Student Jordan Shepherd gives his opinion about militarism in this monologue.
The ballad again rings across the battlefield, though the venue has changed, the times and the attitude, the old lie again meandering across the new front as the gas once did.
Ads, ads, ads boys an ecstasy of fumbling as the British army attempts again to draw the young into the folly of war.
Targeting our insecurities and addictions from our need for gratification through our screens, to our escapism though games from the brutality of modern life and our absence of hope in the future.
Giving the destitute hope of finding a place to belong, children ardent for some desperate glory, even if that place is in hell, above the humanity.
Me, me, me millennials reads the banner in what should scream come with me and I might give you PTSD, flung behind the army’s wagon as it marches from conflict to conflict, to fight on foreign shores in wars you don’t understand, for another man’s lap of luxury.
Can anyone say that Operation Enduring Freedom, better known as we want your oil and soil was worth the 456 men and woman that were lost, no not lost, sacrificed in a global game of thrones, where the only god is money.
The perfect metaphor, the unique snowflakes, soft and delicate falling upon the burning flames among the rubble and decay, soaking into the earth instead of lying, sinking into irrelevance, sinking through the thousands of nameless graves of the boys of yester year who marched for king and country.
Class clowns what side are you on, you just hate to see someone frown but now they want to take your crown, that thorny crown of defiance and rebellion against the status quo, turning your rage against the machine into the machine, that fiery free spirit of the young colt bent and broken to pull the guns – the ultimate betrayal.
Maybe the army’s venture to indenture another generation has shown their own stricken hand, a turn against the conflict, a turn against our oldest hobby and proudest British tradition; war the fickle lover of every true patriot and bane of every mother since time immemorial.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori written by the late Wilfred Owens about the horror of the first world war, the war to end all wars, a war that in a form of poetic irony he fell along with the millions of sons, fathers and brothers who didn’t return.
The great lie that led them to the war, the great lie that’s led every man throughout history to march from home to distant lands in search of glory, words uttered through withering lips ‘it is right and honourable to die for one’s country’.
We remember the sacrifice they made, that sacrifice so bitter sweet, for the sons and daughters even those they didn’t get to meet, only so they didn’t have to endure the horrors of war.
Maybe it wasn’t the war to end all wars, maybe it was the war to start all.
Lest we remember.
Less we remember.