Posted on 05/10/2004 6:04:54 PM PDT by SwinneySwitch
First of two parts.
ST. CATHARINES, Ontario Only a year removed from first-chair trumpet in the San Angelo Central High School marching band, Brandon Hughey now spends long, lonely days in self-exile, a fugitive from his own country and an enigma to a nation at war.
In many ways, Hughey's life is indistinguishable from that of a typical 19-year-old. He stays up late surfing the Internet and playing video games. He sleeps late. He watches sports on television. He's always short of cash. He wants a girlfriend.
But two months ago, on the eve of his unit's deployment from Fort Hood to Iraq, a confused and scared Pvt. Brandon Hughey feverishly threw his personal belongings into his 2000 silver Mustang. It was just after midnight on March 2 as Hughey's car sped off the post and disappeared into the Central Texas darkness.
Three days later, Hughey who had volunteered for the Army and sworn an oath to defend the nation crossed the Canadian border at Niagara Falls and, in the process, turned his back on his life and his country.
When Hughey crossed the border, he became the second American soldier known to seek refuge in Canada because of opposition to the Iraqi conflict. Hughey says he's been in e-mail contact with other soldiers who want to join him.
If his request for asylum is denied and he's returned to the United States, Hughey could face court-martial, jail and, according to military law, execution for desertion in time of war.
While U.S. government officials won't talk about Hughey's case, a burgeoning anti-war movement sees him as a cause celebre, a "boy-next-door-face" with which to foment opposition to U.S. involvement in Iraq.
"I think he's going to go down in history," said Carl Rising-Moore, the anti-war activist who accompanied Hughey across the border.
Since his arrival, Hughey has done countless interviews. He's got a Web site soliciting letters of support and cash donations. His trip across the border, filmed by an anti-war activist, was aired on a Canadian television news program.
To his attorney, the Quaker family he's living with and anti-war activists, Hughey is a hero.
To his dad, Brandon Hughey is a pawn.
"He walked right into an anti-American, anti-Bush camp," David Hughey said. "Since he's gotten there, they've set up a Web site. I mean, they filmed his crossing on the border."
He holds out hope that his son could come home without punishment, but that hope diminishes daily.
"The Army," he said slowly, searching for the words, "isn't going to come looking for a private. But, oh my God, they will now. They sensationalized the crossing. That's like waving a red flag in the front of the bull."
James J. Carafano, a retired Army colonel and a Heritage Foundation analyst, toes a harder line, saying Hughey's actions go beyond a lapse in decision-making or a change of conscience.
"This is a free and open society," said Carafano, who served for 25 years. "You shouldn't avoid these debates (over war and peace). If you want to protest the war, you should do that. But that's not what he did. He's a criminal."
Brandon Hughey disputes the notion he's being used and stands by his decision to go absent without leave. The publicity and the Web site are part of his plan to draw attention to and raise money for his cause.
"I'm smart enough to notice when someone's interested in what I have to say or whether they're just trying to use me," he said. "The Web site is important. It helps me get my story out there. "
Hughey knows his future doesn't include a return to West Texas.
"I'm not coming home," he said.
A boy who blended in
Brandon Hughey's parents divorced when he was 2, and his younger brother Brian was a few months old.
Brian Hughey, 17, attends Central High and is an aspiring bull rider. David Hughey works as a computer technician for a state government contractor in San Angelo, a West Texas town with 104,010 residents that's 200 miles northwest of San Antonio.
In many ways, San Angelo is a typical conservative, midsize Texas town with an economy based on agriculture and cattle.
New blood pumps into town thanks to 6,300-student Angelo State University. There's also a sizable military contingent, thanks to Goodfellow AFB, home of the 17th Training Wing, which focuses on training intelligence officers. Nearly 2,500 uniformed and civilian personnel work there.
David Hughey says he raised his boys to be free thinkers and to question authority, but they never caused problems.
"I didn't see any judges or any principals when Brandon was growing up," the father said. "We might've had a detention or two here and there, but they were few and far between."
Unlike his outgoing brother, Brandon Hughey was quiet and kept a small clique of friends.
Gary Black, who heads Central High's marketing education department, got Hughey a job at the Albertsons store on Sunset Drive. When employing high school kids, no news is good news, Black said, and he never heard anything bad about Hughey's work.
It was the same way in high school.
Hughey, Black says, was one of those students who blended in and didn't draw attention to himself.
Brian Hughey spent a lot of time at an arcade in Sunset Mall. The city's Army recruiting office was across from the game room. Recruiters, keen to do their job, sometimes struck up conversations with the players.
One of them, David Hughey said, asked then-15-year-old Brian if he would be interested in joining the Army.
"He said, 'I'm too young, but I've got an older brother,'" Hughey said. "He must've given the recruiter our home number."
Brandon Hughey says he was startled by the call he got, but he was tantalized. His father was out of work at the time and had money problems.
The Army recruiter told Brandon that, by joining the Army, he would earn money for college, learn technical skills that would prepare him for a computer tech career and get a $9,000 signing bonus.
"They said, 'Why don't you come by our office one day?'" Brandon Hughey said. "So I did."
