Standing Together...
In recognition of the Canadian Remembrance Day holiday yesterday, I attended a commemoration at the Victory Square Cenotaph in downtown Vancouver. I arrived about twenty minutes in advance of when the ceremony was to begin, since the Vancouver Bach Youth Choir was scheduled to perform for a few minutes beforehand(I love me the choirs). As my trek there ended, I found myself in the midst of a giant crowd of people heading towards the site, including masses of seniors in uniform, pipe bands, awkwardly marching cadets, and 'civilians' like me. I was pleasantly surprised by the diversity of the group demographics, and thrilled by my vantage point when I found a spot at the square to stand; there were only about three rows of onlookers in front of me against the rails that blocked us from the official seating, and I was right behind the choir and to the left of the dignitaries.
It had been a while since I'd been to an event like this, and on Wednesday, I took some time to try and figure out why that was the reality. I've always observed the moment of silence at 11:00 am, as is customary, and during my school days, we'd always had a ceremony of some sort; I read 'In Flanders Fields' one year for the assembly, and sang every other year with the ensemble that led 'O Canada'. I wasn't sure why I hadn't made much of a point of remembering the fallen and the veterans in concert with my community since then. I did remember spending an extraordinarily emotional Remembrance Day with friends in 1992, as I dealt with a host of personal objections to my brother enlisting in the US Army that same year. It seems like a massive overreaction now, but at that point, I equated his choice with certain death. I have no lack of respect for the people that defend the borders of their nations from threat and participate in peacekeeping missions, but I selfishly did not want my brother to be one of those people. I'd always been dead set against it. He'd been a military/cop buff from way back, though, and wanted desperately to serve in the armed forces or with a police force in some fashion. I couldn't begrudge him the right to choose his path, especially not one he felt called to so strongly. But I could choose, and did choose, to panic at all the stories of death, injury and loss as our college memorial ceremonies proceeded that day. It soon clicked in my 2004 mind that this was probably the last time I'd participated in any such events, despite the fact that my brother is alive and well and fighting only the Northern cold at this point in time; it appeared that I had some sort of subconcious aversion to the whole scene. Now that it was no longer subconscious, though, I could choose to continue to be a brat about it, or show some respect in a more tangible way.
And that's what put me amidst a crowd of other red-poppied Vancouverites of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities and ages on a bright, cold morning in November. We sang 'Abide With Me', we stared skyward at a flyover, we waited patiently for a ton of wreaths to be laid, and we choked back tears to the strains of 'The Last Post'. Little ones looked on uncomprehendingly from perches on railings and grassy knolls, old men and women clung to one another and to their children as they reeled a bit in genuine recollection, and people my age looked on with any number of different expressions and reactions. I no longer felt my collegiate angst, but I was both weighed down and buoyed by a couple tiny scenes:
- A young Korean woman hoisted her fidgety son onto her shoulders, both to improve his view and to stop him from dancing about her, oblivious to the gravity of the occasion (just as he should have been). When people spoke to her, the English she replied in was halting, and I heard indications that they had only been in Canada for a few months. I thought it was wonderful that she was there, but a guy my age standing next to me hissed an unrepeatable, entirely audible racial slur when she blocked his view with her child. She blocked my view, too, but how ironic was that? We were there to remember what we did not wish to happen again, but even with that purpose uniting us, intolerance reared its ugly head. An older woman next to her did better though...she squeezed the girl's arm and thanked her for bringing her child to be a part of it all.
- An old man standing next to me struck up a conversation to tell me that I looked like "a gal out of the 1940's". I wasn't dressed in anything remotely vintage, so I pressed him with a giggle as to why he would say such a thing. He told me my features reminded him of the fresh-faced, bright-eyed farmgirls he'd known back in Manitoba...all rosy cheeks from the cold, rouged lips just for a trip into the city (I was wearing red lipstick), and hair up in a twist. He informed me that I looked just like the girl he'd married, and then dissolved into chuckles when I commended him on romancing 30 year-olds, at his age. We shared a wink when the ceremonies were done, both of us red-eyed from crying. He, like the older woman to the Korean mother, thanked me for coming out that day. I replied that it was the least I could do, and he shook his head. "No, dear..." he interrupted, " The people who didn't show up are doing the least they could do." I knew I'd been one of those people for all those years previous, so I just nodded and headed off down the street.
This earth has always been at war in some fashion or another, and however you feel about the 'whys' and the history and the causes behind it all, the fact remains that lives are devastated every moment of every day, in hundreds of battles and disasters, in both defining and unnecessary moments of conflict. We barely blink at reports on the news anymore, but few families have not been touched in some way, in this generation or one past, by the constant turmoil that rocks our planet daily. I don't think I did much for any of them by heading out to that ceremony yesterday, but I did something for me...I took a minute to get over the little details of my life and be a part of something bigger. I'm glad I did, whatever else I might feel towards, and expound about politics and policies on the international stage. As far as I am concerned, needing to remember and care should transcend all of my personal rhetoric. I could preach a whole sermon on all of this, but I'll skip it and spare you.
Rather, I shall just be silent for a couple moments, then live my life with respect and dignity towards others for many, many moments more.
5:39:03 PM 
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