Chicago Business

Issue date: 11/11/02 Section: Worldview

I didn't get a poppy this year.

I didn't get one last year, either. In fact, this is my fourth straight year without a poppy. It's one of those little things that you take for granted until you leave home, like a Louisiana native who can't find good crawfish in Chicago, or an expatriate German who misses the sausages from home. But this isn't about food. It's about my poppy.

Unless you are Canadian, or have visited Canada in early November, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Poppies are the symbol of remembrance, and Canadians wear them in the two weeks leading up to Remembrance Day (November 11, Veterans Day in the US, Armistice Day in much of the world). They are worn in remembrance of those who sacrificed their lives for their country. While the date itself comes from the armistice ending World War I, the poppy symbolizes sacrifice from all conflicts, including World War II, the Korean War, the Gulf War, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Canada's peacekeeping duties around the globe, and all other military operations that have claimed Canadian lives.

I wore a poppy every year when I lived in Canada.

In fact, few Canadians at all are seen without poppies – a rare act of unity in a country consumed by its regional differences. To Canadians, poppies are not a symbol of peace; they are not a symbol of war. Poppies are not a political symbol, though a Canadian politician would never be caught in early November without a poppy. You see poppies on suit jackets, on blouses, on T-shirts, on backpacks. In true Canadian fashion, you see them on parkas, on scarves, on ski hats, on hockey jerseys, and on bulky sweaters.

A Canadian Forces bagpiper plays at the Groesbeek Canadian War Cemetary in Holland.

In total, fifteen million poppies are distributed every year by the Royal Canadian Legion, Canada's largest veteran's organization. Fifteen million poppies, in a country of thirty million people. When you take a poppy, you make a donation – a voluntary donation – to the Legion. The money provides assistance to ex-service personnel and their dependents.

These aren't real poppies, mind you – these are made of plastic and felt, with a pin stuck through the middle. I always had trouble making the stupid things stay on my lapel – at least once a year, my poppy would fall off and get lost, and I'd have to get another. And you can't take another poppy without giving another donation. It's just… wrong, somehow. I always complained that it was a big Legion scam.

But I always got another poppy.


Veterans Day in America

So now I've gone four years without a poppy. It's a long-standing tradition, but it's one of those things that you just can't get in the US.

The entire day feels strange now – like being away from home for Christmas, but not quite. I mean, it's obviously not a happy occasion, but I always got some comfort from Remembrance Day. The poppies as a silent, but constant, reminder; two quiet minutes for reflection; "Last Post" being played on the trumpet. Then, we all move on.

It's not like that here.

I first moved to the United States in October 1999 – not long before November 11. I still remember how appalled I was to see my first "Veterans Day Sale" flyer in our mailbox. I thought back to Toronto. Would anyone even think of holding a "Remembrance Day Sale"? Probably not. At least, I hope not. I chalked it down to one of those strange cultural differences. Really not a big deal.

But of course, I still had no poppy.

Of course, on some official level, Americans do pay attention to Veterans Day. You can see the memorials on TV, with the official speeches and wreaths and a bugler playing "Taps". But for most folks, it's just another day. Get up, send the kids to school, work, come home, have dinner, watch TV, go to bed. November 11 is no different from November 12.

And yet the United States is a country obsessed with its veterans. They are treated with honor, respect and dignity. Being a veteran is a badge of courage for many, and rightly so. The fighting is always closer to home, too – this isn't just some remote Belgian battlefield from nearly a century ago. It's Vietnam in the 1960's, or Desert Storm in 1991, or Afghanistan in 2002, or even the future veterans of Desert Storm II. Veterans are everywhere. But poppies are nowhere. There is no reminder of their sacrifice.

I guess wearing a poppy isn't a huge deal. It's one way to remember, but it's not the only way. It's a nice Canadian tradition, but it doesn't mean that Americans disrespect their veterans.

But the day still feels strange to me.


The Story Of Poppies

So why poppies? Why not roses, or tulips, or daisies?

Poppies have a tendency to flourish in lime-rich soils. During the Napoleonic wars and World War I, heavy bombardment caused the destruction of many limestone buildings, creating the ideal conditions for widespread poppy growth on the killing fields. This spectacle caught the attention of Brigade Surgeon John McCrae, who served with the Canadian Field Artillery in Ypres, Belgium. Dr. McCrae spent 17 days at Ypres, tending to wounded and burying the dead during one of the bloodiest battles of World War I. His poem, originally titled We Shall Not Sleep, was published in 1915 and had an immediate impact on those who had lost loved ones.

After the war, the poppy became a symbol of remembrance for those who had died in "The War To End All Wars". But it has held most strongly in Canada. Why? Of course, John McCrae was Canadian. But there's more to it.

Canada suffered tremendously in World War I. One Canadian out of a hundred died in the war, on a battlefield far from Canada's shores. Picture a modern-day war – if you dare – where 3 million American soldiers die in combat, and you start to understand the magnitude of the sacrifice.

So to Canadians, it's a big deal. It was a long time ago, and few people today have any direct memory of the Great War. But people remember the sacrifice, and they remember the sacrifices of other wars. And people wear poppies as a sign of remembrance.

This Remembrance Day, I didn't get a poppy. But I still remember.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

— John McCrae
born 1872, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
died 1918, Number 3 Canadian General Hospital, France (pneumonia)

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