Remembrance Day coming up shortly, where soldiers march and remember the "glory" of their service, applauded by one and all. Flag waving, cheering, teary. Medals glistening on uniforms, smart salutes, Last Post, maybe pipers in kilts blasting praise to the skies. New monuments erected, lists of the fallen and betrayed And cannons or guns fired in glory. Honouring the Dead, the Unknowns, selling red poppies to support recruitment of more such heroes. Another November 11th. Another glorification of the non-stop "wars" of men, (how many centuries now?) Another misuse of that plural noun "freedoms."
I wrote this 5 years ago and read it somewhere, the men were pissed, the women cheered and applauded but controlled themselves when they saw the men's faces. "We will Remember Them" is a common refrain on November 11th. We even have the moment of silence across the country at 11.00 a.m. in all our multiple time zones. But I remember the women.
1939 St. John's Newfoundland
I wiIl remember
Where are the monuments, the medals,
The honours and commemorations
For the women and girls who carried on,
Who birthed year after year after year after year
While husbands and lovers marched
And killed and drank and fell down
In wars for the wealthy back room boys.
Women who despaired and cried in the poverty of their existence
Who had no choice, no say, no name. But his.
Who died and were replaced. By women like them
Who birthed year after year after year after year
And worked their fingers to the bone day and night.
Who were oft times beaten. And raped.
And in their turn, watched their daughters sacrificed.
And now, they are glorified without name,
Sanctified only as a matriarchal monolith,
Sacrificial lambs, their misery forgotten,
Mere nameless footnotes.
Their struggles negated.
Their stories erased forever.
MM 10/28/2017
We are perhaps fortunate. We don't have a similar "day" but compensate for it with many other "days".
ReplyDeleteLucky you Ramana, I find all of it utterly depressing and would like, for once, a flower on this day representing peace.
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The solemnity of Remembrance Day seems to be slowly disappearing and it is becoming more??? Not sure. When the last WWII veteran dies maybe it could become a day of silent marches protesting against war. Wars really have been men's business yet everyone is a victim.
ReplyDeleteExactly Andrew and so very few see it, This glorification of the dead really rots me.
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I agree with remembering the fallen, those who were sent to die so the warmongers could get richer, but I don't agree with all the glorification. And I like your poem very much, it's always the women and children left behind that suffer the most and the cycle continues even now.
ReplyDeleteHave you watched a TV series called Deep State? The final sentence in the final episode is chilling. Fat old rich white men sitting in a room, and the sentence: "We create a little chaos, then we move in and capitalise on that chaos." It's all money based. Every war. "They" find a weakness and exploit it.
I agree totally, River and I did see that series. It's all a capitalist set up by greedy billionaires and their corporations - part of the military industrial complex. The money they make on food rations alone is staggering..And so many are blind to this and buy into the jingoism.
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We must educate millions more before we reach the tipping point ..enough.
ReplyDeleteAnd cease funding those warmongers too Joanne.
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I want to know how to explain Remembrance Day to the Ukrainian regugees.
ReplyDeleteAs they view their slaughtered family and friends. I hear you Emma.
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Emma ^
ReplyDeleteThere is a Rosie the Riveter WWII Home Front National Historical Park in California that celebrates the women (and men) that stayed behind and supported the war effort. A long-time Facebook and blog friend Betty Reid Soskin worked there as a park ranger until her retirement earlier this year at age 100. Instrumental in the development of the Oakland, California park, she worked in a a segregated Union hall, Boilermaker’s A-36, during World War II as a file clerk. https://www.nps.gov/rori/learn/historyculture/betty-reid-soskin.htm
ReplyDeleteFor the most part, though, there are no memorials for those back home who supported and waited.
None here, MIke, but they build statues to Newfoundland dogs who rescued sailors at sea.
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We have Remembrance Day in the UK on the same date, and like you I'm aghast at the remembrance of "heroes" who were simply doing what they were told to do and paid the ultimate price. And when do we remember all those who didn't die but have life-long injuries and trauma as a result of what they saw and did?
ReplyDeleteIn the United States, it's not just for those who paid the ultimate price. It's Veterans Day (originally known as Armistice Day), a federal holiday observed annually on November 11 for honoring military veterans of the United States Armed Forces (who were discharged under conditions other than dishonorable).
DeleteMy former place of work actually has a "memorial" at the nuclear plant for all of the workers who had served, with all the names of former service members working there at the time the memorial was established (including me... LOL).
I wish the memorials encompassed all who suffered in the wars, Nick, not just the soldiers killing each other. And alongside it a desire for peace at all costs.
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Mike they go crazy here in Newfoundland with it, which triggered my poem. "Lest we forget" is screamed everywhere and one is looked upon with disdain if one is not wearing a poppy on the lapel. I have asked what are we in danger of forgetting, and the answer is not about war but about the "ultimate sacrifice" and honouring it as if dying in a strange land, killed by another young frightened soldier is the fate most desired for a nineteen year old. I'd like to see all those back room bullies be hanged drawn and quartered for using these soldiers like a chess game.
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Count me among those who agree with your sentiments - totally. We will never rid ourselves of war though. We seem to have an insatiable appetite for it. I refuse to wear a poppy.
ReplyDeleteMe too David, there were white ones for a while and these represented peace but I don't see them anymore. I run against the tide here as all I know wear the poppies.
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A poignant poem
ReplyDeleteThank you e. I am every mindful of forgotten women or those who are rendered invisible in history.
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Celebrating veterans is the way that we make sure there will be a new generation to send off to war. Young men all know it's the way to heroism.
ReplyDeleteThanks for thinking of the women, always holding things together in the back ground
Thank you for your words Kylie. Here they recruit the "cadets" in high school and prep them for death basically. Many of these young uns were killed in Afghanistan where we have no business being.
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As sorry as I am about what those soldiers endured over there and what they have had to live with since, and as appreciative as I am that they may have made a difference to the outcome of WW2, I have never bought into the glow of "marching off to war to defend freedom" and all that hoopla. I think they needed jobs and regular pay cheques and that was the way to get them; the same reason people join the military now. -Kate
ReplyDeleteThat's exactly why I joined the Navy... I needed a job. There was nothing about heroism blah..blah..blah. I served almost 9 years and left with work experience that led to a decent career.
DeleteExactly Kate. The jingoism really gets my goat. It entices these young men. And the back room boys rub their hands in glee and make so much money on the backs of these innocents. They are criminals.
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The poverty here was dreadful Mike and in WW1 so many signed up to climb out of it and 50% of all sent to the front were slaughtered within weeks. Cannon fodder. And yes, desperation drove these poor innocents to their deaths.
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My father was an Irish Republican Protestant - yep!
ReplyDeleteHe went to church every Sunday except Remembrance Sunday as he couldn't stand the aura of Britishness it seemed to exude, while sitting in a south Dublin Church of Ireland church.
I really really like your father Anne. One of our own.
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