When he answered my phone call, Aslan Lamarche speaks in a voice that's shaky, nervous. He's slow to speak and takes long pauses until he's sure he knows the voice on the other end.
Lamarche knows that any call -- especially one from a number inside the United States -- could mean the end.
Like his fellow war deserters living in Canada, Lamarche's likely future is frightening.
What's next for Lamarche is probably deportation back to the States. Then, a court martial and at least a year in prison.
"I
just want this to be over and get on with the rest of my life," Lamarche told me. A native of South Florida., his application for refugee status
in Canada was denied. He's appealing. "God, I miss home."
Lamarche
grew up on the south side of Miami and moved to Hollywood when he was
16. On his left wrist is a tattoo that reads: "MIAMI 305." Not long
after turning 18, he joined the Marines. After boot camp, he attended
the Marines' School of Infantry. He finished in October 2007.
"That's when I deserted," he says. "I knew I couldn't go to Iraq and die for this illegal war."
So
a week after his 19th birthday, Lamarche, who had never lived outside
of Florida before joining the military, moved alone to Toronto, a place
he'd never been. There, he met other deserters through the War
Resisters Support Campaign.
Considering that Canadian courts are
rejecting asylum requests from American deserters, Lamarche knows his
options are limited. He can try to rejoin the service and face a harsh
court-martial and total ostracism by his fellow Marines. He can turn
himself in and go to jail and deal with the consequences of a
dishonorable discharge, including a black mark for potential employers
or universities. Or he can try to stay in Canada as long as possible
and keep running.
"I've been up here going on a year and a half, and I just don't see any solutions on the horizon," he says. "Just more storms."
South
Florida is no stranger to Iraq War resisters. Camilo Mejía, a
Nicaraguan-born former staff sergeant in the Florida National Guard,
was the first soldier to refuse to serve in the Iraq War. After six
months in Iraq, Mejia did not return from his two-week furlough. His
application for conscientious objector status was rejected by the
Guard. He eventually spent a year in the Fort Sill military prison in
Oklahoma.
For now, the campaign gives Lamarche some financial
assistance, as do his parents, who live in Miami. Both of his parents
emigrated to the United States, his mother from Trinidad, his father
from Cuba. He speaks to them a few times a week. "It's sad. My parents
came to the U.S. for a better way of life," he says. "And now, their
oldest son had to leave that same country for the same reason."
He
attends a technical school in Toronto, where he's taking classes to
become a physical therapist. He says he has a girlfriend and would like
to marry her one day if he can straighten out this part of his life.
"It's
hard to be 20 years old and be hated by two governments," he says. "And
Canada is a very strange country in a lot of ways. They just have this
blind trust that their government will do the right thing. The majority
of Canadians want us to stay. They say, 'Don't worry. Everything will
be fine.' But at the end of the day, none of them are willing to fight
for us."
As for critics who might argue that Lamarche
volunteered to fight and then later refused to go, he says he refused
to honor a contract for a government that lied to go to war. "Why
should I give my body for a contract with a government that doesn't
honor me? My government lied to me. They've lied to the world and to
the American people, and draft or no draft, there's no excuse. This is
a poverty draft. Most of the people in the military are from poor
backgrounds in bad neighborhoods."
Lamarche says he's heard
claims that Iraq War deserters aren't as sympathetic as draftees from
Vietnam. He has harsh words for such critics. "If someone wants to sit
there and tell me, 'This isn't the '60s!' I'll punch him in the mouth."
Though
he lives by himself, he takes solace in the friends he's made among the
other deserters. "There's a camaraderie among the guys up here," he
says. "We might be from different branches of the military, but we've
become best friends. For a lot of people, this is the only family they
have."
One friend Lamarche made eventually turned himself in.
Before he got on the plane headed back to the States, he turned,
saluted, and uttered four words to Lamarche.
Those words are now tattooed on Lamarche's left wrist, just above the Miami ink: "Live Free or Die."
