What do music videos have to do with the poppy? (Relax, I did wear one)

This: the vacuousness of the former is indirectly fetishizing the latter. This is a recent development, and it is a Bad Thing.  

This is not going to be a pacifistic rant. I don’t swing that way; my understanding of history does not allow for it (that’s a Rant for another day). I have long freely participated in the rituals and displayed the symbols of Remembrance Day, because I think memory of the past and respect for the dead are important (and not because I’ve been shamed into it by some self-righteous internet meme, or blustery bumper sticker). But lately this participation has been taken for acquiescence in a narrative I don’t buy into, and this past weekend, I was sort of tricked into performing a message which I was not made aware of, and did not consent to.

It’s one thing to be a spectator, and have mild reservations about the proceedings. You can keep those to yourself for the sake of general harmony. But to be made an active part of it, under a set of false pretences is quite another thing.

Remembrance Day is an emotional topic, so I’ve got to be careful. I’ve got friends from both sides of the Atlantic who’ve served in Afghanistan. I know one mustn’t allow emotions to cloud one’s judgement, but at the same time I don’t think it hurts to pay attention to people with direct experience of things. I’m not here to talk about Afghanistan. I don’t know how I feel about Afghanistan, or if I have the right to feel anything about Afghanistan. I don’t entirely know how my friends feel about it. They’re good guys, they did what they felt they had to, and if they feel a smidgeon of pride for playing some small part in overthrowing one of the world’s most repressive regimes, I won’t fault them for that. Likewise, if I balk at the indiscriminate drone strikes which wipe out wedding parties, surely, they won’t fault me. War is complicated, messy business, and it’s never about just one thing. I can’t help thinking though, we’re only meant to remember one thing.

While I have tremendous respect for people in uniform, I have far less respect for the politicians who send them into harms way. I do not believe that honour for the former should shield the latter from criticism. I do not think that honest, open debate about the extent of our commitments constitutes disloyalty, nor should a dispassionate examination of our history[i]. Yet the increasingly affected tone of these ceremonies seems to be drowning out but the most jingoistic voices. In this environment, the politician can get away with more and demand more. So the recent tendency to lump all wars into the same ongoing crusade for Freedom strikes me more as political opportunism than respect.

I have been asked during this time to remember the “brave boys and girls away on deployment”, rather than the “reasons they were there”, which I can respect: I am content to remember in silence. But it would be easier if the various Masters of Ceremonies would stick to the deal as well, and not insist on telling me why they were there. Perhaps it does serve the emotional needs of the moment, but there is something about these sermons that strikes me as over-simplified and under-contextualized.   To allude to the slaughters of Ypres or Passchendaele without any hint of indignation seem to me incomplete at best. If it’s not the right time for such indignation, when is?

Remembrance Day may only be once a year (and arguably only one minute out of each year), but it does set the tone for to all our subsequent discussions. Perhaps unconsciously, it determines what we decide to remember, and how. So setting the scope of mourning is important.  If I choose not to forget the callousness of the First World War generals, or the colossal fuckup at Dieppe, who am I dishonouring?

I take my cues from guys like Joseph Heller, who never regretted serving as an airman in WWII[ii], but still felt obliged to satirize its idiocies in Catch 22. Or the historian/veteran Paul Fussel, who fought in France, insisted on that war’s necessity[iii], but had no patience for its sanitization or romanticization (or for John McCrae)[iv] and certainly would have cringed at the jaunty “Last Post/Old Lang Syne” mashup I had to recently sit through.

I was six years old when I first heard “the Last Post”, and thought it was the saddest song in the world. Quiet, mournful, meditative. Conducive to sober reflection. You could remember your way, and I could remember mine, and at least we could agree it was sad. But now we’ve got a happy version, pomped up by a military band, and with the strains of a drinking tune thrown in for good measure.

I have to ask: who thought this was a good idea?  

Someone probably thought the words “should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?  gelled nicely with the Lest we forget motto. It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Context matters and cultural usage matters, and a New Years Eve celebration ditty does not fit with an Armistice dirge. I’m all for drinking songs, especially those of a wistful character, but would never indulge in one at a military funeral, and humbly submit that this would never be tolerated in a civilian outfit.

The tone for the evening was set: Remembrance Day is a party now. Spread the word.

On this occasion, my choir was scheduled to sing Mozart’s Requiem as part of the proceedings. It was the second time this piece was selected as a Remembrance Day commemoration: even though Requiem was intended as a component of religious worship, and has no martial overtones. It is about death however and this was connection enough.

It is one of the most magnificent pieces ever written, and probably the best venue we’ve ever had the privilege of performing in. The choir was at the top of its game, the orchestra was splendid, the audience rapt. Our voices filled the auditorium and drifted heavenward. . . It was a great experience, dare I say Godly. Yet I did nearly drop my music when I craned my neck and saw what they were displaying behind us.

The lyrics and their translation, superimposed over images borrowed from the warplane Heritage Museum.

Who thought this would be a good idea?

