Karl Was Wrong

Back in seventh grade, our very cool hippie teacher Mr. Christie mirthfully recounted a hairy incident in Greece. He'd been bargaining in a bustling old street market, and the merchant made a derogatory remark about Americans.

"Well, I guess I won't get too offended, then, since I'm from Canada," he chirped in his perennially amiable fashion.

"Eh, Canadians, Americans, Americans, Canadians... you're all the same."

"Well, actually," Mr. Christie responded, "we're really quite different. Despite sharing a large border, we have some different customs, different laws, different histories..." Indefatigable educator that he was, he earnestly carried on a very single-sided discussion to help form a distinction (of which Canada has a wee bit of an inferiority complex at times), but to no avail. The merchant crossed his arms and, with a testy smile, proclaimed,

"No. Canadians, Americans, Americans, Canadians... you are all the same."

For some reason, this perverse reinstatement ~ after all Mr. Christie's efforts in providing a bigger picture ~ riled him with enough of a deathwish that the devil within prompted him to cheerfully say,

"Okay. I guess, then, that Greeks, Turks, Turks, Greeks... you are all the same, too."

The merchant's eyes flew open in molten rage as he vaulted over his table and took up a rabid footchase of my fleeing, laughing teacher. Whether Mr. Christie's pointed method of obliterating civil cultural relations between Greece and Canada should be frowned upon or praised, I still remember this story as one highlighting how a close proximity between national entities does not the same culture make.

And no more acutely am I aware of this fact than during the observance of certain events, especially Remembrance Day. While there are obvious statutory holiday differences between the two countries in general (ie Canadian Thanksgiving is a three-day holiday in October while American Thanksgiving is a four-day in November, and Canadians get Good Friday and Easter Monday off, whereas Americans don't), it is in the disparity in the treatment of November 11th that I find most surprising.

Also known as Poppy or Armistace Day, I've discovered Remembrance Day is more of a Commonwealth than an "umbrella" North American tradition. Canadian school kids ~ in the weeks preceding the event ~ work on reading and producing poetry, songs, art projects, and stories to reflect on the loss of lives in war and the importance of preserving peace.

Across Commonwealth nations at 11am on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year, there is an observed two minutes of silence everywhere. We respected it in grade school assemblies before the day off, in university, and at work. There is even a current push in Montréal to have those two minutes made mandatory instead of voluntary, to be observed everywhere including public transit, where bus drivers will lead their riders to take a silence-filled, meaningful pause in their day. It has always been an almost sacred, shared time with fellow Canadians, a tradition that transcends any belief or ideological system. We even did it in our home of first- and second-generation Chinese immigrants, with a grandmother who lived through WWI as a child, two parents who were born during the Second, and a father who served in Vietnam as a civilian for the US military. Across the nation, those precious 120 seconds are spent quietly considering the human costs of our actions, our needs, our greed as a species.

Often recited during Remembrance Day assemblies and ceremonies, the following iconic poem was written by an Ontarian doctor/poet on the front lines during the Great War, and is almost as ubiquitous as "The Last Post" and "Taps" on trumpet:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.


Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
(November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918)

Poppy drives are conducted annually; kids go door to door selling flower pins to neighbours to raise funds for veteran programmes. Teens and adults would stop and chat with aging veterans standing or sitting in wheelchairs outside grocery stores as leaves and temperatures drop, slipping monetary donations into Salvation Army cans, being honoured with having those veterans pin velvety red poppies on autumn coat lapels, and saluting one another with solemnity and respect. That is my experience with Remembrance Day. Remembrance Day is a Big Deal at home, because people dying for your freedom through peace-keeping is a Big Deal.

