Much of the nation will gather at dawn tomorrow to mark the 109th commemoration of Anzac Day. There are no survivors of the First World War living and few remain from the Second World War.
Many of our men and women have served in conflicts all over the world since. Very often quite bravely too. But for the most part they have been highly skilled career professionals. The citizen-armies of those cataclysmic, world-altering conflicts of the 20th century are rapidly being lost to human memory.
Despite this, Anzac Day has only grown as a civic-religious observance in New Zealand.
In 2018, David Seymour when on a libertarian infused rant about public holidays, branding them - jokingly perhaps - as symbols of a fascist state. Despite being a sceptic of our shared national life, however, we still carved out an exception for Anzac Day, rationalising that:
Anzac Day is the one day that defines us as a country, because we did fight for our freedom. If we hadn't succeeded in those wars, we'd be a very different country today. It's the one thing all New Zealanders have in common.
I think this puts a bit of a strain on the First World War that it may not be able to bear.
When New Zealand soldier’s plunged into the surf of the Dardanelles were they really doing so to fight for our freedom? The war was kicked off by an act of terrorism by a Serbian nationalist in furtherance of freeing Bosnia and Herzegovina from Austrian rule, causing Austria to declare war on Serbia and Russia to declare a general mobilisation in defence of Serbia, which in turn provided a pretext for Austria’s ally Germany to declare war on Russia which compelled France to declare war on Germany which provided Germany justification to attack France through Belgium, whose independence was guaranteed by Britain which led to New Zealand’s entry into the war.
Which still doesn’t quite set out why our soldiers were landing at Gallipoli. That’s because when Germany declared war on Russia, the Ottoman Empire opportunistically struck at Russia themselves. So Russia declared war, leading to its allies also declaring war on the Ottomans too (including us).
So, it’s a bit of a stretch to rely on trite claims about Gallipoli being essential for preserving our historical and current liberties. The intent here is not single out David Seymour, I hasten to add, because the sentiment is a common one. The campaign resulted from alliances, imperial ambitions and territorial disputes rather than any kind of crusade for national freedom.
This perspective does not diminish the honour and respect we owe to those who served in the military during such conflicts. These are men who served with great personal courage, facing grueling conditions and mortal dangers, because their country asked them to do so. That is worthy of honour regardless of the strategic objectives or outcomes of their task.
To fulfil your duty with steadfastness and bravery is a virtue to be celebrated.
So why do we feel the need to go beyond this humble premise? Why imbue what they endured with mythic - and cinematic - dimensions? Do we really need to portray their actions as not only dutiful but essential to our modern freedoms?
I think it must be because the nature of our remembrance continues to change with that loss of human memory. There was a profound immediacy for those who experienced those grueling wars—the servicemen abroad and their families back home enduring the anxiety, danger, and sometimes the grief of ultimate sacrifice. It is an insight that we later generations cannot fully share.
So as the primary witnesses to history pass away, the direct emotional resonance of their experiences inevitably fades, leaving a gap that cliche and ritual strive to fill. Often with less immediate impact.
We continue to distance ourselves from religion but the intrinsic human need for a sense of the sacred has not diminished. People have always needed something to feel sanctified by and always will. So Anzac Day and its solemn rituals also seems to have been co-opted to fulfill this spiritual void.
And true authenticity requires living in accordance with one's true nature, background and beliefs as they truly are. This is the danger when Anzac Day becomes a surrogate for broader existential and communal needs - and an almost religious event. This shift can lead individuals to engage with the day not as a genuine act of remembrance grounded in historical truths and personal connection, but as a performance of expected attitudes and beliefs.
The deep personal connections to the historical facts and individual stories are replaced by a more generic, commercialised commemoration.
This shift not only risks alienating those who seek to remember in a way that resonates with their personal or familial experiences but also dilutes the authenticity of the commemoration by molding it to fit contemporary needs rather than staying true to its origins and the very real experiences of those involved.
Anzac Day is important. Like most New Zealand families of several generations, members of family served in both world wars. At least one was killed at Gallipoli - serving under his mother’s name to avoid restrictions on multiple sons volunteering without parental consent. Their stories are not historical footnotes but threads in our family and national identity.
But relaying these narratives to our children faithfully is hard. The gulf between our secure, modern existence and the harrowing realities of their war experience is vast. And while it is actually a good thing that we have never been put to the test as they have, and God-willing never are, what we pass on is necessarily more sanitised as a result.
The challenge we have is to transmit the history of our forebears with authenticity, without embellishment, clichéd narratives or ostentatiously worn emotions. In other words, we must figure out how to be thoughtful in how we commemorate Anzac Day.
Very well and thoughtfully said Liam.
A very special Anzac Day this year with the last surviving member of the 28th Maori Battalion, Sir Robert Nairn Gillies KNZM, taking part. Some localities around the nation are also down to their last surviving World War II veteran, a centenarian.