Red

As I walked the two blocks along King St. to the cenotaph for the Remembrance Day ceremony this morning, I couldn’t help but take in the crisp, autumn scenery afforded by the downtown of this, our provincial capital city.  In that regard, Fredericton is very much a small-town city.  Even with police barricades, still-freezing temperatures in the late morning, and an annual event with historically a high turn out about to happen, there seemed to still be lacking the busy flow of pedestrian traffic you see on an average day in most other cities.  The closer I got to the cenotaph, the more people were migrating along with me, their Tim Hortons cups clasped in leather gloves, some with strollers, some with canes, all present for the same thing.  Or were they?  Like all holidays and observances, people seek something different, depending on who you are and what you stand for.  For Remembrance Day, on the surface, we are all there to remember the soldiers that fought for our freedoms.  How we pay tribute, what it means to us personally, and most importantly, what we take away with us when it’s over, is something completely different.

Here are some things I noted as the service proceeded:

Ø  While I didn’t approach the cenotaph personally, as I was neither a dignitary nor participant in the parade, I did not see one white poppy.  I was very happy about that.  In the last few weeks, there has been media attention on a campaign in which an alternative to the red poppy was proposed and distributed.  Hailing from a university in Ontario, a group of students has suggested that the red poppy is a symbol that glorifies war, and therefore a poppy in white (a universal colour for peace) would be more appropriate.  They claim that the act of remembrance is fine, but the symbol is not.  For those who might not know, poppies are a red flower.  Unlike ribbon campaigns, where a colour is assigned to a cause, the flower that grew naturally in the fields where tens of thousands of slain soldiers were hastily buried during The Great War, is red.  The image of white crosses in rows with red poppies surrounding is not only iconic, but historically a fact.  While the colour red might have violent overtones in some instances, it’s not the poppy’s fault it is the colour it is.  If you want to protest war, that’s fine.  I for one think war is revolting, and I also feel that as a society we have a certain sense of romantic attachment to armed conflict.  I just finished a weeks-long game of Axis & Allies with my oldest son, for example.  But to shun the red poppy is to completely misunderstand the whole reason for the commemoration.  Poppies also produce opium, but no one suggests that it symbolizes drug use.

Ø  The first participants to arrive were the four young soldiers that have the daunting task of standing completely at attention at the four posts of the monument.  They march in, take their assigned spot, make a few quick, meticulous movements and rest their rifles barrel to the ground, bowing their heads, and not to move a muscle for the next half hour or so.  Forget long marches, this to me seems like an incredible task.  I panned around the crowd, and not one person stood as still as these fine young lads.  I deliberately set myself up near a road sign, knowing full well that being as out of shape as I am, I’d need to lean at some point.  Of all the organizations and individuals who take part in the service, I admire these four the most.  I would feel awful for the young fellow who, through no fault of his own, felt faint and collapsed.  In all the years I’ve attended these, it has yet to happen.

Ø  I find it remarkable how many different types of uniforms there are.  One of the benefits to watching from home is that a commentator could fill you in on just which company, division, squadron, or troop is entering the service grounds.  Like if you watch the Santa Claus parade, Mardi Gras, or even a hockey game on TV, there is someone who has done their homework in advance there to tell the rest of us who we’re actually watching.  I recognized the RCMP of course, and I figured out the city police easily enough.  I assumed the armed forces from local Base Gagetown were there.  After that, it got a little complicated.  There were veterans with a variety of styles of formal wear, some elderly, others obviously much younger.  There were frilly hats and coats of various colours and designs.  There were also army cadets, but some groups wore blue outfits, some appeared to wear hats reminiscent of the navy, others completely foreign to me.  To make things more complicated, there were ladies and gentlemen in full formal dress in and around the crowd.  Why weren’t they in the parade?  It seems to me that if you are wearing the uniform, and others wearing the same uniform are marching with their peers, why aren’t you?  I don’t mean any offence by it, I’m just confused.

Ø  The youngest participants, being the Beavers, Cubs, and Scouts, along with the Brownies and Guides, would have looked cute marching in with their flags, except from where I stood, I couldn’t see them at all.  And I was only about twenty feet from the front.  It is great to have them learn about their movement’s historical connection to the armed forces, and to foster respect for the sacrifices of their forebears in such a way, but how hard it must have been for those young children to stand in such frigid cold so quietly for so long.  At their age, try as they might, it’s impossible to truly understand the true meaning of the day.  Only at the very end was I able to spot my son’s blue toque in the crowd.

Ø  I find it interesting that they chose a Catholic Priest to commence the service, and pastors from other Christian faiths filled in the other parts.  But were they all represented?  Were the Lutherans, Presbyterians, Methodists, Anglicans, Wesleyans, Seventh Day Adventists, Baptists, and Pentecostals represented?  I didn’t see an Imam or Rabbi taking part.  Were they invited?  Did they decline?  Did anyone else present care? When we pray, do we all just default to whoever is saying the current prayer?  Should I take my hat off, even if I’m not a part of that congregation?  Nearly all cenotaphs, monuments, and images of Remembrance Day are adorned with crosses.  What is the function of God in war?  I can think of few things less godly.

