Volunteers continue to assemble an installation in the moat of the Tower of London to commemorate the First World War. Photograph: Getty Images.
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To remember the First World War we need lively debate as well as silent tributes

Our democracy expanded, society became less deferential, the trade union movement grew and our politics would never be the same.

It takes something significant to bring the noisy and fast-moving world we live in today to a silent stop. We live in an age of now, all leading frenetic lives with constant demands on our time. Rarely do we pause to reflect on events that took place long before our parents or grandparents were born. 
 
Tonight we will experience one of those moments, when Big Ben chimes 11 o’clock and marks 100 years since Britain entered the First World War on 4 August 1914. It was a conflict that changed the world forever and helped shape the lives we lead today. More than 16 million soldiers and civilians across the globe would not live to see peace in 1918.
 
Some believe they died in a conflict that though appalling, was necessary and needed to be fought. Others argue their sacrifice was futile, in a war that achieved nothing, and could and should have been avoided. My hope is that the commemorations taking place today and over the next four years will give us each a precious opportunity to make up our own minds and reflect on our shared history.
 
Anniversaries like this are essentially the closest thing our society ever has to a national history lesson. Not one where governments or politicians should hand down official judgements on events from 100 years ago, but one where we can each explore this traumatic chapter in our national story in an inclusive and democratic way. There were 16,000 towns and villages across Britain in 1914, but only 40 of them would reach 1918 without having lost someone in the conflict. It means each community has its own story to tell.
 
As I’ve travelled across the country I’ve met people of all ages who are researching their own family histories and learning about the impact the war had on the places where they live. This includes tales of heroes and heroines from the home front as well as the frontline. Stories of miners, factory and railway workers who kept our country going, of volunteers who worked the land and nurses who cared for the wounded.
 
Hearing their stories has made me revisit my own family tree. Scouring family archives with the help of my aunt, I discovered my own family connection – a previously unknown great great uncle who fought in the 16th Battalion of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment. He was christened "Nimrod" but enlisted under the name of John for reasons that nobody now knows. He would become one of the 900,000 British and the Commonwealth soldiers who never returned home, killed in Belgium on 7 October 1917. It is hard to imagine what horrors he must have experienced, even as someone who has experienced combat myself.
 
The First World War contains millions of stories like his, including many that reach far beyond the poppy fields of Flanders. Two examples will stay with me as I travel to Glasgow ahead of this morning’s national memorial service.
 
The first is the immense debt we owe to millions of soldiers from the nations whose inspiring athletes we have watched competing in the Commonwealth Games over the past eleven days. They included men from India, Australia, Canada, parts of Africa, and countless other countries. Many had never been to Britain but they came to fight for Britain in our hour of need.
 
The second example is the story of a woman called Mary Barbour. A century ago she lived in Glasgow’s Govan district, just a few miles from the venue for last night’s closing ceremony. When her husband David left for the frontline, she was left to look after their two young sons. With so many men away, the city’s private landlords sensed an opportunity and began hiking the rents of Mary and her neighbours. They messed with the wrong woman. Working with her friends, Mary organised a rent strike and led tenants in a protest that grew into 20,000 people. They became known as "Mrs Barbour’s Army."
 
The government was forced to rush through immediate reforms to protect people from unfair rent increases, one of the many ways that the First World War changed the role of the state in our public life. Mrs Barbour would go on to become Glasgow’s first female Labour councillor. She didn’t even have a vote when the war broke out, but she was one of the millions of women who would help change that by entering the war effort and taking on roles that only men had ever done before.
 
Her story is an example of the social, political and economic forces that transformed Britain between 1914 and 1918. Our democracy expanded, society became less deferential, the trade union movement grew and our politics would never be the same.
 
The next four years provide us with an opportunity to explore all of this and more, and pass these memories on to future generations. That process should start tonight with silent and respectful tributes. But there should also be space for lively debate and discussion about how the echoes of the First World War continue to shape our lives today. That would be time well spent.
 
Dan Jarvis is the Shadow Justice Minister and Labour’s lead for the First World War centenary.

Dan Jarvis is the Labour MP for Barnsley Central and a former Major in the Parachute Regiment.

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One Day Without Us reveals the spectre of Britain without immigration

Imagine a country without its NHS workers, its artists and even its consumers. That's why immigrants are striking today. 

What’s the best way of making yourself heard in politics? Protesting in the street, or contacting the media? Writing to politicians? A badge?

One option, of course, is to walk out - and give people a chance to recognise what they’d be missing if you weren’t there. In the labour movement, that’s long been an option – a last-case option, but an option nevertheless – when your contribution isn't being recognised.

