[Peace-discuss] Military recruiters

[C. G. Estabrook]

[This is interesting in light of Susan and Lisa's account of their
reception at Urbana HS.  --CGE]

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-recruit5apr05,0,5875265.story

	They're Talking Up Arms
	Military recruiters are fortifying their outposts at high schools,
	hoping a chummy familiarity will entice students to enlist.
	Some decry the tactics.
	By Erika Hayasaki
	Times Staff Writer
	April 5, 2005

Marine Sgt. Rick Carloss is as familiar to students as some teachers at
Downey High School. He does push-ups with students during PE classes and
plays in faculty basketball games. During lunch, he hands out key chains,
T-shirts and posters that proclaim: "Think of Me As Your New Guidance
Counselor."

On a recent morning, Carloss drove his silver 1996 Mercedes-Benz from his
recruiting station to the school two blocks away. A parking attendant
waved him into the lot, saying, "Hi, dear."

Inside the attendance office, Carloss kissed two secretaries on their
foreheads.

"I need you to summon a young man out of class for me," he told one.

"OK," she replied. "What's his name?"

The young man, Gilbert Rodriguez, was an 18-year-old senior. He was
enlisting in the Marines the next day. Carloss needed go over paperwork
with him.

Walking through corridors, Carloss pounded a student's fist in greeting,
chatted with another about a novel she was reading, shook hands with
administrators.

The sergeant entered the library and a student shouted: "Hey, Carloss!"

Such familiarity is what the Marines and Army believe they need if they
are to keep their ranks replenished. As the conflict in Iraq entered its
third year, the Marines missed their monthly recruiting goals in January
through March for the first time in a decade, and the Army and the
National Guard also fell short of their needs. This year, the Army and the
Marines plan not only to increase the number of recruiters, but also to
penetrate high schools more deeply, especially those least likely to send
graduates to college.

For Carloss and other recruiters, part of the way has been cleared by the
No Child Left Behind education law of 2002, which provides the military
with students' home addresses and telephone numbers. It also guarantees
that any school that allows college or job recruiters on campus must make
the same provision for the military.

Once in the door, lining up enlistees means becoming part of the school
culture.

Carloss spent seven weeks in recruiting classes to hone his marketing and
communication skills. His techniques are similar to those in the Army's
"School Recruiting Program Handbook," published last year.

The guide instructs recruiters to deliver doughnuts and coffee for the
school staff once a month; attend faculty and parent meetings; chaperon
dances; participate in Black History Month and Hispanic Heritage Month
events; meet with the student government, newspaper editors and athletes;
and lead the football team in calisthenics. It lays out a month-by-month
plan to make recruiters "indispensable" on campus. The booklet states: "Be
so helpful and so much a part of the school scene that you are in constant
demand."

It advises recruiters to get to know young leaders because "some
influential students such as the student president or the captain of the
football team may not enlist; however, they can and will provide you with
referrals who will enlist."

Some teachers, parents and students are complaining about what they
consider to be overly aggressive recruitment tactics, especially at
schools with low-income and minority students. That criticism has prompted
some schools, such as Roosevelt High in Boyle Heights, to curb military
recruiting.

But at others, like Downey, which serves mostly Latino students from
working-class families, recruiters like Carloss are welcomed.

Carloss, 33, one of the Marines' best recruiters, has the kind of charm
and outgoing personality that enables him to relate to students. After
graduating from Dorsey High School in South Los Angeles, he studied radio
broadcasting at Santa Monica College for two years. In 1991, he joined the
Marines because he wanted leadership skills and to earn money for college.
The military paid for his education at Howard University in Washington,
D.C.

Inside a lunch room, Carloss sat with Rodriguez and another Marine
recruit, Matthew Tovar, an 18-year-old senior who will leave for boot camp
in July.

Rodriguez had planned to attend Rio Hondo College's police academy in
Whittier, but several months ago he learned after talking to Carloss that
he could receive training in the Marines to prepare him for his dream
career as a police detective.

At Rio Hondo, "the training they were going to give him is something he
has to pay for," Carloss said.

"This option will be better for the future," said Rodriguez, who has spent
much of his life supporting himself. While attending Downey High, he
worked full time as a store manager.

Sitting in the lunch room, Carloss told both young men that with money he
earned in the military, he bought a motorcycle and a house, in addition to
his Mercedes.

His cellphone rang. It played a 50 Cent rap tune.

The sergeant took off his Rolex watch and handed it to Tovar. Tovar
examined it and smiled: "That could be me one day."

Tovar relates to Carloss. Both like nice cars and Sean John clothing. Both
lost best friends in shootings, in neighborhoods where they were both "at
the wrong place at the wrong time." Both chose the Marines over the
streets of South Los Angeles.

"He's a very good role model," said Tovar, who wanted to be a Marine even
before meeting Carloss. "He knows how the kids are."

Carloss professes not to pay attention to recruiting quotas. "Do I really
look at this as a numbers game?" he said. "I don't. The kids are going to
come [to the military] regardless of how I carry myself."

But Allen Kanner, a Berkeley child psychologist and the author of
"Psychology and Consumer Culture: The Struggle for a Good Life in a
Materialistic World," who has tracked military recruitment in schools,
said teenagers are easily influenced.

