Breaking Down and Rising Up: A Lesson in Authority | #MyFridayStory №363
I have a problem with people in positions of authority. More specifically, I detest authority wielded as a stick. When I reflect on where this resentment towards unchecked bullying originates, it takes me back to my days of compulsory military service. I was sent to the army after graduating high school, not yet 18 years old. Due to a childhood illness, I wasn’t supposed to be conscripted, but through a twist of fate, I was accepted. The wake-up call that awaited me has never quite faded.
Most folks know the army isn’t for sissies. But my basic training wasn’t about preparation for combat; it was about survival. Military training is designed to break recruits down into unquestioning obedience, ensuring commands are followed to the letter. Ideally, these commands come from capable, professional soldiers with the well-being of their troops in mind. Unfortunately, for us “sick-lame-and-lazy” troops in Kimberley back in January 1981, this ideal was far from reality.
Through another twist of fate, the army assigned a group of newly promoted lance corporals and full corporals to oversee a platoon of medically unfit soldiers. These young non-commissioned officers, fresh from six months of combat training, were tasked with babysitting us — a group of conscripts who had been deemed unfit for military training and assigned to fill administrative roles. Their frustration was palpable. To them, we were an insult to their warrior aspirations.
The entire regiment — from the corporals to the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) — knew what was happening in our platoon. Collectively, the non-commissioned officers decided to treat us as though we were perfectly fit and healthy. From the outset, they set about breaking us down, subjecting us to relentless “straf PT” (punishment physical training) until most of us collapsed. Pleas for mercy or acknowledgement of our health conditions were met with smirks and even more punishment. They seemed to relish our suffering.
Late-night barracks raids became a common occurrence. They would overturn our beds and cupboards, throw sand and water on the floors to make them muddy and order us to be inspection-ready within half an hour. When we inevitably failed, we were dragged outside for more straf PT. The insults they hurled at us stung almost as much as the physical exhaustion. Back in the barracks, we would collapse onto our beds, too drained to do anything but sleep.
One night, sometime past midnight, our platoon was jolted awake by screams and orders to assemble outside. Still in our sleeping clothes, we were informed that we would “beg for mercy” that night. Our barracks, converted aircraft hangars, housed over 100 troops. The corporals began timing us as we ran laps around the barracks. Those who lagged at the back of the platoon were punished with push-ups until everyone finished. Then the stragglers were forced to drink a Liter of water, a round of push-ups and sent running again. This cycle of running, water consumption, and push-ups continued until vomiting and collapse became inevitable.
A few of the weaker troops were eventually taken to the hospital with severe dehydration. There, the medical staff and other officers learned about the punishments we had endured. A lieutenant instructed the hospitalised soldiers to file charges against the non-commissioned officers responsible. It was a rare moment of intervention, but it didn’t erase the trauma we had already endured.
When people with unchecked authority hold your life in their hands, it’s terrifying. The idea that they could snuff out your flame without a second thought has stayed with me ever since. For many years, my instinctive reaction to uncontrolled authority was to lash out — verbally, and sometimes even physically. I hated that about myself. Not only because I detest violence but also because, in hindsight, my initial outrage often felt disproportionate.
Over time, I’ve learned to manage these reactions. The practice of “Stop. Think. Act.” has become my go-to strategy. It allows me to pause, calm down, and assess situations with a clearer mind. Still, the scars of that army experience remain, a reminder of how authority wielded recklessly can break a person — and how survival often requires rising above the very systems that try to crush you.
Have a wonderful weekend and remember to be generous! 😄
As always, thanks for reading. 🙏
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