Every nation can benefit from special days when the community comes together in a common cause.
New Zealand might not mark the storming of the Bastille or an independence day. But it does have the Anzac tradition.
With Waitangi Day still fraught, April 25 provides a point of unity, a day when we remember those who fought and those who died in wars representing this country, representing us.
This year, of course, is extra-special with the 100th anniversary of the disastrous landing at Gallipoli. It is well-nigh impossible to escape the bombardment of stories and happenings linked to Gallipoli and World War 1.
And why not make something together of the bravery, comradeship, suffering and service of so many ordinary New Zealanders?
A tiny nation of just over a million people sent 100,000 - mostly young men - to Europe.
There were 16,657 killed, with 41,317 also wounded, an appalling 58% casualty rate.
Another 1000 died of war injuries within five years, and a further 507 during the war while training in this country.
The slaughter is simply unimaginable - drowning in mud, itching with lice, screaming in pain, shivering with fever, tangled in barbed wire, stumbling into a hail of bullets, being blown apart by shells.
Supposedly, this was for Empire and for glory.
Instead, World War 1, the ''war to end all wars'', was pointless.
The carnage was unbelievingly cruel and the grief ghastly for those who went as well as those left behind. Many parts of rural Otago and Southland would never properly recover from the loss of a generation.
The conflict, against a background of ''great power'' rivalry, started almost by accident following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo. It ended after 10 million military personnel and seven million civilians had lost their lives.
Gallipoli, too, was all about foolishness - Winston Churchill's erroneous strategy, amateurish preparations and blundering mistakes, like the navigation error which saw the Anzacs land on the wrong beach.
Even if the underestimated Turks had been vanquished, it is doubtful whether that would have made much difference to the Western Front stalemate.
Eight months later, the peninsula was evacuated, and 2779 New Zealanders - many from dysentery and disease - had died in this futile campaign.
New Zealand and Australia have built on this catastrophe to create a narrative of national identity and pride.
Again, why not make something of our history even if, on occasions, myth supplants the literal reality?
At least, nationalism built on a forlorn offensive in the midst of a senseless war can moderate latent militarist propensities.
At least, while we thank and admire those who fought and died, we can say ''no more''.
And when we march at parades and hear the bugle's call, we remember destruction, not triumph.
Another modern-day positive out from Gallipoli is the mutual respect between New Zealanders and Turks.
Commander and founder of Turkey Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was a rousing leader whose later attitude to the invaders was famously generous and gracious.
It came to pass, so it is said, that the soldiers who left these shores buoyed by excitement and a sense of patriotism ended up primarily fighting for their comrades, their mates.
They were in it together.
Likewise, we commemorate Anzac Day and New Zealand together.
This is actually a time we can think of others, not ourselves, and all the stories have the potential to uplift our spirits and our purpose.
They remind us to consider and care for our fellow New Zealanders.
They soften, albeit perhaps just temporarily, our innate selfishness and individualism.
Today, therefore, from Dunedin to Dunback, from Cromwell to Clinton, we salute the men and women who served (and continue to serve) in the armed forces.
We salute their sense of community and comradeship, and we salute ours too.
When nation days, such as Anzac, foster a positive sense of togetherness and sharing, they contribute to our society and to us all.
