Thoughts on Remembrance day

In no way is this disrespecting the troops.

Remembrance day is an emotional time, even for saps like me who've never known anyone in or even remotely close to serving in combat overseas. I got choked up a few times during the Pembroke ceremony this morning, so I can't even imagine how the third of the people in the room standing when the MC asked them to stand if they'd ever served or been related to someone serving in the Canadian military felt.

Nor can I imagine how it must've felt to be Sgt. Sherry Lynn Rodgers, a member of the Canadian military for 20 years. She's served in Bosnia, Kosovo, Sierra Leonne and Afghanistan. She served as a medic, where everyday she cared for people with severed limbs and fatal wounds. Nobody knows the gruesome reality of war better than she does. Obviously, the day was an emotional one for her, sitting behind Jamie Bramburger as he did his best to honour the brave men and women of the military, she wept throughout the ceremony.

And I don't blame her for doing so. How can remembrance day not evoke emotion in her? More than likely, she's seen people die. Like, actually seen somebody die. Not just watched somebody die on tv, not seen somebody go off and never come back. Not just stood on a bridge and watched as a parade of cars pass, like, actually seen somebody's life come to an end.

Think about what it would be like to see that. Knowing that for that person, there will be no more thoughts, no more emotions, no more friends, no more family, no more rainy days, no more traffic jams, no more beers with pals, no more facebook chat, no more sorrow, no more love. Nothing.

Fucking dead. And for what?

Let me make this clear. I DO NOT want to take anything away from anyone who's served in the Canadian military, or any military for that matter. Their moral courage is far greater than mine will ever be-- the vast majority of them put the most important thing they had on the line in order to fight for a cause they believed was bigger than themselves-- and they deserve immediate respect and eternal recognition for it.

The problem is that time after time, these people lose their lives not for the freedom and prosperity of the country they dearly loved, but for the insecurities and greed of the people who rule said country.

From the Boer War to present day (the time period remembrance day was set up for), I can think of 1 case in which Canadian or U.S. military action was justified (peace keeping missions excluded). The others have been selfish acts of war, waged by self serving politicians, and drenched in the blood of innocent and/or well meaning people.

Anyone remember the acronym M.A.I.N from grade 10 history? The four reasons WWI, the second bloodiest single war of all time, was fought?

Militarism

Alliances

Imperialism

Nationalism

Do any of those sound like good reasons to send young people off to die for? And when you think about it, can you think of a better reason for why we're in Afghanistan? Bin Laden is probably dead, leaving us to fight against a military tactic and an ideology, two things that you certainly aren't going to kill with guns. Why are the best and bravest of our young men and women off dying in some sandlot for a cause that is at best implausable as a militaristic strategy and at worst blind loyalty to a country we have made ourselves economically dependant on? 152 men and women dead and not coming back to their families because (if we are to take it at face value) the western world believes it's somehow possible to wipe out 1000 years of violence and indoctrination with more violence and indoctrination. Yet the Canadian government, who lets this war continue without any explination as to why it's happening, pretends to honour and respect the troops.

Go ahead Mr. Harper; wear that poppy on your chest proudly.

Tell the soldiers and veterans of the Canadian military that you believe in what it stands for-- remembrance of the lessons learned from war, respect for the people who died for our country, and the hope that one day there will be no more need for people to die in armed conflict-- when you have thousands of brave Canadians overseas fighting an idealistic and unwinnable war for reasons that you won't explain, probably because they're either incomprehensable or just plain twisted.

Or here's a better idea. Instead of wearing that poppy as an accessory your regular pompous arrogance, go up to Sgt. Sherry Lynn Rodgers and spit right in her fucking face. It would be just as insulting, but at least you would have the balls to disrespect her openly, as opposed to hiding behind the false pretense that you identify with, or even respect her commitment to something you will never understand. She's on the front lines in a fucking war, fighting for the freedom of the Canadian people. The exact same freedom you, your cabinet, your esteemed opposition, and the majority of the members of the highest ranking police force in the country you “run” piss all over every single fucking day. You have no right to tell anyone you respect the commitment of the Canadian military when you continue to send it's members to die for an ideology while slowly destroying everything you tell them they're fighting for.

