NORTH BATTLEFORD — Joe Whittaker retired in August 2012 as a master corporal out of Edmonton with One Service Battalion, a transport company. He was a mobile support equipment operator, responsible for driving and training others on almost everything the army had on wheels or tracks. He instructed and examined drivers on buses, tractor trailers and armoured personnel carriers, though tanks were handled by a different division. His unit stayed busy through the 12 years of the Afghanistan war.
Whittaker worked at the Western Area Training Centre, which trained about 4,000 candidates a year for deployment, mainly out of CFB Edmonton. He served in Bosnia from 2000 to 2001 as part of NATO ROTO Seven, and later in Afghanistan in 2011, supporting the last combat missions there.
Remembrance Day holds deep meaning for Whittaker. His father, both grandfathers, and other relatives served in the military, including his uncle Gil Bellavance, a Canadian Vietnam veteran. Whittaker said Vietnam veterans have not been properly recognized by the Canadian government. His father passed away shortly after Remembrance Day last year, adding another layer of meaning to the cenotaph for him.
“There were 158 members and seven civilians killed in Afghanistan,” Whittaker said. “I knew 79 personally. I trained with them, went on courses with them, and even taught some of them later in my career. Remembrance Day reconnects me with their memories. You can’t put every name on a cenotaph, but one cenotaph can represent them all. They were real, and their lives mattered.”
Whittaker was born and raised in Chilliwack, B.C., and moved to North Battleford three years ago with his wife, Sara, who is from Ottawa. He said returning home after serving overseas is difficult for many veterans, even those not in active combat. He compared it to the book, the Lord of the Rings written by J.R.R. Tolkien who himself was a First World War veteran. Through the characters he described how difficult it was for the hobbits to return to normal life after their adventure. “There’s something that always leaves you separate,” he said.
Whittaker spoke about PTSD and how understanding has changed. “It’s not a lack of moral fibre or bravery. It’s a psychological response to trauma,” he said. “You don’t feel like a whole person. In the past, people tried to self-medicate or took risky paths. Now there’s more support and awareness through health care and communities.”
When Whittaker was posted in Halifax, he worked with a group that helped veterans living on the margins. He recalled a man who had deserted before being sent overseas and lived in a cave for decades, too afraid to come forward. They reached him late in life, but he passed away before receiving help.
In Edmonton, Whittaker volunteered with a group that helped veterans in isolation, often with PTSD or addiction. He shared a success story of a man living in the mountains near Edson who, after months of encouragement, came down for treatment and eventually married a nurse he met during recovery.
“Even with training and experience, many veterans struggle with loneliness and depression,” Whittaker said. “Some go into isolation to end their lives. We want to bring these men home.”
Whittaker can no longer do that work himself after breaking his neck during his last tour. But he continues to live by one principle: “You take the worst of your experiences and make them into something good. Don’t forget them, because if we forget history, we’re doomed to repeat it.”
