Remembering

I always observe a reflective silence on the 11^th November.  Yesterday I was in York and joined a good crowd around the North Eastern Railway War Memorial for a commemoration and wreath laying.  Apart from honouring the fallen, the Chaplain concluded the Act of Remembrance with, “we join together to pray for reconciliation between people and nations that all may live in freedom, justice and peace.” As the years pass, I suppose, and the harsh realities of brutal combat fade through future generations, reconciliation and forgiveness become easier.  History can be subtly rewritten to obscure a now uncomfortable past – the BBC, for instance, seems to think we should believe that we fought Hitler's Nazis rather than Germany and some may find their coverage of remembrance commemoration over-sentimentalised. We may recite, “we will remember them,” but we cannot imagine the sacrifices they made on our behalf.  I recall from the early 70s a jolly Sunday lunchtime session in the “Inn For All Seasons” being shockingly interrupted when one of our company, a retired Squadron leader, suddenly retreated to a corner of the bar, curled up on the floor and began to weep uncontrollably.  I found out later that “Squadders” as we called him had been a guest of the Japanese for a few years during the war.  How could we possibly even begin to imagine what he might have been through? Even so, the Railway Chaplain, praying for reconciliation in 2019, was stating the obvious that there can be no human progress without forgiveness, however hard.  It seems to me that the annual remembrance ceremonies help us to progress.

But there is another, sinister, aspect of remembering rife in our society as Douglas Murray reminds us starkly in “The Madness of Crowds.”  We all make mistakes in life and none of us boast an unblemished record.  In my youth one’s indiscretions might be publicised by word of mouth or, perhaps, a love letter carelessly discarded or revealed may betray some soppy weakness.  Photography was usually confined to formal portraiture and it is unlikely that any candid record of my behaviour as a schoolboy or, indeed, a very callow junior RAF Officer, survives.  It could, of course, and someone who bore me malice could use it against me.  More likely, past silliness might be recalled, even embellished at parties and reunions; laughed at and then put away again out of sight.  Nowadays and in the recent digital past things are much more problematic.  Use of “social media” has become so embedded in our lifestyle that it has become very difficult to avoid the instant critical scrutiny of others.  Worse, our digital past is available to anyone who is interested in digging dirt.  For example, the fancy dress appearing as a SS Officer, the blacked-up face, and the slobbering at the office party, are all available in digital archive just waiting to be sent to the world.  And it’s no use weeding through Facebook and deleting anything potentially embarrassing – anyone who wants to embarrass you has already made a copy.  Similarly, with the Twittersphere where indiscreet outbursts can be stored and used when required – just look at what is coming out of prospective parliamentary candidate’s past?  One could say, “but that was then and I’m different now - I made a mistake but I did my honest best at the time.” A superficially good defence except your opposition has just moved the goalposts.  Today’s digital vigilantes piously judge your past by current attitudes.  Having done you honest best at the time is no longer good enough and the joke you told in 1989, rapturously received by the after dinner guests, is now racially offensive.  Today you must be judged with perfect hindsight and sentenced accordingly.  The sanctimonious self-appointed judges follow the social media denunciation procedure; point and shriek, isolate and swarm. If your “crime” is serious the consequences could be catastrophic and there are numerous high-profile examples of whole careers being wiped out by a self-righteous media storm.  But the really sinister thing is casual disregard for natural justice.  “Serves them right,” they say.  There is no process for appeal, no redress for wrongful accusation and, worse of all, no mechanism for rehabilitation – the kangaroo court of social media is ever ready to denounce but never seems to forgive.  It seems to me that if there is no forgiveness for the past then cooperation will be reduced.  Without cooperation, human progress will stall.  So much for the digital revolution?