Let me be clear: I am opposed to Canada’s participation in the war in Afghanistan. I disagree with adorning our vehicles with yellow ribbon magnets and I don’t think “support our troops” means support the war. Anyone who tells me that Canada had an obligation to topple the Taliban I ask: “Where was Canada during the Taliban’s rise to power amid fundamentalist oppression during the 1990s? Did we forget that the CIA trained Osama to fight the Soviets then left him and his starving nation cold?” In October 2001, we were nothing but toadies following Bush’s America—awash in 9/11 hysteria—into a war when everyone felt we needed to lash out against somebody. And, yes, I do realize it wasn’t a Conservative Canadian government that made that call.
Yep, I oppose the war, I hate that we’re there—but careful for when reality makes conviction go poof.
For me, four things—really three—came together to bring me the pause that inspired these words:
1) A custodian.
2) A song.
3) A kid.
4) A mother.
1) Pam, the lady who cleans my classroom after school every day, is a sweetheart. She
tries to move desks in my room without making a noise and only speaks when spoken to, as if marking or planning are sacred affairs she dare not interrupt. For at least a year, I had no idea that this smiling, unassuming wonder of a woman drove the giant F350 that towered over our back parking lot, its endgate adorned with pro-Forces decals.
Support Our Troops
Enjoying your freedom? Thank a soldier!
That truck had set my teeth on edge every time I saw until I learned it was Pam’s—then I convinced myself it was her husband’s, and in her shame she parked it in the back.
2) One of my favourite Canadian groups is the Trews. I love their guitar-driven
grooves, their infectious melodies, their goll-danged Canadian-ness! The most political they’ve ever been is on the song “Gun Control.” They favour it, all you hot-buttoners.
This last spring, they released a ballad called “Highway of Heroes” about the section of the 401 Highway soldiers’ bodies are driven down after landing at CFB Trenton—the song was inspired by the death of a female soldier from Ontario.
I wasn’t sure I was into the fact they made this song—too open a declaration. May as well have called the song “Support Our Troops.”
3) I happened upon the video on Youtube last month and did a double take when I saw
a former student from my school playing a drum during the Celtic bridge. Cool, I thought, and passed the link on to my staff—all of them, custodians included.
4) The next time I saw her, Pam thanked me for passing along the link. Her son, it
turned out, was readying to depart on his second tour in Afghanistan. She couldn’t give me many details and I’ll give you none, but I could tell she was struggling with his decision to return. She supported him because he was her son, but not because she wanted him there.
“We’re proud,” she said. “Glad? No, but proud. Worried and proud.”
Conviction can be a characteristic of the wilfully ignorant. Life is never simple enough for anything to be certain, ‘cept death and taxes, I suppose I’ll hear.
I was disgusted with the Trews at first, then overjoyed at my discovery at a kid done good. The proceeds of the song are going to the Hero Fund.
Heroes? Once I scoffed at calling a person who died in a stupid war a hero. Call me cold. I know a handful of people who’ve joined the Forces and a few of them have been social outcasts, sometimes with an angry streak. The type of person the Army can mould and brainwash into perfect obedience.
My conversation with Pam—who I know would happily leave me to my anti-war soapboxing—brought me pause, and I considered what this song was about. Put right in my face, it didn’t change my opinion, but it made me think about how we choose to deal with that which we cannot change. Pam has chosen pride; the Trews have decided to call a black hearse on Canada’s busiest stretch of highway a vehicle for a hero.
Conclusions?
I’m glad they wrote the song.
I hope Pam’s son comes back safe.
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