A Meatless Marine

I joined the Marine Corps because I wanted to belong to a group to which, ostensibly, the only thing that mattered was that everyone had earned the title of “Marine,” a group united in common purpose regardless of individual differences. Conversely, though, I worried based on popular conceptions of the Corps that its pursuit of a common purpose fostered a culture that frowned upon idiosyncrasy, that the familial bonds fostered by the Marine Corps would come with the caveat of imposed uniformity.

I am vegetarian. I was born to a Hindu family, and vegetarianism plays a crucial role in our faith. It has also served as a trait that has othered me from my peers; throughout my K–12 years in the suburbs of Westerville, Ohio, I was seen, even by my friends, as the kid who didn’t eat meat because he followed a “strange” religion. By the time my Marine training began, I feared that this difference between me and most of my prospective peers would assume far more significance than it had had when I was a child; I had never heard of a vegetarian Marine, though I had asked around. At one point in a gamut of speakers meant to prepare my fellow recruits and me to quarantine before boot camp, a non-commissioned officer (NCO) asked us the question I had been dreading: “Does anyone have any dietary restrictions?” I raised my hand, and he walked to me. He asked me what my restriction was. I told him I was vegetarian. He paused, then squatted down so that his eyes were level with mine. In a dry, cold voice, he said, “You’re vegetarian, huh? Congratulations on joining the wrong branch.” As my latent anxiety came to the fore, a singular thought raced through my mind: I should’ve joined the Air Force. Over the next two weeks, I would eat only the measly sides of each meal: a packet of chips, maybe a Nutri-grain Bar, and bread. I would give my main dish—which was almost invariably meat-based—to my voracious roommate.

I arrived at boot camp hungry and fared no better with the food provided there. A consistent lack of protein caused my body to recover more slowly than those of my comrades, and my atypically high rate of injury resulted in my getting dropped back in training. Although I continued pushing and was eventually able to earn the title of Marine, when I arrived at my duty station in Yuma, my fellow Marines and eventual friends responded to my vegetarianism how Marines usually respond to that which they see as strange: constant joking that is initially funny. A common refrain among my friends insisted that I would be an “absolute unit” if I simply ate a bite of chicken. I wanted to be one; weightlifting is an integral component of the Corps’ culture, and though I lifted regularly, my strength lagged significantly behind that of my friends. I laughed and speculated with them, but incessant reminders about how my stature as a Marine may have been impacted by my vegetarianism seemed to separate me from my cohort. Nonetheless, I refused to allow this subtle alienation to deter me from working to be a good Marine. I concentrated voraciously on my physical fitness. Looking ahead to the yearly Physical Fitness Test (PFT), I worked at my weakest event, the pull-ups, ending each multi-hour gym session with 150. When I wasn’t able to pull my body weight, I would use a resistance band. When that resistance band started to prove insufficient, I would add another. Unable to manage more than three consecutive pull-ups by the end of boot camp, I eventually trained myself to complete nineteen, bringing my PFT score from middling to first-class. Significantly, my efforts to improve my physical fitness revealed to me that my difference from other Marines could, in fact, serve as an asset to the Corps. Weight control relative to height is a general issue in the Marine Corps, and some Marines go to extremes to attempt to pass height/weight examinations, pairing hours-long sauna sessions with months-long starvation diets. The assiduous focus on nutrition I’d developed since boot camp not only meant that I passed height/weight without issue but also resulted in my becoming the de facto nutritionist for my peers, enabling them to meet standards via healthy means. Such modest contributions have helped to fuel larger ones as I’ve learned each of my roles inside and out, ensuring that my appetite for new knowledge is never sated.

Approaching the end of my time in the Marine Corps, I am an NCO who is more decorated than most of my peers and proficient in my job, and I hold myself to a level of physical fitness that goes well beyond the Marine Corps’ baseline standards. More important than my personal endeavors are my contributions to the Corps; over three years—during which I provided Marines with legal assistance and worked in military justice, ultimately going beyond the scope of my rank to assist my attorneys—I was able to ensure the accomplishment of my part of the Corps’ legal mission. I came to realize that I had joined the right branch. Rather than isolating me from other Marines in the way I initially feared, my difference from most others has contributed to my fidelitous service. In law school, I will strive to find common purpose with my peers as we, each with our own idiosyncrasies, seek to serve our community.