choose to stop fighting it.’’ Of course, in itself this
was not
a new idea. It was another way of saying, someday they’ll have
a war
and nobody will come.
But what is unusual is Lt. Watada’s basis for saying ‘‘No.’’
Like
David Mitchell in the 1960s, Ehren Watada is not a pacifist. He
offered to go to Afghanistan but refused to go to Iraq. He
refused to
go to Iraq for the same reason David Mitchell refused to go to
Viet-
nam, not because of objection to all wars, but because of a
conviction

that war crimes were being committed in this particular war,
giving
rise to an obligation, under the principles declared at
Nuremburg, to
refuse military service.
Carl Mirra has edited a collection of oral histories of the second
Iraq War entitled Soldiers and Citizens: An Oral History of
Operation
Iraqi Freedom from the Battlefield to the Pentagon. Therein,
two
interviewees—one a veteran and the other a veteran’s wife who
now
does military counseling—express the view that the current
legal
definition of conscientious objection is too confining, too
‘‘tight.’’ It is
confining and tight because it requires a soldier who is troubled
by
actions he has been ordered to commit to object to participation
in all
wars in order to refuse conscientiously. Self-evidently,
conscience can-
not be thus circumscribed, and Nuremburg did not intend that it

should be. A soldier can and must be able to say ‘‘No’’ to
orders in a
particular war that he perceives to be war crimes and that
deeply
offend conscience.
Take a minute to recognize how radical a change this would be.
The concept of conscientious objection, as set forth in Selective
Service
law during and after World War II and in the existing
regulations of
all the military services, is based on the Christian teaching of
forgive-
ness of enemies, of doing good for evil, of turning the other
cheek, of
putting up the sword. To become a conscientious objector, the
appli-
cant must object to participation in ‘‘war in any form,’’ which
is to
say, to all wars.
This is a noble idea. I happen to adhere to it, personally. But it
is unlikely ever to be the conviction of more than a very few
persons
of military age. It is a legal system written to accommodate the

ten-
der consciences of members of certain small Christian sects that
came
158 PEACE & CHANGE / April 2011
into being during the Radical Reformation: Hutterites, Quakers,
Amish, Mennonites, Brethren, and the like. And let us be
honest,
Conscientious Objection thus defined exists because the powers
that
be know that it will never be the world view of more than a
handful
of persons.
Moreover, it should be obvious that in a volunteer military, an
even tinier minority of service men and women can be expected
to
object to war in any form. Had this been their belief, why would
they
have volunteered in the first place? In fact, it is possible to
become a
conscientious objector while serving in the military. Certain
remarkable

individuals like Camillo Mejia and Kevin Benderman have
deployed to
Iraq, been horrified by what they experienced, and on reflection
con-
cluded that they will never again fight in any war. But common
sense
tells us that such Conscientious-Objectors-From-Experience-In-
A-Par-
ticular-War will be few. This is especially so because, as was
the case
with both Mejia and Benderman, the military will court-martial
and
imprison such objectors without giving them the legally
required oppor-
tunity to appeal an initial rejection of conscientious objector
status.
The system can tolerate traditional conscientious objectors. For
those who remember Herbert Marcuse’s concept of ‘‘repressive
toler-
ance,’’ this is an example: precisely by making room for such
atypical
refuseniks, the system as a whole can continue undisturbed.
But it might be otherwise if the David Mitchell-Ehren Watada

approach became law. Then, you might have hundreds, even
thou-
sands of soldiers saying, in effect: ‘‘I can’t tell you how I might
feel in
another war. But I can tell you where I stand about this one.
This par-
ticular war is a war that requires the commission of war crimes.
It
may even be a war that as defined at Nuremburg is a war crime
in its
totality, because it is an aggressive war, a crime against the
peace. I
ain’t gonna study this war no more.’’ If that idea were once let
loose
in the land, one might indeed have a war to which very few
would
come. So, let us try to form a more precise idea of refusal to
fight
based on the belief that a particular war involves war crimes.
THE NUREMBURG PRINCIPLES
At the end of the Second World War, humanity imagined a new
design of international relations. In that new web of
relationships, all

nations would recognize certain human rights, all persons and
govern-
ments would be required to avoid certain war crimes and crimes
against humanity, all conquering states would commit
themselves to
prescribed behavior with respect to prisoners and occupied
territories.
The initial conceptualization of these new rights and obligations
took place at Nuremburg. For more than a half century, the
verdicts
at Nuremberg in trials of German leaders after World War II
have
provided the fundamental standards by which alleged war
crimes are
to be assessed. The Charter of the International Military
Tribunal
(IMT) identified three kinds of war crimes:
1. War crimes: namely, violations of the laws or customs of
war.
Such violations shall include, but not be limited to, murder, ill-

treatment or deportation to slave labor or for any other
purpose of civilian population of or in occupied territory,
murder or ill-treatment of prisoners of war or persons on the
seas, killing of hostages, plunder of public or private property,
wanton destruction of cities, towns or villages, or devastation
not justified by military necessity;
2. Crimes against humanity: namely, murder, extermination,
enslavement, deportation, and other inhumane acts committed
against any civilian population, before or during the war; or
persecutions on political, racial or religious grounds, in
execution of or in connection with any crime within the
jurisdiction of the Tribunal, whether or not in violation of
domestic law of the country where perpetrated.
3. Crimes against peace: namely, planning, preparation,
initiation
or waging of a war of aggression, or a war in violation of
international treaties, agreements or assurances, or participation
in a common plan or conspiracy for the accomplishment of any
of the foregoing.1

Apart from the definition of war crimes, three principles set
forth in
the Charter are of particular importance here.
The first is that the defense of ‘‘superior orders’’2 is expressly
rejected. Article 8 of the Charter specified: ‘‘The fact that the
defen-
dant acted pursuant to order of his Government or of a superior
shall
not free him from responsibility, but may be considered in
mitigation
of punishment if the Tribunal determines that justice so
requires.’’3
The second Nuremburg principle is that international law must
take precedence over the law of any particular nation.
Expansion and
clarification of the Nuremburg Principles was carried forward
by the
U.N. International Law Commission in 1950, when it adopted
and
codified them in broad application to international law, drawing

in
some cases on the judgments of the Tribunal.
Here, the Commission highlighted at the outset the principle
‘‘that
international law may impose duties on individuals directly
without
any interposition of internal law’’ and, as a corollary, that
individuals
are not relieved of responsibility under international law ‘‘by
the fact
that their acts are not held to be crimes under the law of any
particu-
lar country.’’ The Commission went on to point out that this
implies
‘‘what is commonly called the ‘supremacy’ of international law
over
national law’’ and to cite the declaration of the IMT that ‘‘the
very
essence of the Charter is that individuals have international
duties
which transcend the national obligations of obedience imposed
by the
individual State.’’4

The third, and for my purposes most important, Nuremburg
prin-
ciple is that aggressive war is a crime no matter what nation
may
commit it. The nations that framed the Charter, the judges of the
Tri-
bunal, and in particular, the representatives of the United States
con-
sidered that henceforth the crimes defined at Nuremberg should
apply
to all nations, including those that conducted the trials. Among
these
crimes was the ‘‘crime against peace’’ of aggressive war.
Robert Jackson, Associate Justice of the United States Supreme
Court and Chief Counsel for the United States during the
Nuremberg
proceedings, reported that the definition of aggressive war
occasioned
‘‘the most serious disagreement’’ at the conference which
drafted the
Charter. Jackson stated that the United States ‘‘declined to
recede
from its position even if it meant the failure of the
Conference.’’ He

described the conflict as follows:
The Soviet Delegation proposed and until the last meeting
pressed
a definition which, in our view, had the effect of declaring
certain
acts crimes only when committed by the Nazis. The United
States
contended that the criminal character of such acts could not
depend on who committed them and that international crimes
could only be defined in broad terms applicable to statesmen of
any nation guilty of the proscribed conduct.5
Telford Taylor corroborates Jackson’s account. According to
Taylor,
‘‘the definition of the crimes to be charged… was an important
question of principle which at first appeared to be intractable.’’
The
Soviets, Taylor says, wanted to charge the Nazi leaders with
‘‘[a]ggression against or domination over other nations carried
out
by the European Axis.’’ The Soviets were willing to define

‘‘war
crimes’’ and ‘‘crimes against humanity’’ as violations of
international
law no matter by whom committed. But the Russians—and the
Fren-
ch—resisted creating a new crime of aggressive war.6
At the final meeting of the London conference, the Soviet
qualifica-
tions were dropped and agreement was reached on a generic
definition
acceptable to all. In his opening statement to the Tribunal,
Justice Jack-
son articulated the consensus reached by the United States,
France,
Great Britain, and the Soviet Union. ‘‘[L]et me make clear that
while
this law is first applied ‘against German aggressors, the law
includes,
and if it is to serve a useful purpose it must condemn aggression
by any
other nations, including those which sit here now in
judgment.’’’7 Tel-
ford Taylor quoted this solemn affirmation by Justice Jackson
on the

first page of his subsequent book on Nuremberg and Vietnam.8
In trials conducted by the victorious occupying nations in other
courts in occupied territory, phraseology limiting the
jurisdiction of
the tribunals to persons ‘‘acting in the interests of the European
Axis
countries’’ was dropped, making way for expansion of the
Nuremburg
Principles beyond the immediate prosecution of agents of the
defeated
European powers. As Taylor wrote, ‘‘Nuremburg is a historical
and
moral fact with which, from now on, every government must
reckon
in its internal and external policies alike.’’ Recalling the
declaration of
the Tribunal regarding the impartial application of its principles
to all,
Taylor wrote: ‘‘We may not, in justice, apply to these
defendants
because they are Germans, standards of duty and responsibility
which
are not equally applicable to the officials of the Allied Powers

and to
those of all nations.’’9 And on the last page of his book on
Nurem-
berg, published shortly before his death, Taylor once again
affirmed
what he obviously considered to be the heart of the Nuremberg
pro-
ceedings. Reflecting on the growing demand in the 1990s for
the
establishment of a permanent tribunal for the trial of
international
crimes, Taylor recalled:
that the Nuremberg Tribunal had jurisdiction only over ‘‘the
major war criminals of the European Axis countries.’’ Consider-
ing the times and circumstances of its creation, it is hardly sur-
prising that the Tribunal was given jurisdiction over the
vanquished but not the victors. Many times I have heard
Germans
(and others) complain that ‘‘only the losers get tried.’’

