Is the US Military Poised to Experience a New Surge in Conscientious Objectors?
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Joy Metzler had expected to still be in uniform, working as a junior officer at her Air Force engineering job. Instead, she found herself protesting outside the United Nations, weakened from participating in a 40-day fast as she called on authorities to deliver full humanitarian aid to Gaza and end US weapons transfers to Israel.
The soft-spoken 23-year-old had pursued military service with enthusiasm. She graduated from the Air Force Academy in 2023 and received her commission the same year, hoping that the military would provide a meaningful way to give back to a country that became her home when she was adopted from China as an infant.
“I wanted to protect people. I wanted to serve,” said Metzler, who met her husband, now an officer in the Space Force, at the academy. “And I don’t think it’s a far cry to say that I’m the kind of person who doesn’t mind putting my body on the line for things I believe in. So the military really just kind of made sense.”
Hotline callers were saying, “I do not want to be part of pointing a gun at US citizens and maybe shooting it.”
Then, a crisis of conscience changed everything.
Shaken by the United States’ support for Israel’s protracted bombing campaign on Gaza, Metzler took the dramatic step of applying for conscientious objector status, a way out of the military reserved for those who can prove that their beliefs no longer align with service. For her, an eight-month application process involving probing interviews and pages of essays resulted in her successful discharge as a conscientious objector in April.
But the emotionally grueling decision can come with a steep cost, from alienating military comrades and even family members to paying back tens of thousands of dollars for tuition and other military benefits.
Historically, the number of service members applying for conscientious objector status in the last quarter century from an all-volunteer force has been relatively low, with the Army seeing a dozen or fewer applications per year since 2019 and fewer than 75 in any year since 2001. By contrast, during the Vietnam War—the last US conflict to employ a conscripted force—some 170,000 men across multiple services were granted conscientious objector deferments, and about 61,000 in 1971 alone.
Volunteers who field calls from troops in moral quandaries say they recently experienced a surge that appears to be driven by another conflict: President Donald Trump’s contested order last month that sent 4,000 National Guard troops and 700 Marines to Los Angeles to quell protests related to immigration enforcement operations.
Soldiers with Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 184th Infantry Regiment, California Army National Guard arrive at the Wilshire Federal Building in Los Angeles on June 22, 2025. Sgt. 1st Class Christy L. Sherman/US Army
Steve Woolford first noticed a change at the GI Rights Hotline the week of June 8. That was when Trump doubled the presence of National Guard troops in Los Angeles and ordered a contingent of Marines—an infantry battalion from Marine Corps Air-Ground Combat Center 29 Palms, California—into the city.
While the hotline typically receives between 200 and 250 calls a month, about 50 calls came through that Sunday alone, with additional messages left by callers who couldn’t get through, Woolford said.
Most, he said, also didn’t fit the conventional definition of a conscientious objector, opposed to wars and warfighting.
“What a number of them spoke to was, ‘I do not want to be part of pointing a gun at US citizens and maybe shooting it, like, I’m here to protect US citizens, even if they have different beliefs,’” Woolford told The War Horse. “So there were people who were having, I guess, a different version of ethical dilemma…They just didn’t believe this is all what they signed up for or agreed to.”
To be sure, it’s too early to know if the flurry of hotline calls might lead to a spike in conscientious objectors; it would be months before any resulting applications are processed.
At the heart of the tension is a court-contested deployment of troops—the members of the Guard, in a notable departure from standard practice, without approval from California Gov. Gavin Newsom—to back up domestic law enforcement, including support of ICE operations.
The ongoing legal dispute leaves troops little choice for now but to follow Trump’s order, said Carrie A. Lee, a senior fellow with the German Marshall Fund of the United States and a former professor at the US Army War College.
“It’s actually a very high bar for thinking about disobeying unlawful orders,” Lee told The War Horse. “There is no provision for what a service member decides is immoral or unethical, because those are personal judgments based on personal decisions about morality and ethics. And you know, you can’t be injecting every unique individual’s own ethics into military orders.”
The cluster of groups that staffs the GI Rights Hotline is cognizant of that tension. It means, at minimum, that refusing to go when ordered comes with a cost. Woolford, whose father was a Navy officer but who found his way into anti-war activism as an adult, says he practices “nondirective counseling”—helping troops identify their situation, options, and possible resources rather than pushing them toward a course of action. Sometimes, he said, that’s frustrating to callers.
