A Few Stories from the Past
So, it's day 6 of my 16-day vacation and I am officially...bored. Had lunch with friends, did yoga, finished reading a book (Eat, Pray, Love - you should try it), cleaned the apartment, ran all kinds of errands, painted a garden gnome...I do things, but I am getting stir-crazy. I've never been good with being idle. So over the next few days, along with all the other little things I have set out to do (watch the Tour, garden, do some outlet shopping, nap and read Cosmo) I will recount some of the stories of my childhood. Deb always told me it was oral history and I should preserve it. Well...at least it will give my brain something to do.
Monday Demonstrations
I must have been about 10 years old when civil unrest began spreading throughout East Germany in 1989. Peaceful civil unrest, mind you. Silent demonstrations. Prayers and candles. On two occasions, my dad allowed me to come along. Dad had always been anti-Communist, fully aware that there was a big wide world beyond the Western borders, and identifying more with anything from its music to its personal opportunities than with the tenants of his own country.
Dad took the East German flag and carefully removed the sewed-on emblem, in effect turning it into a German flag: three horizontal stripes, black, red and gold. And so we marched, me, ten years old with a candle; dad, a young 38, with our flag. There were several dozen, maybe a hundred fellow protesters. The wave of protests emanated from the larger cities: Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin. Toward the end of the GDR, these demonstrations happened all over Germany, even in the small towns - and they happened every Monday.
I clearly remember feeling unsettled. I might have overheard mom and dad talking; otherwise I'm not sure how I would have known...but I knew the police were not in favor of what we were doing. Monday night in the town square we gathered. And here we walked - and there they stood. Silently. With their guns. Just watching as walk by. Then, I wondered how long it would be before they would shoot at us. Today, I wonder, how many of them secretly wished they could have joined us.
Together we marched. And we shouted: "Wir sind ein Volk!" (We are one people!) We marched by the building that every knew to house the Stasi, the East German CIA. An organization that wire-tapped houses and phones, asked neighbors and brothers to spy on each other, and incarcerated anyone that might cause trouble, pastors included. "Stasi raus!" (Away with the Stasi!) we demanded, and many people fastened candles on the steps of this concrete symbol of all that was wrong with our country.
And in that dark, still night in 1989, I left my candle there, too.
Monday Demonstrations
I must have been about 10 years old when civil unrest began spreading throughout East Germany in 1989. Peaceful civil unrest, mind you. Silent demonstrations. Prayers and candles. On two occasions, my dad allowed me to come along. Dad had always been anti-Communist, fully aware that there was a big wide world beyond the Western borders, and identifying more with anything from its music to its personal opportunities than with the tenants of his own country.
Dad took the East German flag and carefully removed the sewed-on emblem, in effect turning it into a German flag: three horizontal stripes, black, red and gold. And so we marched, me, ten years old with a candle; dad, a young 38, with our flag. There were several dozen, maybe a hundred fellow protesters. The wave of protests emanated from the larger cities: Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin. Toward the end of the GDR, these demonstrations happened all over Germany, even in the small towns - and they happened every Monday.
I clearly remember feeling unsettled. I might have overheard mom and dad talking; otherwise I'm not sure how I would have known...but I knew the police were not in favor of what we were doing. Monday night in the town square we gathered. And here we walked - and there they stood. Silently. With their guns. Just watching as walk by. Then, I wondered how long it would be before they would shoot at us. Today, I wonder, how many of them secretly wished they could have joined us.
Together we marched. And we shouted: "Wir sind ein Volk!" (We are one people!) We marched by the building that every knew to house the Stasi, the East German CIA. An organization that wire-tapped houses and phones, asked neighbors and brothers to spy on each other, and incarcerated anyone that might cause trouble, pastors included. "Stasi raus!" (Away with the Stasi!) we demanded, and many people fastened candles on the steps of this concrete symbol of all that was wrong with our country.
And in that dark, still night in 1989, I left my candle there, too.
"Then, I wondered how long it would be before they would shoot at us." This comment really struck me. I can't imagine being ten years old and in a situation where I thought I would receive gun fire from the police. How significant do you think these moments were to shaping the woman you have become?
ReplyDeleteI think my dad new it would be safe, but as a kid, uniformed armed guards still look scary. You know I'd never thought about how these evens shaped my life, but without those days I couldn't be in the US, wouldn't have chosen my educational path - or career. Interesting insight, Kellie. Thanks!
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