Words as defence and resistance

On a murky November morning, I stood next to the grave of the soldier who passed in his 30s, a few months after the end of the Great War. He had died from contracting TB, a complication of diabetes, which I suspect was a further complication of his time on the battlefield.

I stood there in respectful silence, surrounded by similar mourners, all adorned with a poppy. We had shown up, we had purchased the badge of entry. Our presence was our public show of memory, a bringing together of solidarity and belief that life on earth was now better. 

Yet, what were we really there for? 

Was this about those who had died in wars to end all wars, or more about us? More about our need to see and be seen by others? Our need for open atonement, to make ourselves feel better, and cling to a thin veneer of safety?

This day, this moment, gives us annually time to reflect and to remember those who have gone before us, who have died in the service of protecting us and of providing us with the future that we now have. And this year, more than the ones before, I wondered what these fallen men and women would make of the world as it has now become.

What would these souls say about atrocities still made in the name of Country and of Religion?

As those with lived experience of being blown and torn up, living with the sound and smell of human annihilation, would they be the ones now leading the protests, being arrested for calling an end to the suffering? Would we still arrest them and call them criminal or terrorist for engaging in their liberty to speak freely?

Would they in turn call us hypocrite, for all our words said in solemnity around their graves, of 'never again' in the knowledge that 'never' is such a subjective word, and one that can be moved around, depending on political leanings and belief in morality.

Would they be the ones lamenting us, praying for our delivery from greed, tyranny and systems of oppression that we still live under, hidden too often in plain sight. 

I stood there, proud of my 15-year-old son, who played the Last Post and Rouse beautifully, who himself has had to deal with adversity from systems of power. Yet at least he is still with me, and I can hold him tight. There are far too many 15-year-olds and younger who have lost their life this year across the world, because we as a nation have not voiced greater calls for action to call out and stop Genocide.

I gave my 2 minutes of silence and thought how silence is itself a weapon, 

used far too often to sustain harm to others. I wondered if this silence would continue to grow, would we eventually stop flinching at the photos of devastation, or fail to seethe with incredulity at hearing the latest missives from the powerful oligarchy in the world? What then?

In returning to this piece several weeks on, I feel numbed, but sadly unsurprised, by the reality of no change and 'business' as usual. A ceasefire in Gaza is no meaningful ceasefire at all. The words we use, hollowed out in their meaning, as deficient as the food aid entering Gaza or the points on the American's Plan, that the world seems to have completely forgotten. No more talk of bodies recovered. The intertwined nature of media in propagating and sustaining actions in this and other conflicts so clear for all to see. The rain now beats down on whatever soil was left to search, turning earth into slurry. 

Gaza in winter is more than ever reminiscent of battle fields of last century. Yet we have failed to remember, 'never' has become 'again', and with every downpour our humanity is further washed away.

Will enough remain to lay poppies with integrity in years to come, play the Last Post with honesty, remember to say those protective words of safety, 'Never again', with belief and conviction?

We have to do better than this, for all those who have fallen and for all that remain. 

An annual reflection for less than the duration of a favourite tv show is no way near enough to show that we care. Talk about Gaza to all you know, whenever you can. Talk about Sudan and Congo too. We are a world of multiple Genocides. Don't let those with power tell us what to think and how to express pain. When we turn so easily to our everyday lives, scroll past the photos, put our devices down to get on with our own lives, all we do is push the meaning of being human further and further away from what our ancestors died and fought for. We fall deeper under the control of masters, or are they monsters in suits and ties? 

Be under no illusion, the war to defend humanity didn't end last century, it's still raging on, just now, every one of us is on the battlefield, words not bullets have become the weapons against tyranny, and in sharing them we strengthen the resistance.

Follow A Labour of Moles