I love wearing my Retired US Air Force hat. I love the memories that come with this reflection of my time in the Air Force. For example, I loved the historical significance of visiting Berlin before the wall came down. Traveling with my family from Frankfurt, Germany, in a heavily guarded and sealed train through Communist East Germany, I had a feeling of uncertainty about whether we would survive the ride without some military confrontation. I recall that we only had some small windows we peered through to see the Russian and East German soldiers standing along the tracks with their guns readied as the train very slowly inched its way into Berlin. I also recall that we were briefed not to make any contact with the East German soldiers and no obscene gestures. That was one of the eeriest and most uncertain trips I ever took with my family.
But I wouldn’t trade that trip for anything. My children physically touched the Berlin Wall, saw the graffiti, and learned what it was like to be isolated in your own country. More importantly, they experienced how physical and ideological walls separated families, friends, and governments. The Berlin Wall was the ultimate symbol of tribalism. Shortly after we visited East Germany, President Reagan admonished President Gorbachev by saying, “ Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall.” Indeed the Wall came down. Both East Germans and West Germans took hammers, axes, and their physical bodies to break down and remove the symbol of their division that had begun just after WW II. On that glorious night, autobahns that normally whizzed with Mercedes, BMWs, and Porches became clogged with East German Trabants bumper-to-bumper. In a constant stream of light East Germans abandoned their tribal divisions to seek loving refuge in the arms and homes of their West German families and friends.
As far as the East is from the West, I reflected on another tribal symbol and a deep division in ideologies. On assignment to South Korea, I visited the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), a three-mile strip of land between North and South Korea. The DMZ is quiet, tense, and eerie. Nothing seems to move there, and there is no sound other than North Korean propaganda loudspeakers shouting nonstop propaganda and invitations to come to North Korea. Once again, here I was in this uncertain location caught between estranged families locked in their tribal battles. There were moments during that visit when I got that same feeling of concern crossing into Berlin. Here, I felt caught between two worlds, just miles apart, and I was not sure if I would make it out. These two examples bring me to the main reason that inspired me to write this article.
This morning, I awoke from a dream that troubled me. In my dream, I was attending a baseball game where the National Anthem was playing. Everyone was standing as the Anthem played. I remembered my conflicting thoughts standing for the Anthem. Here I was holding my Retired US Air Force hat over my heart reflecting on my service, Berlin, The DMZ, and the many exciting opportunities I had to serve our country. But then, in the middle of the Anthem, an announcer paused the Anthem to declare that we sang all stanzas of The National Anthem. The Anthem restarted, and the words projected onto the Jumbotron. The crowd sang with gusto. Then came the third stanza.
“And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
A home and a Country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
Everyone kept singing, some more loudly than others, while some just merely hushed in dismay as they were expected to continue singing. I instinctively fell to my knees and punched my clenched fist in the air, as I endured this demonstration of tribalism in our great country. By the fourth stanza, the voices had all but quieted, and that eerie feeling I felt crossing into Berlin and walking in the DMZ returned. It was at that very moment that I felt estranged from my country even though I was right there amid fellow countrymen. The silence was palpable. I opened my eyes and looked up and saw everyone around me, a mixture of all ethnicities gazing down at me with deep empathy. At that moment, I imagined what the East and West Germans felt at reunification. I projected on the scene of potential reunification between North and South Korea and what that might represent. But, then, I awoke from my dream, perplexed.
In the United States of America, we fought a war for maintaining unity between the North and South. However, today, we still have a divided North, East, South, West, and Central America. The boundaries, cultures, and tribes are well-delineated. We seem more divided along ethnic, political, economic, and religious tribal lines than any other time in my short history in America. There is a question that requires a discussion.
East and a West Germany came together because they were one people separated by a wall. North and South Korea are one people separated by the chasm called the DMZ. The question we must ask America is, since we are not of one ethnic family, what illusions must we tear down to make us one cohesive tribe? Or should the question be, is it necessary that we become one tribe working together, or should we retain the tribal uniqueness of each group and compliment each other for the greater good?
I am fully awake now.
Stan Brooks, PhD
