It’s 11:11, aka Armistice Day, Veteran’s Day and in our British colony, Remembrance Day. As I cruised up Hastings on Saturday, there were red iron fences all around Veteran’s Park and the memorial there complete with the rows of wreaths in front of the statue erected that we may remember.
When I as born in 1939, my Dad was already 29 years old, too old to be drafted. He never went to war. I may well be that the biggest thing he ever killed was a mosquito! As a male person, he showed me the honor of men and his way of being taught me to expect that men were honorable. This had enormous impact during my years of singlehood; and during the times of marriage when I discerned the abusive behaviors of my husbands long before women were having liberating discussions about patriarchy and chauvinism.
I went to grade school in 1945, the year when Truman dropped the first atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki even after the Japanese had surrendered, a major dishonor in itself! We did not understand and I did not notice anyone asking any questions!
Any of us alive in this time, have history of aggressive wars locked into our personal memory banks. Nothing can be said of this except that the honor of my old Dad has long since evaporated. Even my poor brother, a little younger has no awareness of this aberration in our glowball society. We simply accept this as normal life. I’m here to remind you this is not normal!
In my view, this holiday is the most ironic of all of them. Our young men and some women were trained and paid to kill and die for the profit of bankers. War makes war mongers rich. And what is even more insidious, not to say covert, is that the symbol used as remembering is the red opium poppy, itself a glowball racket of wealth getting made possible by those bankers’ cartels! Go figure!
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