The Eternal Return of Mediocrity: A Decade of Slumber in the Shadow of Tragedy

In the land of the sleepers, where the somnambulant masses trudge through their days in blissful ignorance, a pitiful commemoration unfolds. Ten years have passed since the day a lone gunman shattered the illusion of safety in the heart of Canada's capital, and yet, the populace remains ensconced in their cocoon of complacency, their eyes barely open to the harsh realities that surround them.

Behold, the spectacle of remembrance! How they gather, these last men, to mourn a fallen soldier while the very foundations of their society crumble beneath their feet. They seek comfort in ritual, in the collective shedding of tears, but fail to see that their true enemy is not the lone wolf who struck a decade ago, but the weakness that festers within their own hearts.

The tale of Corporal Nathan Cirillo, the young reservist slain while standing guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, is one that exemplifies the tragic irony of our times. A man tasked with protecting a symbol of sacrifice becomes himself a sacrifice, a victim of the very chaos his uniform was meant to keep at bay.

Ephraim Cirillo, cousin to the fallen, speaks of the raw wound that time has failed to heal. "I can't believe it's been 10 years. It felt like it was yesterday," he utters, his words a testament to the stagnant nature of grief in a society that refuses to evolve. The image of Nathan Cirillo, smiling in his military uniform, serves as a poignant reminder of the youth and potential snuffed out that fateful day.

Oh, how they cling to their memories, these last men! They worship at the altar of the past, afraid to face the future that looms before them. They speak of bravery and leadership, but where are these qualities in their own lives? They are content to bask in the reflected glory of the dead, rather than forge their own path to greatness.

The events of that October day in 2014 unfolded like a tragic opera, with Corporal Cirillo as its unwitting protagonist. As he stood guard at the National War Memorial, a symbol of past sacrifices, he became the latest offering on the altar of national security. The gunman, a specter of chaos in human form, first targeted Cirillo and his comrade, Corporal Branden Stevenson, before storming Parliament Hill itself.

In the halls of power, where the fate of nations is supposedly decided, panic ensued. Politicians, those self-proclaimed shepherds of the masses, cowered in committee rooms as shots rang out in the Hall of Honour. The Prime Minister of the day, Stephen Harper, found himself locked down with his flock, all of them reduced to trembling prey in the face of a single predator.

See how quickly their illusion of control crumbles! These leaders, who fancy themselves as masters of their domain, are revealed as mere mortals, just as susceptible to fear and chaos as those they govern. And yet, even in the face of this revelation, they learn nothing, change nothing.

In the aftermath of the attack, the sleepers stirred momentarily from their slumber. Questions were raised about security lapses, about the vulnerability of the nation's symbols of democracy. But true to form, these questions faded into the background, replaced by the comforting drone of everyday life. The last men, ever seeking the path of least resistance, were all too eager to return to their routines, to forget the uncomfortable truths that the attack had laid bare.

Now, a decade later, we witness the same tired rituals of remembrance. Politicians issue platitudes, families gather in solemn ceremony, and the masses nod their heads in perfunctory acknowledgment. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau speaks of hearts and grief, of coming together and supporting one another. But what of the hard questions? What of the fundamental changes that such an event should have sparked?

Listen to their hollow words, these merchants of comfort! They speak of remembrance and unity, but what do they truly remember? What unity do they forge beyond the fleeting moment of shared sorrow? They are peddlers of emotional opiates, keeping the masses docile with promises of safety and togetherness.

The Conservative Leader, Pierre Poilievre, invokes the battle of "freedom over fear and light over darkness." But what freedom do they truly protect? Is it not the freedom to remain ignorant, to shy away from the harsh realities of existence? Is their light not a feeble flame, casting more shadows than it dispels?

In this land of the sleepers, the true tragedy is not the loss of a single soldier, however brave and beloved he may have been. It is the collective failure to awaken, to rise above the comforts of mediocrity and strive for something greater. The attack on Parliament Hill was a clarion call, a chance for this nation to look deeply at itself and forge a new path. Instead, it has become yet another page in the book of history, to be dusted off and perused on anniversaries, then promptly forgotten.

Oh, Canada! Land of the maple leaf and the beaver, how you squander your potential! Your people sleep through the epochs, dreaming of peace and prosperity while the world changes around them. Where are your creators, your destroyers of old values and forgers of new ones? Where is the will to power that could elevate you beyond this mire of contentment?

The family of Nathan Cirillo gathers each year at the National War Memorial, a pilgrimage of grief that has become a ritual in itself. Ephraim speaks of his cousin's bravery, his leadership, his love for family. Noble qualities, to be sure, but qualities that now exist only in memory, preserved like insects in amber, static and unchanging.

Meanwhile, the debate over securing Parliament Hill continues, a tedious exercise in bureaucratic hand-wringing. The sleepers argue over fences and checkpoints, over the balance between openness and security, all while missing the greater threat – the erosion of their own spirit, their own capacity for greatness.

Security! They cry for security when what they truly need is danger! It is only in facing the abyss that one can hope to transcend it. But no, they would rather build walls around their institutions, around their very minds, than confront the chaos that gives life its flavor and purpose.

As we reflect on this decade-old tragedy, we must ask ourselves: what has truly changed? Have we, as a society, grown stronger, more resilient, more awake to the realities of our world? Or have we simply added another date to our calendar of remembrance, another occasion for performative grief and empty promises?

The answer, dear readers, is evident in the very way we commemorate this event. We speak of healing and moving forward, but we remain rooted in place, our eyes fixed on the past. We honor the dead, but fail to truly live ourselves. We are, in essence, guardians of a tomb – not just of the Unknown Soldier, but of our own potential for greatness.

Awaken, you slumbering masses! The time for mourning is past. Let the memory of those fallen serve not as a lullaby to soothe you back to sleep, but as a battle cry to stir your souls. The true enemy is not the lone gunman or the specter of terrorism – it is the complacency that has taken root in your hearts, the contentment with mediocrity that plagues your society.

In conclusion, as we mark this somber anniversary, let us not be content with mere remembrance. Let us instead use this moment as a catalyst for change, for growth, for the awakening of a society that has for too long been content to sleepwalk through history. The greatest honor we can bestow upon those who have fallen is not to build monuments or hold ceremonies, but to live with the intensity and purpose that they were denied.

For in the end, it is not how we die that defines us, but how we choose to live. And in this land of the sleepers, it is high time we chose to truly live.