Lest We Forget, War Sucks.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

_{Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae
May 3, 1915}

Thank You For Your Patience. The bombing will begin in five minutes.

Your call is important. Everybody grab a seat.

Please continue waiting. There is more than enough war for everyone.

We will connect you with our next representative, just as soon as possible.

Please note this call may be recorded for quality and training purposes.

The leaders are meeting, as leaders do, to discuss how to convince one side to stop their bombing just long enough to allow humanitarian groups to get in to the bombing area long to assist a population who has been heavily bombed for the past month.

The leaders are not allowed to use the words “ceasefire”, as that might imply an end to the declared war. So they parse their words, settling on something they are now calling a “humanitarian pause.”

What is that sound? Is someone pawing at the door?

Could it be a humanitarian pause?

Sorry, they can’t hear you. We are being bombed into oblivion.

In this war, one side states their goal which is to eradicate or obliterate the other side. In their dreams they believe the bombs will create a world where the other side never existed. The other side has been living in a stateless state of the refugee, a house built on sand and rubble. There is a network of tunnels under their streets, where the leaders of their population lives.

They live only to fight another day. Their goal is to obliterate their enemy, the occupiers, the colonists. Both tribes trace their lineage back thousands of years. Both tribes claim indigenous status. Both tribes live with a target on their backs, as this fear and hatred is generational.

It is biblical. And so it is written. A sea of blood divides these two sides. The center will not hold and wants only to devour itself in tears.

This land, this ancient land that figures so deeply in both tribe’s consciousness is a hellish existence. One side has many bombs, expensive American built bombs. This tribe has been persecuted throughout their history of struggle. Their pride is mistaken for zealotry, but it is a coping mechanism. A fragile superman ego striking back at all who would seek their eternal death. A history born, not only of persecution, but of genocide.

But there is genocide on both sides. The one side that is being bombed, is hiding hostages taken in a barbaric and murderous surprise attack. The hostages, presumably still alive, are down in the tunnels. The people living on top of the tunnels live only to die.

There are many kinds of dying here. From the bombs. From hunger and starvation. From sickness and injuries. To know the western world shrugs, sips on a pumpkin spice latte while they hug their dead babies.

There seems to be no respite from the annihilation of their stateless country and beleaguered population. There is a history of helplessness. The body count has lost count.

Lest we forget.

Today is Remembrance Day. We honour the sacrifices made by soldiers who gave their life so that we could be free from war.

Yet what have we learned in 108 years? How to be more precise in killing. How to express our hatred in very personal and mainly in very impersonal ways, seemingly without end.

We are all what both sides call collateral damage. The only end in sight is exodus or the finality of death. There is no easy way out.

This war has happened before. It will happen again. Lest we forget.

A high school friend used to say “why don’t we just bomb them all and “let God sort it out.”

It sounds like something Clint Eastwood or John Wayne or John Lennon might have said. But the origins of this phrase goes back centuries.

Arnaud Amalric was a Cistercian abbot who played a prominent role in the Albigensian Crusade. It is reported that prior to the massacre of Béziers, Amalric, when asked how to distinguish Cathars from Catholics, responded, "Kill them [all], for God knows which are His own."

So God is sorting it out. What is the word for this sorting? The word for sorting starts with a G.

Is it God?

If so, which God?

So many Gods. So much pain.

Religion is supposed to be there for comfort, but there is an imbalance of power, there is a history of blood, and there is no comfort in bloodshed. Both sides just want a place to call their own. Both sides hate each other. Both sides have done, and will do many evil and horrendous acts. Savage. In humane. And yet, humans have been doing horrific acts for millennia.

At one point in my life, there was talk of a two party state. People marched for peace. That seems quaint now. It is hard to not become cynical, as hope seems highly unlikely.

Peace will never happen. Not in my lifetime.

Western leaders continue to parse their words, like proverbial Neros, fiddling while the world burns all around us. On one hand, these leaders express a distaste for Islamophobia. On another hand, they revile the rampant antisemitism.

But lest we forget, these are the same people who profit from the bombs that drop. While I truly abhor all of this violence, I reserve my true hatred for those who profit from this parcel of hell. Clasping their pearls, pursing their lips, and parsing their indignation, they fain horror at the mounting rubble. They feel indigestion from their sour beers.

But wait, there’s more!

We are now offering precision bombs to more selectively kill. From the folks who invented clearcuts, we give a cleaner more precise genocide.

Call it Genocide Lite.

They say the show must go on.

There is a golden opportunity here folks.

These people who parse their time away, sipping that latte, they will make billions and trillions from transactions of tragedy.

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

They smile, roll up their sleeves, exposing their bare arms. They have a God given right to bear arms.

There is nothing to see here. Move along. The writers and actors have settled their strikes. More entertainment is needed. Lest we forget, there is a new Marvel movie. So grab your popcorn, get your tickets, and order up another round of soft drinks and ammunition.