Ø  Speaking of hats, I am also uncertain when it comes to hat etiquette during services like this.  Indoor ceremonies would solve the whole problem, because everyone knows you have to take off your hat indoors.  The teacher in me appreciates that.  But outdoors, it gets a little tricky.  Like everyone around me, I removed my Blue Jays cap for the national anthem.  Curiously, the armed forces (all of them, including the police) kept theirs on, only to remove them in unison a little later.  When they did, many in the crowd seemed confused, and most removed their hats again so as not to offend.  Naturally, I did too.  After that, it’s guesswork about when it’s appropriate to remove your cap.  When prayers were offered, I removed my cap and bowed my head slightly out of respect.  I left my hat on for ‘God Save The Queen’.  I probably should have taken it off yet again for this, but I firmly believe that Canada needs to sever its ties to the monarchy.  Still, I have nothing against the royals personally, and like it or not, the Queen is technically the Head of State, so I was probably in bad form for that one.  I wasn’t alone; more than half of hat wearers also kept theirs on. 

Ø  If there is one part of the ceremony I would remove, it would be the canon salute.  Large, armoured trucks rolled through the parted crowd right around the time the four soldiers stationed themselves at the monument.  Behind two of them were large canons with canvas coverings over the muzzles.  Naturally, half the crowd was jolted by that first ‘ka-boom’ echoing through the frigid air.  Babies started to cry.  I couldn’t help wonder how many veterans were shaken back to their darkest memories when that first canon bellowed into their ears.  Are we asking too much of them to bring back so vividly the horrors of gunfire?  Of anyone present, they are never going to forget that sound.  I know, there is a big difference between a small number of military vehicles and a full-on rally with nuclear warheads and such, but this part to me reeks of the white poppy people’s assertion that we glorify war.  Are the armed forces necessary?  Of course.  Am I grateful for their work and sacrifice?  Absolutely.  Does it frighten me a little to see it on display?  You bet.  Is that the whole point?  Probably.

Ø  The media is always present for events like this.  News trucks were parked up a side street not far from my vantage point.  Photographers from various agencies and forums were on hand with video cameras and foot-long lenses taking shots and footage from both inside and outside the ceremonial perimeter.  I’m fine with that.  Not everyone can attend, so it is good that the footage is available for viewers both at home and away.  I don’t judge people that can’t come out.  As I began this piece, the service itself means something different for everyone.  Those who appear as though they don’t care simply don’t have a reason to care yet.  Maybe they have reasons but don’t realize them yet.  It’s not my place to judge.  What did bother me a little was that a local blogger, one who is locally famous as a provocateur, was allowed to roam freely inside the perimeter of parade participants.  While legitimate news representatives had equipment and uniforms, he has his cell phone out taking pictures, and a tan camo-print winter jacket with ‘Blogger!!!’ written across the back.  I too am a blogger.  No one invited me to wander around at will taking random pictures on my mobile device.  I wouldn’t have done it if I was.  Bloggers are not journalists.  Bloggers are observers who write editorial essays.  No one edits my work.  No one pays me for what I do.  I haven’t yet taken journalism classes, and I haven’t been published in a major newspaper.  This fellow walked around with a sense of entitlement, and while entitled to his opinions, he seemed tastelessly out of place today.

Ø  One thing I have grown to love about Remembrance Day services, and today was no exception, is the imperfection of the whole thing.  The master of ceremonies made a mistake and signaled the band to start their next hymn while dignitaries were still laying wreaths.  While the armed forces personnel were in perfect step, the cadets and young Scouts and Guides wriggled here and there, discomforted no doubt by the cold and the length of the proceedings.  All throughout the service, people maneuvered through the crowd, leaving for one reason or another.  And of course, babies cried.  No one seemed too worried about any of it, and that’s the way it should be.  My favourite church ministers when I was younger were the ones that really wanted to make the children feel like they belonged.  I never liked clergy that seemed to resent the presence of children.  I remember while working at KFC, I always hated when the cadets came to the mall for their off-day.  It seemed as though they were poorly supervised, and they were often boisterous or rude to our cashiers, even while they wore their uniforms.  On days like today, I am reminded that they are still children.  I don’t condone rude behavior, least of all while wearing a uniform, but it’s worth remembering the humanity inherent in our children.  One day, they will maybe become those fine soldiers so expertly standing in formation just a few meters away.

I walked away, my cup of coffee long finished, now wearing my gloves with my hoodie drawn.  I would meet up with my son back at the library, where the parade had begun.  I found myself more tuned in to my surroundings than when I had arrived.  There were still a lot of leaves that had yet to fall.  There is graffiti on the wall of that parking garage I had never noticed before.  Buffy Ste-Marie is apparently performing at the Rogue sometime soon.  So is Raveen.  Brewbakers has somehow transformed into a completely new building from when it used to be Dave’s Sports Bar in the early nineties.  That girl must be out of her mind wearing a skirt as flimsy as that, and with no leggings, she must be half-frozen.  I don’t see even one empty coffee cup littering the street today, given so many people were here.  The smell of a local restaurant wafted through the air; smells like someone makes a great burger. 

Would you like to know what the red poppy represents?  It represents blood.  For me, it’s not so much to remember the blood shed during the horrors of war.  Look around you.  It is the pulse of the world that lives and breathes all around us.  Every baby that cries, every cell phone that accidentally went off, every young couple, hands clasped as they carry on the tradition of remembrance.  The heartbeat of the city, pulsing onward long after the benediction is read and the cameras stop rolling.  For all that we were, and all that we are, we remember.