"They are less sophisticated in terms of analyzing the purpose of an
advertisement, and the strategies and manipulation being used to convince
them to buy into joining the Army," Kanner said.

University High School student Jose Dubon recently wrote an editorial for
the campus newspaper in which he stated: "The Army managed to get a Hummer
rolling on 24-inch dubs, blasting rap, lined with flames on the side,
outside of Room C161."

He continued: "Dressed in Army uniforms, recruiters stood outside telling
people that if they signed up, they [would] receive a T-shirt that said,
in Spanish, "YO SOY EL ARMY."

Karen Magee, who has taught history for 22 years at the Downtown Business
Magnet School, said her students have complained that recruiters have
offered to buy their prom tickets if they sign up for information about
enlisting. Recruiters have attended dances and faculty meetings, she said,
and offered to take students to dinner.

In December, recruiters approached her in the hall and asked if they could
visit her classroom, Magee said. She refused. Other teachers did not.

At Sylmar High School, which has mostly low-income Latino students,
recruiters walk around in groups of two or three during lunch and approach
students at bus stops, said Erika Herran, 16.

She added: "I can't even remember a time when I have seen a college
recruiter on campus."

At Bell High School, parents and students wanted to know why
administrators recently required 500 juniors to take the 3 1/2 -hour Armed
Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test.

The test is designed by the Department of Defense as a prime recruitment
tool providing the military with "pre-qualified" leads, according to the
Army handbook. Recruiters pitch the test to principals and counselors as a
"career exploration and assessment exam."

Yesenia Mojarro, career counselor at Bell, said the school gave the test
to the junior class for the first time this year to assess career
strengths. She said proctors told students that if they were not
interested in a military career, they could withhold their home address or
phone number.

Itzuri Villa, 16, a junior at Bell, said that when a teacher told her that
it had not been not mandatory, she said students began yelling: " 'What?'
Everyone was bothered. Why were we testing? Most of us didn't want to test
because we were afraid they were going to try to recruit us."

Her father, Gustavo Villa, said the school never asked for permission to
give the test.

Recruiters call his daughter weekly, Villa said. Like many parents, he did
not know that under No Child Left Behind, his daughter could "opt out" of
providing contact information to military recruiters.

In the Downey Marine office, five recruiters spend about two to three
hours a day calling students. Those they cannot reach by phone they
sometimes visit at home.

Master Sgt. John Bertolette, the Marine recruiting director in Downey,
said his staffers know their limits. "We know not everyone is cut out to
be a Marine," he said. "We don't get on the phone and badger or beat the
issue."

Inside the office, a white board on the wall lists 25 "target" high
schools.

For each campus, recruiters had listed the number of male students, visits
to the campus and total signed contracts for 2005.

Dave Griesmer, a spokesman for the Marine Corps Recruiting Command, said
the military seeks diverse candidates, regardless of income level.

But he added: "You're not going to waste your resources if you're in sales
in a market that is not going to produce.

"We certainly don't discount any school," he said. "But if 95% of kids in
that area go on to college, a recruiter is going to decide where the best
market is. Recruiters need to prioritize."

At San Marino High School, in an affluent San Gabriel Valley neighborhood,
career center director Shanna Soltis said she has seen one military
recruiter so far this school year. They rarely stop by, she said, because
about 98% of San Marino graduates attend college.

A group called the Coalition Against Militarism in Schools, composed of
Los Angeles teachers, recently began keeping track of recruiting on high
school campuses. The group has joined with the American Civil Liberties
Union to file public records requests to gain access to recruiters'
records and information they distribute to students.

In the East Los Angeles Army office, recruiters sense the backlash.

Two of the recruiters, both sergeants, recently arrived during lunch hour
at Jefferson High in South-Central L.A., checking in at the front office.
The school does not allow them to wander the halls or make pitches to
students passing by. Instead, they are required to stay in the career
center or the Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps classroom.

"Two years ago, we could walk around on campus and say, 'Hi, I'm with the
military,' " said Sgt. Eldhen Fajardo. "Now we can't do that."

On the way to JROTC, they passed students on the basketball court and the
football field. Some stared. One laughed at their uniforms. Another called
Fajardo a derogatory name.

He brushed it off, saying: "They want to make you mad."

Later, they visited the career center. Two Air Force recruiters were
already sitting at a table, pamphlets spread out. The four recruiters
spent the rest of the lunch period there. No students showed up to meet
them.

Meanwhile, during lunch at Downey High on a recent afternoon, Carloss and
another Marine recruiter presided over a festive scene.

They set up a metal exercise bar on the quad and put up poster boards
decorated with colorful pictures and slogans. They challenged students to
a pull-up contest, offering freebies to those who participated.

Carloss solicited students like a game booth vendor. A crowd of curious
youths gathered around him. They shouted and laughed, cheering on students
who accepted the pull-up challenge.

Students held pamphlets and key chains from an Army recruiting table
several yards away. They picked up T-shirts and hats from the Marines.

Carloss asked them to fill out cards with their name, address, phone
number, age and grade. Students must be at least 17 to enlist. Those
younger than 18 need parental consent.

"Are you scared?" Carloss said jokingly to one boy.

Carloss waved down a girl: "Go to one of these boys over here who you
think is cute and tell him to do it."

"Who?" she replied.

"I don't care," Carloss said, "as long as he's 17."


Copyright 2005 Los Angeles Times