Veterans' Day and the Election

Veterans’ Day, November 11^th, has passed (except for the those great sales you just can’t afford to miss), and most every year I post a blog observing the day. This year was different. The election three days prior had a severe numbing affect, putting everything in abeyance while I tried to sort out not only the results, but more importantly the meaning of it to us as a nation.

Back to November 11^th. Veterans’ Day was a re-naming in 1954 of Armistice Day, and its focus moved from remembering those who had died in battle to a recognition of all military veterans. (Memorial Day, originally a day set aside to decorate the graves of the Union war dead, eventually extended to honor all Americans who dies while in military service.) In Canada, and much of the British Commonwealth, Armistice Day was renamed Remembrance Day, but still keeping the theme remembering those who had died in battle.

Since my 15-years of military service was in Canada, my natural bias is to observe the 11^th as Remembrance Day, and so I do.

Soldiering is an honorable profession. We considered ourselves professionals (just like teachers, firefighters, nurses, police). We asked for no special honors or recognition, only that we be treated with respect. If we had privilege, it is only that we represented the Crown (Canada) or the State (USA).

And when in times of conflict, some died, and their deaths honored by the people for their service. Hence, Remembrance Day, for it was at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month that the fighting ended WW I, and the people paused to remember their dead.

And the dead were honored for why they died. Soldiers were, and probably still are, not interested in the finer points of citizenship, or political stances and nuances. Rough, and at times exemplifying bravado. Yet, somehow, within the heart and mind of the soldier was the deeper notion of rightness and just cause that empowered them into battle, and, for some, into their death.

Reflecting on the election in light of the sacrifice of over 623,400 US troops who died during the two world wars, Korea, Viet Nam, and Afghanistan and Iraq is sobering. Their notion of rightness and justice simply clashes like a teutonic earthquake with the rhetoric, and by extension the deep values expressed, of the now president-elect.

Let me back off here for a moment. There is no question that as a nation there has been growing a deep frustration for a great, great many around what life and work and value was hoped for, was what could be, but simply was not. Powers, be they elites or politicians or “government”, were just not hearing them, just not dealing with their issues and challenges, in effect not respecting them as members of this nation, of their life, of their work, of their hopes and dreams. They felt disenfranchised, ignored. Much of this alienation and separation was between the perceived world of the rural and that of the city, but not entirely. Historians, sociologists, and political scientists, and others will in the days and years ahead parse why and how this great upheaval in the nation manifested itself in the election result.

And out of this there emerged a champion. History is complete with champions who emerge and coalesce those who hurt economically and socially, those who see no answer until someone comes forward with the promise of change, real and lasting change, a returning to a time before the hurt. And listeners become followers and followers become disciples. And so a Donald Trump emerges, making promises, tapping into the frustrations, and naming the causes of the hurt.

Yet in this championing, the champion brings both his own value-system as well as his own history, folding much of these into his message of salvation. What finally emerges is a champion who purports business acumen, whose behavior is sociopathic; who is a blatant liar (even when truth is clearly there for the seeing); who sees women as man-toys, objects; who bullies those who oppose him; and most glaring of all, targets ethnic and racial minorities while at the same time condones (even encouraging?) white supremacy, plus a strong leaning towards fascism. A dark side of our nation is brought out of the shadows and even celebrated.

And a hungry following, hungry for change and hope, somehow look past their champion’s character in hopes that there will be that new world promised for them.

And those we honor on Armistice Day, Remembrance Day, Memorial Day lie in their graves, shrouded with their notions of rightness and justice and cause.

And the peoples march and protest, not as election losers (and certainly not paid ‘professionals’), but calling this nation to its better self; free of bigotry and misogyny; a nation of many nationalities, cultures, and faiths; caring for the poor, the vulnerable, the refugee and the homeless; a nation of justice; and decrying the ugly violence and hate and racism, born and given breath from the champion’s campaign that now infects, breaking the heart of this land The protest and marches are, at their best, noble expressions of outrage.

[Also see Rod Scher’s Geekly Weekly blog, "The World Gets Smaller. And Flatter. And Angrier"]

Liel Leibovitz, a senior writer for Tablet Magazine, reflecting on the life of his grandfather in Nazi Germany, puts forth three ‘commandments.’ First, treat every poisoned word as promise, taking the haters at their word, and assume the worst is imminent. Second, treat people as adults, demanding that they understand the consequences of their actions. And third, and the hardest to grasp: Refuse to accept what’s going on as the new normal. Not now. Not ever. [read the full article here] 

At one time, on every November 11th, soldiers and civilians alike wore red poppies, a reminder of those who were killed, drawing from that immortal poem written by the Canadian physician Lt.Col John McCrae in Ypres in 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

Last week also saw the death of Canadian songwriter and poet, Leonard Cohen, who recited that stirring poem last year in a moving tribute to McCrae.