And Hughey, who wanted to do his part and fight terrorism, liked what he heard. He signed up, but recruiters required him to have David Hughey sign, too.
It was the summer before Brandon Hughey's senior year. The contract the Hugheys signed on July 9, 2002, called for him to join up exactly one year later.
Senior year, normally a time of anxiety and consternation for forward-thinking students, was a breeze for Hughey. He bought a new car (Brian had wrecked his Firebird) and knew his future was set.
Questioning the war
The United States and its allies began the attack on Iraq in March 2003.
Hughey entered the Army as scheduled on July 9 of that year and was sent to basic training at Fort Knox, Ky. Beyond the normal nine-week process, Hughey spent an additional six weeks learning to drive the M1 Abrams tank.
"When I left for basic training, I didn't hold any political beliefs," Hughey said. "I thought it was good that we invaded Iraq. George Bush said it was the right thing to do, and I believed the president. I didn't think we would lie like that."
During his off hours, Hughey began reading on the Internet about the war in Iraq and the swelling controversy over the inability of coalition forces to find weapons of mass destruction, which ostensibly had been the impetus for the military action.
"They had been in the country for quite some time and had found nothing," he said. "If there were no weapons of mass destruction, what were we doing in Iraq?"
His soldier buddies, Hughey said, didn't seem to care about the news stories, but Hughey was troubled.
"We're taught to do as we were told and not to question anything," Hughey said. "They didn't care where they went and what they did. They just wanted to go and kick some ass. I don't know if it's brainwashing or what, but it didn't work on me. I was always taught by my dad to think for myself. And I'd ask my NCOs questions. And I'd get in trouble."
David Hughey began to hear those comments and questions during frequent phone calls to his son.
"There was one night when he called and and this was a nonviolent kid who said there were a couple of guys he wanted to fight," the father said. "It was right after that call that things went south."
In early February, David Hughey's calls to his son went unanswered for four or five days.
Unknown to his father, Brandon Hughey's disenchantment with the Army had taken a drastic turn.
On Feb. 2, Hughey went AWOL, driving aimlessly around Central and South Texas before showing up at home days later.
Father and son spoke about the decision. They went to an Angelo State basketball game Feb. 7, and on Feb. 9, Brandon drove back to Fort Hood. He called his father as he approached then turned around and drove back home.
The Army recruiters who had signed Hughey came by the house and they sat at the kitchen table with the family.
"They said the only way out was for him to go back," David Hughey said.
On Feb. 23, traveling in separate cars, the Hugheys went back to Fort Hood. At 1st Cavalry headquarters, he was greeted warmly by military staff. As David Hughey left, his son told him that he had left an article, printed off the Internet, taped to the computer screen at home.
When he got home, David Hughey saw the article a piece from a Web site called Nuvo.net written by Becky Oberg about Rising-Moore's attempt to create a network for soldiers to seek sanctuary in Canada, which has historically sheltered fleeing soldiers. More than 40,000 went north during the Vietnam War.
Back at Fort Hood, Hughey's discontent grew. He says he requested release from the Army but was rebuffed each time.
There are regulations on the books, says Cathy Gramling, an Army spokeswoman, that provide a soldier the opportunity to get out of the service.
At enlistment, she said, recruits sign a statement saying they're not conscientious objectors before they will be accepted into the ranks.
Beyond that, there's Army Regulation 600-43, added during the 1960s when the military used conscription to fill its ranks. It allows soldiers in uniform to claim a "religious, deeply held moral, or ethical" objection to war or to participating in war as a combatant. Political, philosophical or sociological reasons, Gramling said, don't pass muster.
Hughey claims to not remember that document, nor was he apprised by commanding officers of the conscientious objector regulation.
"They kept brushing me off," he said. "They basically ignored me and told me that I was going to Iraq and there was nothing I could do about it."
Hughey found a message board operated by Rising-Moore and learned about his efforts to establish an underground railroad for deserters.
The two began an e-mail dialogue. Finally, Rising-Moore received a message that disturbed him.
"I am a member of the U.S. military whose unit deploys to Iraq next week. I do not want to be a pawn in the government's war for oil, and have told my superiors that I want out of the military," Hughey wrote.
"I am desperate enough that I would gladly leave the country if that's what it meant to escape," he added. "I do not have much money, however, and would need a place to stay and help finding a job once I left the country. I pray that you or someone you know can help me."
"I tried to talk him out of it," said Rising-Moore, a Vietnam veteran. "It's a big step for a very young man to take."
Rising-Moore offered to head to Fort Hood to speak to Hughey's commanding officers in his behalf and advise the youth on the conscientious objector regulations.
Hughey's unit was told it would deploy March 7, but the Army changed the date to March 2.
A flurry of e-mails and phone calls took place between a panicked Hughey and Rising-Moore on March 1, who finally made contact shortly before midnight.
Within an hour, Hughey's room was empty and his life forever changed.
----------------rbragg@express-news.net

Brandon Hughey, deserter.
Leni
His future is a one-way ticket to Ft Leavenworth, Kansas
Keep him, please.
In short - he's a f***-up.
How nice of you...(((sarcasm)))
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