Poppies and Pride (a late second post)

In early November, I found myself in King's Cross station, London, sitting on a crowded bench, waiting to board a train to Newcastle.

Cops were walking around with dogs to sniff our luggage and make sure we had no explosives. People were milling about like mad, buying their last minute baguette sandwiches and coffees before heading on the train, talking on their mobile phones... and generally not paying any attention to each other.

But scattered around the station, I noticed a few people wearing red paper poppies in their lapels-- women and men alike, of all different ages.

For those of you who have lived in the UK, you will know that November 11th is Remembrance Day, a huge holiday to honor war dead. But I had no idea. (And at this point, it was still over ten days before Remembrance Day, when many more people would be wearing the flowers.)

The young woman sitting next to me on the bench was an African immigrant-- she looked about 18 or 19. She had braces and was wearing bright silver eyeshadow. I asked her if she knew what the red poppies were all about. She looked at me absent-mindedly and shook her head.

Meanwhile, another woman (who I assume was native-born English) had overheard my question and intervened. She appeared to be in her early thirties-- conservatively dressed, a bit overweight-- and told me she was a primary school teacher from the Midlands. She explained, beaming with pride, about how the British celebrate Remembrance Day ( ...In the 11th month, on the 11th day, in the 11th hour...), how the red poppies symbolize the earth upon which soldiers in Europe fell, disturbing the earth enough for huge fields of these flowers to spring up around their bodies.

But this wasn't just a technical explanation. Her eyes started to well up as she explained how her grandfather and uncle had served in World War II and how she always made sure all of her students took the holiday seriously. Her passionate explanation went on for almost 30 minutes; she almost made herself late for her train.

I was struck by the depth and sincerity of this woman's convictions-- the sheer upright conviction and morality which seemed to lay beneath them. For better or worse, it's hard to imagine Americans feeling a similar pride today about any of our past or present wars-- WWII included. Most people I know spend Veterans Day as just an extra day off (if they actually get it off, that is...which is a topic I shall have to save for another blog post.)

As the days wore on, I was up in the NE of the country, in tiny villages, and saw more and more people wearing these paper flowers in their lapels, which they bought from a national charity whose proceeds went to benefit war veterans. Birmingham had huge poppies decorating the city center (see photo below). Some people even wore 'alternative poppies' (see below)-- white flowers meant to symbolize a pacifist response to war-- but one that still acknowledged the sacrifice of war victims all the same.

Now I'm a human rights practitioner. I've spent years studying nationalism and patriotism in all its forms and tend to have a love-hate relationship with all of its many manifestations. So one would think I might not be super excited about witnessing other countries' forms of patriotism. And of course, there's an element of performance about the whole practice, also. BBC TV announcers, for example, are told they must wear the poppy in their lapel in early November; no choice about it. There's plenty of people who wear the poppy just because they can't be seen not doing so.

But somehow, still, the whole poppy practice struck me as a good and honorable thing. Perhaps the deep recognition of the debts we owe to those who came before us and their struggles. Perhaps the sense of gratitude that the freedoms we enjoy were not just dropped in our laps pricelessly (do I sound like a politician making a speech?).

There are many reasons one could postulate about why Americans don't take their war history quite as seriously. Perhaps that our land has never been physically threatened to quite the same degree, 9/11 notwithstanding. Perhaps just that our sense of history is so much less keenly developed-- given we have so much less of it to look back on.

It's understandable. And I'm the last person to glamorize war.

But, I have to say, I admire the way the British celebrate Remembrance Day. I think we've got something to learn from it.

Birmingham town centre with poppies

White poppies symbolize pacifist commemoration