Yesterday was ANZAC day.
Although I was aware of it I've never understood the significance of April the 25th to the national psyche of the Kiwi (and Australian, but they're not under scrutiny right now) and the self-image of the country as a whole. When travelling I enjoy investigating such ideas of collective identity or the perception of the self as part of a greater whole, shared common values and mythology in a historical context so when Brigette said she was going to the dawn parade to represent St. John's Ambulance I had to go along to learn more.
Although I was aware of it I've never understood the significance of April the 25th to the national psyche of the Kiwi (and Australian, but they're not under scrutiny right now) and the self-image of the country as a whole. When travelling I enjoy investigating such ideas of collective identity or the perception of the self as part of a greater whole, shared common values and mythology in a historical context so when Brigette said she was going to the dawn parade to represent St. John's Ambulance I had to go along to learn more.
And so at 4.30am I rose bleary-eyed, complete darkness outside and rain lashing against the window. I got dressed and staggered into the kitchen, downed a black coffee, chewed up a muffin and we were off. Around 45 minutes later we arrived (still well before dawn) in Taumarunui, the rain had petered out and stars buried in the spaces between the clouds were beginning to invite upward glances with their flickering; stationary but moving.
We headed to the local RSA club which is analogous to the British Legion to find a decent-sized group of people waiting for the dawn service. Some medal-decked old men and their families, current servicemen, police, fire and ambulance in uniform, assorted townspeople and Maori wardens, whatever they are, stood about fussing with poppies and sharing bonhomie. Later, but still before dawn a senior member of the club mustered the group into a marching column with the veterans at the front. The column moved off to the irregular beat of a muffled drum in order to reach the town war memorial by the 6am ceremony.
The group marched down the street, turned right and moved along one of the main east-west streets. more people joined the procession including myself.
The ceremony was very similar to the ones in the UK, with wreath laying by order of importance, religion, anthem singing etc. There were some interesting differences such as the inclusion of a lot of the Maori language into the service and a haunting waiata (female solo) sung at the end of the service. There is a gun salute in this case provided by a cannon somewhere away in a car park.
The date and time of the dawn service is in commemoration of the dawn landings and battles at Anzac cove on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey. After eight months of bitter fighting in the hills of the peninsula the invasion failed and the troops withdrew. In those eight months the Anzac legend was born, an important facet of the Australian and New Zealand national character as some would point out. Of course the veterans of this campaign are long gone, but like armistice day in the UK, subsequent conflicts have unfortunately provided more returned servicemen, some maimed, some just to be remembered by those who return to these spartan memorials every year to honour their memory. However, the way in which Anzac day and the ANZAC spirit have become such an important part of the national consciousness reminds me of a time last year when I was considering the foundation myths of another country directly linked to this story.
I remember writing about what I had learned about the Turkish sense of identity based on the defence of the Ottoman Empire as it was then from a series of invasions culminating in the foundation of the Turkish Republic. I wondered as I heard and read about the tradition of Anzac day if there was a common nationalist impetus to forging a joint identity using the sacrifice and bravery of the nations soldiers as a figurehead (almost, perhaps prototype?) for the qualities that each nations leaders aspire to. The comparisons between the heroic ANZACs of lore and the way in which the Turkish defenders are portrayed are easy to make; for every Simpson and his donkey bravely evacuating the wounded there is a Gunner Seyit keeping the guns firing using superhuman feats of strength. Both are now more fiction than fact, ideals rather than human beings. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Simpson_Kirkpatrick and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seyit_%C3%87abuk
What is the Anzac spirit? I'm not going to explain it here, as people I've asked here can't really explain it well and I cannot pare it down beyond what i found on wikipedia:
"...endurance, courage, ingenuity, good humour, larrikinism, and mateship."
These qualities are considered so important that politicians have considered including them into some sort of citizenship test- except there is no practical way to test if you're fit to join the Kiwi club.
If this is such a large part of what it is to be a New Zealander, is there any chance that over the last 99 years the meaning and use of the public holiday has changed? Certainly the memorial has become more of a public holiday (of remembrance) with the liberalisation of trading and licencing laws. However, there is still a lot of pride here, in the tenacity of these island's inhabitants in the face of hardship in particular. So it seems the events of 99 years ago will not fade from the public consciousness soon, to the contrary the increasing mythalogicalisation of the Gallipoli campaign (Mel Gibson, again) is even now overshadowing the sacrifice of the Australian and New Zealand soldiers in northern Europe during the Great War where many more were killed and wounded over a longer period of time. It seems from my observations that in the years since 2001 and the subsequent wars, this remembrance and encouragement to feel pride is on the upswing.
