Forgotten

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

'For the Fallen'

Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)

As I look around me today, constantly reminded of the sacrifice of our servicemen and women, I somehow remain unmoved by the solemnly intoned phrases of "We will remember them" and "Lest we forget".

Because somewhere inside me I am angry. Not that we commemorate and remember the sacrifice of others. This after all is a noble thing. To give up your life for another. But ANZAC Day makes me think, not of those who were killed and wounded as part of military action, but of those who were killed as civilians, victims in wars that were not of their choosing. Who remembers them? Why are the lives of our soldiers more worthy of remembrance than the lives of Pascal's parents killed by a bomb in DR Congo? What makes one person's life worth more than another's?

It makes me angry that there is so much military spending in the world. It makes me angry that the world we live in requires violence to maintain peace. It makes me angry that there are more conflicts going on in various countries around the world that I don't know about than those that I do. I'm angry that I don't know how to make people care and take notice of the millions of people who die unnecessarily from preventable diseases, malnutrition, poverty. I'm angry that most of the time, if I take the time to look at the world around me, I feel completely helpless to do anything to change it and subsequently turn my back, put my hands over my ears and close my eyes.

I don't know if I feel any better now that I've told you this. And I don't know if it makes sense to you. But I guess it's this anger inside me that all is not right in the world that stirs me and makes me want to move at the same time as I want to run away from it all. Sometimes I'm not exactly sure what it is that I can do to help. But if I find myself with my hands over my ears and humming a tune to block out the noise it's not anger that makes me move. It's love. Love that values every person the same. My long time friend. The poverty stricken orphan. My sister. The rebel soldier.

Love never fails.

Lest we forget.

Be blessed

bron