Freedom

The big flag went up on the wee bank yesterday.

Iain and Chris came to volunteer their time hoisting it, which involved replacing the brackets and eyes ripped out on Canada Day. This flag is seven-and-a-half by fifteen feet. It’s diminutive compared with the Peace Tower behemoth that hung in its place before the kiddos destroyed it, but it’s vibrant. Shockingly red. Crispy white. Elemental and elegant.

There were a few  ‘Attaboys” and high fives from the street as they placed it. Last night I saw the local Facebook page noted the event, and comments were supportive. “Thank you for putting up the flag,” wrote Angus. “I am still ashamed of what people did to your flag.” Others agreed. Likes. Little heart emojis. Social media hugs.

Four months ago the same board was soaked in anti-Garth vitriol. The Cancel Canada Day thugs painted me as a jingoistic, out-of-touch, tone deaf, racist, misogynist, old pale settler. The flag disappeared. The Town looked the other way. The cops were stymied.

Now this is not about a piece of cloth. Nor my hurt feelings. My big-boy pants are on. Rather, this post is about freedom.

The flag (a replacement, gifted by my work colleagues in Toronto) went up for Remembrance Day. If nothing else, that day means liberty and the right to freely believe anything. A million Canadians went into conflict to quell totalitarianism, aggression and oppression. Symbolic of enemy behavior then was the trashing of ethnic neighbourhoods and the burning of books. In a place where freedom is being extinguished, everyone is told to hold the same values and beliefs. If not, expect violence and shaming.

We know society is polarizing again. From Trump to BLM to vaccines and reconciliation activists, conflict is everywhere. Extremism, too. Washington faced a bloody insurrection in January. In Canada a dozen churches were torched during the summer. Railroads blockaded. The government looked the other way.

We should not.

For years I drove past a small country cenotaph on the side of a regional road. A young stone soldier kept watch forever over cows and corn. It was not until I was elected as an MP and asked to lay a wreath for Canada on November the 11th that I walked up to that old and ignored monument. You have to come close to make out a long list of names under the lichen. Kids. Sons. Shipped off to war. In a small rural community it’s hard to imagine the yawning gap left in families and community when the boys did not return to plant, harvest and grow.

That moment has never left me. So many people doing extraordinary things. They deserve at least a day a year. The nation and society they protected is now ours to safeguard.

This doesn’t mean we all must conform. That’s not freedom. Anyone can march in the street, protest in front of a politician’s office, carry banners or run for elected office. Dissent is critical to liberty. We should never stop questioning the status quo nor pushing for a better outcome. People in Nazi Germany didn’t get that choice, just as heads are currently being busted in Hong Kong and Kabul.

So never let anyone tell you your views cannot be held or displayed in the country that all those young people fought for. Nobody has the right to cancel your Canada Day, tell you “silence is violence” or call you a settler. Divisions based on skin colour, gender, sexual preference, pronouns or whatever your great-grandfather did take us back, not forward.

It’s only a flag. They are only monuments. Just names etched on old stones. I get it. The young activists think everyone born before 1990 knows nothing of struggling for justice, fairness, equality and tolerance. This week they seem to have flitted to a new cause. Good.

So we can wear our poppies, lay our wreaths, fly our flags and think of the kids who saved us.

About the top picture: “In 1940, Pal became the regimental mascot of the RCAF base in Gander, Newfoundland. The soldiers renamed him ‘Gander’ and he joined the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles of Canada. He shipped out with the regiment in 1941 to help defend Hong Kong from the Japanese and at that time was bestowed the rank of Sergeant. The fight began on December 8th. Thrice Gander charged the enemy, growling and biting at their heels. At night his black coat made him impossible to see, fierce to encounter. On December 19th, just after midnight, the Battle of Lye Mun broke out. Gander fought off the Japanese, until a grenade was thrown near a group of injured Canadians. Knowing what was about to happen, he it picked up and ran. The grenade exploded. Gander was killed. In doing so he had saved the lives of the seven soldiers.”