Having lived in the US for eight years before going home for one and a half, I was jarred my first November living back in Vancouver, in 2005. Everywhere I looked, people had red poppies pinned on their coats, and overflow from having donated more than once would be seen on their bags. These striking blood-red flowers were in abundant profusion, and my heart melted at seeing so much recognition for those who've fallen as a result of unnecessary war and military violence. I had actually forgotten about Remembrance Day, and how much it meant to my fellow Canadians as well. When Saint Cat came to visit us in Miami the next autumn, she pulled out of her bag a familiar red poppy and said, "Here. I know this isn't an American thing, but you're Canadian, and don't forget about the people who made your life and comfort possible." She pinned it on my light summer cardigan, kissed my forehead, and we saluted each other with bittersweet grins. I stood out amongst the Cuban population of my Floridian neighbourhood, but I didn't forget Remembrance Day that year, and the kids got to hear all about it as well.

In light of this sentiment and tradition, imagine my shock upon first moving down to the US eleven years ago and discovering that November 11th ~ as Veterans Day ~ is for many a major shopping day. Aghast horror is one way to put it. It's something I've never quite been able to get used to. Even watching last night's local news with Chef Boy, there was a brief round-up of Veterans Day events, but nothing matching the magnitude of honour and respect for veterans and the dead that you experienced at home. And it made me so incredibly sad, considering how many people are spending and losing their lives both here and overseas for wars that simply don't make sense. This, juxtaposed with all the adverts for sales to hit on your day off.

And then... I came across this post tonight that cleared things up for just a moment, then left me feeling even sicker than before. Here's an excerpt that had me thinking, "Ahhhh, okay..." to breathing, "No. Fricking. Way."

"I wonder how many of our younger Americans know about the beginning of Veterans Day – and how it started out as Armistice Day?

Many Americans mistakenly believe that Veterans Day is the day America sets aside to honor American military personnel who died in battle or as a result of wounds sustained from combat. That's not quite true.

Memorial Day is the day set aside to honor America's war dead. Veterans Day, on the other hand, honors ALL American veterans, both living and dead. In fact, Veterans Day is largely intended to thank LIVING veterans for dedicated and loyal service to their country. November 11 of each year is the day that we ensure veterans know that we deeply appreciate the sacrifices they have made in the lives to keep our country free."

~ from the blog, United We Roll

So of course, initial reaction was: Ah. Cool. Okay... so Veterans Day is not such a solemn day after all; it's a day of commemorating and showing appreciating to living veterans, young and old, of wars past and current. Alright. So fine, make it a shopping day for this depressed economy.

Secondary reaction: OH. MY. GAWD. Wait a second: isn't Memorial Day the biggest shopping day of the year here? No. NO. Wrong. Wow. I am speechless, disgusted, and horrified.

Third response: Well of course, a nation that has marked history of invasion and war-mongering probably doesn't want its civilians to get too emotionally-involved in thinking about how wrong war is, and how military spending exceeds what should be spent in developing public healthcare systems and bolstering education. No, get some bigass sales going and have everyone go shopping instead. Marx was wrong: Shopping is the Opiate of the People.

And to think I felt better there, just for a second. Mercifully, I found an article written by the wife of a Navy pilot and daughter of a retired Navy pilot who takes umbrage with the commercialized event, so it's good to know I'm not the only one disturbed.

It's hard to find the balance between reacting like a pious foreigner who has superior views about her homeland and its traditions over her new place of residence, versus being defeatist or blasé about things she feels are right or wrong. I guess it essentially boils down to how I want to teach my kids to view and treat certain events, why those events are important, and how they themselves would like to observe them. Because Remembrance Day has been such a cherished holiday for both my personal sake and my national community growing up, and is significant because it pays homage to souls lost generally without good reason, it's pretty much a no-brainer as an important one to keep. And if my own kids can carry on the tradition of respecting and remembering people who've sacrificed their lives ~ and their roles in their families and societies ~ to help fight for peace and freedom on behalf of those near and far, then I will have done something right by them.

Because, no matter where we're from, we really are all kind of the same in a way, aren't we?









(photo credit: The photograph above comes from the November 9th issue of the Montreal Gazette, where both Saint Cat's parents were once editors. Thus, aside from being a revered national institution, the paper is especially dear to my heart because of that wee connection.)