"Lest we forget"

"It may be more accurate to say, “Lest we block it out” when we speak of the necessity of remembering..." 

By chance, I met a Holocaust survivor

I met a Holocaust survivor on a warm August day in Chamonix, France as we were doing the tourist thing, wandering about in the shadow of Mont Blanc, and searching for a place to eat.

We finally decided upon a bustling café that had a large outdoor terrace. As my mother took her seat amongst the cramped tables, she accidentally knocked her fork onto the ground A soft-spoken older gentleman at the table beside us reached down to pick it up, politely suggesting that she might like to ask the server for a clean one.  A conversation ensued. 

We learned that the man lived in Paris, and was visiting Chamonix with his grandson, who had taken the gondola up one of the mountains.  As the conversation progressed, we learned that the man was Polish. Two years before the end of World War II, the Nazis had imprisoned him in a concentration camp. He was fourteen years old at the time. Of the twenty-nine members of his family sent to the death camp, only he and his father survived.  He mentioned this horrific period of his life in passing.  Seventy years later, the power of the memory caused his eyes to fill with tears, and he fell silent, lost for a moment in the past.

"Jewish families with bundles of belongings during deportation from the Kovno ghetto to Riga in neighboring Latvia. Kovno, Lithuania, 1942."

Photo Source: US Holocaust Memorial Museum

http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/media_ph.php?MediaId=1883

Some memories never heal

When I think about this gentle man, wearing a long sleeved shirt on a warm August day, perhaps to conceal a number tattooed into his flesh, my mind wanders to the past, to a dark period in human history that I had previously encountered only in books and film. Then, with a jolt, my mind returns to the present, and I think of the son of a friend, who served as a peacekeeper in Kosovo and did duty in Afghanistan, and whose experiences in those places have changed him and his family forever.

I think of the gentle souls, for whom some memories will never heal, and I wonder at the words “lest we forget”, that, here in Canada, we associate with red poppies and the act of remembrance.  For, as my chance encounter with the man at Chamonix illustrates, war is impossible to forget for those who live through it. It may be more accurate to say, “Lest we block it out” when we speak of the necessity of remembering and the importance of passing down those stories that can orient our hearts towards peace.

“Lest we forget” makes me think of an old veteran that I once saw interviewed around Remembrance Day. For the first time in his life, he spoke about his wartime experience. He broke down on national television as he expressed his feelings of guilt for having survived when most of his comrades had died.  He must have spent a lifetime trying to forget; and although he had tried to block the experience, it hovered over his life threatening to destroy the normalcy he feigned.

There was a time when society expected this old veteran, like so many others, to block the bad memories, when being a man meant ignoring the trauma and getting on with life. Today, we recognize post-traumatic stress disorder, and we are learning that unhealed memoires can reoccur at the most unexpected times and at the slightest provocation – a sight, a sound, a smell, or even a chance encounter with strangers at a café.

The broad strokes of man's inhumanity to man are layered with detail

On Remembrance Day, I will stand with others at the cenotaph, not because there is any danger of forgetting, but because it is important to remember. The broad strokes of man's inhumanity to man are layered with detail. As I stand in silence remembering, I will see, on the canvas of war, a gentle man who bent down to pick up a fork, and touched our hearts that day in Chamonix.  

Reasons to show up at the cenotaph on Remembrance Day

Showing up at the cenotaph on Remembrance Day is a little bit like attending church on a holy day; I need a very good reason to miss the service. 

The act of remembrance honors those who served, and those who are currently serving in missions overseas. Our presence at the cenotaph is a way of saying thank you to them. The act of remembrance is also an expression of gratitude for the freedoms that we sometimes take for granted, and for the gift of this peaceful, democratic nation that we call home. The act of remembrance expresses our collective desire for peace, and acknowledges our responsibility to build a more just world.

Soldier Statue in Veteran's Square, Trail, BC
Louise McEwan photo

We are there to remember, not to celebrate victories or to glorify militarism

The main event of every official Remembrance Day service is the two-minute period of silence. The practice dates to a November 1919 proclamation of King George V. George V called for two-minutes of silence at the 11^th hour on the 11^th day of the 11^th month “so that in perfect stillness the thoughts of everyone may be concentrated on reverent remembrance of the glorious dead.”  We are there at the cenotaph to remember, not to celebrate victories or to glorify militarism.

The observation of silence is a public action; it is something that everyone present engages in together. At the same time, the silence has a very private component; we are alone with our thoughts. It is a good time to reflect on the dignity, value, and sacredness of every person. It is a good time to reflect on the harms of war. It is a good time to reflect on our commitment to peace: peace in our hearts, our homes, our communities, our nation, and our world.

A few years ago, my husband and I attended the Remembrance Day service in Duncan, BC, where we were visiting a friend. The reality of conflict was brought home to me in a sobering way.  During the commemorative silence, instead of reflecting, I found myself observing the scene in front of me.  The numbers of young servicemen and women far exceeded the numbers of aging veterans.  Before my eyes, in the persons of the old and the young, I saw the wars of the past and the militarism of the present.  It was, frankly, a little disheartening.