Very few people have what it takes to be in the military, to risk losing your family, your friends, the very things you hold dear every day, to defend the freedom of people you don't know is so commendable it's beyond words. The politicians sitting behind their desks sending innocent people to die like to think that they've deserved the right to lead a nation in honouring those very people. They like to pretend that they are at least noble and morally courageous enough to be in a class that identifies with these soldiers.

That insinuation would be hilarious if it wasn't so god damned offensive.

Mr. Harper, you don't even have the balls to let your cabinet talk to the media without a script; don't pretend to identify with those who have the courage to die for their country. And what's more, stop sending the best and bravest young men and women this country to die over bullshit.

Transgressions are made, while cowards convey

with a demon's ear, fixed and set to slay

while a statue awaits to be whittled away

with the mock of a slogan hiding filth with fear

never to learn, only to burn, and be burned

granite straight through slate, clear as common day

what will be mark to be made when we

crush it all to burn it down

with out sight without sound

simple shell, solemn still

without sight, without sound

make a martyr pedestal, ribbons of slaughter

feed the altar, stoke the fire it will take over

ignore the cut, the skin will callus as well as interest

when all are reckless none to profit, none to win

who to pay for all the years

all the lives when we decide

all the tears,

all the dumb lead the blind

playing “god deciding”

who will die next in line

for their “rights” justified

for the lie sitting high

playing god deciding

who will walk away

from the rage and revenge

inhumane consequence

comes in time,

playing god deciding

who will fall in line

to arrive

out of sight, and out of mind

Why I'm quitting Tobacco- By Rob

Fantastic--

The walk down the hall is rather short. A quick right after the elevator and it stretches just far enough to feel uncomfortable.

There is a gentile noise about the sixth floor; it’s just quiet enough to be disconcerting.

Entering the room there is a slight tightening in the chest: breathing becomes a little shorter; eyes are cast a little farther down.

At the end of the room, closest to the window, there he sits, slowly wasting away.

The mask is on his face, starting at the bridge of his nose, ending below his chin. Slowly the blankets rise: up and down, up and down, up and down.

He opens his eyes, confused at first, searching for something familiar finaly they settle right on you. For a moment they seem bright, but that quickly fades.

Everything seems to be fading at this point.

You want to ask how he is, but that’s a bad question. Stupid even. You can see how he is (dying.)

Whatever is inside him (the cancer: say it) is eating him away. It’s only been a few days but the difference is obvious. Time is growing short.

You sit down against the radiator ledge and he asks if you’re comfortable. Of course you are (lies, comfortable lies.)

He doesn’t say much, the mask won’t let him and the strength isn’t there (it’s never coming back.)

You tell him the latest news. Perhaps he cracks a smile (perhaps he’s just moving his mouth.)

He can’t turn his head, so he looks at you through the corner of his eye. Even when you don’t speak (and he can’t) he’s looking at you.

What do you say? What can you say? (Nothing.)

So you sit.

Oddly, his wrinkles have disappeared. Or at least, the more you look at him, the more they seem to have. So you focus on that.

Focusing on that is easier than focusing on the reality in front of you (he’s dying, right there, right in front of you.)

He knows it. You know it. No one says anything.

Your mind wanders: where is your suit, what shoes do you have to wear, why is the room so warm, why does the heater blow cold air, who chose the pattern for the floor tiles.

He falls asleep and you’re relieved. Finally you can look at him. When his eyes open, you look away (no need to stare at the dying.)

Your mind wanders, thoughts spring up and tears threaten. Both are pushed away (no need to do that here.)

Finally it’s time to go. You look at him, he looks at you. Do you hug him? Can you hug him? When was the last time you did that? Maybe you should just put a hand on his leg, or arm, or something.

You do nothing (you do nothing.)

Walking out, down the hall, you do nothing.

Nothing (nothing.)

Update: In a sad, but inevitable, turn the man whom I wrote about visiting this weekend — my grandfather — died this evening.