ANZAC Day
I know that ANZAC Day is celebrated on April 25, this year the Wednesday just past, but only today did I have the opportunity watch Gallipoli. We are a scant seven years distant from the centennial of the outbreak of the Great War, the summer the world went mad. Seven years shall pass in a flash (2000 was only seven years ago); consequently, I believe it is incumbent upon us all to educate ourselves about and familiarize ourselves with the Great War, to stare squarely into the horror, tragedy, and, yes, nobility of the years 1914 through 1918.

There is a paradox about the Great War which must be faced and mastered before any deeper study is possible: The world before the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was not an idyllic, innocent haven. The Gallic Wars, the siege and massacre of Antioch, the Mongol hordes, the Black Death, the Thirty Years' War, the Black Hole of Calcutta, the Reign of Terror, Jack the Ripper, these and a thousand thousand further outrages form a sad, blood-soaked parade through history. Yet in all that long, pathetic catalogue there was nothing to prepare the world for the shock and obscenity of the Great War. The world before the Great War was not innocent, but such was the Great War that it robbed the world of its innocence.

ANZAC Day also provides an excellent introduction to one of my favorite topics: the fallen nature of Man. Winston Churchill is one of my personal heroes, a great and admirable man who did as much if not more than any other man to safeguard the future of liberal democracy against the twin evils of fascism and Communism. Yet, he was a chief proponent of the fundamentally flawed Dardanelles Campaign, which never advanced beyond the disastrous Battle of Gallipoli. We are none of us perfect.

But lest we (I) lose ourselves (myself) in high-falutin' rhetoric, please take a few moments to remember the bravery and selflessness with which the ANZACs faced their doom. May they rest in peace.