Let me preface this section by saying that this is a look into my very personal decision making process. I'm not suggesting that you make similar decisions; everyone is going to have to think this out for yourself. But I want to walk you through where I am because I think it helps to decide where you stand before you're put to the test.
One of the things that most changed me as a human being was visiting a concentration camp in Germany when I was ten years old. My father, who taught chemistry at a community college, had gone on sabbatical to do research with a professor there. We tagged along, went to German schools, and met German people. And at the end of the trip, we went to Dachau.
I had a ten year old's understanding of World War II . Probably better than most purely-US educated ten year olds, because I had gone to a German school, and they did in fact teach a pretty unflinching look at Nazis. Still, I was not prepared. It is one thing to hear; it is another to see and smell it.
There were many stages to how journey in processing my visit to the concentration camp. First, there was the experience. There were the photographs and videos. There was the visit to the barracks and the ovens. There was a sickness that I felt deep in my soul that this could happen--that people could be so cruel, that others could stand by and claim not to know.
I couldn't just say to myself “well, that was Germans--they're different.” I'd spent the year living in Germany already. I knew that there were ways that Germans were culturally different, but they had also been incredibly kind.
There was a woman we knew who had been a young woman during World War II. Her name was Marta Schmalz; she came over for dinner every week. She had fled East Germany when the Soviets took over, risking her life and leaving behind her entire family. I had never thought of her as a coward.
So after a year of knowing her as the person who brought us apfelkuchen every Tuesday and made sure we were wearing scarves and warm pants, I asked her about World War II.
She didn't tell me that she didn't know; she said that she hadn't wanted to know. That she had been too afraid to do anything, and so she avoided learning anything that would make her act. That she lived with the shame of what happened for her entire life.
This last week, I have suffered from the fun kind of insomnia where I woke up with my mind racing, based on the giant red “YOU ARE HERE” arrow that seems to be pointing to a very precise and frightening spot on the timeline.
What do I do? How willI know that I am doing enough? How far am I willing to go? Can I speak out and still keep safe if (when) they start coming after political dissidents? What might they do to me?
I have come to understand the color of Marta Schmalz's fear. But I have another fear, too: the fear that I might have to live with the shame of not having done enough.
And so this last week, I came to a realization.
I will have done enough to stop what is coming if they come for me for exercising my constitutional rights to speak, to advocate, and to protest. There is no fear I have that is bigger than the fear of letting atrocity happen while I do nothing.
I thought about my terror of what might happen to me--the flickering fear of “but if they start putting dissidents in camps” that has lived in my gut for what feels like months and months. And I made a choice. So what if they do? I would rather be put in a camp than look the other way. I would rather be jailed than shut up. It would be an honor to go to a labor camp if it meant that I stayed uncowed.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not seeking this out; I don't want it to happen, and if I can prevent it without compromising my values, I will. But I have made my peace with the possibility.
And having accepted the possibility, let me just say… The terror is gone, and I'm sleeping well again.
I also know that this is not a decision everyone can make, too. I don't have kids; I do have other brothers and sisters who can help my parents, if push comes to shove. But that is my decision.
