Rethinking Remembrance: A Reflection on Shifting Rituals and Meaning
On Veterans Day in the U.S., we pause to honor all who have served, past and present. This day stands apart from Memorial Day, which specifically honors those who perished in service. This year, my children are in school instead of observing the day due to hurricane make-up days. It made me wonder: Will there even be a moment of silence in their daily routine? A small question, perhaps, but one that hints at a larger issue—how difficult it has become to observe even a minute’s stillness in a world that rarely pauses.
In Canada, Remembrance Day is observed with similar reverence, just as it once was in Australia, with poppies pinned to lapels and silence marked at 11 a.m. Growing up, I remember that even the class clown respected that moment—a collective pause that united us in recognizing the price of freedom. But over time, the ritual of remembrance seems to have softened, slipping into the margins of public consciousness.
Recently, Canadian-born social media influencer Josiah Haines stirred a small backlash on Instagram when he posted about his shock at the apparent lack of reverence in Australia for Remembrance Day. He went as far as to say, “In Australia, Remembrance Day isn’t even a thing.” Haines’s comment highlights an undeniable shift in how different cultures approach remembrance, especially in Australia, where ANZAC Day has become the focal point of national mourning. It also speaks to the loss of a broader, more global reflection that Remembrance Day once provided.
Australia, as it marks 106 years since the Armistice ending World War I—a conflict that took 60,000 Australian volunteer servicemen who gave their lives—now primarily commemorates ANZAC Day. Once solemnly observed across the country, Remembrance Day has faded, leaving ANZAC Day as the central day of national mourning. The shift from Remembrance Day to ANZAC Day perhaps reflects a need for consolidation—a streamlining of collective memory into a single event, digestible in a world with little time or attention to spare.
ANZAC Day, held on April 25 (a week before the U.S. Memorial Day), has evolved beyond simple reflection on war. It has become a day that holds space for grief, pride, and contemplation of identity, not only mourning lost lives but marking a cornerstone of national character. Yet in narrowing our focus to ANZAC Day, we lose the broader, global reflection that Remembrance Day once offered. The separation of these days—each carrying distinct historical weight—might have left us with less space for nuanced, global remembrance.
The nature of memorials, and the messages they impart, perhaps deserves scrutiny. Art critic Robert Nelson’s work on The Australian Anti-War Memorial suggests a space that honors not only the sacrifices of war but also the courage of those who champion peace. Nelson’s concept, though well-intentioned, occasionally veers into reactionary territory by casting too narrow a shadow by focusing on opposition to war. The term ‘anti-war’ can feel reductive, as its emphasis on rejecting conflict may overlook the richer possibility of embracing peace as a proactive, unifying force.
Still, Nelson’s sonnets on this theme—spanning almost 150 pages—offer a powerful, thought-provoking reflection on war and remembrance. They invite readers to consider the moral and philosophical questions that shape our rituals of memory, encouraging us to examine not only the costs of conflict but the intentions underlying our commemoration practices.
In contrast, for me Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance offers a compelling example of a memorial that balances reverence with reflection. It neither glorifies war nor trivializes peace; instead, it stands as a meditation on sacrifice and the fragile promise of peace. Its flame flickers not as a symbol of conquest but as a reminder of what’s at stake when peace is abandoned. This approach suggests that, rather than tearing down or radically altering old memorials, the answer might lie in reframing them—retelling their stories in ways that resonate with a contemporary society whose youth are increasingly uncertain, helping convey the complexities of both past and present to an ever-diminishing attention span.
In my sonnets, inspired by Nelson’s work and the enduring legacy of the Shrine, I begin to explore ways to reshape remembrance—honoring both valor and the costs of conflict, while recognizing the often inevitable reality of war. My goal is to craft memorial sonnets that resonate with tradition and speak to a generation that claims to seek unity and peace, but whose intentions may be clouded by misguided idealism or intellectual wrangling that amplifies contradictions and fosters self-righteous purity.
In this vision, remembrance becomes not just an act of looking back, but a bridge that connects past sacrifices with future hopes. My sonnets echo this sentiment—a recognition that within the Shrine’s walls, both valor and peace find a place. By honoring both, we can remember those who served while sustaining the dream of a future free from war. Our challenge, then, is not in dismantling old traditions but in reinvigorating them with a vision that speaks to today’s world—a vision that holds space for remembrance, unity, and the proactive pursuit of peace.
Already EnSHRINEed: With Tears for Peace
Is not our Shrine, a solemn torch held high,
A tribute to the fight against despair?
It flickers faintly, yet upon its hill it lights the sky,
A monument to war’s unspoken prayer.
For every stone that tells of soldiers brave,
It whispers too of peace we could not keep;
Each granite wall a silent, endless wave
Of sorrow, lapping at the lives it seeks.
Must we now twist the meaning, coil it tight,
To fashion monuments for those who hide,
And weave the war-torn into shades of right—
As though one cause could never stand with pride?
For here, within this hallowed, sacred place,
Dawn has brought me many a tear,
As Anti-war is carved in every face.
Let’s not disgrace; let’s find shared grace.
A Tribute to Valor
In every town, there stands a monument,
To honor those who fought for freedom’s call,
The brave who dared to stand, though often spent,
They faced the storm of war and gave their all.
These granite stones remind us of the price,
For hope was forged in blood, not born of ease;
They bear the weight of loss, a noble sacrifice,
In silent tribute, they bring us to our knees.
But shall we praise those who just stood aloof,
We’ll name this tribute Pathos Hērōs, right—
A mirror reflecting only what’s beneath, no roof,
Exposing shallowness best unseen, out of sight.
For valor, true, improves the greater good,
With joy that blooms where selfless heroes stood.
Words and Sonnets by Wade Gregory Clark
Why sonnets, you may ask? In this new, experimental process, I find their structure to be the perfect way to channel and organize my more divergent and abstract thoughts. Each line cultivates a visual idea, which then becomes a springboard for my oil paintings, bringing coherence to a larger body of work and translating complex themes into art that invites deeper reflection.
Feel free to join the conversation by leaving your thoughts and comments below.
Photo provided by Greg Stewart
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