I’m feeling a little bit lost and confused these days. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you feel the same way. It’s not the early and hard snow storm that greeted me this morning in my Cariboo hideaway, although I’m beginning to think I should have bought a snowblower instead of a lawn mower yesterday. No, it’s the war thing.
Being a member of Da Boomers, the single largest demographic bulge the world has ever known, I’ve never met a war I couldn’t protest. Korea, though officially a police action, was in full bloom when I arrived on the scene and frankly, like most people, I still don’t have a clue what we were doing there other than testing newly-developed jet fighter airplanes and stopping the godless commies before they toppled all the dominoes in that part of the world. Doesn’t matter though; all I was up to protesting was soggy diapers and hunger.
Vietnam on the other hand, was a great war to protest. There were the obvious reasons – fear and cowardice – but here was a war, actually another police action, so clearly bereft of any moral righteousness that it made people ashamed to be what they’d been brought up to feel proud of being: American.
Like all wars, great songs were written about Vietnam. Joe McDonald’s I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die Rag and John Prine’s Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore captured the mood of the time and at least one of them is getting some current airplay on college stations around the country.
The little wars after Vietnam, Grenada where we fought for the right of young Americans with low SAT scores to study and become second rate doctors, Nicaragua where we did or didn’t do anything depending on whom you ask, and the others were either so low-key or over so quickly they didn’t even warrant a song or social protocol.
The Gulf War was just bad television and whether you thought it was a just war or just another war probably depended on whether you drove an SUV or not. Whatever your point of view though, it came to such a premature ending you had to believe George Bush Senior simply lost his train of thought or suddenly realized it wasn’t going to be enough to get him re-elected and lost interest.
But now we’re fighting the war against terrorism and it’s a whole new ballgame. This is a war to rally around, a war to be proud of. Sure, the crackpot pacifists are protesting it but they’re just wimps and cowards that’d let some crazy bastard who thinks Allah speaks to him directly take their ice cream cone away and kill their dogs for good measure. Roll over, Beethoven.
Finally being put into a position where all right-thinking people are engaged in supporting the war, we who grew up after WWII are left to wonder just how we ought to comport ourselves. Even those who lived through WWII are probably asking themselves that question. After all, nothing that applied then seems to apply now. I definitely don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.
So as another in a series of Max’s public service messages, here is the Boomer’s Guide to Wartime Etiquette.
First and foremost, this isn’t our parents’ war. During WWII, the overriding ethic was conservation. Both Canada and the US were more self-sufficient nations then and we couldn’t just import all the oil and sugar we needed. Many things were rationed and many more things were saved – rendered fats for instance – and recycled for the war effort.
Not today. The reigning ethic is consumption. Spend, spend, spend to defend, fend, fend our way of life. At least that’s the personal, you-and-me, ethic.
If you’re a captain of industry, a business leader, the ethic still seems to be cutting jobs or exporting them to the Third World. As an added war bonus, you can now go hat in hand to the government, cry about how your business was decimated by the events of September 11th and demand a handout. Just don’t ever let us hear you whine again about how government should just leave things to market forces, you hypocritical ninnies.
So to fight terrorism, the most important thing we all have to do as individuals is shop ’til we drop. Don’t worry about losing our jobs or driving ourselves into personal bankruptcy, this is war.
Next, while we should remain mindful that not all vaguely Arabic looking, sounding, dressing people are terrorists, it’s not unreasonable, even in Canada’s multicultural soup, to expect them to meet us halfway. For starters, if you are vaguely Arabic looking, sounding or dressing, it’s a really good idea to rename any of your children you had the misfortune to name Osama. I understand, it may well have been your father’s name and his father’s and his father’s and so on. But there’s a couple of generations of Germans now in which the name Adolph is notably absent. Guess why? We all have to sacrifice for the war effort.
In war, people die. Sad but true. Until the cessation of hostilities, black can no longer be considered an urban-hip, neogoth "look." All you black holes out there will have to adapt, break out of your box and try new styles. Stay away from tie-dye; the shock would be too much for both of us.
And for all you unrepentant cokeheads, assuming it was ever socially acceptable, it is no longer okay to cut out a line of white powder and offer strangers a snort.
With anthrax being mailed around the western world as freely as credit cards, there are wartime procedures to follow when opening mail. Rubber gloves and gas masks are part of the uniform, though receptionists can forget about hazard pay. But more importantly, you should choose your mail carefully. Never, ever open any envelope marked "You May Already be a Winner. Ditto anything from the government that doesn’t look like a cheque. Between spending freely and fearing mail, utility companies will be understanding if you are several months late with your payments.
Finally, we can’t let the upcoming holiday catch us by surprise. Acceptable costumes for Halloween this year will be anything military, firefolk, policepeople, and Rudy Giuliani masks. Any little beggars dressed accordingly will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. Inappropriate this year will be the old standbys, white sheets and rags. Ghosts look way too much like Taliban-fearing women and beggars look like the rest of the population of Afghanistan.
Hope this helps. I’m going shopping for a snow shovel.
