Funny isn’t it. I mean funny in the way that cancers funny or that Josef Fritzl was funny. But isn’t it funny that each year at the 11th hour of the 11th day we should be led through a state sponsored minute of remembrance for the dead. I mean a whole minute – are you sure? Pathetic really given that even Danni Minogue occupies more of our collective consciousness and screen time than our politicians choreographed 60 seconds of moist eyed nostalgia for war.
Don’t get me wrong, it is of course right to remember the dead, both civilian and military whose lives are snuffed out in the course of war. But such an act of remembrance should honor the fallen and warn against the machinery that tore them down. But you just don’t get to do both in that minute – especially when a Cabinet that is still committed to the most recent horrors is flinging it’s wreaths around Whitehall.
Of course I support the Poppy Appeal, the Royal British Legion and all their great deeds which are aptly reflected in their moto ‘Honour the dead, Care for the living’. But the awful fact is, that those that lead us at the Cenotaph do not care for the living nor do they remember them. In fact they are so busy with their minutes remembrance, who could blame them for forgetting the living for the remaining 525948.766 left in the year.
For every tragically draped coffin that brings home the dead, thousands more arrive home unnoticed. Many leave the Armed Forces with no complications whilst many more leave disenfranchised. Of those not physically injured few leave without issues. Aggression stress and anxiety are amplified through isolation and self medication. Battle field shock and PTSD are made manifest in varying degrees and we are disproportionately represented in prisons.
Not long after returning from the first Gulf War I had decided to leave the army and go to university. It was a toss up between Bosnia or cheap beer and foam parties. As I sat awaiting my interview I read and digested the Colleges Policy on Racial and Sexual discrimination. A fairly turgid tome as you may well imagine. Any way through to the interview and the first question I was asked was ” how would I react to the harsh and critical appraisal of students and lecturers to my previous career in the military”. I sat numbly for a few seconds (was I being discriminated against ?) before allaying the lecturers fears by promising to keep my Jack boots under control and resisting my urges to occupy Bracknell.
Anyway, my point is this. No matter what you think of war or of the military or of those that served in it, please do remember with sensitivity and compassion those that survive.
