There are those key moments in our lifetime in which mass tragedies occur. In the women's movement, they are often used as symbols of inequality and motivators to action. And the act of remembering these tragedies reminds us of the need to eradicate this inequality, and the need for us to take action. But is there a time to stop remembering? When does the moment come where we let the remembrance go and simply move on with our lives?

On December 6th, 1989, a gunman walked into L'Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal, Quebec. He entered the Engineering school, and told all the men to leave. He made the 14 women stay behind, and killed them, one-by-one. Later, after his suicide, authorities found him to have hit lists of prominent Canadian women, as well as diatribes about "feminists" and how "feminists had ruined his life." These women, all students in Engineering, students in University, women trying to make their way through an often unfair, sexist educational system - were killed for being women, for trying to be equal.

Years later, we remember them in Canada, year after year. The memorials continue, year after year. Each December, vigils are held, candles are lit, and roses are place.

Their families have asked for the vigils to stop. To let them just be - as opposed to living on as symbols of violence against women.

When do we stop remembering? Do we stop completely, or is there a way to change it, to make it more than just a remembrance? To turn it into an action? What is the point of remembering?

Each year, not just in December, but throughout the year, we ask ourselves these questions - and wonder, are we doing disservice to these women? Is there a better way?

In St. John's, Newfoundland, the remembrance ceremony changed significantly this year - changed, however, to be what the families have asked it not to be - a vigil with candles, roses, and dedications, and a few speeches. Some might say its better this way - but I would argue instead that to pay tribute is only one aspect in the process of remembering. In the past, the remembrance ceremony in St. John's has included women and men's monologues - of personal experience with violence. How did it affect them? What have they done to combat it? The result is an incredibly personal experience of people sharing their stories - about something that is too often silenced. In sharing our stories when they have been silenced, it makes it that much more powerful. In making it personal, and not just about the 14 women from 1989, people are more able to get riled up, cry, be affected, and want to take action.

This year, the remembrance ceremony did not include any monologues. A different organizer had stepped in to run the event. Various reasons were cited at times - lack of time and experience, not sure if it worked, and the stories may be too personal.

Too personal? Of all the reasons, that is the one reason that monologues should have to be included each year. That is the reason why people need to tell and share their stories. I wrote my monologue, argued for its inclusion as well as the inclusion of others, but instead, like so many other times that women are silenced, found myself being silenced on a day in which we should be speaking up and shouting and sharing and having the opportunity to not be silenced.

December, for me, is a haunting month. When December 6th arrives, I weep at the thought of those 14 women, killed in their school-system, where they ought to feel safe and have every right to education. But each year, I take action. I don't want those 14 women to be just martyrs and symbols. The way we remember what happened is important - if action is not included in remembering, then there is no point to it. But to say that there is no longer a need for remembrance is absolutely incorrect. We are a time when we are most in need of remembrance.

In a year when Canada has seen its same-sex marriage laws come under attack, cuts to women's core programs and the disabling of women's equality and advocacy, and yet another school shooting in Montreal - we must take action. And by forgetting our pasts - remembering without action, forgetting that this massacre is just part of the very same spectrum which includes the Canadian Conservative agenda to eliminate the right of federally funded women's groups to do advocacy work, and to cut funding to organizations that try to change attitudes towards women so that massacres like this never happen again - we are letting the past creep in to not only haunt us, but also potentially attack us once again.

This year, in a memorial garden on the grounds of Malaspina University College in Nanaimo, British Columbia, I watched as candles were lit. Then, one by one, voices came out of the darkness to tell their own stories of violence and abuse, of heartache, of being a female educator in the university system, of fighting for pay equity, maternity rights, health benefits, erasing sexist comments from blackboards and taking graffiti off of office doors. Tears were shared and stories were revealed. And afterwards, we reveled in the power of music and art and poetry and spoken word to celebrate the lives of every woman who has been affected by violence, and to raise money for women's groups.

We took action. I took action, when I was not allowed to, in St. John's.

I am not done with remembering - though other places may thing it is time. There is a need to remember still. The way is simply through remembrance and action.

Why remember? That was the intended theme of the censored and missing monologues in St. John's this year.

Because we can could forget.
We could move on.
We could let this happen again, and again and again.
Because there is no other choice but to remember.

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