We are still far from beating our swords into ploughshares

For almost a century, we have been remembering, yet armed conflicts continue to erupt around the world.  As a global community, we have a long way to go before we beat our swords into ploughshares.  We are better at waging war than creating the conditions necessary for peace.

Our slow progress at building peace throws into relief another reason why our presence at the cenotaph is important.  Our presence can also express an element of dissatisfaction. Our presence at the cenotaph is a way of saying that we do not like war. War offends us.

Our commemoration is not an acquiescence to war. It is not an approval for spending ever-increasing amounts of money on the machinery of war.  While our presence at the cenotaph expresses gratitude, and demonstrates support for our troops, our presence also expresses a determination to seek peace.

Military training, weapons, and equipment are not the instruments of peace. We do not win peace through violence. We build peace, not through fighting, but through the promotion of justice, and through the work of reconciliation.

The absence of peace is a result of injustice

The absence of peace is always a result of some type of injustice: political, economic, cultural, or social.  Rigoberta Menchú Tum, the recipient of the 1992 Nobel Peace Prize, writes, “Building peace requires that we start by weaving a fabric out of the threads of equality, justice, participatory democracy, and respect for the rights of all peoples and cultures.”

This is easier said than done, as almost a century of remembrance and the history of humanity shows.  So, Remembrance Day is also a great challenge to those of us who yearn for a more harmonious world.

While imprisoned during WWII, a prisoner scratched an already famous war memorial epitaph on the walls of his prison cell: “When you go home tell them of us and say, for your tomorrow we gave our today.” This year, on Remembrance Day, as we honor the past, let us carry the hope contained in these words in our hearts. May they inspire us to acts of transformation, no matter how small, that will advance a universal culture of peace.

Reflections for Remembrance Day

Tyne Cot Cemetery by Marc Aert

Courtesy of Freedigitalphotos
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=65

Since its original inception as Armistice Day in 1919, people in countries around the world gather on November 11 to commemorate the thousands of men and women who died in armed conflicts.

Over time, the international community has developed a set of traditions to mark the day, and to set it apart from other days. We wear poppies on our coats. We lay wreaths. We observe a period of silence. We listen to the roll call of those who died. We express our collective desire for peace. 

Peace - the absence of war or hostilities

Peace is defined as the absence of war or hostilities. The definition of peace suggests the reality that Remembrance Day draws to our attention; the world struggles with peace. The world defines peace by what it is not. Peace in this definition is a political reality; a nation or nations are not at war.

Growing up in Canada, I can relate quite easily to this definition of peace because my experiences of war are vicarious. I know about war not because I have lived through one fought on Canadian soil. I know about war because I have seen images of it on television, read about it, studied it, and listened to the wartime stories of others.

Family stories of growing up during World War II

My father has some fascinating stories about growing up on a farm in northern Italy during the Second World War. He and his family were no strangers to the insecurity that war creates. They lived with hunger, poverty, and a sense of an ever-present danger that accompanies living in a war zone.

Some of his stories are humorous, like the story of the bridge. The German soldiers repeatedly attempted to blow up a nearby bridge to cut off the transportation route. Instead, they repeatedly blew up ground around the bridge, always missing the bridge itself. This was a source of amusement to the villagers, and provided them with lighthearted moments of relief while living with the tension of war. After a time, the villagers began to suspect that the failure to destroy the bridge was a sort of mutiny. Everyone needed the bridge; it was a symbol of the common good.

One of my favorite stories speaks of the persuasive power of conviction. Towards the end of the war, as discipline in the German army broke down, my grandparents routinely assisted German soldiers who were deserting their posts. They did this although they were putting themselves in grave danger.

One day, members of the Black Shirts, a paramilitary Fascist group of armed thugs, descended on the farm. With guns pointed, they demanded that my grandmother hand over the two soldiers the family was hiding. My grandmother calmly told the men to leave. When they refused, looking the leader steadily in the eyes, she revealed the handgun under her apron, and repeated her request. Remarkably, the men backed away. They never returned.

They shared a common humanity

What was it about my grandmother that made such a profound impression on these thugs that they obeyed her? I think it was the strength of her conviction that she, the German soldiers, and the Black Shirts shared a common humanity. Her quiet but strong demeanor unearthed the goodness buried deep beneath the exterior cruelty of this particular group of men. She was the bridge of common decency that rehabilitated these men, at least temporarily.

My grandmother’s actions speak of an unshakeable belief in the inherent dignity of the human person. The German soldiers that she helped were not the enemy, the hated ‘other.’ They were simply young men, not much older than her sons. Like her sons, they too bore the image of a good God, and deserved respect. To hand them over would have been contrary to her belief.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

In 1948, as a direct result of the atrocities of World War II, the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The members of the drafting committee came from a broad spectrum of political, cultural and religious beliefs. Despite their differences, Hernan Santa Cruz of Chile, a member of the committee, said they came to this consensus: the supreme value of the human person comes from the very fact of existing, not from belonging to a particular nation or group.
Read Santa Cruz's remarks: http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/history.shtml

Remembrance Day is a fitting moment to recall the preamble to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.  The foundation of freedom, justice, and peace depends on recognizing and honoring the innate dignity, and the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family.

Read the Universal Declaration of Human Rights:

http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/index.shtml