Why I Love - and Loathe - ANZAC Day
Tomorrow is ANZAC Day. For a number of years it was a busy period for me. As a teenager in the local Navy Cadet unit I spent hour upon hour prettying up my uniform, ironing the seven creases in my bell bottoms, spit polishing my boots, and hitting the brightwork on my webbing with more Brasso than that consumed by a wino undergoing a dryout period. Then, armed with my SLR rifle, I would fall in and march as part of either the colour or catalfaque party, playing my role in the days service. Often then packing up and moving to the next service where I would do it all again. It was a matter of pride for me and I practiced my drills endlessly to ensure I gave the day the respect it deserved. After the formalities were finished, I would often have the opportunity to talk to the old diggers. Well not so much talk to, but listen to. Often just being an invited guest to their conversations was an education - never feeling I had the right nor experience to actually take part. Not only did I play a role during ANZAC day, but also other commemorative dates and ceremonies. At times it was solemn, at times humourous, as old mates got together to remember and generally shoot the shit. For a kid in his teens, it was a real eye opener.
Fast forward to present day and ANZAC Day sometimes appears to have turned into a sideshow, whether it be footage of tearful vigils at Anzac Cove, idiots draping themselves in the flag, or a constant stream of sickening saccharine outpourings of gratitude. I wonder if MacDonalds are going to again roll out their old faithful commercial of the young girl thanking the aged veteran - which makes me feel physically ill every time I see it.
Here's a news flash, ANZAC day is not our day - us being non-veterans. It belongs to those who share a common bond, one that we can never understand. Whether they have served together, or having never met each other before, it doesn't seem to matter. Our role is to stand back and appreciate the hardships each and every one of these men and women endured in their own way.
So leave the flag at home, and spare your Facebook friends the pretty pictures of sunsets with inspirational quotes overlaid or the status updates expressing your undying gratitude. Just go down to your local service and shed a tear at the dwindling numbers and health of those marching, and recognise that an important part of our history and culture is slowly dying away. ANZAC day isn't an opportunity to go to the local RSL, play some two up, and get as drunk as 10 seamen - unless you've earnt the right to do so.
Ensuring that the occasion of this day isn't reduced to another bogan pride day is very important to me. My father and both grandfathers were Army men, either career or National Service. Dad served in Vietnam, one grandfather in Darwin, and the other in Burma. My father in law was a career Navy man and deployed to Vietnam and his father served in the Army during WWII. Without going into specifics to protect the privacy of those involved, as a group these men have endured Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cancer, Malaria, as well as other chronic health issues as a direct result of their service. One was even told upon his return from Vietnam that he wasn't involved in a 'real war'. That's not even mentioning the impact these issues have on spouses, children, and other family members. Also we are yet to see fully what the long term impact of the recent conflicts will have on our service men and women. Based on the previous trends, I cannot see it improving.
So for tomorrow, I'll be doing my usual thing. Standing by the side of the road watching the diggers go past and attending the service. I could pull on my rig and display my Australian Defence Medal, but I feel in doing so I would just be joining the ranks of those trying to be part of an occasion they're not entitled to.