“Some people, whatever they saw online [regarding the LA deployment] gave them the expectation that I was going to be able to say, ‘Yes, [the orders are] illegal and you can refuse them and nothing will happen to you,’” Woolford said. “But, yeah, I would not be telling someone truthful information if I said that.”
While the GI Rights Hotline dates to 1994, groups supporting conscientious objectors predate the all-volunteer force. The Center on Conscience and War, which supports the hotline, was founded in 1940 by churches disturbed at the abuse conscientious objectors underwent in World War I, according to Bill Galvin, the organization’s counseling director.
Conscientious objection, for its part, predates the Revolutionary War, as many early settlers, particularly in colonies like Pennsylvania, were Quakers, who were pacifists as part of their religious practice. Perhaps the most famous American conscientious objector was Desmond Doss, a World War II combat medic who refused to bring a weapon into battle yet earned the Medal of Honor—the nation’s highest military award—for heroism in saving dozens of wounded men under fire.
The typical call to the GI Rights Hotline comes from service members who have experienced a religious conversion or other change that alters their views on warfighting.
“You don’t have to be a full-on pacifist to be a conscientious objector.”
Another common call, Galvin said, comes from people registering as required by law with the US Selective Service System who want to put their conscientious objection on the record in the event the country ever brings back a military draft.
By the start of July, hotline calls had largely returned to the normal volume and rhythm, Woolford said.
In today’s all-volunteer force, enlistees must sign an affidavit that they don’t have an objection to war as part of entry paperwork. To be a successful objector after a service member has donned the uniform requires proving a genuine change of heart or conviction and showing they’re now opposed to bearing arms in war in any form. Opposition to a specific war or certain military policy doesn’t meet that bar.
While Metzler’s objection to war began with Gaza, it quickly broadened into opposition to supporting the military in any capacity. On the advice of her counselors in the organization Veterans for Peace, she avoided getting drawn into arguments about how she felt about World War II and other past conflicts when making her case to the military. These, she said, could trip objectors up while missing the point.
“How do you even define what warfare is? Because they don’t give you an answer for that,” Metzler said. “You don’t have to be a full-on pacifist to be a conscientious objector, I would say.”
Even when a service member meets the requirements, the path of conscientious objection carries significant personal costs. Flat refusal to follow an order can come with jail time. Those who apply for conscientious objector status must submit to months of scrutiny from senior officers seeking to determine that a change of heart from when they enlisted is sincere and consistent.
James Matthew Branum, who staffs calls for the hotline and also provides independent legal information to troops through his organization the Military Law Task Force, said objectors often have a monetary cost to pay as well.
“I don’t want to be associated with the military to any degree if the public is going to see us in a certain light.”
“If you received an enlistment bonus, you’re going to repay that. If you received educational benefits, for someone, let’s say, who went to West Point, that could end up meaning…you potentially are owing around $200,000,” Branum said. “There are ways of fighting that…but it can be very challenging.”
The social stigma from acquaintances, employers, and even family members that often comes with taking the objector’s path out of the military represents another level of cost, he said.
Joy Metzler salutes at her graduation from the Air Force Academy two years ago. She now owes the Air Force about $150,000 for her “unfulfilled commitment.” Courtesy of Joy Metzler
Metzler said she hasn’t received much direct blowback from friends and family about her decision, but the cost has raised eyebrows.
“Specifically, on the financial part, I think a lot of people go behind my back and talk to my husband and say, ‘Well, are you OK with this?’” Metzler said. “And to me, that signifies that they don’t really understand the gravity of the decision I was making.”
She’s on the hook for a prorated amount of her Air Force Academy tuition, Metzler said, “based on unfulfilled commitment” that amounts to more than $150,000.
She said she’s treating it like college debt.
Isaac Hummel, Metzler’s husband, said taking on the financial burden was a focus of their many conversations around her decision. They figured they were coming from a “place of privilege” and could afford to pay it off with his Space Force salary. He pushed her to see every side, to be certain she was as sure as she sounded, Hummel said: “I don’t think she ever doubted if it was worth it.”