So behind all these “Blessed is he who cometh”, and “Lamb of God who taketh away”s  are pictures of smiling soldiers and cheering crowds and, of course, warplanes. And for “Sanctus”, which translates “Holy”, we got a Lancaster bomber. A Lancaster bomber.

What, may I ask, is so Holy about a Lancaster bomber?

Holy! Holy! Holy!

So here we get to the nub of things. I am more than happy to wear the poppy and have a moment of silence and offer my humble baritone to the ceremonies, but the one condition I insist on is we commemorate people. People! Breathing, thinking, feeling, dearly departed PEOPLE! I WILL NOT COMEMORATE MACHINES! Especially not death machines. The Lancaster bomber was designed explicitly (exclusively in Marshal Harris’ view) to incinerate non-combatants.  Whatever debates there are to be had about the efficacy, necessity or morality of the strategic bombing campaign, for God’s sake you can respect my reservations here! Remembrance Day ceremonies ought to be about people!

It did not get better from there. The lines “May eternal light shine on them, O Lord with Thy saints for ever, because Though art merciful” was superimposed over the smiling faces of some Women’s Auxiliary Brigade, with not a cemetery in sight. The words which may have justified the singing of the piece stripped entirely of their context and even their literal meaning. The one thing we could once agree on – Remembrance Day was a sad occasion to mourn the dead – finally thrown out the window without even the pretext remaining. We’re now literally singing glory and praise to military hardware. Hallelujah!

It was not an accident either. The words were painstakingly translated and typed over topped the images, which were carefully labelled and named in the program. Somebody specifically chose these images. Someone who didn’t care a fig what the words said or meant. The occasion was about war, so one image was as good as any other. This is the mentality of the music video generation: stripping music of its context and relegating it to background muzak for random imagery. Not even a shadow of deference to intention.

In cheesy pop songs this can be forgiven. In a Remembrance Day ceremony, it’s dangerous. I’m not being hyperbolic: a large crowd of people just worshipped a bombing plane. I just told an engine of death that Heaven and Earth were Filled with its Glory. If our society’s supposedly most poignant moments and our supposedly most deeply held spiritual inclinations and the talents of our civilization’s most gifted artists can only advertise engines of death, we are in trouble.

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[i] Gwynne Dyer’s Canada in the Great Power Game would be a great place to start.

[ii] https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/oct/25/catch-22-author-enjoyed-war

[iii] The Boys Crusade: The American Infantry in Northwestern Europe

[iv] The Great War and Modern Memory

In which Rockers break down barriers... Danica Roem's Cab Ride to Victory

Sometimes, there is a light in the black. . .

So, the state of Virgnia has just elected its firsttransgendered person to its House of Delegates.  Naturally, this is a major victory for the LGTB community, and for the forces of civilization in general, in the very teeth of the most reactionary, knuckle-dragging administration in living memory. Granted, the House of Representatives is a much smaller office than the Presidency, but hey! Let’s take what we can get.

But the really fun part? Danica Roem is a Metalhead. Not just a “I owned Metallica’s Black album in high school” Metalhead, but an, actual, genuine, authentic, honest-to-Magog headbangin’ thashin-mad Metalhead. She fronts a Swedish-style Death Metal band. Here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OT213kwRfwU

Admittedly a dumb name, but hey, who’s complaining? They’re good, they rock. 

Of course I was tickled pink. But throughout the course of the day, as I continued to dwell on it, it got even better. It felt good. See, this little subculture which fate has thrown me into, is not exactly synonymous with progressive values. On the contrary, in most minds it’s the epitome of backwardness – a bulwark of misogyny, homophobia and racism. But every once in a while, we too can be on the side of righteousness. Moments like this, I get a little tingly feeling welling up inside. I felt it when Barney Greenway dukedit out with Karozia Metalla. I felt it when Bruce Dickenson stood up for multiculturalism in last summer in Toronto. And I’m feeling it now. But it’s even better this time, on a great many levels. Donica Roem is part of the government now, she’ll actually get to do things. At the very least she’s displaced a grouchy old homophobe (oh, how his supporters will wail and whine tonight!).

But that’s just the political, and the political is of course ephemeral. Any good she can do is limited

by the convoluted, messy business of governance, and she could be tossed out unceremoniously at the end of her term. But the impact isn’t going to be in office. It’s going to be in the hearts and minds of people, who as recently as ten years ago wouldn’t have dreamed of electing such a person. Even if prejudice is on the march in some places, it’s crumbling in others. Maybe, just maybe, in the minds of young headbaning Virginians, one more wall of bigotry has just fallen to dust, a lot like when Halford came out of the closet and a million macho Judas Priest fans realized it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe. Maybe LGBT Metalheads will have one more person to look up to, and maybe, one day sooner than we think, trans Metalheads won’t need to be afraid anymore.

And if the rest of us Metalheads are just as thrilled because she’s one of us – yes, one of us! – why not? Why shouldn’t I be pleased as punch that a proud cookie-monster singer got into office? And if she happens to be  a trans trailblazer, so much the better.

In the end, it’s a human victory. We all win.

