Je Me Souviens
His name was Kevin McKay, and he was 24 years old. As far as I know I had never met him, and he had never lived very close to me - most recently, he was from Edmonton, which is so far out west that it may as well be on another continent. He died on the other side of the world, in a dusty backwater of a country - if Edmonton is on another continent, then the village of Nakhonay may as well be on the planet Mars (and in a sense, it is). However, despite the fact that I have never met him, I learned of his death with sadness and was moved to tears by his return to Canada for burial. Like the deaths of many others in that same faraway country whom I never personally knew, it served as a very poignant reminder of a reality which I am easily shielded from, living in an affluent country.
To give a bit of background on myself, I have been interested in military history since I was a very young child, which resulted in me spending some of my teenage years in the Royal Canadian Air Cadets. I grew up reading about World War I and II, Korea, and Vietnam; World War II was the one I studied the most intensively however. The Battle of the Atlantic, the London Blitz, the D-Day invasion, Guadalcanal, the carrier battles of the Pacific, Pearl Harbor, Midway - all were familiar, and I could recite from memory many details of each of these. To me, war was a tally sheet of numbers, map coordinates, unit movements, and decisive battles - it was a very clinical (and very exciting!) thing to read about.
However, there were some things which I didn't really understand when I was reading about these (although it took me until many years later to realize that I didn't understand them). I read about the people whose homes had been destroyed, about the firebombing of German cities, the nuclear weapons at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and most especially about the Holocaust with a sense of detachment that only age and maturity can recognize. I can still bring to mind some of the pictures that I saw and some of the stories that I read, and though they had little impact at the time, they now literally make my stomach churn and fill me with anger and sadness. Now that I have a home, a family and a community which I live in, I can imagine what impact and devastation each of these events would have caused to thousands upon thousands of people who were the same as me. I can imagine the fear driving me away from my home and into hiding, profound sorrow of holding a dying friend (or child) in my arms, and the unbridled rage which I would have towards those who caused it. Because of that, I consider myself to have been extremely lucky to have been born here in Canada, where the likelihood of such things happening to me during my lifetime are effectively zero.
Canada has been involved in the war in Afghanistan (it's a war, don't kid yourself or play word games with it) for almost 10 years now, since December of 2001. In that time, 144 Canadian soldiers have died and over 360 have been injured, which gives a total casualty count of over 500 as of today. Those are the raw numbers and statistics of warfare, the calculus of combat. However, as discussed before, these do not tell the whole story. Canada's military is an all-volunteer force - that means that every single person who has been in Afghanistan (including those who have been wounded or killed) has chosen to be there. I'll say that again, and I want you to think about it for a minute or so - every single soldier, a Canadian citizen, has chosen to go into combat in Afghanistan, with a very real likelihood that they will be injured or killed in this faraway land.
From the moment that the first four Canadian soldiers were killed in April of 2002 (I remember it vividly, I was extremely angry at the American pilot who broke the Rules of Engagement to do it and my mood still grows black when I think of it) I thought about volunteering for the Canadian Forces so that I could go to Afghanistan to support an idea that I believe in very strongly. To me, the war in Afghanistan is about giving the Afghan people, who have suffered through warfare and oppression for almost 30 years now, a chance to break the cycle of violence and to re-establish a more peaceful way of life. It's not about territory, it's not about oil, and it's not about the kinds of things that most of the wars I've read about have been fought over - the intent is truly a humanitarian one, to try to establish enough stability that peace can settle in. I believe in that idea strongly enough that I went to a recruiting center, got the necessary paperwork, and brought it home to mull over - I also started working out to ensure that I could pass the fitness requirements. However, I ultimately did not follow through with it - the cost of leaving behind my family (both immediate and extended) and my community, combined with pleas from my wife, were enough to sway my mind. I just couldn't do it - I couldn't risk making my wife a widow, not seeing my children grow up, and giving up everything that I knew in order to go halfway around the world and become a highly visible target for a large number of violent people. Because of this, I have an untold amount of gratitude for those who are stronger than I am, and who are able to risk it all to support these ideals, and to try to bring peace to a faraway land - they are each a better person than I am, and I feel as though I owe each of them my life and those of my family and friends.
This brings me back to Kevin McKay. He was a Private in the Canadian Forces, and he was killed a few days ago in Afghanistan by an "improvised explosive device", which basically means a homemade pipe bomb stuffed with whatever explosives could be found. He was due to end his tour in Afghanistan only 2 days after his death, and his body arrived at CFB Trenton today. After that, his body was brought to the coroner's office in downtown Toronto for an autopsy, and once that is complete he will be buried with full military honours. Once again, that's the clinical description, and it does not tell the whole story.
I live in Pickering, which is along Highway 401 - this is the road which leads from CFB Trenton to the coroner's office, and the stretch between Trenton and the turnoff for downtown has been renamed the Highway of Heroes, with a poppy used as the highway's logo. I spent most of 2008 and 2009 flying out of town for work, and this meant that every Sunday afternoon I would drive from Pickering to Pearson International Airport via the 401. Many times this coincided with when the bodies of the most recent Canadian casualties were coming back from Afghanistan, and this resulted in a very poignant image and memory which will remain with me for the rest of my life. As we drove west on the 401 towards the airport, every single overpass had people lining it who were there to pay their respects to the soldiers whose bodies were being returned home. Flags, banners, fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and flashing lights were on every single overpass that I saw, as thousands upon thousands of people who had never met the soldiers in question came out to pay tribute to them. Summer or winter, rain or shine, it made no difference - they were always there, always saying goodbye. Today was no exception, and each overpass was packed from end to end. After seeing that again, I decided that I had to write this - in my own small way, I hope it helps to pay tribute to those who are willing to give up everything for distant strangers, and who are offering their lives to make the world we live in a better place for everyone. I also hope it gives some small comfort to the families of those who have lost loved ones in Afghanistan - it is not in vain, it is not for nothing, and above all else it is definitely not forgotten.
