You are currently browsing bleatmop’s articles.
There seems to be a lot of chatter in the blogosphere about abortion lately. I’m thinking it could possibly maybe be about CPC MP’s motion to discuss when life starts. This motion is, without a doubt, no matter what the detractors say, a backdoor attempt to try and take away Canadian women’s hard won human right to their own body. Attempts to paint this as anything but that are either disingenuous or misinformed. The only result of Woodworth managing to redefine when life begins at anything before birth is for him to carry on and propose a bill to then introduce limitations on abortion. Supporting this discussion is to support the attack on women’s reproductive freedom.
I bring this up because of what I’ve been seeing on other blogs I frequent, namely Dammit Janet and Unrepentant Old Hippie. They’ve both left progressive bloggers because it seems that suggesting that human rights, in particular a woman’s right to bodily autonomy, is not up for debate is worthy of calling said people idiots and shrill.
My response to said “progressives” is simple.
It’s regressive to think debating the merits of a particular group’s human rights is a good idea.
Stop playing Woodworth’s game.
It makes you a bad person.
Stop it.
Trust Women.
Lest We Forget.
Poignant words. Powerful words. Oft recited words by people of all political stripes, but what do they mean? Do we honour them on Remembrance Day, every other day?
The words are often added to the end of the Ode of Remembrance, although they were never a part of it. As the actual Ode of Remembrance is actually quite long, we often only hear the third and fourth stanzas:
- They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
- Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
- They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
- They fell with their faces to the foe.
- 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.
I remember hearing this every year during school, from grades 1 to 12, and repeating Lest We Forget back to the speaker at the end of the recital of that poem. I remember seeing the veterans of WWI and WWII dressed in their uniform and being proud of them. I was told they were great men, and I still believe they are today. The WWI veterans fought in the Great War, the war to end all wars it was called. We were very lucky to still have some among us in my small town. The WWII veterans fought what could be called a continuation of that war. But finally they won the war, again, and this could be the end of war.
I also remember the days that were not the eleventh day of the eleventh month of my childhood. I remember the first Gulf War, and what heroes we were being by rescuing Kuwait. I remember glorifying the soldier and the war. I remember trading collectible cards. I remember watching that war on television every night with my father and talking about it the next day with my classmates during recess. It was what everyone was doing.
Hardly what those who fought the war to end all wars would have wanted us to do, I would think. As just as that war may or may not have been, the glorification of that war instead of what should have been a sombre seems contrary to the spirit of remembrance.
Lest We Forget?
Of course, then there are all the wars that have been fought by the participants of WWI and WWII since then. Korea in the 50’s. Vietnam in the 60’s and 70’s. Iraq and Kosovo in the 90’s. Of course the omnipresent, hyper-militarization of the Cold War throughout that time. Then of course the Current war in Afghanistan and the second Iraq war. If you count Canada’s garrisons ready to fight during the cold war, there has not been a single decade that’s passed since the end of WWII that Canada has not been involved in the making of war.
Lest We Forgot?
Lest We Never Learned Our Lessons at All?
[ed. I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome Bleatmop to Dead Wild Roses as a guest columnist. Please welcome him, and I would like to extend my thanks for his time in preparing this post (and hopefully more to come).]
Earlier this year, shortly after Easter, several co-workers and I were sitting around the coffee table and the grandmothers of the group were discussing having Easter with their grandchildren. One of the stories struck me as both being particularly poignant to myself and ironic as to how the teller of the story interpreted the lesson of what happened. Before I can elaborate further first I will outline what happened.
Coworker Grandma (CWG) had a wonderful Easter with her daughter and grandchildren. The eldest grandchild met her at her vehicle and tried to help her bring in her stuff. She was just about to grab one box when CWG told her it was ok and sent her off inside. She did this of course because it was vital that her granddaughter not see inside that box; for inside that box was all the Easter candy that she and her daughter were going to hide that night for her grandchildren to find in the morning. Her eldest grandchild was just at that age where she might know that the Easter bunny wasn’t real, but as of yet she still believed. CWG so wanted to watch the child’s wonder as she discovered all the hidden treasures left by the Easter Bunny just this one last time.
All seemed well though, her granddaughter went inside and no more was said about the contents of the box. That night CWG and her daughter hid candy all around the house and in the morning the children woke up with a SQUEEEE and the race was on to find the best bits of candy. Needless to say a good time was had by all. However, later that day when CWG and her daughter were in the kitchen preparing the evening feast, her granddaughter came in carrying her chocolate bunny, a bunny that just happened to be at the top of the box yesterday afternoon.
“Grandma, isn’t this your chocolate Bunny?”
CWG knew then the jig was up. Granddaughter had indeed saw what was in the box yesterday. She knew CWG had brought the candy. Lying was no longer an option when it came to talking about the Easter Bunny.
“It’s yours now dear”
“But it was yours and I found it hidden with all the other Easter Bunny candy earlier.” As CWG was telling me this story she acted out the confusion on her granddaughters face at that time. Then she acted out the surprise and outrage when she asked “Did the Easter Bunny steal it”
“No Dear” Not wanting to drag this out any further, nor attract the attention of the other younger children she called granddaughter closer and whispered to her “The Easter Bunny isn’t real. It’s been your mom and me that have been hiding all the candy all these years”
CWG then went on to act out the look of shock and described how she could see the gears just grinding behind her eyes, processing what she had just been told.
“Does that mean Santa is fake too”
CWG was so into the acting then that she covered her face with her hand in the staff room as I imagine that she did just a week prior and let out in a gasp.
“Yes”
“Does that mean God is fake too”
CWG continued to be so engrossed with acting out this story that she sat up straight, got a stern look on her face, gave a deliberate shake of her head.
“No dear, God is definitely real”
And this is what I found to be both poignant and ironic. CWG’s granddaughter quickly processed the information that had been given to her. The Easter Bunny, of whom she only had her parents assurances that it was real was suddenly not real. She quickly translated that into other things that she had similar evidence for. The first obviously being Santa, an equally fictitious tale and then to God, an equally fictitious tale. In all three tales, the only evidence for said tales was the assurances of those she loved that said tales exist and man made constructs of its proof (such as candy, presents or a church). It really amazed me how this child could take the lesson learned from one situation and apply to all other similar situations in her life so quickly and easily.
The ironic part is that the CWG had the same evidence and could even understand why her granddaughter put all three of those tales together as the same, but still was convinced that God was real and that Santa and the Easter Bunny were not. One wonders how she made those distinctions.
bleatmop
Mystro
Dead Wild Roses 
Your opinions…