To object or not to object? That is the question at the heart of Michael Mears‘ self-penned one-man show This Evil Thing staged in the assembly hall of St Thomas of Aquins RC High School in Edinburgh in support of Edinburgh Peace & Justice Centre’s ambitious plans to create an Opposing War Memorial in Princes Street Gardens.

Using verbatim testimonies from conscientious objectors, the most prominent of whom being the distinguished philosopher and mathematician Bertrand Russell, and charting their fate before, during and after the Great War, as a self-confessed pacifist who has “never been tested, not truly tested”, Mears invites us to consider at which point, if any, we would have lay down our principles to bear arms.

When the call for volunteers grew louder following Asquith’s declaration of war and Kitchener’s “Your Country Needs You” rallying cry? When non-combative roles such as stretcher bearers and ambulance drivers were in high demand following the lengthening of hostilities and the growing number of casualties? When “alternative service” demanded that objectors were to be “sent to do work of national importance” such as peeling spuds and breaking up rocks?

Or, on a more personal level, when your wife and family threatened to disown you? Or, on a more perilous level, when a rogue sergeant took the law into his own hands and pointed a gun at your head? “They should be taken outside and shot like dogs,” barked one British bulldog.

Mears’ impressive performance is weighty and nuanced, shape-shifting from pacifist to critic to neutral at the drop of a white handkerchief, which incidentally forms a central part of Kate Ive’s memorial design inspired by an emergency convention of the No-Conscription Fellowship at which 2000 delegates waved their handkerchiefs in silent support of the speakers, rather than applaud, to avoid antagonising the hostile crowd outside.

The waving of handkerchiefs being one of several moments of audience participation, other tasteful examples being the offer of chocolates and the acquisition of a coin which another of the real-life protagonists, Bert Brocklesby, a young teacher and Methodist preacher, used to determine whether he should volunteer for active service or stay true to his principles and object.

Others weren’t afforded the luxury of choosing, such as the 18 year old whose case was dismissed by the local tribunal board on the grounds that he was deemed too young to have a conscience. The elite, on the other hand, were above the law with one MP claiming that they should make the small sacrifice of giving up their luxury motor cars and sending their chauffeurs into battle. Boom boom, beat the soundtrack. Boom boom, indeed!

Using an array of wooden crates to assemble trenches and pulpits and speaking platforms and benches, the constant building of Lego-like formations detracts somewhat from the power of the storytelling which is bookended by short extracts from the literal back-of-a-fag-packet letter penned by pacifist James Brightmore, a solicitor’s clerk from Manchester, who for ten days was kept in solitary confinement in a waterlogged pit measuring ten feet deep and three feet wide.

A hardship which pales into insignificance when compared to the fate of conscientious objectors like Robert Walter who was one of the first to die as a result of his imprisonment. As Mears asks towards the end of his ninety minute show, “Aren’t they equally worthy of being remembered?”

Peter Callaghan
Latest posts by Peter Callaghan (see all)

2 Comments

  1. Just to correct one thing – it was WALTER ROBERTS who was the first CO to die. Thank you.

Comments are closed.