An Ode to Remembrance Day
War. A three-letter word that has a tremendous ability to create upheaval in the lives of people. A phenomenon that has plagued humanity for centuries in a variety of ways. Something that I’ve never had to experience firsthand as a Canadian. Writing that previous sentence speaks volumes about privilege. Privilege to wake up every morning and not worry about my country being attacked. Privilege to be concerned with trivial matters. Privilege to live in peace and not fear for my life.
It was a typical Saturday morning in Sweden. I had woken up in a frantic rush attempting to make it out the door on time and walk over to Stockholms Studenters IF (SSIF) for a body balance class. Hurriedly, I grabbed a mat off the shelf and began looking for a spot in the increasingly crowded studio. Noticing that a woman had moved over to make room for me, I shot her a grateful smile and placed my mat down, fully ready to try my best to concentrate for the next hour on perfecting my crow pose and not letting my mind wander during meditation. Little did I know that by the end of this class, I would be in tears. As I was getting up to clean my mat, the woman who had made space for me was about to leave, and I stopped her because she had forgotten her water bottle. What I had anticipated would be a minute interaction with a stranger turned into an hour-long conversation. It turned out that I was speaking to Leysa, a Ukrainian professor and refugee who had arrived in Sweden with her family only several months before.
Leysa explained to me that she is a physicist and was living in Kyiv while teaching at the Technical University. She had previously conducted research in Stockholm while doing post-doctoral work, and her old colleagues reached out to her when the war began, inviting her to stay with them. Her voice was hollow as she talked about hearing missiles, air raid sirens, and screams. Their family car ran out of gas as they made their way to their summer cottage to escape Russian troops, and she, along with her young children, had to flee mainly on foot to nearby Poland. Showing me pictures on her iPhone of the ash in the air from the burning buildings near her apartment in Kyiv, I could hear the palpable fear in her voice as she described the atrocities she witnessed. By the end of our conversation, I had tears in my eyes and gave her the biggest hug; I am forever moved by her story and ability to persevere in the face of adversity.
War is incredibly unfair. It is so easy to forget about tragedy when it is no longer in our own backyard. In spite of it all, the resilience of the human spirit endures, and in my eyes, Leysa is a testament to that. Historians say that if we fail to acknowledge the mistakes of the past, then we are doomed to repeat them. This is why it is critical to remember the courageous individuals who fought and continue to fight for freedom globally. We must make a point of attending services at the Cenotaphs, observing moments of silence, remembering those who lost their lives, and proudly wearing our poppies to educate and remind others of the sacrifices that have been made. Then and only then do we have a hope that the next generation will look towards the future with a sense of responsibility to resolve conflict with words instead of actions. To work towards a society of peacemakers and remember that we are all human no matter what.
So today, this is what I choose to remember. Remember to not take for granted the circumstances I’m currently living in. Remember that nothing is guaranteed and to treat others the way you want to be treated. Remember that with privilege comes responsibility and the power to push for positive change.