Nov. 11th, 2006

chickenfeet: (death)
I have really conflicted feelings this November 11th. It's a day when my late grandfather is very much in my thoughts but this year I'm thinking more of the present than the past. For the first time in my lifetime the governments of both my native and adopted countries are once again sending young men (and now, of course, women) to die in protracted, unwinnable and meaningless foreign wars. As in 1916, there is only one thing preventing disengagement from these futile and bloody struggles; the ego of politicians. In one way it's even worse than 1916. In those days the leaders had some skin in the game. Asquith lost a son in France. No child of Blair or Harper will ever be put in harm's way. All they have to do is not vomit while their parents declaim utterly insincere platitudes to the TV cameras.

There seems to be something of a tradition for posting verse on this day and I've done so myself in previous years. This year I can't bring myself to post something elegiac so anger must suffice. It's not my favourite Owen poem but it does seem most appropriate for this year of 2006.

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young )

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