Je me souviens.
To give a bit of background on myself, I have been interested in military history since I was a very young child, which resulted in me spending some of my teenage years in the Royal Canadian Air Cadets. I grew up reading about World War I and II, Korea, and Vietnam; World War II was the one I studied the most intensively however. The Battle of the Atlantic, the London Blitz, the D-Day invasion, Guadalcanal, the carrier battles of the Pacific, Pearl Harbor, Midway - all were familiar, and I could recite from memory many details of each of these. To me, war was a tally sheet of numbers, map coordinates, unit movements, and decisive battles - it was a very clinical (and very exciting!) thing to read about.
However, there were some things which I didn't really understand when I was reading about these (although it took me until many years later to realize that I didn't understand them). I read about the people whose homes had been destroyed, about the firebombing of German cities, the nuclear weapons at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and most especially about the Holocaust with a sense of detachment that only age and maturity can recognize. I can still bring to mind some of the pictures that I saw and some of the stories that I read, and though they had little impact at the time, they now literally make my stomach churn and fill me with anger and sadness. Now that I have a home, a family and a community which I live in, I can imagine what impact and devastation each of these events would have caused to thousands upon thousands of people who were the same as me. I can imagine the fear driving me away from my home and into hiding, profound sorrow of holding a dying friend (or child) in my arms, and the unbridled rage which I would have towards those who caused it. Because of that, I consider myself to have been extremely lucky to have been born here in Canada, where the likelihood of such things happening to me during my lifetime are effectively zero.
Canada has been involved in the war in Afghanistan (it's a war, don't kid yourself or play word games with it) for almost 10 years now, since December of 2001. In that time, 144 Canadian soldiers have died and over 360 have been injured, which gives a total casualty count of over 500 as of today. Those are the raw numbers and statistics of warfare, the calculus of combat. However, as discussed before, these do not tell the whole story. Canada's military is an all-volunteer force - that means that every single person who has been in Afghanistan (including those who have been wounded or killed) has chosen to be there. I'll say that again, and I want you to think about it for a minute or so - every single soldier, a Canadian citizen, has chosen to go into combat in Afghanistan, with a very real likelihood that they will be injured or killed in this faraway land.
From the moment that the first four Canadian soldiers were killed in April of 2002 (I remember it vividly, I was extremely angry at the American pilot who broke the Rules of Engagement to do it and my mood still grows black when I think of it) I thought about volunteering for the Canadian Forces so that I could go to Afghanistan to support an idea that I believe in very strongly. To me, the war in Afghanistan is about giving the Afghan people, who have suffered through warfare and oppression for almost 30 years now, a chance to break the cycle of violence and to re-establish a more peaceful way of life. It's not about territory, it's not about oil, and it's not about the kinds of things that most of the wars I've read about have been fought over - the intent is truly a humanitarian one, to try to establish enough stability that peace can settle in. I believe in that idea strongly enough that I went to a recruiting center, got the necessary paperwork, and brought it home to mull over - I also started working out to ensure that I could pass the fitness requirements. However, I ultimately did not follow through with it - the cost of leaving behind my family (both immediate and extended) and my community, combined with pleas from my wife, were enough to sway my mind. I just couldn't do it - I couldn't risk making my wife a widow, not seeing my children grow up, and giving up everything that I knew in order to go halfway around the world and become a highly visible target for a large number of violent people. Because of this, I have an untold amount of gratitude for those who are stronger than I am, and who are able to risk it all to support these ideals, and to try to bring peace to a faraway land - they are each a better person than I am, and I feel as though I owe each of them my life and those of my family and friends.
This brings me back to Kevin McKay. He was a Private in the Canadian Forces, and he was killed a few days ago in Afghanistan by an "improvised explosive device", which basically means a homemade pipe bomb stuffed with whatever explosives could be found. He was due to end his tour in Afghanistan only 2 days after his death, and his body arrived at CFB Trenton today. After that, his body was brought to the coroner's office in downtown Toronto for an autopsy, and once that is complete he will be buried with full military honours. Once again, that's the clinical description, and it does not tell the whole story.
I live in Pickering, which is along Highway 401 - this is the road which leads from CFB Trenton to the coroner's office, and the stretch between Trenton and the turnoff for downtown has been renamed the Highway of Heroes, with a poppy used as the highway's logo. I spent most of 2008 and 2009 flying out of town for work, and this meant that every Sunday afternoon I would drive from Pickering to Pearson International Airport via the 401. Many times this coincided with when the bodies of the most recent Canadian casualties were coming back from Afghanistan, and this resulted in a very poignant image and memory which will remain with me for the rest of my life. As we drove west on the 401 towards the airport, every single overpass had people lining it who were there to pay their respects to the soldiers whose bodies were being returned home. Flags, banners, fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, and flashing lights were on every single overpass that I saw, as thousands upon thousands of people who had never met the soldiers in question came out to pay tribute to them. Summer or winter, rain or shine, it made no difference - they were always there, always saying goodbye. Today was no exception, and each overpass was packed from end to end. After seeing that again, I decided that I had to write this - in my own small way, I hope it helps to pay tribute to those who are willing to give up everything for distant strangers, and who are offering their lives to make the world we live in a better place for everyone. I also hope it gives some small comfort to the families of those who have lost loved ones in Afghanistan - it is not in vain, it is not for nothing, and above all else it is definitely not forgotten.
Je me souviens.
posted by Ryan Slobojan at 00:05
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