the_baron

It was a dreary June morning in 1987, and I did not want to get up. I had been awakened a few times in the early morning by the crashing of thunder that seemed to be right outside my bedroom window. Now, as I struggled to get up, I heard the constant droning and thumping of rain splattering on the glass. Get up now! My mother yelled as my father tore back my covers. Get up now! He thundered louder than the crashes that awakened me throughout the night. Do we have to go? I whined, afraid of the loudness, and not really wanting to get up. Yes, his voice cracked like a whip, now get up and no arguments.
As I lifted the curtains, I was greeted by a bleak and grey morning. The sun had long since been covered by the thick blanket of clouds draping the sky. Much like the sun, buried beneath the oppression of dark storm clouds, there was little I could do but prepare for the day ahead of me. Little did I know of the lesson in true oppression I was going to learn today.
When we got to the Brandenburg Gate, the sun was just beginning to break the clouds and the rain was finally slackening. The Brandenburg Gate, a symbol of Berlin, resting right in the city center, serves as an oppressive barrier between allied West Berlin and Communist East Berlin. The gate and grounds surrounding, were closed during occupation by the Soviets in 1945. It was framed in majestic white pillars, supporting a field of marble. Resting in the center of the top of the gate is a large bronze sculpture of a chariot pulled by strong and capable Clydesdales. The sun broke the clouds just behind the gate, illuminating in angelic raiment, the bronze sculpture in its golden rays. As we approached, even at the unfocused young age of seven, I couldnt help but notice the serene beauty of the golden framed chariot.
The small parking lot out front of the gate was packed full of people. There was an air of anticipation and restlessness so overwhelming even I could not help but fidget in the time I was forced to wait. As we entered, a man dressed in a starched and pressed army officers suit handed me an American flag I was to wave when President Reagan took the stage. We pushed our way through the crowd until we were within fifteen feet of the stage. The crowd was as dense as the rank-and-file of noble warriors feasting in Valhalla awaiting Ragnarok. All around, the sound of muffled German words rang like an orchestra of trumpets.
All of a sudden, as though everything was captured in the flash of a camera, everyone stopped, and an eerie silence fell upon the crowd. All I could hear was the sound of splashing rain, and in the distance the quiet clicking of a piece of wood upon marble. Just as suddenly, the crowd roared into applause. As the people around me jumped in response, I was slammed against my fathers leg, nearly losing my footing. I clung for dear life thinking, if I fell here, the people would surely not see me, and stomp me to a pancake. A pancake. I was getting hungry, too. Driven out of the house without even breakfast, I curled my lips at my parents who, lucky for me, didnt see my sneer.
The people before me swirled into a field of flags swaying like a field of rich grain. I looked up and I could see my golden chariot, now seemingly aflame with the approaching sun, and below it, standing amidst the Brandenburg Gate, I saw an old man waving his hands. His hair was streaked a salt and pepper, though much more salt than pepper. His suit was immaculately pressed, and where everyones coat was dancing in the wind, his stood firm against the beating. As he began to talk, the crowd fell into a hush, flags waving to the tempo of his voice.
He talked for what seemed to be the whole day, though lunch time never came. Most words that day were lost amidst the roaring of the crowd. A few words did remain. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Western Europe, if you seek liberalization: come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall! Those words echoed through my mind, and suddenly I cried for freedom. I thought of my parents that morning forcing me from my bed and driving me from the house without breakfast. I looked at my angelic chariot, and I thought of the Wall. I thought of the concrete barrier as it ran behind my apartment, where from the third floor I could gaze into its empty depths. The dry dirt path running immediately inside of it, and the tanks that would patrol it every hour. I thought of the towers spaced every one-hundred feet or so on the inside, manned with armed guards. I thought of the crisp and finite sound of gunfire that would ring in the middle of the night. I thought of this gate, the Brandenburg Gate, that had been closed since that fateful day when the Soviet Union occupied East Berlin. This gate was a symbol for all of Berlin, so long as it remained closed, the East remained under the tyranny of Communist Russia and unfree. That was when I looked down and realized my tyrannical father had hoisted me upon his shoulders, so that I, too, might see President Reagan. I realized I missed breakfast because of my own stubbornness and refusal to eat in protest. Most importantly I knew my parents awakened me this morning because they knew I should not miss this speech.
I later learned that prior to President Reagans speech, his men had placed speakers facing into East Berlin, so that they could hear his speech. I also learned that East German police had tried during the course of the speech to drive back any spectators who tried to listen. Two years later the Berlin Wall came down, amidst surprise, excitement, and Peter Jennings.
As I sit in a free America looking at my piece of the Berlin Wall, now crumbling and fading with age, I look back on that speech, and I realize I saw the beginning of an event that changed the face of the world. I saw my piece of the Wall, a testament to the tyranny forced upon East Berlin, and East Germany. I remember my father, whom I once thought of as an unrelenting despot, fighting to bring these East Germans freedom, and to protect my freedom. I remember the flags waving and the desire of a divided nation to experience sovereignty. Now I look at my piece of the Berlin Wall, and I see a nation united, brought together not by the Allied Forces, but by the German people united in determination. I understand the importance of freedom, and in protecting it, if I do not want to live in a world like East Berlin.