A strike is a tit-for-tat negotiation and a warning shot. “I’ll work properly when you employ me properly”, it says, but simultaneously: “Here’s what you’d lose if I stopped”. Done right, the worker’s absence can shift the power balance in their favour.

Normally, people strike according to their role, in pursuit of certain conditions – the tube strikes, or last year’s teacher's strike.

Yet there is also a long and rich history of walk-outs whose terms are broader and boundaries hazier. One of the most famous is surely the 1975 Women's Strike, in Iceland, during which 90 per cent of the country's women refused to participate in either paid or unpaid work.

In 2016, the formula was repeated in Poland, where women went on strike to protest against a draconian change being proposed to the country's already-strict abortion laws. (It worked.)

Immigrant strikes, too, have a history. In 2006, for instance, a coalition of Los Angeles Catholic groups, unions and immigration reform groups proposed a boycott in opposition to a bill which, among other things, called for new border security fences to be built between America and Mexico. (Ahem.)

The action grew to become a national event, and on May 1, the “Great American Boycott” took place, with immigrants from Latin America and elsewhere leaving work, skipping school and refusing to buy or sell goods.

Now, with Donald Trump in the White House and Brexit looming, some have decided it’s time for another strike. Enter “One Day Without Us”.

Today, immigrants here in Britain will strike not for pay conditions or holiday allowances, but for basic recognition and respect. Across the country, businesses will close and immigrants will leave work, many of them to take place in alternative actions like rallies or letter-writing campaigns.

The name of the protest pulls no punches. This, it says, is what it would be like if we all went away. (Subtext: “like some of you want”.)

Because – and let’s be honest here – it’d be bad. In hospital this summer, I was treated by migrants. After 24 hours in NHS, I took a count, and found that only about one in five of the staff who had treated me were identifiably English. Around 4.6 per cent of NHS staff nationally are from the EU, including 9 per cent of doctors. Immigrants clean buildings, make our food, and provide a whole host of other vital services.

One Day Without Us, then, could do Britain a huge favour - it provides us with a quick preview function before anyone ups and leaves for good, taking the heart of our health service, or our food supplies, with them.

In recognition of this, some businesses are actively giving their workers the day off. One 36-year-old owner of a support services company, for instance, is giving her staff a paid holiday.

“Not all my colleagues are taking up the offer not to come in”, she explained. “Some, both British and foreign-born, would prefer to work. That’s fine, I wanted to give colleagues the freedom to choose.

 “It will cause some inconvenience and I’ve had to explain to clients why we aren’t offering all our services for one day, but I feel doing this is the only way to show how much this country relies on migrants. I may be a businesswoman, but I’m a human being first, and it hurts my heart to see how foreign-born colleagues are being treated by some people in the current political climate."

The woman, whose staff is 65 per cent foreign born, has asked her company not to be identified. She’s heard her staff being abused for speaking Polish.

Of course, not everyone is able to walk out of work. I write this from Chicago, Illinois, where last week activists participated in an American predecessor to One Day Without Us called “Day Without Immigrants”. Type “Day Without Immigrants" into Google followed by the word "Chicago" and you will find reports of restaurants closing down and citizens marching together through the city.

But search for just "Day Without Immigrants", and the top stories are all about participants being fired.

One Day Without Us, then, encourages any form of engagement. From human chains to sessions during which participants can write to their MP, these events allow immigrants, and supporters, to make themselves known across the country.

Businesses and museums, too, are involved. The Tate, for instance, is offering free tours showing visitors artworks created or influenced by migrants, showing Londoners which of the paintings that they’ve seen a dozen times only exist because of immigration.

Because paintings, like people, come from everywhere, whether or not you remember. Britain is a mongrel country, and so its art and culture are as mongrel as its workforce: a persistent thread through the country’s history.

We risk a lot forgetting this. At its best, assimilation provides a way of integrating without forgetting one’s own unique identity. In a world where immigrants risk threats or violence, however, invisibility can be the best option. For some, it is better not to be recognized as an immigrant than be abused as one.

Those of us who don’t risk threats have a duty to recognise this. I dislike the glibness of “we are all migrants” – maybe, technically, but we’re not all getting slurs shouted at us in the high street, are we? Still, I also don’t like anyone forgetting the fact that their existence, in all probably, is contingent on someone once being given clemency in a place that was their own. The movement of people is woven into the fabric of society.

Of course, it is impossible to say how successful One Day Without Us will be, or how many people’s lives will be directly affected. But I hope that, even as a gesture, it works: that people think of what would be missing from their lives without immigration.

We ignore it at our peril.

You can view all the One Day Without Us events on the organisers’ website, or contribute to a fund to support businesses which are closing for the day here.

Stephanie Boland is digital assistant at the New Statesman. She tweets at @stephanieboland