Taylor continued:
Early in the Korean War, when General Douglas MacArthur’s
forces landed at Inchon, the American and South Korean armies
drove the Koreans all the way north to the border between North
Korea and China, at the Yalu River. About a week later the Chi-
nese attacked in force and their opponents were driven deep into
South Korea.
During the brief period when our final victory appeared in hand,
I received several telephone calls from members of the press
ask-
ing whether the United States would try suspect North Koreans
as war criminals. I was quite unable to predict whether or not
such trials would be undertaken, but I replied that if they were
to
take place, the tribunal should be established on a neutral base,
preferably by the United Nations, and given jurisdiction to hear
charges not only against North Koreans but South Koreans and
Americans (or any other participants) as well.
And Taylor concluded: ‘‘I am still of that opinion. The laws of
war do

not apply only to the suspected criminals of vanquished nations.
There
is no more or legal basis for immunizing victorious nations
from scru-
tiny. The laws of war are not a one-way street.’’10
It is crystal clear, then, that after the Nuremberg trials, the
United
States was committed to having its own conduct judged
according to
the principles of international law applied in those proceedings.
THE NUREMBURG PRECEDENT IN U.S. COURTS AND
MILITARY
TRIBUNALS
During and after the Vietnam War, U.S. courts and military
tribu-
nals were asked to apply the Nuremberg Principles to the
conduct of
individual soldiers. The civilian judicial system washed its
hands of the
issue and (to use another Biblical metaphor) passed by on the
other side.
Military tribunals were far more forthright than their civilian
counter-

parts in facing the problem but did not succeed in resolving the
dilemma.
David Mitchell and the Fort Hood Three
When David Mitchell was found guilty by the trial court and the
federal court of appeals, his attorneys sought a writ of certiorari
from
the United States Supreme Court. The Supreme Court of the
United
States decided not to consider the case. Justice William Douglas
dis-
sented from the denial of certiorari. He stated in part that
petitioner’s
defense was that the ‘‘war’’ in Vietnam was being conducted in
violation of various treaties to which we were a signatory, espe-
cially the Treaty of London of August 8, 1945, 59 Stat. 1544,
which in Article 6(a) declares that ‘‘waging of a war of aggres-
sion’’ is a ‘‘crime against peace,’’ imposing ‘‘individual
responsi-
bility.’’ Article 8 provides: ‘‘The fact that the Defendant acted

pursuant to order of his Government or of a superior shall not
free him from responsibility, but may be considered in
mitigation
of punishment ….’’
Mr. Justice Jackson, the U.S. prosecutor at Nuremberg, stated:
‘‘If
certain acts in violation of treaties are crimes, they are crimes
whether the United States does them or Germany does them, and
we are not prepared to lay down a rule of criminal conduct
against others which we would not be willing to have invoked
against us.’’ (International Conference on Military Trials, Dept.
State Pub. No. 3880, p. 330.)
Article VI, cl. 2, of the Constitution states that ‘‘treaties’’ are a
part of ‘‘the supreme law of the land; and the Judges in every
State shall be bound thereby.’’
There is a considerable body of opinion that our actions in Viet-
nam constitute the waging of an aggressive ‘‘war.’’
This case presents the questions:
(1) whether the Treaty of London is a treaty within the meaning

of Article VI, cl. 2;
(2) whether the question of the waging of an aggressive ‘‘war’’
is in
the context of this criminal prosecution a justiciable question;
(3) whether the Vietnam episode is a ‘‘war’’ in the sense of the
Treaty;
(4) whether petitioner has standing to raise the question;
(5) whether, if he has, it may be tendered as a defense in this
criminal case or in amelioration of the punishment.
These are extremely sensitive and delicate questions. But they
should, I think, be answered.11
In Mora et al. v. McNamara et al., three young men already
drafted
into military service—Dennis Mora, James Johnson, and David
Samas—refused to deploy to Vietnam. They offered essentially
the
same defense as had David Mitchell, adding the provisions of
the U.S.

Army Field Manual, The Law of Land Warfare (FM 27-10,
1956).
This time, two justices of the United States Supreme Court,
Justices
Douglas and Potter Stewart, dissented from denial of
certiorari.12
Howard Levy
Captain Howard B. Levy, M.D., also a draftee, refused to teach
medicine to Green Beret soldiers at Fort Jackson, South
Carolina.
The hearing officer at Capt. Levy’s court-martial, Colonel Earl
Brown, the law officer, suddenly injected the possibility of a
defense
based on Nuremberg:
Now the defense has intimated that special forces aidmen are
being used in Vietnam in a way contrary to medical ethics. My
research on the subject discloses that perhaps the Nuremberg
Tri-
als and the various post-war treaties of the United States have
evolved a rule that a soldier must disobey an order demanding
that
he commit war crimes, or genocide, or something to that nature.

However, I have heard no evidence that even remotely suggests
that the special forces of the United States Army have been
trained
to commit war crimes, and until I do, I must reject this
defense.13
In colloquy with the prosecutor that followed, Colonel Brown
stated
that if the aidmen were being ‘‘trained to commit war crimes,
then I
think a doctor would be morally bound to refuse’’ to train
them.14
Counsel for Dr. Levy were given one extra day to assemble wit-
nesses to put on a Nuremberg defense. The defense found three
wit-
nesses. Donald Duncan was a former Special Forces Sergeant,
who
became disaffected while serving in Vietnam and resigned from
the
Army. Robin Moore was the author of a best-selling book, The
Green
Berets. Captain Peter Bourne was an Army psychiatrist who had
served in Vietnam. The defense also proffered as exhibits four
thou-

sand articles describing war crimes in Vietnam, including war
crimes
by the Special Forces, and a brief by Professor Richard Falk, an
inter-
national law expert at Princeton, assisted by Richard Barnet of
the
Institute for Policy Studies. Finally, the defense submitted a list
of
thirty-eight witnesses to be called should Col. Brown determine
that a
prima facie case of Nuremberg violations had been made out.15
An out-of-court hearing followed. The Law of Land Warfare
pro-
hibits assassination of enemy soldiers or civilians. Duncan and
Moore
described assassination by U.S. forces and by the Vietnamese
person-
nel that they trained. The Law of Land Warfare prohibits
‘‘putting a
price on an enemy’s head,’’ but Duncan and Moore testified that
in
Vietnam it was a common practice. Most riveting, it seems, was

defense testimony about torture and murder of unarmed
prisoners,
although The Law of Land Warfare prohibits killing prisoners
‘‘even
in the case of…commando operations.’’16 Assessing the
Nuremberg
defense presented by Dr. Levy’s counsel, Col. Brown simply
ruled that
Levy had failed to make a prima facie showing.17
Levy, like Mitchell and Mora before him, sought review by the
Supreme Court of the United States. In Parker v. Levy, 417 U.S.
733
(1974), the Supreme Court upheld the validity of Levy’s court-
martial
conviction. Military tribunals quote and rely on the high court’s
pro-
nouncement in Parker v. Levy that ‘‘the military is, by
necessity, a
specialized society,’’ and hence ‘‘the fundamental necessity for
obedi-
ence, and the consequent necessity for imposition of discipline,
may
render permissible within the military that which would be
constitu-

tionally impermissible outside it.’’18 Justice Stewart angrily
read his
dissenting opinion from the bench.
After Vietnam
The evasion of Nuremberg by the United States Supreme Court
in
the Mitchell, Mora, and Levy cases continues to cast a long
shadow.
Further departing from the Nuremburg principles, the United
States has now explicitly endorsed the doctrine of preemptive
war. In
a speech at the 2002 graduation exercises at West Point,
President
George W. Bush remarked that for much of the last century,
Amer-
ica’s defenses had relied on the Cold War doctrines of
deterrence and
containment. But, the President argued, containment means
nothing
against ‘‘terrorist networks with no nation or citizens to
defend,’’ ‘‘the
war with terror will not be won on the defensive,’’ and the
United

States must be prepared for ‘‘preemptive action when
necessary.’’19 In
September 2002, the Bush Administration promulgated a new
National Security Doctrine which stated, in part, that ‘‘we will
not
hesitate to act alone, if necessary, to exercise our right of self-
defense
by acting preemptively against such terrorists, to prevent them
from
doing harm against our people and our country.’’20
This new doctrine would appear expressly to violate the
condem-
nation of aggressive war on which the United States insisted at
Nuremberg. A conviction that his country is an aggressor in
violation
of international law is the essence of Lt. Watada’s conclusion
that
what he is being ordered to do is unlawful. He considers that he
is
not engaging in ‘‘civil disobedience’’ but rather obeying settled

inter-
national law that Nuremburg decreed he would disregard at his
peril.
In his case, then, and in future cases like his, a potential or
actual sol-
dier may be entitled to refuse orders not only because they
require
‘‘war crimes’’ or ‘‘crimes against humanity,’’ but also because
they
demand obedience to a ‘‘crime against peace’’: aggressive war.
CONCLUSION
To conclude: The little girl quoted in The People, Yes deserves
the
last word:
The little girl saw her first troop parade and asked, ‘‘What are
those?’’
‘‘Soldiers.’’
‘‘What are soldiers?’’
‘‘They are for war. They fight and each tries to kill as many of
the other side as he can.’’
The girl held still and studied.

