We are surrounded by noise and commotion in the 21st century but silence – often underestimated or squeezed out – has power and tells us something about ourselves and wider society.
The respectful silence of Remembrance Sunday is not something that arose from nowhere or appeared naturally. Rather, it emerged from the chaos and confusion of society in the aftermath of the brutality of the First World War in 1918 and the bitterness, disappointment and anger which shaped much of the public mood in the light of such human loss.
The march to the First World War began on 28 June 1914, when Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie were killed in Sarajevo by the Serbian nationalist Gavrilo Princip. This led to an Austro-Hungarian declaration of war on Serbia. Then the various imperialist alliances brought Europe’s main empires into the conflict. The result was four years of war.
At the end of 1918, a continent lay scarred and wounded. Across the world, 9,911,000 people lay dead, the vast majority from and in the European continent. There were 887,858 military casualties from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and 16,829 civilian casualties along with over two million military personnel wounded. And to what end? It had not been a war for democracy, human rights, international law, or even the rights of small nations and self-determination. It had been a war of pointless European imperialism.
Post-1918, British society was characterised by discontent, division, radical and revolutionary fever, aided by the convulsions of the domestic front and the cost of war. Working-class organisation, trade union activism, self-organisation of housing activists, the spectre of the Bolshevik Revolution of October 1917: all added to the intoxicating spirit of the age.
Add to this the demobilisation of over four million UK men from the armed forces and the British establishment had to find a way to commemorate the sacrifice and service of millions of people in the war. Traditional methods were deemed less appropriate given the national mood.
On 8 May 1919, in a letter to The Evening News, the Australian journalist Edward George Honey suggested that a national silence would be a fitting tribute. To be held on the 11th day of the 11th month at 11am â the time hostilities had stopped across Europe â and that this should last for five minutes. He wrote:
Five little minutes only. Five silent minutes of national remembrance. A very sacred intercession… Communion with the Glorious Dead who won us Peace, and from the communion new strength, hope and faith in the morrow. Church services, too, if you will, but in the street, the home, the theatre, anywhere, indeed, where Englishmen and their women chance to be, surely in this five minutes of bitter-sweet silence there will be service enough.
This idea was taken up by the South African politician Sir Percy Fitzpatrick, who added his weight to calls for a national moment of silence writing to King George V who forwarded his letter to Prime Minister David Lloyd-George. On 7 November 1919, the King announced that this new idea of two minutes silence, a compromise from the recommended five, would be enacted.
The first ever national silence was held on 11 November 1919. The Daily Record announced it with the following words: ‘National hush to-day at the eleventh hour’, followed by ‘Nations hush to-day in memory of our noble dead’, including details of ‘Scottish arrangements’.
That wording and notion of a ‘national hush’ has elements of softness, emotional awareness and an understanding of the raw, acute public feeling after the carnage of war. Looking back now, this is remarkable in relation to how society was then and what was judged as appropriate behaviour and sentiment.
The national silence was held the length and breadth of the UK. The following day, the then Manchester Guardian reported it, writing: ‘The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect’, before painting an evocative picture:
Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of ‘attention’. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still… The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain… And the spirit of memory brooded over it all.
Thus was set the tradition which has been honoured in the UK since 1919. It has had a degree of waxing and waning like all national occasions and commemorations. In the midst of the Second World War, it was not felt appropriate to go big on marking the UK’s previous world war. And, as post-war society got further removed from the events of the 1939-45 conflict, there was a reaction to the official, conventional nature of the occasion, believing it paid homage to war and celebrated or acquiesced with militarism and imperialism.
This was the distinctive mood in part of society in the 1970s and 1980s, yet after this another subtle shift occurred in the last years of the 20th century and early years of the 21st century which brought Remembrance Day back centre stage.
Two factors contributed to this shift. One was the continual involvement of the UK post-Cold War in a host of military conflicts â Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya â that brought with them new casualties, memories and controversies. A second factor is the reframing of the Second World War not only as a just cause against fascism, but as almost the last great foundational story of what it means to be the UK. These two strands have coalesced around Remembrance Day and what it represents. It has become a generational story about what it means to be British and live in the UK, and been aided by the likes of Help for Heroes and military wives’ groups to create a public mood for reclaiming Remembrance Day.
Silences have power, and public and official sanctioned silences are loaded with different layers of interpretation. There is clearly an official narrative about Remembrance Day which is promoted by the UK authorities which, if it were to be closely inspected, would be one many would feel uneasy with.
The UK has a track record of numerous wars, military expeditions and conquests. Many have been of questionable moral worth (First World War) or disastrous (Boer War, Suez, Iraq). Could it not be argued that the ‘official’ remembrance allows the powers that be to gloss over their mistakes and avoid accountability?
There are many versions of silence. And the silences of Remembrance Day which people respect and honour does not have to acquiesce or be the same as that of the authorities.
Remembrance and silence involve reflection, understanding and memory, and can also embody resistance to that dominant narrative, or some element of dissent, questioning and withholding of consent. Silence can be found everywhere: in the most noisy places and exchanges, in public spaces and even in the performative arts, whether theatre, comedy or music.
Silence has numerous consequences. It takes us into ourselves and makes us reflect on things beyond us. It is about the self but not self-obsessed individualism. Rather, the individual as part of something wider. Silence connects us; it links past and present; and on occasions like Remembrance Day provides a tapestry which has a relationship across the generations and idea of collective memories. There is even an element of the quasi-mystical and, as the Manchester Guardian said in 1919, ‘magical’ about the meaning and symbolism of gatherings like Remembrance Day.
Official silences are also political and contested, showing what it is that is judged as important and to be remembered. What is said and what is not said, what is decided as an ‘official’ silence and what is not, and the boundaries and contestations say something profound about society.
Silence has now become a recognised way of marking loss and society saying this is important. Take the May 2017 Manchester Arena terrorist attack in which 23 people died, whose inquiry was recently reported, or the June 2017 Grenfell Tower Fire which saw the death of 72 residents, the inquiry into which has just concluded.
Is there an element at play that sees authorities use officially sanctioned silence and a select, controlled version of remembering to avoid being held to account and those who have made mistakes taking responsibility? Whose silence is being remembered; what choice do we the public have in it; and what about all the voices and difficult issues which are silenced â often ‘officially’?
The UK has been through an age of disruption in the last few years. More than 200,000 UK citizens lost their lives due to the Covid pandemic with millions more affected directly and indirectly. Yet there has been â two and a half years since the first UK lockdown restrictions â no UK national commemoration of those who died. The reason is that this is too raw and open a wound. The ruling authorities and UK Government would feel uncomfortable about having their role, mistakes and corporate culpability, wasting £37bn of public monies on PPE contracts, brought into public attention.
Coming together on Remembrance Day is a powerful, salutary experience. It is the act of a society which needs to remember, understand and honour. But we also need to recognise the numerous occasions on which the UK does go to war, why it does so and what it says about us and our elites.
The silences beyond the silence matters as well. The things we are encouraged to not officially commemorate or honour and remember. Underneath the appropriate sentiments of Remembrance Day, there is, in the ruling authorities, a deep-seated fear of the masses and even contempt for the people of the UK.
That sentiment was evident in 1918-19 and while the UK is far from the radical and revolutionary hopes and fears of that era in the present, today’s elites believe they can get away with amoral, reprehensible and indefensible behaviour. Proving them wrong in how little they think of the vast majority of us would be a suitable and genuine way to remember those who gave their lives in the UK’s numerous military engagements. But it is not something which can be done just by observing the silences which are a part of our national stories and memories.
