On behalf of all Canadians, let me begin by congratulating the staff of the Canadian War Museum – and all who played a part in its planning, design and construction – for making this moment a reality. You worked hard in service to a dream, to an ideal. This day is your reward. Enjoy and savour it. You deserve it.

May 08, 2005
Ottawa, Ontario

Check against delivery

Good afternoon.

On behalf of all Canadians, let me begin by congratulating the staff of the Canadian War Museum – and all who played a part in its planning, design and construction – for making this moment a reality. You worked hard in service to a dream, to an ideal. This day is your reward. Enjoy and savour it. You deserve it.

There are so many people to thank, so many people who played a role in this. Leading from the front were The Friends of the Canadian War Museum and the Passing the Torch Campaign – which raised more than $16-million from public donations – the veterans and the countless Canadians from all walks of life who contributed and were involved in so many ways.

I also want to congratulate Joe Geurts and all those involved in the planning of the exhibits, the displays, the artwork. You have made the military and war experience of Canadians a moving story, rich in humanity and central to our self-understanding.

And finally to Raymond Moriyama and Alex Rankin – gentlemen, you have created an absolutely stunning piece of architecture. With your achievement, you honour and dignify the lives of our soldiers and our veterans, past and present, who have known war, who have known its hardship, who have seen its truth.

We gather today – soldiers, veterans, Canadians – before a shrine to sacrifice and pride of nationhood.

Brigadier-General Alexander Ross was a battalion commander during the First World War. He was there on Easter Monday, 1917, when after a long winter’s planning tens of thousands of young Canadians stepped into the mud at the base of Vimy Ridge and, as a light snow fell upon the fields of France, stepped into battle against an entrenched and hardened enemy.

Reflecting later on that day, a day on which Canada achieved such glory, yet at such cost, Ross said: “It was Canada from the Atlantic to the Pacific on parade. I thought then, and I think today, that in those few minutes I witnessed the birth of a nation.”

If you seek the heart of our nation; if you want to know who we are and how we came to be what we are – look inside this building. The story told here is the story of Canada .

A year ago, I had the honour of traveling to Juno Beach to participate with Canadian veterans in the commemoration of the 60th anniversary of D-Day. To watch as those men returned to the wind-swept shores, to see the emotion in their faces, the tears in their eyes – it was to feel both an enormous pride and an eternal gratitude. It was to marvel at the dedication of men who willingly took up arms in the springtime of life to free those living in fear and darkness, under tyranny in foreign lands.

The enemy pillboxes along the Normandy coast, which fell to Allied forces that June 6th, are sinking into the sand now. They serve as a reminder that nature will ultimately erode much that we build.

But forever will endure the gallantry and heroism of Canadians at Vimy, at Dieppe and Normandy, along the streets and in the fields of Holland, in the defence of Hong Kong and in Korea, in wars great and small, and in the building and keeping of peace in countries torn and broken by conflict.

Forever will endure the spirit of justice and the strength of resolve that prompted so many to fight in the name of freedom, to muster courage in the thick of fear, to find hope when all hope seemed lost, to declare that life is nothing without liberty.

Forever will endure the nobility of the sacrifice of the many thousands of Canadian soldiers who offered their lives so that others would be liberated, so that other would again know peace.

Tonight, along with the leaders of the other federal parties, I will travel to the Netherlands, where a nation and a continent are marking the 60th anniversary of the end of the Second World War. I will tell our veterans there, as I say to those gathered here and watching on television today: Your achievements, the good you did, the triumphs you won – your valour has made them the birthright of every Canadian. You have done your duty; our duty to you is to nurture the memories of your exploits, to tend them, to make certain they endure and are remembered and are celebrated.

This new museum suits Canada. It evokes our singular brand of patriotism, for we celebrate with a quiet pride and an unflinching devotion.

There is honesty in this place. The art and the exhibits speak the truth of war – its glory and its cost, its ability to wound the body and the spirit, its necessity in the face of tyranny and hate, its power to destroy and to ennoble.

As I looked at some of the paintings and displays here, I found myself reminded – reminded both of the steadfast resolve of the men and women who’ve worn our uniform in great wars and regional conflicts, and how important it is that we in Canada and in progressive nations across the globe dedicate ourselves to building and keeping the peace in troubled parts of our world.

In this remarkable building, we journey in our minds across the centuries and around the world. It is Canada’s odyssey – fraught with dangers and challenges, with sacrifice and sorrow, with triumph and tragedy.

Within these trench-like walls, familiar and strangely comforting, time is suspended. We live for a moment within those who experienced war. We grasp the terrible price exacted by war – a price far greater and more lasting than most of us could know. We offer a quiet prayer for soliders known and unknown, who found eternal rest far from home.

Through this journey, we get to know the Canadian men and women who lived the reality of war. We see their faces, their belongings, we read their letters, hear their thoughts. We learn, we understand, and we are ever more grateful. For so many, their road was long, and it was hard, but at its end there was peace.

On Remembrance Day, 1935, Canadian Horace Brown wrote:

“They gave me a name. They called me the Unknown Soldier. Kings and statesmen came and bowed before me; archbishops prayed; soldiers stood at stiff attention….I longed to speak, but words would not come.”

Today, and for generations to come, this museum speaks on his behalf.