‘‘Do you know … I know something?’’
‘‘Yes, what is it you know?’’
‘‘Sometime they’ll give a war and nobody will come.’’21
NOTES
1. The Charter was part of the Treaty of London, August 8,
1945 (59
Stat. 1544), which established an International Military
Tribunal. The
Nuremberg Case as Presented by Robert H. Jackson, Chief of
Counsel for the
United States (New York: Cooper Square Publishers, 1971), 22–
23. The first
session of the general assembly of the United Nations
unanimously affirmed
the principles of international law in the Charter and directed
the
International Law Commission to formulate them into an
International
Criminal Code. Res. 95 (1), December 11, 1946. The text of the
Charter may

be found in Michael R. Marrus, The Nuremburg War Crimes
Trial, 1945–46:
A Documentary History (Boston: Bedford Books, 1997), 51–55.
2. This was later often called the ‘‘Eichmann defense,’’ in
reference to the
spectacular trial of Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem in 1961.
Eichmann had been
head of the Jewish Affairs Section of the Reich Security Head
Office and was
viewed as one of those chiefly responsible for the attempted
‘‘final solution of
the Jewish question.’’ Eichmann’s defense rested in part on the
claim that he
had acted on superior orders and, moreover, under duress that
left him no
moral choice. The Israeli court rejected this argument, holding
that ‘‘the
accused closed his ears to the voice of conscience.’’ The court
quoted the
judgment of a District Military Court following the IMT that if
an order was
‘‘manifestly unlawful, it cannot be used as an excuse.’’ Cited in
Robert
K. Woetzel, The Nuremberg Trials in International Law, with a

Postlude on
the Eichmann Case (New York: Praeger, 1962), 269. The Court
of Appeals in
Eichmann’s case further concluded in 1962 that ‘‘the appellant
had received
no ‘superior orders’ at all. He was his own superior, and he
gave all orders in
matters that concerned Jewish affairs.’’ Cited in Hannah
Arendt, Eichmann in
Jerusalem (New York: Viking Press, 1963), 227.
3. Marrus, The Nuremburg War Crimes Trial, 53. Nevertheless,
several
of the defendants in the Trial of the Major War Criminals and
many
defendants in subsequent trials used the argument of superior
orders to defend
themselves. The Judgments of the International Military
Tribunal (IMT)
rejected this defense in all cases, generally on the ground that
the Charter
prohibited it. In some cases, the defense was rejected even for
the purpose of
mitigating a sentence. For example, in the case of Wilhelm
Keitel (Chief of the

High Command of the Armed Forces, directly under Hitler), the
Tribunal
concluded: ‘‘There is nothing in mitigation. Superior orders,
even to a soldier,
cannot be considered in mitigation where crimes as shocking
and extensive
have been committed consciously, ruthlessly, and without
military excuse or
justification.’’
4. Principles of International Law recognized in the Charter of
the
Nuremburg Tribunal and in the Judgment of the Tribunal,
adopted by the
U.N. International Law Commission, August 2, 1950, U.N. Doc.
A ⁄ 1316, 2
Y.B.I.L.C. 374 (1950), Principle I, par. 99; Principle II, par.
100, 102. Article
8 was revised by the International Law Commission to read:
‘‘The fact that a
person acted pursuant to order of his Government or of a
superior does not
relieve him from responsibility under international law,
provided a moral
choice was in fact possible to him.’’ In this formulation, the

provision of
Article 8 allowing mitigation of punishment was dropped on the
ground that
‘‘the question of mitigating punishment is a matter for the
competent court to
decide,’’ rather than a matter of general principle. At the same
time, the
provision concerning moral choice was added, based upon the
following
declaration of the judgment:
The provisions of this article … are in conformity with the law
of
all nations. That a soldier was ordered to kill or torture in viola-
tion of the international law of war has never been recognized
as
a defense to such acts of brutality. The true test, which is found
in varying degrees in the criminal law of most nations, is not
the
existence of the order but whether moral choice was in fact
possi-
ble. Id., par. 105.

5. Report of Robert H. Jackson, United States Representative to
the
International Conference on Military Trials (New York: AMS
Press, 1949),
vii–viii.
6. Telford Taylor, The Anatomy of the Nuremberg Trials (New
York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1992), 65–66 (emphasis added). Scholarship
during the past
half century has confirmed the account by Jackson and Taylor.
An
authoritative article appearing in 2002 states:
The difficulties centered on whether the substantive definition
of
aggression would specify Nazi or Axis aggression (the Soviet
position), or would define the crime [against peace] in a clean,
universal way that might, in another era, even include American
acts (the Jackson position)…. In the end, the Charter for the
new
tribunal embodied Jackson’s view.
Jonathan A. Bush, ‘‘‘The Supreme … Crime’ and its Origins:
The
Lost Legislative History of the Crime of Aggressive War,’’

Colum-
bia Law Review, Vol. 102, No. 8 (December 2002): 2369.
7. Opening Statement for the United States, November 21, 1945,
The
Nuremberg Case as Presented by Robert H. Jackson Chief of
Counsel for the
United States (New York: Cooper Square Publishers, 1971), 93.
8. Telford Taylor, Nuremberg and Vietnam: An American
Tragedy (New
York: Bantam Books, 1971), 11–12. Taylor went on to say:
However history may ultimately assess the wisdom or unwisdom
of the war crimes trials, one thing is indisputable: At their
conclu-
sion, the U.S. government stood legally, politically, and morally
committed to the principles enunciated in the charters and judg-
ments of the tribunals. [Taylor shows that the President of the
United States, thirty or more American judges who took part in
the tribunals, General Douglas MacArthur, and the U.S. delega-

tion to the United Nations general assembly all squarely
endorsed
the Nuremberg principles in one-way or another.]
Thus, the integrity of the nation is staked on those principles,
and
today the question is how they apply to the conduct of our war
in Vietnam and whether the U.S. government is prepared to face
the consequences of their application …
[T]he Son My [My Lai] courts-martial are shaping the question
for us, and they cannot be fairly determined without full inquiry
into the higher responsibilities. Little as the leaders of the Army
seem to realize it, this is the only road to the Army’s salvation,
for its moral health will not be recovered until its leaders are
will-
ing to scrutinize their behavior by the same standard that their
revered predecessors applied to Tomayuki Yamashita twenty-
five
years ago.
Id., pp. 94, 182.
9. Taylor, Final Report, 234, 235.

10. Taylor, Anatomy of the Nuremberg Trials, 641. The speaker,
although a vigorous opponent of the Vietnam War, took a
similar position in
declining to take part in the War Crimes Tribunal created by
Lord Bertrand
Russell. See Bush, ‘‘‘The Supreme … Crime’,’’ p. 2393 No.
224, citing
Staughton Lynd, ‘‘The War Crimes Tribunal: A Dissent,’’
Liberation, Vol. 12
(December 1967–January 1968), 76.
11. Douglas, J., dissenting, in Mitchell v. United States, 386
U.S. 972
(1967), quoted in We Won’t Go: Personal Accounts of War
Objectors
(Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), ed. Alice Lynd, 102–104.
12. Id., 182–184.
13. Tr. at 875, quoted in Robert N. Strassfeld, ‘‘The Vietnam
War on
Trial: The Court-Martial of Dr. Howard B. Levy,’’ 1994
Wisconsin Law
Review 839, 902.
14. Tr. at 878, quoted in id., 903. According to Professor
Strassfeld,

Colonel Brown had often discussed the implications of the
Nuremberg and
Tokyo war crimes trials as a law instructor at West Point in the
late 1940s
and had been deeply impressed by the movie Judgment at
Nuremberg.
15. Id., 905–908.
16. Id., 908–915.
17. Id., 922–923.
18. United States v. Moore, 58 M.J. 466, 2003 CAAF LEXIS
694 (2003),
quoting Parker v. Levy, 417 U.S. 733, 743, 758 (1974).
19.
http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2002/06/20020601-
3.html
(emphasis added).
20. The National Security Strategy of the United States of
America
(Washington D.C.: September 2002), 5 (emphasis added).
21. Carl Sandburg, The People, Yes (New York: Harcourt,

Brace and
Company, 1936), 43.
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Public Opinion Quarterly, Vol. 73, No. 2, Summer 2009, pp.
379–384
THE DRAFT LOTTERY AND ATTITUDES TOWARDS
THE VIETNAM WAR
DANIEL E. BERGAN
Abstract The most striking and theoretically anomalous finding
of pre-
vious research on self-interest and attitudes is the absence of a
self-interest
motive in support for the Vietnam War. This research note
reconsiders
this result using a panel survey of university students collected

before and
after the first Vietnam draft lottery. These data are unique
because they
allow the unbiased estimation of the effect of self-interest on
attitudes
toward the war. I find that, contrary to previous results, self-
interest had
a substantial impact on support for the war.
Empirical research suggests that self-interest does not have a
substantial effect
on attitudes toward war. Lau, Brown, and Sears (1978) find that
individuals
with relatives and friends serving in the Vietnam War do not
differ in their
support for the war from others. Barton (1968) and Mueller
(1973) also find no
evidence that self-interest influences opinion on the Vietnam
War. Rugg and
Cantril (1940) produce similar results for World War II; people
with draft age
family members were no less likely to support the United States
declaring war
on Germany than people without draft age family members. One
exception to
these findings is Gartner, Segura, and Wilkening (1997), who
find that local
casualties influence individual-level opinion on the Vietnam
War. However,
even these effects exist only early in the war.
What makes these results surprising is that in the case of war,
the conditions
for a strong effect of self-interest hold. That is, the early
literature on self-interest
concludes that the effects of self-interest are strongest when

party stances on
an issue are not distinct, when the responsibility of the
government is clear, or
when the stakes are high (for reviews, see Green and Gerken
1989; Sears and
Funk 1990). In the case of Vietnam, the personal stakes in being
sent to war
(or in having a family member or friend sent to Vietnam) were
large. In a 1968
DANIEL E. BERGAN is the Assistant Professor of Public
Policy and Public Information with the
College of Communication Arts and Sciences, 468
Communication Arts and Sciences Building,
Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI 48824-1212, USA.
The author would like to thank
Greg Huber and three anonymous reviewers for comments that
greatly improved this paper. The
author would also like to thank Charles Longino for discussing
his dataset. All mistakes are the
author’s. Address correspondence to Daniel E. Bergan; e-mail:
[email protected]
doi:10.1093/poq/nfp024 Advance Access publication June 2,
2009
C© The Author 2009. Published by Oxford University Press on
behalf of the American Association for Public Opinion
Research.
All rights reserved. For permissions, please e-mail:
[email protected]
380 Bergan
survey asking about the most important problem facing the
country, over half

