Freedom

G.M. Malliet

There are occasions we can never forget. The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, and the assassinations of JFK, RFK, and MLK are among the occasions that come to mind.

Occasions where you not only remember where you were, you can never forget where you were, what you were doing, when you heard the news.

But there is a happy occasion that comes to mind, also: the day the Berlin Wall fell, twenty years ago on November 9. The day we woke up, most of us with nothing more pressing on our minds than what to have for breakfast, and saw the amazing images of the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Of people cavorting on top of the much-hated, nearly 100-mile-long concrete edifice.

The day communism collapsed in Europe, seemingly overnight.

One day you’d be shot for trying to cross the border (and many did die trying), the next day a giant Oktoberfest was in progress.

No one could believe it. Freedom was as “easy”—and as difficult—as that.

The escape attempts, whether successful and unsuccessful, were heartbreaking. How desperate do you have to be to make a break for freedom with your family in a homemade hot air balloon? To spend months digging a secret tunnel, with the hundreds of occasions for betrayal and discovery? To make a mad and almost certainly suicidal dash across the “death strip”?

By coincidence (having forgotten the 20^th anniversary of this event was upon us) my husband and I visited the Newseum for the first time last week, where as it turns out, part of the Berlin Wall is on exhibit. This, combined with a display of Pulitzer Prize-winning photos, many of atrocities too painful to witness, and the 9-11 exhibit (ditto), provides a powerful one-two-three punch. I would urge everyone visiting Washington, D.C., to take in the Newseum, but bring a handkerchief. The exhibits are among the most potent reminders of the freedoms it is so easy to take for granted—beginning with that writers’ favorite, the freedom of the press.

My turn at this blog is a day late for Veterans Day, but let this serve as a very small tribute to those whose sacrifices let us live without walls, real or imagined.

Berlin wall photo from BBC.co.uk

Oh, Say Can You See?

For the past eight weeks I’ve been traveling across the country, watching the odometer on my car flip past 100,000, eating too many Combos (cheddar is my favorite), and sleeping in too many hotels. (Correction: Trying to sleep. I’ve been awakened by folks pounding on the door next to me because “Jennifer” forgot to set her alarm and was about to miss the shuttle, by a smoke alarm, and by a hotel staff who forgot to re-set their clocks to Daylight Savings Time.)

And what have I seen?

A glorious, panoramic vision of our country. From the Appalachian mountains where my vehicle went up and down and round and round like a child’s toy, to the waving wheat-filled plains of Kansas, to the big muddy river defining the state borders, to a huge restaurant in Sikeston MO where they throw hot, yeasty rolls at the diners…this is a land so vast, so great that my heart has ached for the love of it.

Today, being Veterans Day, I pause to give thanks that we are free. My mother’s father fought inWWII—she still owns his service revolver. My other grandfather was one of 704 who survived the bombing of the USS Franklin by the Japanese—I have his handwritten account. My husband’s father served on a base in Germany—we still have a collection of Hummels he bought for his bride. My father served on planes during the Korean conflict—he send home a tiny kimono for me.

Perhaps the most poignant service was one I nearly overlooked. I own a grainy “Brownie” snapshot of my uncle in uniform in Korea. For years I’ve admired how handsome Uncle Dick was, with his profile and features so much like a young Johnny Carson. Then I decided to enlarge the photo and use it on a scrapbook page. That’s when I discovered that the “wall” he was standing in front of was actually a bunker made of sandbags.

Suddenly, I saw that image in a new light. I realized my uncle planned it as a “goodbye” photo, a last image in case he didn’t survive.

Often in life we think we “see”. We believe we know what’s what. Who’s who. How it’s hanging. But a slight shift of perspective can open our eyes.

Let me offer a suggestion: A week ago, voters waited seven hours at the polls here in St. Louis. To honor all our veterans, why not make Election Day a national holiday? When we lived in England, our neighbors were shocked that our country--which touts free and fair elections—does NOT give our citizens the day off. Instead, we make it difficult to cast a ballot. Wouldn’t that be a better way of honoring all those who served our country? Who fought and died to make sure we have the right to choose our leaders?

That’s how I see it.