To someone who grew up in the relatively non-observant 1980's having to sit through emotional powerpoint presentations and holding a full minute silence (followed by an actual bugle rendition of the last post) in school assemblies is a little unsettling. The young people now enthusiastically marking this anniversary are the great grandchildren of the veterans of world war two and the great-great grandchildren (at least) of those that fought in the Great War. What about their children, and theirs? Will we still hold such parades in 100 years from now? If so why? In New Zealand I believe that the 'myth' of the Anzac spirit is so deeply ingrained in the common identity that I think it will go on, I cannot say the same for the UK where there is no equivalent and after the centenaries approaching over the next four years as well as the decreasing number of surviving veterans from WW2, I expect that the original meaning of armistice day will begin to fade for better or for worse and the rituals become more divorced from reality and living memories, text book history. I hope that whatever happens the insanity and the slaughter that occurs when so-called civilised nations go to war with each other will not be forgotten in the plastic poppy fever, and the silence.
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| Outside the RSA, see any kids wearing medals? |
We headed to the local RSA club which is analogous to the British Legion to find a decent-sized group of people waiting for the dawn service. Some medal-decked old men and their families, current servicemen, police, fire and ambulance in uniform, assorted townspeople and Maori wardens, whatever they are, stood about fussing with poppies and sharing bonhomie. Later, but still before dawn a senior member of the club mustered the group into a marching column with the veterans at the front. The column moved off to the irregular beat of a muffled drum in order to reach the town war memorial by the 6am ceremony.
 |
| The column ready for the march |
 |
| The old boys take a minibus |
The date and time of the dawn service is in commemoration of the dawn landings and battles at Anzac cove on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey. After eight months of bitter fighting in the hills of the peninsula the invasion failed and the troops withdrew. In those eight months the Anzac legend was born, an important facet of the Australian and New Zealand national character as some would point out. Of course the veterans of this campaign are long gone, but like armistice day in the UK, subsequent conflicts have unfortunately provided more returned servicemen, some maimed, some just to be remembered by those who return to these spartan memorials every year to honour their memory. However, the way in which Anzac day and the ANZAC spirit have become such an important part of the national consciousness reminds me of a time last year when I was considering the foundation myths of another country directly linked to this story.
I remember writing about what I had learned about the Turkish sense of identity based on the defence of the Ottoman Empire as it was then from a series of invasions culminating in the foundation of the Turkish Republic. I wondered as I heard and read about the tradition of Anzac day if there was a common nationalist impetus to forging a joint identity using the sacrifice and bravery of the nations soldiers as a figurehead (almost, perhaps prototype?) for the qualities that each nations leaders aspire to. The comparisons between the heroic ANZACs of lore and the way in which the Turkish defenders are portrayed are easy to make; for every Simpson and his donkey bravely evacuating the wounded there is a Gunner Seyit keeping the guns firing using superhuman feats of strength. Both are now more fiction than fact, ideals rather than human beings. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Simpson_Kirkpatrick and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seyit_%C3%87abuk
What is the Anzac spirit? I'm not going to explain it here, as people I've asked here can't really explain it well and I cannot pare it down beyond what i found on wikipedia:
"...endurance, courage, ingenuity, good humour, larrikinism, and mateship."
These qualities are considered so important that politicians have considered including them into some sort of citizenship test- except there is no practical way to test if you're fit to join the Kiwi club.
If this is such a large part of what it is to be a New Zealander, is there any chance that over the last 99 years the meaning and use of the public holiday has changed? Certainly the memorial has become more of a public holiday (of remembrance) with the liberalisation of trading and licencing laws. However, there is still a lot of pride here, in the tenacity of these island's inhabitants in the face of hardship in particular. So it seems the events of 99 years ago will not fade from the public consciousness soon, to the contrary the increasing mythalogicalisation of the Gallipoli campaign (Mel Gibson, again) is even now overshadowing the sacrifice of the Australian and New Zealand soldiers in northern Europe during the Great War where many more were killed and wounded over a longer period of time. It seems from my observations that in the years since 2001 and the subsequent wars, this remembrance and encouragement to feel pride is on the upswing.
To someone who grew up in the relatively non-observant 1980's having to sit through emotional powerpoint presentations and holding a full minute silence (followed by an actual bugle rendition of the last post) in school assemblies is a little unsettling. The young people now enthusiastically marking this anniversary are the great grandchildren of the veterans of world war two and the great-great grandchildren (at least) of those that fought in the Great War. What about their children, and theirs? Will we still hold such parades in 100 years from now? If so why? In New Zealand I believe that the 'myth' of the Anzac spirit is so deeply ingrained in the common identity that I think it will go on, I cannot say the same for the UK where there is no equivalent and after the centenaries approaching over the next four years as well as the decreasing number of surviving veterans from WW2, I expect that the original meaning of armistice day will begin to fade for better or for worse and the rituals become more divorced from reality and living memories, text book history. I hope that whatever happens the insanity and the slaughter that occurs when so-called civilised nations go to war with each other will not be forgotten in the plastic poppy fever, and the silence.
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