It wasn't until I had a quiet moment after all the bustle of yesterday that I remembered that I had been to the Lincoln Monument before. The first time, it was at night. And for some reason, in all those many years since, I had forgotten the scale and majesty of this city that is our nation's capitol. On this day, events conspired to make the experience truly unforgettable.
I come from a small town in America. It has never been truly represented. It is variously known as Crenshaw, South Central, South LA, Baldwin Hills. Wanda Coleman is its poet. Jervey Tervalon captures the energy of its youth, I understand these things. I would like to think that I tell part of its tale although it has been many years since I've lived there. Every American comes from a small place, but what they should come to is the Capitol. And walk it.
Coming to the Capitol means that you leave something behind. That for a moment, especially in the presence of the war memorials, you think about not only the current nation of millions, but generations of millions and what they did to contribute to the great commons. It is at once humbling and empowering.
We followed an exuberant and loud tourguide around the mall to the usual places, hearing both the expected and unexpected historical details. It all stayed light and buoyant until we got to the Vietnam Memorial, at which point the people got more serious. There are about 10,000 folks who come by on a daily basis, and the interesting tidbit is that all kinds of gifts and artifacts are left there. And it was at that moment, especially as I heard a Park Service employee explaining in hushed tones, how many moods and how many attitudes people bring to the Capitol. The monuments are silent and not to be worshiped. They are not idols, they are themselves artifacts of compromise as anything in a democratic country must be. And they therefore live in us and we in them.
What strikes me most about the great Mall is how much of it is grass, and how that speaks of us as a free society. Not like Tienanmen. Nothing like St. Peter's. Far from Red Square. We are to feel not intimidated, but welcome in our Capitol. Not intimidated but intimate, a grand intimacy with great ideas.
This end of the Mall has Lincoln, and on this stage was the greatest march. A reminder of the millions engaged in the ever-renewing struggle for freedom. A reminder of the triumph and victory among ourselves. After the 600,000s dead in our own Civil War, it only took a few dozens more against the 17 year backdrop of Vietnam to emerge from our own domestic diffidence to strike into law and defend with honor and might that which stands to defend domestic freedom and justice for all. And standing on the Mall with Lincoln at our back and the solid ground of Martin under our feet the view is unobstructed into the clear blue sky with the greatness of Washington all around us.
My oldest daughter has bright yellow shoes and Bootsy glasses. And she skipped through the grasses after our Coneys towards the WW2 Memorial. We could take pictures by the fountain and I know she would know nothing of the bridge at Remagen, considering what little she knew of King's own speech. And I thought a silent prayer of thanks for the enjoyment of our strength and our relative peace. I told her that we were extremely fortunate that we lived in a time when the entire nation wasn't faced with war and that I didn't have to be sent. I mumbled it sorta sheepishly knowing my own personal proclivity to break up fights. I would go. She heard me immediately and deeply saying "Yes, sir."
We stand in the continuity of struggle to keep liberty alive and healthy in the straight and narrow greenfields between Independence and Constitution.
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