THE WALL

What can I say about what happened to me at The Berlin Wall? To see it was to feel it. It was ridiculous and deadly. It was an eye-sore of graphiti and rusty barbed/razor wire. It was a relic of a long, unfinished war; and a monument to the humanity and inhumanity of men. We read the crosses and signs placed around The Wall, and although not all of us could read German, we could make out the names of the people and the dates they died trying to escape to freedom: family, friends, and life. It brought tears to my eyes to know with stark-raving reality that these ordinary men, women and children all had heroic stories that might be left untold; that there was a price for freedom and they had all paid that price. How could I ever comprehend people who would sacrifice their very lives against that Wall? I was finally comforted to know that every last one who attempted to break through this barrier succeeded in gaining that freedom prize – whether by living through the ordeal, or by dying in the attempt.

I could only take the hammer and chisel we were given and chip away at The Wall by Brandenburg Gate. It was tough-going, but none of us wanted to stop. We wanted to be a part of tearing down that embarrassment. We all wanted to be the ones who freed a little bit of stone in order to free a nation of people. We wanted to be a part of the solution, the movement, democratic process, and the emerging free market economy. We wanted to erect a monument of green grass and blue sky, without idealogical, visual or physical obstruction. We wanted to erect a monument to free agency for all men. We wanted to somehow be associated with those murdered, martyred souls that we never knew, and wanted to avenge them with every strike of hammer to chisel on that wall of shame. None of us wanted to stop the clanging-chipping away, but we were compelled, and so vowed to return and finish the job if ever there was one piece left.