spontaneously mentioned the Vietnam War, more than any other
issue (Page
and Brody 1972, p. 982). Major party presidential candidates
did not stake out
distinct policy preferences over the Vietnam War issue in 1968,
and the issue
did not have a large effect on vote choice between the two
major parties (see
Page and Brody 1972). Americans did not perceive a clear
difference between
the two major parties on the war issue. Respondents in the 1970
NES did
not differ on which party would better handle keeping the
United States out
of a bigger war. Of individuals who offered a response, 67
percent saw no
difference between the two major parties, while 18 percent
favored Democrats
and 15 percent favored Republicans. Without any cues from
parties, there is a
smaller role for attachments to parties to guide attitude
formation, and a greater
role for rational self-interest (see Sears 1975; Sears and Funk
1990).
Prior studies typically determine the effects of self-interest by
correlating
attitudinal measures of support for war with a measure of self-
interest while
controlling for demographic and other variables. One problem
with this ap-
proach is that unmeasured variables that influence both the self-
interest variable
and support for war may bias the results. It appears that for
existing measures
of self-interest, this would tend to bias the measures of self-

interest toward
zero. For example Lau, Brown, and Sears (1978) operationalize
self-interest
with whether or not the respondent has close relatives in
Vietnam1 and Gartner,
Segura, and Wilkening (1997) operationalize self-interest with
local casual-
ties in the Vietnam War. Both of these variables could be
related to general
support for the use of force, biasing the estimates of the effect
of self-interest
downward.2 That is, individuals who have family members in
Vietnam are
probably more likely to support the use of force generally,
meaning that cor-
relating support for the Vietnam War with these measures of
self-interest will
underestimate the effect of self-interest on attitudes toward the
Vietnam War.3
The current study relies on the randomized nature of the
Vietnam draft lottery
to produce an unbiased estimate of the effect of self-interest on
war attitudes
(Imbens and Angrist 1994).4 As these draft numbers influence
the likelihood of
serving in Vietnam, they tap self-interest in the war. Unlike
other measures of
self-interest, draft numbers that were randomly assigned to
individuals should
be unrelated to support for the use of force.
1. The researchers also use a measure including any relatives or
friends in Vietnam or in the
military because of the troop buildup.
2. This explains not only the null results in the literature, but

also the negative correlations between
opposition to war and self-interest found in some studies; see
Sears and Funk (1990).
3. Some of these studies (e.g., Lau, Brown, and Sears 1978)
control for liberalism and attitudes
toward communism. However, these control variables may also
be influenced by self-interest.
4. Recent studies of the effect of self-interest on policy
attitudes have attempted to use arbitrary or
random variation to determine the effect of self-interest on
policy attitudes (i.e., Washington 2005;
Doherty, Gerber, and Green 2006).
The Draft Lottery and Attitudes Towards the Vietnam War 381
The Vietnam Draft
Prior to 1970, draft status was determined by local draft boards,
producing
local variation in the numbers of males inducted. In 1969, this
locally-based
system was replaced by national guidelines, and a televised
lottery was held in
December of that year to determine draft calls for males born
between 1944 and
1950. Numbers 1 through 366 were drawn, with each number
corresponding to
a particular birth date of males in this pool. Males with lottery
numbers greater
than 195 were not called for induction, while males with
numbers of 195 or
below were called to report for possible induction.
While controversial as a method of induction, the randomized

lottery is
convenient for the estimation of the likelihood of induction
having an effect
on attitudes toward the Vietnam War, as birth date is related to
likelihood of
service but is unlikely to be related to predispositions to support
the war. While
most surveys from this period do not include birth dates
(surveys typically
exclude birth dates to protect the anonymity of subjects), a
panel survey of
college students at the University of Virginia was underway at
the time of the
first draft lottery described above, indicating whether or not the
student had
a low draft number. The students in the sample are a 20 percent
probability
sample of male University of Virginia students from the class of
1972.5
The data span a one-year period, and students were randomly
sampled in a
two-wave panel in the falls before and after the televised lottery
drawings. By
the time of the second wave of the panel, students knew their
lottery number
and whether, based on their draft number, they were likely to be
called for
induction. The draft number is therefore coded 1 if the draft
number was
195 or below6 (the lottery numbers of individuals called for
induction) and 0
otherwise.7 Because the draft variable is exogenous, the
variable is not related
to unobserved variables related to both measures of self-interest
and support

for war. Also, the panel structure of the data allows us to
control for support for
the war prior to the lottery drawing. Prior to the draft, members
of the sample
had an equal probability of being inducted. The draft changed
this by greatly
reducing the probability that individuals with high draft
numbers would be
inducted. The pre- and postlottery variables measuring support
for war involve
attitudes about what the United States should do with respect to
the Vietnam
War; students were asked what course they would prefer the
President to follow
concerning the war. Open-ended responses were coded into
three categories:
5. One concern with the data is that there may be a self-
selection bias in the sample. Unfortunately,
no data exist on the response rates for the survey. However,
repeated follow-up attempts were made
to increase the response rate (personal communication with
author, March 2008).
6. It was apparent by early August 1970 (prior to the second
wave of the panel survey) that a cutoff
of 195 was likely (The New York Times 1970).
7. Longino (1973) used the data in his study of attitudes toward
the war, and the data used in this
study were retrieved from his study by coding the data from his
paper. The data used in this study
are available in table 2 in Longino (1973).
382 Bergan

Table 1. Effect of Low Draft Number on Support for
Withdrawal
Multinomial logit coefficients
(baseline category = maintain
current troop levels)
Ordered probit
coefficients
(1 = immediate,
2 = gradual,
3 = no
reduction)
Logit
coefficients
(1 = immediate
withdrawal
0 = other
response)
Outcome =
Immediate
withdrawal
Outcome =
No troop
reduction
Low draft number .752++ .220 .293+ .716++
(.467) (.716) (.227) (.451)

Prewithdraw 2.22∗ −.798 1.55∗ ∗ ∗ 2.42∗
(.669) (1.21) (.335) (.624)
Pre-Vietnamization −.571 −1.71∗ .193 −.266
(.543) (.778) (.266) (.517)
Constant −.881 −.881 −1.15∗
(.612) (.612) (.492)
Cut 1 .820
(.264)
Cut 2 −.895
(.266)
N 115 115 115
LR chi-squared 37.82 29.39 32.51
Prob.>chi-squared .000 .000 .000
Pseudo-R-squared .177 .138 .206
∗ ∗ ∗
Indicates statistical significance p < .001, one tailed; ∗ p < .05,
one tailed; ++p < .06, one
tailed; +p < .1, one tailed. Baseline in the multinomial logit
model is temporarily “maintain
current troop levels.” “Prewithdraw” and “Pre-Vietnamization”
are indicators for attitudes prior to
the Vietnam draft lottery; omitted category for pretest attitudes
is “maintain current troop levels.”
immediate withdrawal, gradual U.S. withdrawal, and all options
not reducing
U.S. troop strength.8

Analysis
Thedata are analyzed with multinomial logit and ordered probit
models. The
analysis also employs logit regression with an indicator for
immediate with-
drawal versus all other outcomes. The results are presented in
table 1. Model 1
shows that although there is no effect on moving between
“gradual reduc-
tion of troops” (the baseline category) and options not favoring
a reduction in
troops, individuals with a low draft number are more likely to
support “im-
mediate and total withdrawal.” The results are nearly
statistically significant at
8. For details on coding, see Longino (1973). Exact question
wordings are not available.
The Draft Lottery and Attitudes Towards the Vietnam War 383
p < .05 (one tailed). The second model is an ordered probit
model with 3 =
immediate withdrawal and 1 = no withdrawal. The results for
this model are
not significant at conventional levels (p < .1, one tailed), but
the coefficient for
having a low draft number is in the expected direction. In the
third model in
table 1, the dependent variable equals 1 if the respondent
selected “immediate
withdrawal” in the postlottery survey, and 0 otherwise. The
estimates from

this model and the multinomial logit model suggest that there is
an effect of
draft number on support for the war.9 Having a low draft
number increased the
probability of supporting immediate withdrawal by .18 in both
the multinomial
logit and logit models.10 This substantial effect is much larger
than the esti-
mates reported in previous studies. For example, Lau, Brown,
and Sears (1978)
report a correlation of .04 between having relatives and friends
in Vietnam and
opposition to the Vietnam War.11 The results suggest, contrary
to earlier evi-
dence, that self-interest has an effect on attitudes toward war.
The results also
suggest that having a low number influenced one’s preferences
for withdrawing
immediately, but not, say, moving from a hawkish position to an
intermediate
position. This may be because immediate withdrawal is the only
outcome that
would guarantee males drafted for service in the following year
would not
serve in Vietnam; the intermediate outcomes (gradual
withdrawal) leave open
the possibility that those with low numbers would serve.
Conclusion
The results presented above run counter to previous results on
support for war
and self-interest. However, the results in this research note are
more consistent
with the dominant theory on self-interest in politics: when the
parties do not

take separate stances on issues, the government clearly has the
authority to act,
and the stakes are high, self-interest should play a role in
determining policy
attitudes. I have argued that these conditions are met in the
Vietnam War, and
that in fact self-interest did influence support for the war.
References
Barton, Allen H. 1968. “The Columbia Crisis: Campus,
Vietnam, and the Ghetto.” Public Opinion
Quarterly 32:333–51.
Doherty, Daniel, Alan S. Gerber, and Donald P. Green. 2006.
“Personal Income and Attitudes
toward Redistribution: A Study of Lottery Winners.” Political
Psychology 27:441–58.
9. The power of the tests in table 1 are low. For example, the
power of detecting an effect size of
about .18 in the current dataset in a one-sided test with a level
of significance of .05 is around .5.
For this reason, a higher level of significance is used in the
table.
10. The estimated effect in the ordered probit model is .12.
11. Other studies produced negative correlations between draft
vulnerability and opposition to
war; see Sears and Funk 1990.
384 Bergan
Gartner, Scott Sigmund, Gary M. Segura, and Michael
Wilkening. 1997. “All Politics Are Local:

Local Losses and Individual Attitudes toward the Vietnam
War.” Journal of Conflict Resolution
41:669–94.
Green, Donald Philip and Ann Elisabeth Gerken. 1989. “Self-
Interest and Public Opinion toward
Smoking Restrictions and Cigarette Taxes.” Public Opinion
Quarterly 53:1–16.
Imbens, Guido W., and Joshua D. Angrist. 1994. “Identification
and Estimation of Local Average
Treatment Effects.” Econometrica 62:467–75.
Lau, Richard R., Thad A. Brown, and David O. Sears 1978.
“Self-interest and Civilians’ Attitudes
toward the War in Vietnam.” Public Opinion Quarterly 42:464–
83.
Longino, Charles F. 1973 “Draft Lottery Numbers and Student
Opposition to War.” Sociology of
Education 46:499–506.
Mueller, John E. 1973. War, Presidents and Public Opinion.
New York: Wiley.
Page, Benjamin I., and Richard Brody. 1972. “Policy Voting
and the Electoral Process: The Vietnam
War Issue.” American Political Science Review 66:979–95.
Rugg, Donald and Hadley Cantril. 1940. “War Attitudes of
Families with Potential Soldiers.”
Public Opinion Quarterly 4:327–30.
Sears, David O. 1975. “Political Socialization.” In Handbook of
Political Science: Vol. 2,
Micropolitical Theory, eds. Fred I. Greenstein and Nelson W.