On saving face, losing face, two-faced. . .Quebec's niqab ban.

So they've gone done and done it - banned niqabs in Quebec that is.

"We are in a free and democratic society," said Quebec Premier Phillipe Couillard upon announcement. "You speak to me, I should see your face, and you should see mine. It's as simple as that." Couillard is clearly a proponent of video phones.

Do I have to look at his face? 

In all seriousness though, I would be far more impressed if this law, often cited as necessary to protect women, was something called for by any prominent women's group. Or if niqab-wearing women actually represented a large and powerful lobby. (Interesting how the government isn't going after the billionaire tax dodgers in Panama, or the mobsters running Quebec's construction business). As is, according to Statistics Canada, Muslims of any kind (niqab or none) make up an overwhelming 2.3 % of the Canadian population and 1.52% of Quebec, prompting me to wonder just how pressing a problem this was.

Make no mistake, I have no time for the niqab. I find them the very emblem of dehumanizing misogyny. But I would never try and remove one by force: only the person wearing the thing can make that decision. Surely a cornerstone of the "free and democratic" societies Couillard evokes is the ability of individuals to worship as they see fit, without nudging from the state. Religious dress-codes exist because people honestly believe that's what God wants them to do, and if they think their very soul is at stake, well, who are we to interfere? Indeed, I see it as an issue of fashion as much as anything: the state has no place in the wardrobes of the nation.

(Or do I expect too much of Quebec, the province that measures the size of letters in bus advertising?)

Now suppose for a minute that the women in question aren't making the decision of their own volition - well, they certainly won't be now, but supposing they weren't to begin with? Supposing their men were forcing them to? If their homelives are really so repressive, do you really suppose they'll be allowed out now? Do you suppose any man who could or would force his wife to wear a niqab would allow her to go around without it? So now we've got tiny enclaves of embattled women who can't leave their homes. 

Did anyone think about that?

I am reminded of the ridiculous berkini ban in France, in which government regulators decided
Muslim women should be showing more skin on the beach. Nevermind the farcical spectacle of middle aged white men wandering French beaches telling women to take their clothes off, the offensive garb in question looked like wetsuits, which until didn't seem to bother them until Muslim women put them on. What we had was an innocuous compromise by which a marginalized group thought they could participate in the larger society while staying true to their own values. But even this miniscule accommodation was too much for some, who clearly interpret the égalité part of le Tricolore to mean uniformité. 

However they may veil it (ha!), Bill-64 amounts to a government cracking down on a tiny segment of the population who lack the clout to strike back. (Sure, the bill apparently bans hockey masks from public services as well, but were hockey masks in public really a concern?) This is never a good thing. It won't help the women involved: instead of reaching out to help, we've just shoved them further into darkness. Somehow I doubt that helping them was ever the idea. Rather, there are enough voters who don't like them to make targeting them expedient. Attacking minorities for votes: we can be better.

Confederate park: In which the author proposes a solution to please all (or possibly none)

So they’re tearing down Confederate statues all over the US south. I am not conflicted about this issue: “good riddance!” I say.  “The sooner the better. What took them so long?” What were they doing there in the first place? Why use public funds and spaces to celebrate vanquished scoundrels? Who dedicated their lives to discredited causes?

                Robert E. Lee’s chief contribution to history was as the principal defender of the slave-holding state. Whatever his qualities as a man he lent his skills and considerable military talents to upholding an evil institution, which, but for his efforts, might have ended sooner. He might have served the other side, might have fought to free men and women from bondage, but instead actively tried to prevent it. Why is there a statue to him?

                We needn’t melt them all down into ball bearings or whatever (which I’m rarely in favour of). If it means so much to the white sons and daughters of Dixie, they could always borrow a page from the good citizens of Budapest, who took down all their communist-era statues and stuck them in a designated tourist trap. I do believe there is value in such places. I have wandered Budapest’s statue park and wallowed in the bad taste of another era. It is a strangely moving experience. To stand amongst these overwhelmingly boorish monuments is to taste another time, when human hopes and dreams were smothered under such concrete mounds. There’s no mistaking it for glorification: the sheer tackiness of it (the lady in the booth, when she sees you coming, puts on a tape of Soviet anthems) seems to emblemize the tragic pathos of the era.

                Why though do I have the strange feeling that a Confederate statue park would treat its inmates rather more romantically?

                “Those who are concerned about the erasure of history will be thrilled to learn of the existence of books.” [1] Statues, you see, aren’t used to teach history. They are used to glorify, romanticize, idealize, and fetishize it. Some folks really seem to think Robert E. Lee will be erased from memory if we take his statue down. Maybe they don’t have library cards. Or internet. But Robert E. Lee is not going to be forgotten. He just won’t be immortalized in marble (or iron or whatever they use).  Why should he be, if his cause was unjust?

                There are not many things in history that we can agree upon, but surely the abolition of slavery should be one of them. How can you claim the abolition of slavery was a good thing if you pray to the statue of a man who tried his damndest to prevent it?

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[1] Letter to the editor, The Hamilton Spectator. Not me.