Unleashing Hell

At my signal, unleash hell.
    --Maximus, Gladiator, 2000

I’ve been through two wars and I know. I’ve seen cities and homes in ashes. I’ve seen thousands of men lying on the ground, their dead faces looking up at the skies. I tell you, war is hell! .
    -- General William Tecumseh Sherman

I’ve asked about 100 Canadians why they’re proud to be Canadians. The most common response is a few seconds of silence.

Though every one I’ve spoken with is clearly very proud, they find it unseemly to brag. Canadians, for the most part, are modest.

When pressed, they generally supply adjectives like, “friendly,” “generous,” “tolerant,” and “peace-loving” as responses.

That last, “peaceful,” “peace loving” or “peacekeeping,” seems sometimes to be referring – indirectly, of course – to their neighbors to the south.

The fact is (though they rarely seem willing to say it directly), one of the things Canadians are most proud of is that they are not Americans.

I have been asked a dozen or more times to explain and predict the course of events in Iraq. And in the context of the Canadian culture, as I’m beginning to understand it, it’s very hard to justify or rationalize U.S. policy in the Middle East.

Yesterday, however, I spent a couple of hours with a Canadian immigrant, a woman who came to Saskatchewan from Holland not long after World War II. She and her husband were “recruited” by a team of Canadians that toured Europe encouraging folks to help populate the western provinces.

My questions about that experience led to the background story – a story of life in an occupied country where death and destruction become a part of every day and the only constants are fear and sadness.

When two German soldiers were billeted in their home, the Dutch family had to deal with a paradox: how could two “nice” young men, who were so polite and considerate as uninvited guests in their home, be part of a killing machine that roamed the neighborhood at night, taking friends and relatives away to suffer and die in labor and concentration camps?

Sixty-five years later, the emotions remain raw. My hostess reached for tissues as she wept when images obviously as clear as if they happened yesterday came to mind.

The pain from remembering filled the room. My throat tightened and I felt tears welling in my own eyes. But it was clear that she wanted – needed – to share more.

When news came of the German attack, the entire population of her village fled to high ground. The Dutch intended to flood the lowlands to slow the enemy advance. But the Blitzkrieg overran all defenses before any resistance could be mounted; the people returned to their homes, but not to the Holland they had known.

The occupation went on for years. Everything was in short supply. The first thought each morning was about food: Will I eat today? Or go hungry? Neighbors, particularly Jews, were taken away by the hundreds. That terror compounded the fear resulting from German troops in the streets and, ultimately in their very homes.

This was as intense a conversation, as intense an experience, as I’ve ever had. My heart ached for this gentle woman and for the millions who endured what she did – and more.

Sixty-five years after the invasion and occupation, it is clear that such events not only survive in memory but that they shape entire lives and affect the way survivors react to nearly every aspect of life. Having lived in fear and deprivation, it’s impossible to feel safe and comfortable again.

I can’t help but think of the millions of American children who go to bed each night feeling certain that life will be the same for them in the morning. In other parts of the world, children have no such sense of security.

But I also realize that twenty, forty and even sixty years from now, the terror that is a constant for children and adults who live in occupied and war-torn countries will remain strong.

Survivors like my Dutch friend remain victims for life.

So much for “glory.”