If I lived in Washington, DC, I’d probably
be in jail by now. Or done my best to start a revolution. Or both. I do know
I’d be down at the World War II memorial with a pair of wire cutters, snapping
the wires that hold the barricades together. Barricades. Steel fences. Set up
around a great plaza of pillars and plaques that never closes. That has no
doors or walls or gates. That’s normally open to anyone who wishes to walk
through and remember what it took to conquer Hitler and Mussolini and Hirohito.
To empty the concentration camps and bring the perpetrators to justice.
But now, as
schoolchildren arrive to learn their heritage, and men in wheelchairs, the ones
who did the conquering, who took Pacific islands inch by inch and freed the
captives one by one, approach the monument to the struggle of their youth, they
are told, “Sorry, closed. You can’t come in.” To them, I would say, “You are
not to be kept out,” and I would cut the wires and drag the barriers aside.
Maybe someone would help me. I’m 63. I’m a grandmother. I have arthritis. But I
know capricious tyranny when I see it, and I hope I would give every ounce of
strength to tear down its work.
People whose
pay comes from taxes on their fellow citizens set up those barricades. Across
the country, they blocked parking lots and streets and ocean fishing grounds.
They even placed traffic cones on Dakota roads to prevent anyone’s stopping to
gaze at Mt. Rushmore. They have to know this is wrong. “Lack of funds. We have
to shut down,” says the Obama administration. And they assign extra staff,
extra work, extra equipment to keep the American people from their birthright. “We’ll
allot money for the parks,” says the House. “No,” says the executive, “not
without imposing our insurance-purchasing scheme on the people, whether they
want it or not.”
So, to the
rangers and police officers, I would say, “Please do not be good Germans.” Do
not cooperate in assaulting the freedoms of your fellow citizens. Your
conscience must at least whisper that this is wrong, as it did for many
ordinary people in Germany some 80 years ago. “You may be asked to do things
you think are wrong,” they were told, “but there is a higher purpose for these
actions. The Fuehrer knows best. You must obey him for the good of the
Fatherland.” They did the little things. Then they were asked to do bigger
things. Terrible things. If only they had said no in the first place.
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