Poppies

I went to the shop today and was asked if I was going to the service at the war memorial. I said "no". It was clearly the wrong answer and no further conversation ensued.

But Jeesh you should have heard the conversation going on in my head as I walked home. So I thought I'd share you a wee rant.

I have no problem with those who want to honour the 'fallen'*, and I have no problem with people who choose to do it by wearing poppies and attending ceremonies. But all too often such services use words like glory and honour and valour and I don't agree with these notions.

Invite me to a ceremony that invites us to learn from past mistakes and I'm more likely to attend.

Invite me to something that remembers the others that were killed, the murdered civilians who were bombed or starved from their homes, or merchant seaman who froze running the north atlantic convoys.

Invite me to something that cries for the fathers and mothers, sisters, brothers and lovers, sons and daughters that were left bereaved by the killings.

Invite me to something that cries out for true freedom of press and information so we can make honest choices about whether a war is just and so that we will never be lied to again - whether it's 'weapons of mass destruction' in Iraq or soldiers eating babies in occupied Belgium in 1914**, whether it's the flow of information controlled by the state, or controlled by a few powerful people like Rupert Murdoch***.

Invite me to something that spits on the memory of egotists and morons, from the 1st world war generals who sent wave after wave of terrified men over the trenches to certain death or pompous twats like Tony Blair shaking hands with 'the hand of history'.

This rant is not meant to dishonour the dead in any way, it's merely a plea that we learn and try to avoid such wastefulness again. It's a long standing campaign symbolised by the white poppy. Whatever we do we should break the link between honouring those killed and the sort of jingo-ism that it is so often polluted by.

There - time for a cuppa methinks.


* I think fallen means killed. It means killed in appalling circumstances, usually hundreds if not thousands of miles from home, family and loved ones. It usually means killed by having a lump of metal tear through your flesh leaving great holes in your body that you can stare in amazement at as your life ebbs away.

** If ever you are in Edinburgh make a trip to Pitt Street and find the relief over one of the industrial units entitled "The Glory of the German people 1914" It is a superb piece of bullshit propoganda and features German soldiers eating babies amongst other atrocities. How much more sophisticated are we now at spotting when we are being lied to, and how much more sophisticated are the liars?

*** Or perhaps Google?