The following is the keynote address I gave at Henry Wisewood's Remembrance Day Assembly today:
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We’ve been told they fought for their country. We’ve been told they fought for duty, for honour, for glory. We’ve been told that they fought for freedom, for justice, for equality, for liberty. At least, that’s what we’ve been told. Over and over again, we’ve been fed the ancient proverb which Wilfred Owen so aptly called “that old and evil lie”: It is sweet and dutiful to die for one’s fatherland. What I’m going to attempt to do today is remind everyone here of the lessons that we need to remember, yet have largely forgotten.
The two world wars that plagued the century before this one were catastrophic. The First World War claimed some 20,000,000 souls, while the Second destroyed an estimated 55,000,000. In both conflicts, the majority of the dead fit into two categories: the young, and the innocent.
In July 2007 I knelt at the grave of the youngest soldier to perish in the First World War, aged fourteen. He was younger than any of us in this building, and yet his life was torn apart in the hellfire of war and conflict. On that same trip – a battlefield tour of northwestern Europe – I stood within the Menin Gate, the colossal war memorial in the town of Ypres. On the Belgium-France border, the town of Ypres was 99% destroyed by the end of the First World War. The town has been impressively rebuilt, and yet the reminders of that terrible conflict are there still. For on the Menin Gate are the names of 60,000 British Commonwealth soldiers whose bodies have no known grave within the Ypres Salient. On the walls of Tyne Cott Cemetary – containing some 12,000 graves – are another 40,000 names from the same sector of the war.
300km to the southwest is the town of Beaumont Hamel, part of the massive offensive that began on 1 July 1916 along the Somme River. It was in Beaumont Hamel that the 800 soldiers of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment assembled in their front lines, with confidence running high. After three months of continual artillery bombardment, it was felt by many that rifles were unnecessary, as the Germans would have died in their trenches.
110 paces from the front lines of the RNR is a marker known as “The Danger Tree”. It marks the farthest that the regiment got. In 110 paces, every single officer and 658 ranked men were killed, most cut down by withering German machine-gun fire. It was but the beginning of one of the bloodiest days in human history, with Anglo-French forces taking a combined 64,000 casualties. In total, the Battle of the Somme would claim 1,100,000 lives. The approximate ratio comes to one man dead for every inch of ground gained.
Between the two sites of Ypres and The Somme lies Vimy Ridge, the site of Canada’s triumph in the First World War. Yet even the colossal Vimy Memorial serves as a sobering reminder of the horror of the First World War. In two attempts to capture the ridge before 1917, the French lost 150,000 men. 10,000 Canadians were killed or wounded in the struggle to capture the ridge. Of Canada’s population of 6,000,000, some 600,000 fought overseas. There are 1500 people in this room at the moment. If this was 1914-1918, 150 of you are going to war. 15 of you will be blown to bits, shot, poisoned, gassed, bombarded, buried alive, or sliced apart by machine-gun fire. Thirty of you will suffer similar fates, only you will survive. None of you will ever forget the horrors that you will witness.
Opposite Vimy Ridge lies Notre Dame de Lorette, one of two French National War Memorials (the other situated at the site of the orgy of death that was Verdun). Within the walls of the site are over 40,000 graves. Of these, only half are marked, since the grave-workers could only find bits of those they were supposed to bury. Standing at the southern end of the basilica on the site, you can see nothing but endless rows of white crosses, stretching outwards for what seems an eternity.
It is often said that war showcases the best and worst of humanity. Two experiences within my travels have put that into focus. This past summer, I toured the extermination camp of Buchenwald, in which nearly 57,000 – ranging from Jews to socialists to Soviet POWs– were mercilessly butchered by the SS. It is impossible to remain emotionally stable as you stand in the basement of the crematorium, staring upwards in horror at the hooks from which some 1,100 were hanged until death. When you close your eyes, you can nearly see the bodies writhing in agony in the last moments of their life, sense the stench of death around you, and feel to your core a silence so appalling that it overwhelms you within seconds. The horrors of the Nazi Holocaust illustrate one of the darkest hours in humanity’s history; where some committed acts that were inhuman and monstrous, and many stood idly by, saying and doing nothing.
Contrast this with an experience I had on the last day of June 2007, standing at the foot of the grave of Noelle Godfrey Chavasse, a member of the Royal Army Medical Corps and the only man in the history of the British Empire and Commonwealth to win two Victoria Crosses – the highest award for bravery in the Commonwealth – in the same war. His first VC was awarded in 1916, when – despite being hit by shell splinters at Mametz – he crawled to within 25 yards of the German front lines, braving sniper fire and artillery the entire time, to rescue three soldiers who had been wounded and trapped there. His second VC was awarded during the Battle of Paschendaele a year later. He is recorded to have been severely wounded while carrying a soldier back to the medical stations. Despite this, he continued for a further two days – largely without food – to go back into no-man’s-land to recover wounded soldiers. He subsequently died of his wounds, and is now buried in a cemetery outside of Ypres.
