I went to the Remembrance Day Service, yesterday, at ANZAC Square in Brisbane. There were a lot of people, uniformed, ununiformed, dignitaries, young and old. They all looked dapper, dressed for the solemn occasion. But then I went for a walk, and my thoughts travelled back to Remembrance Day a few years ago.

Like today, I walked through the city. A few blocks from ANZAC Square I found the homeless man in his favourite spot. He looked up in happy recognition as he saw me coming. He was not dressed up. No medals proudly displayed on his chest, but he was a veteran. One of the many who served our country and who, while doing so, had experienced so much more horror than his mind and body could hold, so much more than we, humans, are wired to be able to manage. We had known each other since Signal Flare’s first BBQ for the Homeless and Others in Need, and we bumped into each other many times over the years. He never spoke to me about these horrors, and there always was a point where he stopped talking and retreated back into his own world. It seemed that he had no one in his life anymore. When he was very upset once he told me that everyone thought he was a “bum” and that no one liked him.

The Brisbane streets had been his home for at least as long as Signal Flare existed, and he seemed unable to even imagine living in some form of house, or what it would be like to talk and laugh with friends, or even have friends. He had become very isolated and mentally very far removed from daily life as most of us know it. So far removed from society while he lived right in the middle of it 24/7, on the streets of Brisbane’s busy CBD where thousands of people hurried past him daily, most of them trying to look anywhere but in his direction. He was totally harmless, but I know of a few occasions where he was taken to the emergency department, beaten up and bruised, by people who were not homeless.

I haven’t seen him for a few years so I think he may have passed away. He was never one to stray far from his favourite streets, let alone the city. I can still picture him there very clearly. I think about him often. Wherever he is, I hope he found the peace that eluded him after he returned from duty. Thank you for your service…

A recent study tells me that around 6000 of half a million veterans experienced homelessness in the past year in Australia. That is a much higher percentage than the rate in the general population. I am no expert whatsoever in veteran care but I do wonder how someone who served his country can find himself ending up in a situation like his when returning home… Six thousand, it’s an abstract number, however enormous. But each of these numbers represent a human being like we all are, like the people gathering a few blocks down for the Remembrance Day Service, like the man sitting homeless on the street in Brisbane CBD. Each of these numbers represent a human story, human suffering. I do believe that we need to see and hear these human stories, and not only the numbers representing them, in order to raise awareness and to really bring about change. If we really want to focus on something, anything is possible. We can all bring positive change on our own level of ability, one moment at a time.

Lest we forget.

Berni Palings

Signal Flare