Why Juno Beach Still Matters - And What It Demands of Us Today

It was 81 years ago today that Canadians stormed the beaches of Normandy.

Jim Parks was there in the first wave.

I had the honour to stand with him on the sands of the picturesque seaside town where Canadians first hit that beaches. In that moment with Jim, I realized that remembering the D-Day sacrifice wasn't just about paying tribute to old glories.

The real lesson of Juno Beach is for today's generation.

Canadians paid a staggering sacrifice to save the world from tyranny. But time passed, and we let our guard down. And now, tyranny is on the march again.

D-Day poses a challenge to us:

What will we do today to stop fascism from re-establishing its evil reign?

This concern has obsessed me since that moment with Jim Parks looking out over the fierce waters of the Atlantic.

We were together for the 75th anniversary in 2019. The commemorations took place during the first Trump presidency. Beneath the celebration of North America and Europe's great victory over fascism, there was a growing sense of deep uncertainty.

It was all about Trump and the threat he posed to global security.

This was before Putin’s murderous invasion of Ukraine.
Before January 6th.
Before October 7 and the genocide in Gaza.
Before the Musk Nazi salute during the inauguration of Trump 2.0.

And yet, even then, the dark clouds were on the horizon, and everyone could feel it.

As I stood with the aging veterans on Juno Beach, it was clear that the world they had built up from the Second World War was fraying.

Our leaders were letting us down. International solidarity was under threat. The poison of online disinformation was everywhere. But it felt so reassuring to stand with the veterans of D-Day. They knew the price of liberty.

This is what drew me to Jim Parks. He is one of the most decent and unassuming Canadians you would ever meet. As we stood on the spot where he first landed in France, I asked him what it was like on that fateful morning.

He smiled politely and simply said,

"It was rough."

Jim wasn't going to brag that he had fierce fascist fighting credentials. He signed up to defend democracy at the age of 15. He joined the Winnipeg Rifles and was in the very first wave to hit the coast of France.

Jim Parks of the Winnipeg Rifles

His landing craft was blown off by a mine and then hammered by a 75mm gun. Jim tumbled into deep water and was smacked by a passing landing craft. He went under, thinking he would drown.

But he was determined to do his part.

He made it to the beach completely unarmed — his weapons had been blown away in the chaos.

Jim Parks stormed the beaches of Normandy with nothing but a determination to do his best. He hit the sand, falling beside a dying friend from Saskatchewan. He picked up his friend's machine gun and fought his way forward.

Jim didn't stop until the Nazis surrendered to the Canadian forces in the Netherlands nearly a year later. He didn't see himself as a hero — he did what had to be done to free people from Nazi tyranny.

Jim Parks with a young Dutchman dressed in Canadian uniform celebrating Liberation Day in Europe

As I stood with Jim Parks, I realized that the democratic values that I had taken for granted my whole life didn't just happen. They were paid for at an immense cost of lives and sacrifice.

This hit home as I walked the immense military cemeteries of Normandy.

It felt like I was walking the very map of Canada. The graves followed a clear pattern, with the dates tied to the battles where regiments from across the country were fed into the meat grinder of Normandy, the Scheldt, and the Netherlands.

Regina. Montreal. Fredericton, Calgary. Kamloops. Kirkland Lake. Those young men signed up together. They fought together. They died together.

And they remain together, in the fields of Normandy.

Canadian war graves at Beny-sur-Mer, Normandy

At a beautiful ceremony in the vast Canadian cemetery at Bretteville-sur-Laize, young schoolchildren read out a poem in French to Canada's dead:

"We are the children you never had. We are your children — the children of liberty."

There wasn't a dry eye in the crowd as they read.

Then, D-Day veteran Charles Brown Scot stood up and said to the students,

"Don't cry for any man in this field. We knew what we were doing, and we would do it all again just to see you free."

Veteran Benny Duval and young girl from Normandy

These were aged men, but the spirit of defending liberty from fascism was still within them. They had seen firsthand the magnitude of evil that people in Europe had faced. And though they were in their nineties, I had no doubt they would do it all over again.

I was so deeply moved by the experience of being in those graveyards, but a question has gnawed at me ever since:

If darkness descended again on the world, would our generation be willing to meet the challenge in the same way their generation had?

And since the Trump election, it has become a question of greater urgency.

Here's what I have learned.

Ordinary Canadians have stepped up to defy Trump.

I get messages from people across the country who are willing to do their part. Canadians might like to squabble among themselves, but when our sovereignty is at stake, we are one. We are rock solid.

It's the Juno Beach gene in each one of us.

Canada has never run. We never will.

But we cannot be cocky. The line we are holding is a fragile one.

We are being undermined by forces within Canada that would divide us from one another. We are dealing with Canadian politics that are still preoccupied with fights in the political sandbox when the future of liberty is what is truly at stake.

The world around us is getting darker, and Canada is a flickering light of solidarity that the rest of the world is looking to.

At Juno Beach I came to understand that the men who stormed those beaches weren't hardcore fighters. They were just good and decent young people doing their part. They were Canadians. And so are we.

They knew that democracy was worth the fight. And so do we.

As long as we keep to these simple principles, we will remain:

True. North. Strong. Free.

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Following my return from Normandy, I wrote and recorded, Fields of Normandy, with my band, the Grievous Angels. I hope you'll have a listen.

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