Polsby, pp. 96–136. Reading,
MA: Addison-Wesley.
Sears, David O., and Carolyn L. Funk. 1990. “Self-Interest in
American’ Political Opinions.” In
Beyond Self-Interest, ed. Jane J. Mansbridge, pp. 147–170.
Chicago, IL: University of Chicago
Press.
The New York Times. 1970. “Draft Lowest since 1964; 195
Likely Cutoff Number.” August 7.
Washington, Ebonya. 2005. “Female Socialization: How
Daughters Affect Their Legislator Fathers’
Voting on Women’s Issues.” Yale University Typescript.
DAVID S. CHURCHILL
Draft Resisters, Left Nationalism, and
the Politics of Anti-Imperialism
Abstract: The politics of Canadian left nationalism, opposition
to the war in
Vietnam, and critiques of us imperialism occupied shared,
overlapping, and in
many cases intersecting intellectual and cultural space in the
late 1960s and early
1970s. Principally centred in Toronto as they were – though not
exclusively – this
article traces the ways that us draft resisters and expatriates

became both advocates
of left nationalism and contentious subjects within nationalist
debates. For some,
left Canadian nationalist draft resisters and other expatriates
represented a symbol
of independence and defiance vis-à-vis the United States. In
turn this iconographic
representation was challenged by some Canadian nationalists
who saw American
expatriates as yet another unwanted us import, part of American
political influence
and cultural, embodied representations of us hegemony on
Canadian soil.
Keywords: draft resister, left nationalism, sixties
Résumé : À la fin des années 1960 et au début des années 1970,
les espaces intellectuels
et culturels du nationalisme canadien de gauche, de l’opposition
à la guerre du Vietnam
et des critiques de l’impérialisme étatsunien se sont chevauchés
et, souvent, entrecroisés.
Cet article montre comment les objecteurs de conscience et les
expatriés étatsuniens, prin-
cipalement basés à Toronto, sont devenus à la fois des partisans
du nationalisme de
gauche et des sujets de discorde au sein du débat nationaliste.
Pour les uns, les objecteurs
de conscience et autres expatriés nationalistes canadiens de
gauche symbolisaient l’indé-
pendance et la défiance envers les États-Unis. Mais des
nationalistes canadiens ont con-
testé cette représentation iconographique; pour eux, ces
expatriés n’étaient rien d’autre
qu’un apport étatsunien non désiré supplémentaire, un élément
de l’influence politique

des États-Unis et une incarnation de l’hégémonie étatsunienne
en sol canadien.
Mots clés : objecteur de conscience, nationalisme de gauche,
années 1960
During the 1960s thousands of us citizens looked to Canada as a
place
of escape, opportunity, and refuge. Some of these migrants were
young
men resisting induction into the us military and potential
service in the
ongoing war in Vietnam. Many were women following their
husbands,
boyfriends, or their own political conscience into an uncertain
exile.
The Canadian Historical Review 93, 2, June 2012
6 University of Toronto Press Incorporated
doi: 10.3138/chr.93.2.227
For some the migration to Canada was a rejection of the United
States
and the political conflicts, which increasingly seemed to
animate
everyday life. Still others were men and women who were
simply
seeking employment and opportunity north of border.1
Ultimately,
these us expatriates became bound up with an unexpected
political
debate over the Canadian nation and national sovereignty.
Indeed,

American expatriates would become real and symbolic actors in
the
emergence of a robust English-Canadian nationalist movement –
particularly those elements that were closely connected to the
Cana-
dian New Left, opposition to the war in Vietnam, and the
question of
1 An estimated 250,000 Americans immigrated to Canada
between 1966 and
1976, at a rate that was double that of immigration in the
previous decade.
Determining how many of these individuals were draft resisters
is uncertain.
Some estimates vary between 30,000 and 100,000. See F.C.
Leacy, ed., ‘Series
385–416: Immigration to Canada by Country of Permanent
Residence, 1956–
1976,’ Historical Statistics of Canada (Ottawa: Statistics
Canada, 1983).
On the number of us war resisters in Canada, see Joseph Jones,
Contending
Statistics: The Numbers for us Vietnam War Resisters in
Canada (Vancouver:
Quarter Sheaf, 2005), 34. See also David S. Churchill, ‘An
Ambiguous Welcome:
American Expatriates, National Needs and Cold War
Containment,’ Histoire
sociale / Social History 38, no. 73 (May 2004): 2–3; John
Hagan, Northern Passage:
American Vietnam War Resisters in Canada (Cambridge, ma:
Harvard University
Press, 2001), 3–4; Renee G. Kasinsky, Refugee from Militarism:
Draft-Age
Americans in Canada (New Brunswick, nj: Transaction Books,

1976), 77–81.
For some discussion of the dynamics of gender and race
amongst draft
resisters and us expatriates, see Lara Campbell, ‘ ‘‘Women
United against the
War’’: Gender Politics, Feminism, and Vietnam Draft
Resistance in Canada,’ ed.
Karen Dubinsky, Catherine Krull, Susan Lord, Sean Mills, and
Scott Rutherford,
346–9, New World Coming: The Sixties and the Shaping of
Global Consciousness
(Toronto: Between the Lines, 2009); David S. Churchill,
‘American Expatriates
and the Building of Alternative Social Space in Toronto,’ Urban
History Review /
Revue d’histoire urbaine, 39, no. 1 (Fall 2010): 31–44.
us Vietnam War draft resisters have also been the subject of
recent master’s
theses, an excellent PhD dissertation, as well as a number of
scholarly articles.
See Rachel Adams, ‘ ‘‘Going to Canada’’: The Politics and
Poetics of Northern
Exodus,’ Yale Journal of Criticism 18, no. 2 (2005): 409–33;
D.W. Maxwell,
‘Religion and Politics at the Border: Canadian Church Support
for American
Vietnam War Resisters,’ Journal of Church & State (2006):
807–29; Daniel G.
Ross, ‘ ‘‘Unknown Territory’’: Canada and American War
Resister Identity in the
Pages of amex, 1968–1971’ (master’s thesis, York University,
2009); Matthew
Roth, ‘Crossing Borders: The Toronto Anti-Draft Programme
and the Canadian

Anti-Vietnam War movement’ (master’s thesis, University of
Waterloo, 2008);
Jessica Squires, ‘A Refuge from Militarism?: The Canadian
Movement to
Support Vietnam Era American War Resisters, and Government
responses,
1965–1973’ (PhD diss., Carleton University, 2009); Jay Young,
‘Defining a
Community in Exile: War Resister Communication and Identity
in amex, 1968–
1973,’ Histoire sociale / Social History 44, no. 87 (May 2011):
115–46. See also
228 The Canadian Historical Review
Canadian sovereignty and American economic domination.2
Forms
of Canadian nationalisms manifested themselves across the
ideologi-
cal spectrum of Canadian politics with significant intellectual
and
policy presence in all three major political parties as well as
extra-
parliamentary movements.3 Thus, wittingly and unwittingly,
expatriates
Lawrence M. Baskir and William A. Strauss, Chance and
Circumstance: The
Draft, the War and the Vietnam Generation (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1978),
27–35, 49–52; David Surrey, Choice of Conscience (New York:
Praeger, 1982),
67–86.

On us draft resisters and deserters in Canada, see John Hagan,
Northern
Passage: American Vietnam War Resisters in Canada
(Cambridge, ma: Harvard
University Press, 2001). Also see Frank Kusch, All American
Boys: Draft Dodgers
in Canada from the Vietnam War (Westport, ct: Praeger, 2002).
For more journalistic accounts and profiles of resisters and
expatriates,
see James Dickerson, North to Canada: Men and Women against
the Vietnam
War (Westport, ct: Praeger, 1999); Allan Haig-Brown, Hell No
We Won’t Go!
(Vancouver: Raincoast Books, 1996).
2 There is a growing historical literature on the Canadian New
Left and the
1960s. In particular, see Sean Mills, The Empire Within:
Postcolonial Thought
and Political Activism in Sixties Montreal (Montreal and
Kingston: McGill-
Queen’s University Press, 2010); Bryan D. Palmer, Canada’s
1960s: The Ironies
of Identity in a Rebellious Era (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 2009). See
also Myrna Kostash, Long Way from Home (Toronto: Lorimer
Books, 1980);
Cyril Levitt, Children of Privilege: Student Revolt in the Sixties
(Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 1984); Marcel Martel, Not This Time:
Canadians, Public Policy
and the Marijuana Question, 1961–1975 (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press,
2006); Ian McKay, Rebels, Reds, Radicals: Rethinking Canada’s
Left (Toronto:

Between the Lines, 2005); Doug Owram, Born at the Right
Time: A History of the
Baby Boom Generation (Toronto: University of Toronto Press,
1996); Dimitrios
Roussopoulos, ed., The New Left in Canada (Montreal: Black
Rose, 1970). See
also Dimitry Anastakis, ed., The Sixties: The Passion, Politics
and Style (Montreal
and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2008);
Dubinsky et al., New
World Coming ; Magda Fahrni and Robert Rutherdale, eds.,
Creating Postwar
Canada: Community, Diversity and Dissent, 1945–1975
(Vancouver: University of
British Columbia Press, 2008).
3 Marco Adria, Technology and Nationalism (Montreal and
Kingston: McGill-
Queen’s University Press, 2010); Stephen Aziz, Walter Gordon
and the Rise of
Canadian Nationalism (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s
University
Press, 1999); Steven High, ‘The ‘‘Narcissism of Small
Differences’’: The Inven-
tion of Canadian English,’ in Fahrni and Rutherdale, Creating
Postwar Canada,
89–110; Norman Hillmer and Adam Chapnick, eds., Canadas of
the Mind: The
Making and Unmaking of Canadian Nationalism in the
Twentieth Century
(Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press,
2007); José E.
Iguarta, The Other Quiet Revolution: National Identities in
English Canada
(Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2006); Philip
Massolin,

