decelebration

 "May 1945. Zwettle, Austria.
The war is over."

       May 9th is a grand ole holiday for people like my grandmother, who fought in World War II on the Soviet side. The Russians are, doubtlessly, attempting to outdo last year's parade. To me, the spectacle gets sadder year after year because first of all, the people who survived the atrocity are becoming considerably more scarce, and secondly, somehow, it feels that celebrating peace with a gun and tank show is perhaps a bit uncouth.
      Then again, the argument could be made that it is not peace we are celebrating, but military victory, and so the tanks and the guns and the marching soldiers are a demonstration of power and a way to tell the world that Russia's still got those World War II-style chops  But the diminishing handful of frail veterans that march along, or frequently, wheelchair along, should be a reminder of utter shame; these people are poorly taken care of, especially now, and especially if they don't live in Moscow. (And here I must add that I am fully aware that Russia is far from alone in putting on such parades. Everyone does it; this is just an example that came to mind because of the date, and it is equally as unpleasant to me when any other country puts on similar shows).

Tucson, AZ. 2005-ish

       For the fiftieth anniversary of the war's "end", my grandmother got, from the government, a set of spoons that are made of such crappy aluminum that they bend with the lightest of pressures (I've even made these spoons take on lovely spiral shapes) and have cheap, bright silver glaze on them, akin to the eccentric shade of paint that covered the mandatory statue of Lenin at my childhood railway station.
       So what is it that we're celebrating, exactly? A lack of collective memory beyond the obvious demonstration of brute force and the soon-to-be-holy relics? To my grandmother, this day means more than most days. But so long as we continue to celebrate ends of wars with tools of war, the happiness and relief this day brought to people like my grandparents sixty-six years ago, is, in my mind, dampened.