do more, by doing less

Do not 'support' the use of Rememberance Day to recruit more young men and women into the modern killing machinery of war.

I have served as a cadet, for five years, as a Reservist, for two years, and a regular forces officer, for nine years. From the time I was 13 until I was 30 I wore a uniform. I can say unequivically that the sombre ceremonies of the past are gone. All that remains are the trappings, everywhere and anytime these 'remember' acts are mentioned, in the same breath they then say "our uniformed countrymen are thousands of kilometers away" dieing or some such thing.

These people, the ones in the uniforms, will tell you that they are doing what they do from some sense of Higher Purpose, or Duty to their countrymen or fellow soldiers. The last one is the closest to the truth, and the reason why so many will die in large numbers in a short period of time. The 'masters' of the military know this and that is why they are so far away right now, they are there to 'take one on the chin' so that they will then become angry or displeased about their loss and retaliate...making more war.

This is not the same as those other veterans of WWI or WWII or Korea (despite what anyone else will shout at me), as this Afghanistan conflict is not a UN situation, nor is it a 'defence of humanity'. Indeed I see the continued use of Rememberance Day events as an opportunity to recruit as despicable and a slap in the face to those for whom it should be directed, the veterans.

I shall do now what my family and I have done for more than a decade, since I left the military, after completion of contracted service. We used to go to Stanley Park and clean the leaves off the Air Force memorial stones, now that we live further away, we will take some other action directed towards those, now forgotten, other memorial places...to remember and not to have the propaganda machine aimed at us.

It needed saying,

So, Well said, Murdock.

Some good books and a bit of trivia

The Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear presents a good look at life and the devastation in England after the First World War.
Good mysteries for a rainy weekend.
Website- http://www.jacquelinewinspear.com/

Also I recently heard that the boyish appearance and straight dresses with flat chests of flappers in the 20's was an unconsious attempt to replace the young men lost in the First World War!

what can I do?

Perhaps the whole debate on the appropriateness of combat could be avoided by recommending people be more active in their vigilance. Now might be a good time for Canada to step in to help settle down Pakistan so we don't have to endure another debacle like the one next door in Afghanistan. Consider sending a note to our Prime Minister encouraging him to offer Canada's diplomatic assistance.

Indeed

To remember is to work for peace.

http://www.peace.ca/whitepoppies.htm

from 90 years ago

Wilfred Owen:

If people, and especially

If people, and especially the families of the fallen could see the disgusting spectacle of how their beloved have lost their lives and/or spend a few days in a MASH hospital, they would scratch the eyes out of every politician praising and advocating war.

Ed Deak (WW2 vet on the wrong side)

Rememberance Day

Burnt Offerings

Today I won't turn on the radio
I don't want to hear anymore
How young men are sacrificed
In the interest of empires
And for the pecuniary desires of a few
I'm sorry they had to go to war
But I can't help but feeling that this day
Should be a mourning day
Not for celebrating victories
These men did what they had to do
And I mean them no disrespect
But how much longer can we cling
To the myth of freedom gained
And see the maimed and dead
For what they were
And continue to be
Burnt offerings

Another poem not mine

Lest We Forget - F.R.Scott

The British troops at the Dardanelles
Were blown to bits by British shells
Sold to the Turks by Vickers
And many a brave Canadian youth
Will shed his blood on foreign shores, And die for Democracy, Freedom, Truth,
With his body full of Canadian ores,
Canadian nickel, lead, and scrap,
Sold to German, sold to Jap,
With Capital watching its tickers.

Lest We(The Young) Forget

I am from another generation and I am vet. Not all wars are worth remembering. Rather remember those who fought the war(s). Most important, remember the wounded. Though they survived, their remembrance is every day. Want to do something for yourself on Remembrance Day, visit a wounded vet in a hospital. Look into his/her eyes. Listen to them and remember that. When the war becomes a footnote in history, the vet is living history - listen, remember and reflect.

Found it: REASONS FOR REFUSAL by MARTIN BELL (1918-1

Reasons for Refusal

Busy old lady, charitable tray
Of social emblems:poppies, people’s blood-
I must refuse, make you flush pink
Perplexed by abrupt No-thank-you.
Yearly I keep up this small priggishness,
Would wince worse if I wore one.
Make me feel better, fetch a white feather, do.

Everyone has list of dead in war,
Regrets most of them, e.g.

Uncle Cyril; small boy in lace and velvet
With pushing sisters muscling all around him,
And lofty brothers, whiskers and stiff collars;
The youngest was the one who copped it.
My mother showed him to me,
Neat letters high up on the cenotaph
That wedding-caked it up above the park,
And shadowed birds on Isaac Watts’ white shoulders.

And father’s friends, like Sandy Vincent;
Brushed sandy hair, moustache, and staring eyes.
Kitchener claimed him, but the Southern Railway
Held back my father, made him guilty.
I hated the khaki photograph,
It left a patch on the wallpaper after I took it down.

Others I knew stick in the mind,
And Tony Lister often –
Eyes like holes in foolscap, suffered from piles,
Day after day went sick with constipation
Until they told him he could drive a truck
Blown up with Second Troop in Greece:
We sang all night once when we were on guard.

And Ken Gee, our lance-corporal, Christian Scientist –
Everyone liked him, knew that he was good –
Had leg and arm blown off, then died.
Not all were good. Gross Corporal Rowlandson
Fell in the canal, the corrupt Sweet-water,
And rolled there like a log, drunk and drowned.
And I’ve always been glad of the death of Dick Benjamin,
A foxy urgent dainty ballroom dancer –
Found a new role in military necessity
As R.S.M. He waltzed out on parade
To make himself hated. Really hated, not an act.
He was a proper little porcelain sergeant-major –
The earliest bomb made smithereens:
Coincidence only, several have assured me.

In the school hall was pretty glass
Where prissy light shone through St George
The highest holiest manhood, he!
And underneath were slain Old Boys
In tasteful lettering on whited slab –
And, each November, Ferdy the Headmaster
Reared himself squat and rolled his eyeballs upward,
Rolled the whole roll-call off an oily tongue,
Remorselessly from A to Z.

Of all the squirmers, Roger Frampton’s lips
Most elegantly curled, showed most disgust.
He was a pattern of accomplishments,
And joined the Party first, and left it first,
At OCTU won a prize belt, most improbable,
Was desert-killed in ’40, much too soon.

His name should burn right through that monument.

No poppy, thank you.