Canadian Intellectuals, the Tory Tradition, and the Challenge of
Modernity (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2001); Robert Wright, ‘From
Liberalism to Nation-
alism: Peter C. Newman’s Discovery of Canada,’ in Fahrni and
Rutherdale,
Creating Postwar Canada, 111–37.
Draft Resisters, Left Nationalism 229
became involved in Canadian nationalism. For some American
expatri-
ates, Canadian nationalism had great appeal, and they in turn
became
enthusiastic proponents of the cause. The language of Canadian
inde-
pendence and cultural autonomy was a powerful way for some
expatri-
ates to eschew us imperialism and position themselves in
opposition
to American hegemony and global power. For Canadian
nationalists,
the presence of American draft resisters and deserters also
served a
function: these émigrés were potent symbols of Canadian
sovereignty
and the ability of the Canadian federal government to chart a
separate
course distinct from the us State Department. Nonetheless a few
Cana-
dian nationalists became alarmed at the presence and visibility
of these
‘ex-Americans’ and began to regard them as yet another
unwanted

import, and thus a part of the ongoing process of colonization
and
not, as some thought, a sign of independence.
Within the field of Canadian history intense debates have
periodically
erupted over the role of national history, nationalist
historiography,
and the place and/or obligations of Canadian historians in the
viability
of the nation.4 At the heart of this literature has been a shift
from
studying national history as a mission, in the words of eminent
Cana-
dian historian Ramsay Cook, to ‘try to understand ourselves’ to
skepti-
cally question the epistemological legitimacy and construction
of
who might in fact be constituted, or interpolated, as ‘ourselves’
within
the dynamic historical context of the Canadian nation-state.5
For Cook
4 Prominent Canadian historians Michael Bliss and J.L.
Granatstein famously
argued that most contemporary historical writing on Canada was
not only
professionally insular and focused on narrow identity-based
topics, but failed
to provide a useable historical narrative to support
contemporary Canadian
citizenship and national interest. Michael Bliss, ‘Privatizing the
Mind: The
Sundering of Canadian History, the Sundering of Canada,’
Journal of Canadian
Studies 26, no. 4 (Winter 1991–2): 5–17; J.L. Granatstein, ‘Who

Killed Canadian
History’ (Toronto: Harper/Collins, 1999). There have been
numerous responses
to these polemics. See Gregory Kealey, ‘Class in English-
Canadian Historical
Writing: Neither Privatizing, Nor Sundering,’ Journal of
Canadian Studies 27,
no. 2 (Summer 1992): 123–4; Linda Kealey, Ruth Pierson, Joan
Sangster, and
Veronica Strong-Boag, ‘Teaching Canadian History in the
1990s: Whose
‘‘National’’ History Are We Lamenting?’ Journal of Canadian
Studies 27, no. 2
(Summer 1992): 129–30; Steven Maynard, ‘The Maple Leaf
(Gardens) Forever:
Sex, Canadian Historians and National History,’ Journal of
Canadian Studies 36,
no. 2 (Summer 2001): 70–105; Brian McKillop, ‘Who Killed
Canadian History?
A View from the Trenches,’ Canadian Historical Review 80, no.
2 (1999): 269–
99.
5 Ramsay Cook, ‘Canadian Centennial Cerebrations,’
International Journal 22,
no. 4 (Autumn 1967): 663; Ramsay Cook, ‘ ‘‘Identities Are Not
Like Hats,’’ ’
Canadian Historical Review 81, no. 2 (June 2000): 260.
this has been a cautious project premised on the view that
‘Canada’s
difficulties came from too much, not too little nationalism.’6

The
1960s in Canada was arguably one of those moments when too
much
nationalism emerged, shaping and framing a wide variety of
political,
economic, and cultural issues. Paraphrasing Partha Chatterjee,
this
article is not providing an alternative vision or theory of
nationalism
or even a clearer understanding of the vexed nature of
nationalism,
but rather it analyzes Canadian nationalist discourse and
ideology,
particularly its left-nationalist tendency, and the ways draft
resisters
and expatriates were used, embraced, critiqued, and in a manner
even
produced by this left-nationalists discourse.7 As such my
engagement
with the myriad national narratives, representations, and
ideologies
from this period is approached from a critical perspective and
not to
presumptively explain who Canadians supposedly are in an
ontological
sense, or to undergird nationalist epistemologies of legitimacy.8
For English Canadians, during the 1960s, nationalism
manifested
itself in the nexus of the anti-war movement, the growing sense
among
some Canadians that the country has increasingly become an
econom-
ically dependent colony of the United States. Added to this was
the
postwar collapse of British imperialism, not to mention the

emergence
of nationalist and separatist movements in Quebec in the wake
of the
Quiet Revolution. Thus the ‘new nationalism’ in English
Canada in
the 1960s was a dynamic expansion of postwar concerns, often
by
6 Ramsay Cook, Watching Quebec: Selected Essays (Montreal
and Kingston: McGill-
Queen’s University Press, 2005), xiii.
7 Partha Chatterjee, Nationalist Thought and the Colonial
World: A Derivative
Discourse (New York: Zed Books, 1985), 52.
8 Ramsay Cook’s historiographic essay is an open, inclusive
vision of nation, one
that is attuned both to the communitarian diversity of the past
and the protean
potential of the future. Though a laudatory perspective, my own
engagement
with national history and nationalism does not centre on a more
nuanced or
deeper understanding of who Canadians are, or even who they
might under-
stand themselves to be (though these are important and
interesting questions).
Rather, my research focuses on the deployment of national
narrative and
identity, and its historically situated relationship to political
projects, claims
of standing, and authority – be they the governmentality of the
state or contra-
discources that sought different relations of power. Here I see
my approach to

be closer to that of historian Ian McKay, who has argued that
Canadian historians
should undertake reconnaissance to understand the hegemonic
‘project of liberal
rule.’ Rather than some sort of discovery or excavation of an
essential Canadian
past, this article explores nationalism and national history from
a position of
skeptical reconnaissance. Ian McKay, ‘The Liberal Order
Framework: A Pro-
spectus for a Reconnaissance of Canadian History,’ Canadian
Historical Review
81, no. 4 (2000): 616–78.
elites, regarding cultural nationalism, continentalism, and
Canadian
sovereignty. From the late 1940s to the early 1960s this new
nationalism
had come into sharper focus through contentious public
discussions,
such as the flag debate, the stationing of us bomarc missiles on
Cana-
dian soil, the meaning and value of the Canadian dollar versus
the us
greenback, and the production of a supposedly authentic
Canadian
culture. Added to this was the larger global historical context of
anti-
colonial struggles, the emergence of social movements for civil
and
human rights, peace, and other causes that were reinforced
through

transnational and us-based connections.9 Ultimately these
events took
place within the context of Canada’s active participation in the
Cold
War, the politics of liberal internationalism, and the decline of
imperial
connections to Great Britain.10 Expatriate Americans,
particularly mili-
tary draft resisters from the war in Vietnam, would find
themselves
imbricated within these currents of nationalist debate.
Scholars of the 1960s and of postwar social movements in
Canada
have shown how intellectual linkages, influences, and legacies
of the
1950s, 1940s, and earlier helped to prefigure the activism that
would
emerge during the decade. Long-standing historical influences
and
connections were especially true for 1960s left-nationalists,
who drew
9 C.P. Champion, ‘A Very British Coup: Canadians, Quebec and
Ethnicity in the
Flag Debate, 1964–1975,’ Journal of Canadian Studies 40, no. 3
(2006): 68–99;
Ryan Edwardson, Canadian Content: Culture and the Quest for
Nationhood
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008); Ryan Edwardson,
‘Kicking Uncle
Sam Out of the Peaceable Kingdom: English-Canadian ‘‘New
Nationalism’’ and
Americanization,’ Journal of Canadian Studies 37, no. 4 (2003):
131; Len Kuffert,
A Great Duty: Canadian Responses to Modern Life and Mass

Culture, 1939–1968
2003), 178–80; Paul
Litt, The Muses, the Masses and the Massey Commission
(Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1992); Palmer, Canada’s 1960s, 35–7. On social
movements in
the postwar decades, see the enormously insightful work of
Dominique
Clément: Canada’s Rights Revolution: Social Movements and
Social Change,
1937–82 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press,
2009); Dominique
Clément, ‘Generations and the Transformation of Social
Movements in Postwar
Canada,’ Histoire sociale / Social History 42, no. 84 (2009):
361–87.
10 Richard Cavell, ed., Love, Hate and Fear in Canada’s Cold
War (Toronto: Univer-
sity of Toronto Press, 2004); Sean M. Maloney, Canada and un
Peacekeeping:
Cold War by Other Means, 1945–1970 (Toronto: Vanwell
Publishing, 2002); Gary
Marcuse and Reg Whitacker, Cold War Canada: The Making of
National Security
State, 1945–1957 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996).
For a discussion
of the immediate postwar years and Canada’s negotiation of the
emerging Cold
War order, see Robert Tiegrob, Warming Up to the Cold War:
Canada and the
United States’ Coalition of the Willing, from Hiroshima to
Korea (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2009).

on the long-established legacies and tendencies of Canadian
national-
ism, political economy, and anti-Americanism. In this way too,
left-
nationalism generated linkages that connected its proponents
with
other issues and causes. In the case of the student movement of
the 1960s (a key constituency of left-nationalism) historians
such as
Roberta Lexier, Catherine Gidney, and Nicole Neatby have
shown the
ways that student activists organizing at universities drew on
and were
influenced by older international struggles for democracy,
peace, libera-
tion, and social justice. Moreover, solidarity with the global
project
of decolonization of the 1950s and 1960s infused and shaped
local
efforts to ‘de-colonize’ and liberate university governance and
adminis-
tration.11 Thus the language of self-determination, autonomy,
and lib-
eration was instrumental to a range of New Left concerns, not
the
least of which was Canadian left-nationalists who interpreted
the rela-
tionship between the United States and Canada in neo-colonial
and
post-colonial terms.
It is this influence – what social movement theorists term

