I could begin by giving my explanation of what ANZAC Day means, for the uninitiated, but I realised this morning that this may include Australians as well.
I’ve only ever been to one ANZAC service, in Melbourne, several years ago. I’ve never been to a dawn service. Here in Canberra, I live within view of the Australian War Memorial, and of late I’ve spent quite a bit of time there to help me formulate ideas for a film script I’m writing. So this morning, I hauled myself out of bed at 5am to attend the dawn service—supposedly the time when the ANZACS first invaded the Gallipoli Peninsula of Turkey. It’s the 90th anniversary, and as the media keep telling us, this event just gets bigger and bigger every year, especially now the last ANZAC veterans have died.
As I stood among the crowd of 25,000, there were a number of things I found unsettling:
The reasons I found these elements unsettling were this:
I guess ultimately I have a serious problem with anyone, but especially unelected people, presuming to speak on behalf of all Australians. Next time Reverend, just speak about what it means to you, but don’t try and tell me what it means to me, because you don’t know.