This year on Nov. 11 I was thinking about Bob Dylan’s unanswered questions from the turbulent ’60s, especially “How many times must the cannon balls fly?”
Here we are in a new millennium, arguably even more turbulent, and it appears that the answer is still out there somewhere, blowin’ in the wind.
When I was a kid we called it Poppy Day – I used to wonder why some of the old veterans referred to it as Armistice Day and I had no concept of war, sacrifice or loss.
Because just like my entire generation, I grew up in a protected, peaceful environment with nothing to fear from the horrors of war.
And even though we rallied ’round the flag on Remembrance Day and wore poppies on our shirts, we were a different generation with different values.
We were the benefactors of the millions of young men who died to keep us free and preserve our way of life, even though we didn’t really understand it all.
Later during the Vietnam war we witnessed young men our own age being killed by the thousands, right on the six o’clock news.
It was a bloody, horrific introduction to modern warfare and even though we were sheltered from that one too, it had a profound effect.
Growing up in a free and peaceful society did not prepare my generation to be warriors and we were horrified by the senseless loss of life.
We cheered our American cohorts as they protested the war and the draft on college campuses and in the streets – some were shot and killed by their own government.
We met draft dodgers who were estranged from their families and their country because they refused to go to war.
We weren’t all hippies and peaceniks but the more we saw, the more we thought about Mr. Dylan’s other question, “How many deaths will it take?”
It seems like that question hasn’t been answered either as the numbers continue to rise.
I have a nostalgic habit of watching the Remembrance Day ceremony from Ottawa, and I am always haunted by two images.
The first sorrowful sight is the Silver Cross Mother who lays a wreath on behalf of all heartbroken Canadian moms whose sons were killed in battle.
Those poor, tortured women will never forget although at times I’m sure they wish they could.
The second disturbing sight is the absolute dread and hollow victory in the eyes of the veteran soldiers who survived the war but for whom the battle goes on.
What horrors are rekindled when they see wars continuing, the conflicts escalating, the deaths mounting and their own government sending more young men to battle?
Where is this peace and freedom they supposedly won?
There is talk about making Remembrance Day a national statutory holiday and although the intentions may be good, will it be anything more than a day off work?
Every time I see the blank stare of another grieving mother or the cold, empty, far-away look in a veteran’s eyes my heart breaks and it always will.
But now might be a good time to be mindful about old clichés like “Lest We Forget” – maybe some things are better not remembered.
I still don’t understand the need to make war and I am not inclined to blindly follow any political leader onto the battle field.
I know all I need to know about warriors and warfare – it never ends well.
How many times can a man turn his head – like so many other questions these days, this one is also blowin’ in the wind.
