Cultivating Respect
This past Sunday was ANZAC Day here in Oz, which, in short, seems to be the Down Under equivalent of Remembrance Day. Except that Australians also remember on Remembrance Day. I wonder if perhaps they simply have better memories than the rest of us.
So on Saturday night (we’ll call it ANZAC Day Eve), my-husband-the-Boy-Scout and I were sitting on the couch discussing whether or not to attend the dawn service to pay our respects. Keep in mind that the Scout has attended every dawn service, on every ANZAC Day, since he can remember (except for those when he was in a country that had never heard of the ANZACs). Naturally, the Scout was going. The discussion centered around whether or not I was coming with him.
My hesitation comes from a deep inner conflict between being a discourager of violent engagement and a supporter of respect when someone’s hardships have produced benefits for others. Will going to a ceremony that glorifies the military show people that I support war? Will staying home be a sign of disrespect to those who lived by a different set of societal rules and answered a call to duty that I likely will never hear, with a meaning that I can only begin to try and comprehend? I like this quote, which sums up the inappropriateness of judging those who come from a different life context than our own:
Respect won out, the ceremony was humbling, and I have subsequently spent the past few days contemplating what it is that makes a person, a community or even a business culture respectful.
I was amazed at the turn out on Anzac morning. It was 5:30am, dark, and on a hill where the chilly breeze cut through the numerous layers most were wearing. Yet, when the sun rose I was surrounded by thousands of people – some old, some young, some dressed in their Sunday Best, some teenagers who couldn’t be bothered to tame their mops, some children wearing Grandpa’s military medals, some mothers quietly tending their babies – all there for the simple act of showing respect. Never have I been to a Remembrance Day ceremony where there were so many people from all different walks of life who were there out of their own volition.
Interestingly, I have also never been to a Remembrance Day ceremony where there was so little glorification of war and the military. The ceremony was completely silent save for the bugle calling out to the morning sunrise, and the closing poem, the Ode of Remembrance. Pure contemplation.
It has taken me a couple of days to write this post because I needed to get my head around why I thought the type of respect was so different. Why does it seem that the Australians have cultivated an air of genuine respect around such an event, when my experiences with similar events in Canada have left me feeling like I’d just left an armed forces recruitment fair?
Finally, I’ve come to believe that the difference lies in the fact that ANZAC day began as a tribute to those lost in the abysmal massacre at Gallipoli. While Remembrance Day commemorates a win in the eyes of the Allies, ANZAC Day is a marker for a massive loss. The comparison for me comes down to the fact that Remembrance Day is celebratory while ANZAC Day seems much more humble.
So my ANZAC take home message is this:
Cultivating respect via righteousness will not convert people to your cause. True respect requires a strong dose of humility in order to show people that you are genuine in understanding the value that they have created.
I wonder if your perception of the ceremony was different not so much because it is actually different in Australia but more because you are older and your understanding of what war is and what the sacrifice of peoples’ lives really means has changed?
I ask because I’ve had a similar experience in the last few years, and yet the ceremonies I’ve been to have been in Canada. I don’t think the ceremonies have changed, not at all. I think we have begun to interpret the respect as being for the gift of the lives laid down, and not as being for the military machine. I try to go to ceremonies now, because I actually am thankful for the sacrifice the soldiers made, and I have a better understanding of the enormity of the “lost generation” now, with my own husband and sons to put it in context.
Whatever the case, I’m glad it was positive for you.
I think that age and viewpoint are definitely both factors, rockprincess, but I do also think that perhaps the environment surrounding these ceremonies is changing.
For example, I was speaking to a friend about it afterwards, and he mentioned that he liked the Perth ceremonies so much more than those in the Eastern States’. He said he felt like the ones he’d attended on the East coast held too tenaciously to a ceremony that felt like a mass, rather than realising that the people attending weren’t necessarily Catholic.
I’m inclined to believe that my impression of the ceremony was so pleasant because it was well matched to what I thought it *should* be, which was calling for respect from each person attending in whatever way was most applicable to them individually.