Nov 11: do we really remember?

November 15, 2024
First of all, about the poppies.
Every year, I buy a poppy and make my donation to the Legion, and within about an hour–what with seat belts and purses and backpacks–the poppy has disappeared, to be found a month or a year later on the floor of the car, or when I stab myself on it at the bottom of my reusable grocery bag. As a result, I look like I don’t remember or don’t care, when I actually do. Surely, there’s a better way to construct poppies and/or raise money for the Legion, although I suppose if the poppies are designed to fall off and disappear, we need to buy more of them. I’m not sure how I feel about this business model. Why not make them hardier, and wear them all the time?
          The important part, of course, is the remembering. On November 11, when the wreaths are laid and the bagpipes and last posts are played and we have moments of silence and speeches and elderly veterans, we are supposed to do two things: honour those who gave their lives or fought for our freedom, and remember the World Wars so that they never happen again. The hatred, the greed, the senseless loss of life and destruction of entire cities, entire populations, in the name of what? For what purpose? We are supposed to remember history, so that it won’t repeat itself. And yet, all around us, it feels eerily like the fingers of history are reaching up from the ground to grab our feet.

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