While they’d both felt similarly about Gaza, Hummel said, he’d never considered taking such a radical step. “I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to do that,” he said.
He acknowledged that seeing the Marines deployed in California “really kind of shook me.”
“I don’t want to be associated with the military to any degree if the public is going to see us in a certain light,” he said.
Working at the Space Force, Hummel said, has given him “the privilege to feel a little disconnected from everything that’s going on.” But he knows he’s still part of the military. His coworkers fall into two camps on his wife’s decision: voice support or avoid the subject entirely. Only once, he said, has a colleague openly confronted him. The conversation ended in respectful disagreement.
The number of would-be conscientious objectors has remained relatively small in the years since September 11, 2001, but the numbers rise around new missions. The post-Vietnam peak followed the 2003 invasion of Iraq.
In the Army, the largest of the military services and the most commonly represented in both foreign and domestic missions, the highest number of conscientious objector applications over the last quarter century came in 2005, with 74 applications, of which 39, or 52 percent, were approved. By comparison, more than 73,000 soldiers joined the Army that fiscal year, and about 60,000 soldiers transition annually out of the service for all reasons.
In 2024, the Army granted five applications and denied one; to date this year, three have been granted and two are pending, according to data provided by Army headquarters. Given the work required to submit a conscientious objector application, it’s unlikely these numbers reflect any recent callers to the GI Rights Hotline.
So far, no military voices from the LA deployment have come forward publicly to describe the specific thinking of troops on orders there. “Most of the people who have talked to me were pretty scared,” Woolford said. “Like, they wanted to get out of this, but didn’t want to bring extra attention to themselves or their family.”
Galvin said he tries to make service members aware of alternatives to declaring themselves conscientious objectors, such as raising family hardships or preexisting medical issues that need to be addressed. Guard members, he said, can also claim community hardship, stipulating that their civilian job is too essential to leave for a deployment.
Lee, the German Marshall Fund fellow, said she appreciated the work groups like Galvin’s do to help troops think through moral and ethical issues. But, she said, quandaries in war and personal disagreement with a military order were not new and did not absolve troops from following the order.
“The ability to divorce your professional identity from your personal identity is the hallmark of a member of the profession of arms,” she said. “Part of that involves respect for the chain of command and respect for the missions that your president asks you to go do. And the ability to divorce that from your personal identity and what is going on with your family is incredibly difficult, but also extremely necessary.”
Lee said she worries, however, about the broader long-term impacts of the Los Angeles deployment and how it signals a shift in how the military is used.
“This suggests to me that the administration has some intention of using either federalized guardsmen or active-duty military quite regularly to support law enforcement,” she said. “If that is the case, then I think you’re looking at some really significant morale issues, some really significant retention issues, and potentially down the line, real recruiting issues.”
Notably, the controversy over the LA deployment comes as military recruiting experiences a historic boom, with the service branches hitting accession goals months early and the Pentagon touting the enthusiasm among recruits choosing to serve under President Trump.
Kevin Wallsten, a political science professor at California State University, Long Beach, said an unscientific survey of 400 veterans he conducted earlier this year ran aggressively along political lines: Conservatives are now extremely likely to recommend military enlistment, while liberals are extremely unlikely to do so.
“I think the longer-term question,” he said, “the longer-term problem, the longer-term challenge, is to find a foundation for military recruitment that becomes less dependent on the personalities that are setting policy in the Pentagon or in the White House.”
For Metzler, seeing active-duty troops deployed in a role that might require them to use force against American civilians was shocking and further affirmed the conviction she felt that she could not wear the uniform.
At the end of June, following the conclusion of her protest outside the UN—during which she was briefly arrested—she had her first meal following the 40-day fast: three pieces of pizza.
Next, she said, she plans to enter a graduate school program in mechanical engineering at the University of Central Florida. She’s still working to make sense of her brief time in the military. Though she never deployed and never served in combat, she feels guilt even over having supported military research in developing weapons of war.
Now, when Metzler considers her decision to leave behind the military, she expresses relief. Being able to look at suffering in places like Gaza and feel horror instead of rationalizing military objectives means she’s held on to a valued piece of her humanity, she said.
“Even though it’s emotionally taxing, I feel very fortunate that I still have the ability to not glaze over that,” she said. “I almost lost that because of being in the military.”
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