More Jefferson

Regular reader, Lauren or LT, wrote the following. I think it raises a lot of big ideas.

A few weeks ago (or maybe it’s been longer, by now) BJM posted about his experience at Jefferson Memorial. Reading his post stirred in me memories of my own trip there this summer. It’s now been almost two months since I last visited DC, so the clearest memories of my initial experiences have faded, and all that I am left with are vague feelings of my visits to our nation’s monuments.

Despite being in DC for almost a month, I regret to say that I did not take advantage of city as much as I would have liked. Don’t get me wrong, I did visit plenty of sites, but I never explicitly planned a day that I would visit Lincoln/Jefferson Memorial. And so, two nights before I left for home, I found myself dressed and ready to walk to the sites that I had neglected to visit before.

I left my room around 10:30 p.m. with a couple of my friends. We didn’t end up getting back to our rooms until around 2 a.m., but the lack of sleep was worth it. The sights were absolutely breathtaking at night and—because it was so late—we were, for the most part, the only visitors. This unimpeded access was something we surely wouldn’t have been afforded during the day, and it magnified the experience.

Even though the three of us walked together, we were largely silent for the majority of the trip. It was clear the solitude of the night had bestowed a sense of somberness on the event, and no one seemed eager to break it. I think that we each walked away that night with different impressions of our country and our own purpose. Though we briefly touched on each others’ feelings, it was clear that it was a sensitive topic, and so I can’t elaborate on the experiences of my friends, but I can share with you some of my own thoughts.

For me, I came away with a stronger feeling of emotional connection to my country. In my classes, it is often remarked that Americans have a sense of exceptionalism: that we are absolutely unique as a country and as a people, and therefore are entitled to a different set of rules than the rest of the world. Yet the idea of a country is part fact, part myth. The shared identity is largely a creation of history, and as students, we attempt to take ourselves out of this identity and evaluate America with a detached perspective. Once our emotions are taken out of the equation, our analyses, purportedly, become more reliable.

Ashamedly, I have done just that. I came to this school as a die-hard conservative, and as my own identity slowly changed, I felt that it was natural that my feelings towards my country shift too. I had actually bought into the hate that I had spewed before: that only conservatives loved America, and that everyone else was defiling the country that our forefathers had worked so hard to build and to hold together. And so for so long now, I have been harboring guilty feelings: how could I still love my country, yet not be a conservative?

The three of us were undisturbed by others in Jefferson Memorial that night, but I wouldn’t have known that. I was completely alone, trapped inside my thinking, thoughts racing a mile a minute. My thoughts weren’t specific towards Jefferson, but they were more general, directed mostly towards my country.

That night, I sat on a bench in front of Jefferson Memorial in silence. I was reluctant to stand up and to walk closer; I felt unworthy as an American to stand before such a magnanimous entity. But eventually, I pushed myself forward and walked up to face Jefferson and to read his words.

The mood remained unbroken by the night, and as I read the words engraved on the walls around him, my eyes welled up with tears. I imagined a country, or thirteen colonies, torn apart by war. I saw a few men, thrust into an unplanned scenario, fighting to liberate this country—using whatever gifts God had granted them—and to give to her children the opportunities that we have today. Reading his words and gazing up at his image, I felt proud to be an American.

I don’t care about Toby Keith, or about bumper stickers that declare how much you support the troops, or even about the flags that people hang outside their homes. Tom has previously stated on this blog that this country will not be the same country it is today by 2027. Similarly, my freshman year (high school) Geography teacher told me that like all great empires, eventually America will crumble. I don’t know if I’m being a romantic or an optimist or just plain ignorant, but I don’t believe this to be the case, and I don’t ever want it to be.

I want to be a productive member of this society. I want to work to ensure that the freedoms I enjoy today will be enjoyed by my children and by my grandchildren and by their grandchildren. True, I don’t believe that war in Iraq is the ticket to ensure this freedom, but right now, that doesn’t matter, for I have regained the confidence in and the love for my country that I had almost lost.

My trip to Jefferson was a walk that millions have made before, and so I am by no means unique in my experience. But that night was important to me, for it provided me both with a sense of relief from my conflicted political feelings, and with a sense of purpose.

~By Lauren or LT