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CLASSIFIED COUNCIL CORNER |
by Heather Glenn, President, Classified Council
Far
From Home On Sunday, September 9, I drove my parents to the small airport in Santa Barbara to send them on the first leg of their journey to Asia. It would be the last time I would see them for three months. My father, a professor of anthropology at Santa Barbara City College, is one of two instructors leading a Study Abroad group of more than forty students to Korea, China and Vietnam. My mother is among those students. The essay that follows is one written by my mother for an assignment. While the assignment was merely to write about a personal experience, in her words, “it went way beyond and as I wrote it I realized things were tumbling out of me onto the paper….” Although her words were never intended for a general audience, she has allowed me to share them with you. Personal Experience And so we come with our bags and boxes, our suitcases and our carry-ons. With wide-open mouths and eyes, and pockets full of travelers’ checks we come to Asia. We leave our loving families, routine obligations, hectic way of life, and lift our gear to begin the journey designed to ensure we discover ourselves, and new perspectives in relation to the world. In the airports the flights are late. We pace, play cards, eat, and chat. We watch the monitors, try to calculate the time difference, and how long the flight will take. We ask ourselves did I bring all I intended, and we try to imagine what lies ahead, knowing that task is impossible. The flight is long, too long, but just long enough to bring us to our first stop, Seoul. We collect ourselves and our luggage and boxes, count and check, “Did it all arrive?” Some are missing. Mine is missing. Our leader’s roll of maps, our gift to our host school, is missing. Reports are filed, calls are made with our guide’s assistance. The suitcase is in Germany. Where the maps are no one can say. Assurances are made; the lost will be found and will be delivered tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a long time. I want my things. I’ve carefully planned and packed. I have convinced myself I have nothing extra, but all that I need for the next three months. The gifts for new Chinese friends, the pictures of my family, my travelers’ checks, a change of clothes, and my personal care items are in my carry-on. I don’t panic, but I want my things. The next day we travel by bus along the barbed wire bordering the Han-gang River to the Demilitarized Zone, a misnomer, for it is there we see the military for the first time. Peter and our guide try to prepare us for the trip with historical background and facts. The reality is another story, one we struggle to comprehend, one for which we have no frame of reference. We are a short half-hour ride from Seoul, the capital city of South Korea. It’s a thriving city moving swiftly into the twenty-first century, and the enemy is on its doorstep. Family members were lost to each other during the Korean War and the eventual political necessity, the DMZ. Public monuments speak to the unending sorrow. We hear the painful description of war. It’s full of battles, captures, heroes, lost soldiers and families. We hear stories about the war dead and view captured paraphernalia and weapons. Statistics are revealed that number the dead, the years of war and the management of the cease-fire. We step on the face of the enemy in the form of a caricature boldly depicted in the middle of the floor. Are we now more than observers? Are we now participants? We continue on to the Infiltration Tunnel Number 3 and walk down the slippery slope to the point of its blockade by the South Koreans. We are under North Korea. We hike out again and have our smiling picture taken. What lessons have we and the cheerful schoolgirls who have joined us learned? Are the people at the other end to be feared? We are told so, but don’t they want to live peaceful lives just like us? Nearby we see the Freedom Bridge where prisoner exchanges took place. It’s a holiday atmosphere with small carnival rides near the monument and visitors’ area. Again we see the schoolgirls and take pictures. We see miles and miles of fencing topped with barbed wire. Banners and narrow paper strips are tied to the gates. We can only guess at their meanings, but they are somehow heart wrenching. We travel on to the observation building. It’s an elaborate construction with viewing decks overlooking a stunningly tranquil scene of merging rivers, verdant mountains, and the enemy’s farms and village on the hillside. On the top level, a small shop sells beer, sodas, and snacks. You can have your picture taken by a friend or pay a photographer who will produce the photo on the spot. On a nearby hill, the government is building a family park. It too will have a view of the rivers, the hills, and the enemy on the hillside. We take in the scene, the experience of the tunnel, and the Freedom Bridge with fluttering wishes tied to the barbed wire and the gates. We struggle to make sense of this day, for we all feel violated. This day is September 11, 2001, the day our country was struck by terrorists. The day death and destruction of yet unknown magnitude struck at our homeland. The fact of it happening we know, but the ramifications and personal connections we have yet to learn. Does this mean war for us? We’ve just experienced the heartbreak and futility of the Korean War. We’ve just been given a glimpse of an enemy residing in a nation’s backyard, and the pain violence can cause. Who has done this awful thing and what will be the response? All of these thoughts and the images we’ve seen on TV merge and swirl with the DMZ experience and confound our senses. We feel frightened and helpless, and we are very far from home. We return to the hotel, and the lost items have not arrived. We make more phone calls, but the importance is diminished. The contents of the suitcase and the tube are merely things. They are replaceable. What Korea lost in 1949 when it was divided at the 38th parallel and during the Korean War and the faith in our security and the lives our nation lost today can never be replaced. What we can do is learn from our mistakes, comfort the grieving and injured, look for a nonviolent resolution and rebuild. We must not be consumed by the terrorists’ acts and we must not diminish the rights or liberties we hold dear. We must remember what happened in our land half a world away and strive to educate ourselves so that we can make a difference. “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world, indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has,” wrote Margaret Mead. We are few, but our lives can touch many. We must remember, remember how fragile peace is and strive to preserve it. Our world is very small after all. |