Thank-You

Often when I sit down to write a blog post, the words form a rant and I have to erase them and begin again.  Sometimes the rant is missed and is published, but usually I catch it and take it away in time.  Why?  I delete my rants because rants are annoying and it's embarrassing to see that I haven't got the self-control to keep them to myself.  I want this blog to be a place where I calmly present my thoughts to whoever it is that reads it.  Also, I don't want my mom to get after me if my rants go too far; I know she reads every post.

This morning I listened to a rant.  An older gentleman in the community, who is quite respected, was talking to my mom about Remembrance Day and about how few people actually take time to remember the sacrifices of those who died for our freedom.  As he got more worked up, he eventually let loose with this absurd statement: "I blame the media and the universities for making this just another holiday...those liberal arts universities have faculty members that are just, well, socialist!"  As you can imagine, I was a little shocked.  I went to university.  In fact, I went to a liberal arts university.  My professors certainly weren't socialists.  And there wasn't exactly a lack of respect surrounding Remembrance Day - or was there?  Actually, there were a lot of pacifists among the professors and students (not that I have anything against pacifism; I rather dislike war myself) and they never acknowledged Remembrance Day.  Every year I would forget my poppy at home and have to come home in time to get it or get a new one somewhere.  Every year, my poppy seemed to stick out like a sore thumb as soon as I walked into school.  No one ever called me out for my display of respect in the week leading up to November 11 (although someone did once accuse me of just wearing the poppy because it was what everyone was doing - though at the time there wasn't another poppy in sight).  I figured if no one judged me for wearing a poppy, then I couldn't judge them for not wearing one.  

That always bothered me a little, though.  Here were people who could choose whether they would join the army or not, who could vote in leaders with peaceful tendencies, who would do anything to avoid killing another human being, and they couldn't even take the time to just remember that there were men and women who died to give them those rights.  The pacifists, if you ask them, will say that they don't wear poppies because they don't want to celebrate war.  Fair enough.  I don't want to celebrate war.  But when did pausing to remember sacrifice and our own history become celebration? It didn't.  Remembrance Day has never been a celebration.  It has always been a solemn day of quiet reflection and sometimes, of mourning.

Since I have a history degree, I would ask my readers to indulge me as I go into a few history-based reasons that I remember the soldiers who sacrificed for me.

There have been few times when the Canadian government conscripted soldiers, but it has happened in major times of war.  Those times are moving into the distant past, with few survivors left, but we know that when the government conscripted soldiers, they made exceptions for the farmers.  Our leaders realized that if they could not feed their country and the troops (not to mention the troops of our allies, whose homelands had been ravaged by war), there would be nothing left to fight for.  So, they let the farmers stay home.  Sometimes it seems like agriculture is an afterthought in government policy, but in times of crisis we remember that we need to eat.  I remember because I want to thank those who fought, were injured, and died while the farmers stayed back.  I remember because I want to thank the farmers who kept our nation going while their friends and sons were gone, perhaps never to return again.

The other reason I remember is more personal.  My opa was a soldier.  He left his wife and infant son and joined the army to fight for his homeland because his government told him to.  My opa fought in the Second World War.  He fought for the Nazis.  Sometimes, Remembrance Day is a little awkward for me because we are remembering and thanking soldiers who, had they been able, would have killed my opa because they were fighting for their homelands.  I don't know if my opa fought because he was forced to, or to defend his home, or because the government said he had to.  I never knew my opa, so I couldn't ask.  But Opa survived the war.  He joined his family, who had been forced to flee to Germany from their farm in Poland.   A few years later, he moved his family to Canada.  He could bring them here for a better life because soldiers from so very far away fought to end the evil intent of a few men.  Opa was able to come to Canada because thousands of others went to Europe and never came home.  I remember because there are soldiers who have fought to keep our nation free so that other immigrants can make a new start here, too.

Finally, I remember because a few short weeks ago, our national sense of peace was shattered.  We were forced to realise that our freedom is not inherent and that in some way, it does have to be defended.  We have freedom of religion (I don't care how persecuted we Christians feel; we walk into church every Sunday with absolutely no fear because we are free to worship God here).  We have freedom of speech and freedom from attack.  I remember because I am free and others were killed or wounded so that I could be free.  

To the soldiers who have served and died; to the soldiers who have served and come back with wounds and scars; to the soldiers who put their lives on the line, even in ceremonial duties, thank-you.