‘move-
ment spillover’ and diffusion – that emphasizes the transactive
and
interactive dynamic of movement politics where the tactics and
aims
of one movement such as the civil rights movement influence
another,
such as the women’s movement.12 As historian Frances Early
has
shown in her research on the Voice of Women, the organization
did
not adhere to a narrow focus on peace but rather ‘defined peace
broadly’ to include social justice issues such as racial
discrimination,
bilingualism, not to mention the women’s movement.13 Such
diffu-
sion in turn helps to shape what theorist Leela Ghandi has
termed
‘affective affiliations’ producing new forms of political
subjectivity and
symbolic political connections that linked politically engaged
subjects
11 Catherine Gidney, A Long Eclipse: The Liberal Protestant
Establishment and the
Canadian University, 1920–1970 (Montreal and Kingston:
McGill-Queen’s
University Press, 2004), 56–65; Roberta Lexier, ‘ ‘‘The
Backdrop against Which
Everything Happened’’: English-Canadian Student Movements
and Off-Campus
Movements for Change,’ History of Intellectual Culture 7, no. 1
(2007): 1–18;
Nicole Neatby, ‘Student Leaders at the University of Montreal
from 1950 to
1958: Beyond the ‘‘Carabin Persona,’’ ’ Journal of Canadian

Studies 29, no. 3 (Fall
1994): 26–44.
12 Doud McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics
of Contention (New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 15–17; David S.
Meyer and Nancy
Whittier, ‘Social Movement Spillover,’ Social Problems 41
(1994): 277–98.
13 Frances Early, ‘Canadian Women and the International Arena
in the Sixties:
The Voice of Women / La voix des femmes and the Opposition
to the Vietnam
War,’ in The Sixties: The Passion, Politics and Style, ed.
Dimitry Anastakis
2008), 25–6.
in complex and interconstituent ways. Thus becoming a left-
nationalist
was also a way of being a progressive political actor in Canada
in the
late 1960s and early 1970s.14 As such the engagement with the
issue
of draft resisters needs to be understood in terms of affective
politics
where solidarity for resisters and skepticism of their influence
were
both manifestations of the diffusion of left-nationalist thought
with
opposition to the war in Vietnam, and an analysis of American

impe-
rialism. Similarly the articulation of left-nationalism by some
draft
resisters and expatriates reflects a continuation of their anti-
American
sensibility, solidarity with many of those who had provided aid
and
assistants, and even an assertion of belonging.
In the spring of 1970 Robin Mathews, an English professor at
Carleton University in Ottawa, launched a broadside against us
draft
resisters in Canada. First in the pages of the left-nationalist
publica-
tion Canadian Dimension, and then in the Toronto-based
periodical
amex, Mathews charged that draft resisters were ‘part of us
imperial-
ism in Canada.’15 This harsh assessment of resisters and their
impact
followed Mathews’s earlier efforts to limit the number of
American
academics in Canadian universities. Mathews and his Carleton
col-
league James Steele had gained national attention with their
campaign
to reduce the percentage of us faculty hired by post-secondary
institu-
tions.16 The focus on draft resisters announced the expansion of
Mathews’s nationalist campaign and the deepening of his
critique of
American influence on the everyday life of Canada.
Mathews’s opposition to the presence of draft resisters reflected
his
reading of the historical relationship of the United States and

Canada
as imperial and neo-colonial. Sociologist John Hagan saw
Mathews’s
critique of us war resisters as part of an increased ambivalence,
if
not outright hostility, by the Canadian public toward so-called
draft
dodgers.17 As sociologist Jeffery Cormier has argued, Mathews,
Steele,
14 David S. Churchill, ‘supa, Selma, and Stevenson: The
Politics of Solidarity in
Mid-1960s Toronto,’ Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue
d’études canadiennes 44,
no. 2 (2010): 32–69; Leela Ghandi, Affective Communities:
Anticolonial Thought,
Fin-de-Siècle Radicalism, and the Politics of Friendship
(Durham, nc: Duke
University Press, 2008).
15 Robin Mathews, ‘On Draft Dodging and us Imperialism in
Canada,’ Canadian
Dimension 6 (Feb./Mar. 1970): 10; Robin Mathews, ‘The us
Draft Dodger in
Canada Is Part of us Imperialism in Canada,’ amex 1 (June
1970): 24.
16 Robin Mathews and James Steele, The Struggle for Canadian
Universities
(Toronto: New Press, 1969); Robin Mathews and James Steele,
‘The Universities:
The Takeover of the Mind,’ in Close the 49th Parallel Etc.: The
Americanization of
Canada, ed. Ian Lumsden, 169–79 (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1970).

17 Hagan, Northern Passage, 140–1.
and other cultural nationalists were deeply concerned by the
physical
presence of non-Canadians in academic and key administrative
posi-
tions within cultural institutions such as museums and galleries.
Moreover, the lack of Canadian content in classrooms, in
exhibitions,
on the walls of galleries, on stages, not to mention in the media
and
in bookstores thwarted the development of an independent
Canadian
identity.18
For Mathews and his fellow Canadian nationalists, the gross
asym-
metries in economic, military, and media power were generating
a
profoundly subordinating dynamic. The physical presence of
American
expatriates reproduced these historical inequalities at the most
personal
and intimate level. Any encounter between the two countries
needed
to be approached with a measure of ambivalence and
skepticism.
What on the surface might have seemed harmless and
inconsequen-
tial could potentially result in the erosion of Canada’s cultural
autonomy.
According to Mathews,

the us exile in Canada is different politically, socially,
culturally and individually
from any other exile we could conceivably harbour, because of
the immense
effect of the us imperialism in Canada, because of his own
conditioning
before he comes here, and because of the attitude of resident us
citizens in
Canada.19
The ‘refusal’ of Americans to study Canadian history, to read
Canadian
literature, or to learn French illustrated to Mathews the
expatriates’
inability to recognize or acknowledge Canadian difference.
Assimila-
tion, the complete and utter rejection of things American, and
the sur-
render of us cultural capital were thus the only way for the
expatriate
to avoid reproducing and disseminating us imperialism. As long
as
expatriates were unreflective Americans who saw Canada as a
way sta-
tion or a place to reproduce an American way of life, they posed
a
threat to the integrity of the Canadian national life.
English-Canadian nationalism involved and engaged American
expa-
triates in a number of crucial ways. First, many of the positions

of
Canadian nationalists, particularly its more New Left
proponents,
dovetailed with indigenous forms of American anti-imperialism.
Thus,
for many expatriates, the movement for Canadian nationalism
repre-
sented a common cause – a cause that allowed expatriates to
explicitly
18 Jeffery Cormier, The Canadianization Movement:
Emergence, Survival, and Success
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004), 4–5.
19 Mathews, ‘Draft Dodging,’ 10.
critique American military involvement in Vietnam, while
offering
a more sustained opposition to us power and influence, as well
as
solidarity with sovereignty and anti-colonial politics of
subordinated
nations. For Canadian nationalists, American expatriates were a
symbol
of independence, autonomy, and defiance vis-à-vis the United
States.
In turn, some Canadian nationalists who saw American
expatriates as
yet another unwanted us import, part of American political and
cultural
influence, challenged this iconographic representation.

Mathews’s critique of draft resisters was articulated in a
Fanonian
language of cultural imperialism.20 Canada’s encounter with
the United
States was compared with and linked to transnational struggles
for
independence in former colonies. Not only was the relationship
between
the United States and Canada that of an imperial power and a
colony,
but American expatriates in Canada were direct importers and
embodi-
ments of imperialism. us draft resisters, military deserters,
academics,
students, and any other American migrants posed imminent
threats
to the supposedly distinctive and authentic aspects of Canadian
life.
Despite their political intentions, they eroded and diminished
Cana-
dian culture.
They are cultural imperialists in the exact use of the word. They
think they
bring a better culture. For that reason they think they have a
right to all and
any Canadian positions in Canadian culture. By the aid of
Canadian colonials
they bring us personnel to Canadian positions even when
Canadians are
available.21

This vision of Americans as arrogant hegemons who assumed
exper-
tise, superiority, and access to culturally significant positions
filled
Mathews with a righteous anger. In his logic, us notions of
entitle-
ment displaced Canadians from their own homes and jobs,
impover-
ishing the distinct civil society that generations of Canadians
had
built and defended.
One of the most dangerous effects of cultural imperialism, to
Mathews’s mind, was the way that ‘us influence diverts
Canadian
attention to us problems.’22 Instead of focusing on local,
provincial,
or national politics, young Canadians were becoming enamoured
with political concerns not their own. Writing in 1970, Mathews
was
20 Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove,
1965).
21 Mathews, ‘us Draft Dodger in Canada,’ 25.
22 Ibid.
disturbed to discover that an anti-Vietnam demonstration’s
highlight
was ‘to be to an eyewitness account’ of the shootings at Kent
State
University. He asked, ‘Have we not had enough of Kent State
students?

