04/08/2025
https://www.facebook.com/share/15BUUFGBpF/
Who Owns Anzac Day?
We often say Anzac Day belongs to the veterans.
And sureâwithout them, thereâs no story to tell, no silence to keep.
But look a little deeper,
and youâll see theyâre not the only ones holding the torch.
Anzac Day lives in the hands of many.
It lives in the quiet grief of a grandchild holding a poppy,
in the old photo on the mantelpiece,
in the whispered name of someone who never came home. It's that old lady that visits her veterans fathers grave every year and leaves a poppy.
Families carry the weight tooâ
those who stayed behind, those who welcomed back the broken,
those who wore the loss like a second skin.
It lives in the hearts of MÄori, Indian and Pasifika soldiers,
whose names were barely spoken for decadesâ
whose service is only just being fully honoured.
It lives in their iwi, their whÄnau,
in the whenua they returned to, changed forever.
It beats in the rhythm of the dawn paradeâ
in the sound of boots on concrete,
in the single crack of a drum,
in the hush before the Last Post.
Anzac Day is owned by communitiesâ
by school kids reading lines they only half understand,
by old diggers in folding chairs,
by café workers opening late so people can gather.
And letâs not forget the criticsâ
those who ask the hard questions,
who remind us that remembering isnât the same as glorifying.
They keep the story honest.
They make sure the silence isnât empty.
So who owns Anzac Day?
Not just the veteransâthough we honour them.
Not just the fallenâthough we remember them.
Not just the nationâthough it is a day of nationhood.
Anzac Day belongs to all of us. The veterans. The descendants.
The storytellers. The mourners. The questioners. The dreamers of peace.
Itâs not about war.
Itâs about memory.
And memory belongs to everyone.