Yet even this story of incredible courage and bravery has an edge of despair to it. What is sad isn’t that Noelle Chavasse was brave enough to sacrifice his life to save someone else’s, but that it was required of him in the first place. He didn’t start the First World War. Herbert Hoover, the 31st President of the United States, once remarked that “Older men declare war. But it is the young that must fight and die”. The average German before the Second World War likely did not want to slaughter 20% of the Polish population, or bomb London to pieces, or turn the ancient city of Leningrad into one massive graveyard. Yet those in power had an ardent desire to do so, and so those who were poor, or those looking for a direction in which to live their life, or those conscripted into service by their untouchable overlords, were marched into the hellfire of the Eastern Front, to kill and be killed.
The number of men who returned from the First World War shell-shocked and psychologically destroyed numbers in the millions. The lives needlessly thrown away by the power-trips of older tyrants destroyed the flower of two successive generations. Standing in the basement of Buchenwald’s crematorium, or in the necropolis and the ossuary of Notre Dame de Lorrette’s Basilica, or within the Menin Gate brings home the harsh truth about war: That war is not about winning and losing; it is not about victory and it is not about defeat, or about heroism and cowardice. It is about death…and the infliction of death. War represents, in the words of veteran war correspondent Dr. Robert Fisk, “the complete and total failure of humanity and the human spirit”.
Many would argue that war is sometimes a necessary evil. No matter how true that may be, it is still evil. Did we have to fight World War II? Yes, we had to stop Hitler. He was a mass-murdering psychopath who would have killed every racial minority on the planet if given the chance. But…did we have to drop two atomic bombs on the civilian populations of Japan after Hitler’s suicide and the collapse of Nazi Germany to do that? Did we have to firebomb the city of Dresden and kill 100,000 people, most of them non-combatants? Did we have to intern thousands upon thousands of Japanese-Canadians, depriving them of their livelihood, humanity, citizenship and dignity?
Yet these facts are often left out of the narrative. We are told that the First World War was about values and democracy. It didn’t start because of idealism. It began because a young man named Galvo Princip assassinated Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary in a city called Sarajevo in what is now Bosnia. Most of the pointless slaughter of the next four years was just that: pointless. Those who fought that war figured that out a long time ago. Harry Patch, the last British WWI vet, died this past summer. Yet before he died, he was interviewed on the 90th anniversary of the end of the war, and he was asked whether the deaths of 20,000,000 young men and civilians was worth anything. He responded eloquently: “War is the calculated and condoned slaughter of human beings. Too many died. War isn’t worth one life.”
If those who survived the bloodbaths of Passchendaele and The Somme have figured this out, why haven’t we? Why do we repeat the same old mantra of liberty and idealism? It’s not that there aren’t things worth fighting for, it’s that wars are never started for the reasons we’d like to believe. The First was about power and politics, the Second about territory and fanaticism. The proxy-wars of the Cold War were about power and resources; our current wars are about power and resources. War is seen as a means to an end, rather than what it really is: a sickening evil that has plagued humanity for all but about 253 of its 9,000 years of recorded history.
When he was interviewed on 11 November 2008, Harry Patch also revealed that his attendance of Remembrance Day ceremonies was infrequent. He said that he viewed them as “just show business”, as a façade for what has been demonstrated to be our incapability to figure out not so much what we are remembering, but why we are remembering it. We do the memories of those who died no service by kidding ourselves about the nature of their deaths.
The line we most often hear is that those who fought in World War II fought for our freedom. This is true if you grew up in Holland, or France, or Britain, or Poland or Russia. That is not true here. The German Empire never would have reached Canada in 1918; the Nazis would have been eventually crushed by the overwhelming Red Tide of 700 divisions – each 18,000 men strong – pouring out of the Soviet Union. At first glance, it often appears that there is no reason to remember.
But here’s why we have to remember the sacrifice of previous generations: We have to learn from it. If our generation, or our children’s generation, embarks on a bloody – and likely apocalyptic – war with the rest of humanity, then their deaths will have been for nothing. If we simply repeat the mistakes of previous generations over and over again – as history suggests we are doomed to do – then the victims of the first two world wars will have died in a pointless exercise in humanity’s instinctual desire to annihilate itself.
If, on the other hand, we resolve to make the Second World War the Last World War, then we have made the deaths of the nearly 100,000,000 in the two conflicts worth something. To truly make the sacrifice of previous generations for something, we must ensure that our generation and future generations never go through the hell that they did. Thank you.
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