Should a Canadian anti-imperialist protest really centre around
the
shooting of four Kent State students?’ Such an emphasis on us
events
would turn the rally from an anti-imperialist protest into a
‘demon-
stration against the bad us Empire.’23 In his view, the protest
should
have focused on Canadian complicity with the us war machine,
its
political acquiescence on the international stage, and its
profiteering
through the sale of materials and weapons.24 To effectively
resist this
sort of imperialism, Canadians had to guard against ‘American’
per-
ceptions and tactics creeping into their political culture.
Accordingly,
a demonstration against the war in Vietnam at the University of
Toronto should not simply be a replication of protests in Ann
Arbor
or Austin, but a distinctively Canadian rally, which could take
place
only at a Canadian school.
To illustrate his argument, Mathews pointed to Canadian
activists’
use of American appellations such as ‘pig’ – in reference to
police
officers – as an everyday effect of cultural imperialism.
According to
Mathews, this pejorative descriptor did not accurately reflect
the
historical role of police officers within the Canadian
‘community.’
The increased usage of American political styles and forms of

protest
were examples of learned behaviour rather than an expression of
an
‘authentic’ Canadian dissent. The smashing of Eaton’s
Department
Store windows during another Toronto protest was a further
illustra-
tion of this unwanted borrowing of radical American behaviour
at
work. ‘Real anti-imperialists,’ according to Mathews, ‘would
not have
broken the windows.’ Such behaviour was the direct result of a
‘hell-
raising us style.’ The net effect of having so many young
Americans
in Canada, Mathews asserted, was the diminishing and diluting
of
Canadian political culture. In its place, us tactics, style, and
forms of
political conduct were being enacted and embodied by Canadian
political
actors.25 Mathews’s moral tone with regard to political action
neatly
23 Ibid.
24 Mathews’s colleague James Steele was one of the earliest
critics of Canada’s
‘indirect’ role in Vietnam. See James Steele, ‘Ottawa/Saigon
Complicity,’ Our
Generation 4 (1966): 71–83.
25 Robin Mathews, ‘The Americanization of Canada Means
Precisely the Takeover
of Canadian Culture by us citizens,’ Saturday Night (May
1971): 20–2.

distinguished Canadian and us sensibilities, despite the fact that
polit-
ical violence had in fact been part of the history of the Left in
Canada
throughout the twentieth century.26
As mentioned earlier, Mathews was a leading figure in the fight
against the us influence within Canadian institutions of higher
educa-
tion. Mathews had become increasingly disturbed by what he
saw as a
form of American imperialism at the very heart of Canadian
society –
the large number of American faculty at Canadian schools.
Along with
his Carleton University colleague James Steele, Mathews
published
The Struggle for Canadian Universities, relating their attempts
to ensure
that Carleton’s faculty be made up predominately of Canadian
citizens.
Writing in a polemic style, the authors argued that Canadian
universities
risked becoming ‘alien’ institutions because they would be
‘staffed by
an increasingly large majority of scholars whose primary
community
is not the Canadian community; whose primary national
experience is
not Canadian; whose primary interests do not merge with and
show

respect for the seriousness of Canadian problems and the unique
rele-
vance of their solutions.’27 The danger they saw in this
situation of
‘foreign influence’ on Canadian universities was the denial, or
the
potential for denial, of Canadian students about the supposed
‘Cana-
dian fact.’ Their proposal to rectify this problem was to demand
a
two-thirds majority of Canadian faculty in all university
departments
and to make Canadian citizenship a requirement for individuals
to
hold administrative positions.28
Mathews cited one example of the colonized nature of Canadian
higher education: the curriculum in the Graduate Department of
English at the University of Toronto. During the 1960s and
early
1970s Toronto had achieved international prominence due in
part to
the presence of two renowned scholars: Northrop Frye and
Marshall
McLuhan. Mathews’s examination of the English Department’s
1970–1
course offerings discovered one hundred and six different
graduate
26 J.M. Bumsted, The Winnipeg General Strike (Winnipeg:
Watson & Dwyer, 1994);
Steven Hewitt, Spying 101: The rcmp’s Secret Activities at
Canadian Universities,
1917–1997 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002); Gary
Kinsman and
Patrizia Gentile, The Canadian War on Queers: National

Security as Sexual
Regulation (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press,
2010); Michael
Stevenson, Canada’s Greatest Wartime Muddle: National
Selective Service and the
Mobilization of Human Resources in World War ii (Montreal
and Kingston:
McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001); W.A. Waiser, All Hell
Can’t Stop Us:
The On-to-Ottawa Trek and the Regina Riot (Calgary: Fifth
House, 2003).
27 Mathews and Steele, Struggle for Canadian Universities, 3.
28 Ibid., 5–7.
courses listed. Of these only one was in the field of Canadian
litera-
ture. In contrast, nine courses were offered in the literature of
the
United States ‘and about six others with us content.’29 Even
more dis-
turbing to Mathews was the fact that there was not a single
faculty
member who specialized in Canadian literature. He charged that
‘a
department of the size and importance of the University of
Toronto
Graduate Department of English should offer twelve courses in
Cana-
dian literature, if it wishes, fairly but modestly, to represent
knowl-
edge and the search for truth as manifested by the Canadian

literary
imagination in Canadian history.’ Mathews went on to argue
that the
so-called pursuit of knowledge at institutions such as the
University
of Toronto ‘meant something other than knowledge that arises
from
Canada and Canadians.’30 What lay at the heart of this
scholarly pre-
dicament, according to Mathews, was the bias of American
scholars
who represented close to 50 per cent of faculty hires throughout
the
1960s, as well as their preference for things American, be it in
litera-
ture, politics, or scholarship.
For nationalists, the physical presence of Americans as directors
or
heads of public Canadian institutions such as universities,
libraries,
and art galleries was an illustration of the operation of cultural
impe-
rialism. Moreover, the placing of Americans in these important
posi-
tions reflected the colonized nature and complicity of many
Canadians
who believed automatically that there were better qualified
Americans
for any important position. Speaking on cbc radio, Mathews
argued,
‘There are a great many Canadians, let alone non-Canadians,
who
think that the Canadian thing has to be by definition inferior
and
there is a kind of pressure that says if you want excellence you

don’t
get it in Canada.’31
Mathews and Steele’s proposal to limit the number of foreign
aca-
demics at Canadian institutions, and Mathews’s direct attacks
on draft
resisters, were met with a measure of resentment and resistance
by
both expatriates and those Canadians skeptical of nationalist
sentiment.
A variety of arguments were used to defend the status quo.
First, the
rapid expansion of Canadian universities in the 1960s demanded
the
sudden hiring of large numbers of qualified faculty, far
exceeding the
29 Robin Mathews, ‘The Americanization of Canada Means
Precisely the Takeover
of Canadian Culture by us citizens,’ in The Star Spangled
Beaver, ed. John H.
Redekop (Toronto: Peter Martin Associates, 1971), 60.
30 Ibid.
31 Sunday Supplement, 4 May 1969, 690406-4, Canadian
Broadcasting Corpora-
tion Archives.
supply of Canadians with advanced degrees. Further, Canadian
univer-

sities were ‘liberal’ institutions and, as such, should be open
forums
for a range of ideas and schools of thought from outside
Canada.
Finally, liberal critics of hard-line nationalists argued that the
university
should be a place of excellence, and the very best scholars
should be
hired, regardless of their country of origin. On the cbc tv
program
The Way It Is, John Saywell, a historian at Toronto’s York
University,
argued that Canadian university students would benefit from us
history
professors who could teach ‘through the eyes of an American’
and thus
see the United States as Americans see it. Mathews countered
Saywell,
asserting that Canadian students need to understand the us as
Cana-
dians, from a Canadian perspective, and not as Americans.32
Mathews’s anti-imperialist sentiment was nonetheless an
applica-
tion of foundational New Left thought, an analytic approach to
power
relations derived from an internal American critique and from
the
encounter between an internationally dominant United States
and
dependent satellite nations. ‘Ironically, Canadian anti-
Americanism,’
historians Jack Granatstein and Robert Bothwell have asserted,
‘was
largely a reflection of its native American source.’33 The deep
critiques

of American hegemony – the nation’s role as a Cold War
superpower –
were not only the province of those nations in dependent and
sub-
ordinated relationships. Much of the New Left critique, the
work of
us intellectuals such as William Appleman Williams, Paul
Goodman,
and C. Wright Mills, were aimed directly at the exercise of us
corporate
and state power both at home and abroad. Yet the New Left was
not
simply a North American phenomenon. Canadian activists of the
late
1950s and early 1960s, particularly those associated with the
Cana-
dian-based Combined University Campaign for Nuclear
Disarma-
ment, were keenly aware of their counterparts in the British
peace
movement, as well the generation of activist intellectuals who
estab-
lished periodicals such as the New Left Review.34 Nonetheless,
the
language of the Canadian left-nationalism, informed by a
politics of
anti-imperialism as well as economic sovereignty, would be
particu-
larly focused on the historical and political relationship between
Canada
and the United States. As such the rise of English-Canadian
national-
ism, a nationalism embraced and championed by critics such as
Robin
32 The Way It Is, 690406-2, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

Archives.
33 J.L. Granatstein and Robert Bothwell, Pirouette: Pierre
Trudeau and Canadian
Foreign Policy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990),
42.
34 Roussopoulos, New Left in Canada, 6–11; Palmer, Canada’s
1960s, 253–4. For a
personal account of the history of the New Left in Britain, see
Stuart Hall, ‘Life
and Times of the First New Left,’ New Left Review 61
(Jan./Feb. 2010): 171–93.
Mathews, was part of the political and cultural transaction
between
the United States and Canada during the late 1960s and early
1970s.
The conceptualization of the United States as a modern empire
was
a core component of the New Left’s political critique, one that
ques-
tioned the rationale of international anti-communism while at
the
same time rehabilitating older Marxist critiques of
imperialism.35 In
particular, New Left activists challenged the Cold War logic of
contain-
ment as a rationale to protect us economic interests in Latin
America,
Asia, and Africa, as well as the us government’s continued

support of
authoritarian and undemocratic regimes. In the early 1960s, the
most
obvious example of such support was the economic and military
main-
tenance of the Diem government in South Vietnam.36 ‘We have
helped little,’ the authors of the Port Huron Statement argued,
‘seem-
ing to prefer to create a growing gap between ‘‘have’’ and
‘‘have not’’
rather than usher in social revolutions which would threaten our
investors and our military alliances.’37 Instead, the continued
support
for such oppressive states put the lie to the us government’s
rhetoric
about ‘making the world safe for democracy.’ Nationalist
struggles
against continued colonial rule provided young New Left
activists
with models and even folk heroes, whose seeming commitment
to
cause, desire to transform society, and willingness to take risks
con-
trasted dramatically with the bland suburban conformity of
middle-
class America.38
35 The critique of us Cold War hegemony was expressed in the
works of a slightly
older generation of scholars and intellectuals. See William
Appleman Williams,
Tragedy of American Diplomacy (Cleveland: World Publishing,
1959); C. Wright
Mills, The Causes of World War iii (New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1960).

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