War, Faith, and Family

A Reflection on Leadership and Duty

Decades ago, people often told me I should write a book. They were fascinated by my stories. But why, I thought. It was hard enough having to defend myself and my family from the judgment of the few people I would fully open up to. Why would I open up my choices and their actions to judgement from the world, when my exciting and entertaining stories cannot be properly shared without context.

Yesterday marked the 10-year anniversary of my grandfather‘s death and as such it feels like an appropriate opportunity to offer you some of my history, from which you may perhaps better understand my perspectives of the world and how I observe my current place in it.

A few years ago I believe that God began calling me up to a more meaningful and significant position of leadership. I just wasn’t able to get the message clearly for a while and fought against it. In fact — I begged against it, but not anymore.

Political office is not an arena of service I ever imagined possible for me, nor has being a public figure in this way ever held much interest to me. Personally, I prefer impacting from the background or on the street, but it doesn’t serve Him for me to remain playing small.

Very early on in life I came to understand how the world works and by early adulthood I was quite content with safely and peacefully existing within the established systems that my forefathers fought to defend. 

I always appreciated the law.

I believed in it.

I always did the best I could to live by and to follow it. 

While the rules of my external world lined up with the laws of my internal one, life’s been smooth. Unfortunately, in many cases and spaces this is not how things actually are.

By the time I was 20-years-old I had garnered enough life experience to happily offer up four-years of my future in exchange for whatever the rank and file wanted me to do under the occupational specialties of Psychological Operations or Military Intelligence.

I was ready for a break from having to constantly figure out how to put food in my mouth, a roof over my head, or clothes on my body. 

I wanted to get paid for my work, fairly and on time. I wanted the opportunity to go back to school for a degreed education. Having a GED despite plenty of professional experience was still a major disadvantage in 1996.

I wanted to learn how to physically defend myself from being harmed, with weapons instead of just words. 

I wanted somebody — anybody — to care enough about my existence to finally start having my back. I wanted to stop fighting for my dignity and survival alone.

I Learned How To Learn For Myself Thanks To Him

My mother’s father was born in the United States to Eastern European Jewish immigrants who’d escaped the pogroms ahead of Hitler’s rise to power, fleeing from their homeland of Ukraine and immigrating to New York.

My grandfather was deployed to the South Pacific through heavy battle during the Second World War, proudly serving the US Coast Guard as a Gunner’s Mate, First Class.

He was a devoted and patriotic American who understood full well the trade offs he’d have to make, having come from immigrants who narrowly escaped war.

My grandfather knew what preserving safety and opportunity for a nation entailed.

After his time in uniform, my grandfather served in a career as an investigator with the IRS, notably responsible for operations taking down organized criminal activity before becoming self-employed as an advocate and advisor to the working man in later years.

My grandfather only formerly had an elementary education, otherwise he was self-taught and savvy from the streets.

He worked during the day and fought hard to bring home money so his parents and brothers would have enough to eat. School was never more important than that. He also knew how to cook and enjoyed feeding everyone what he’d make.

In addition to working outside the home to earn money and taking care of domestic affairs inside, my grandfather took it upon himself to access correspondence courses and library books on every subject he found to be of interest.

He later passed his ways on to me, from my memory of my earliest days.

I fondly recall joining my grandfather in the basement of his home in Annapolis. That’s where he kept his office and toys.

Inside the closets he built down there were artifacts and living proof of his youth. It was like visiting a museum every time we’d visit, and he was the ultimate docent.

He’d pull out his old self study books and photos, boxes and containers housing stamps from around the world that he’d collected from incoming mail while at sea.

He loved it when I’d take something home with me from our visits — never having enough time to share his knowledge before someone shouted for his attention from upstairs. He’d grumble and apologize before turning off the lights and leading me back up the creaky stairs.

Once home in Columbia I’d read every book cover to cover. Most of my treasures were his old textbooks from grammar school and personal development books like How To Win Friends and Influence People from Dale Carnegie. Despite his humble beginnings, my grandfather became quite the self-made man.

From America To Europe

Upon enlisting in service, I went to Fort Jackson, South Carolina for Basic Combat Training. During in-processing I failed my initial physical fitness test and got assigned to a remedial program at Reception. I was extremely disappointed in myself for the failure but it proved to be the very best thing for me after all.

By spending extra time focused on specifically correcting a failure I was able to learn more about expectations and how the Army processes its people — reprogramming us to think and act like machines.

My father was a computer engineer, employed to work on the most secret supercomputer in the world through my childhood, so at home I learned how machines operate many years before.

One day during class at Fort Jackson, the Drill Sergeant stepped out of the room to take a call from his wife. Quietly seated in the front row I heard a familiar accent from behind me that seemed out of place for the location.

I turned around and asked the voice where he was from. Of course my recognition of sound was correct. Like me, he was born in Ontario and enlisted in the US Army, despite the proposed threat of losing citizenship. We became fast friends.

My Basic Training program was scheduled to take place through Christmas and the New Year holidays. Unlike other branches, the Army suspended its training during that time and any “Private In Training” who’d remain onsite would force the Drill Sergeants to work and therefore would be punished.

I had nowhere to go but threats of what they’d do to those of us who remained was enough for me to ask my father if I could come visit. He always wanted me there. My mother on the other hand did not. At the time she was the lesser of two evils — or so I believed.

My visit to Maryland started off well. I spent time with friends and on Christmas Eve had a joyful visit with my other family — Jim & Diane. 

I loved seeing everyone and being together again. Unfortunately I’d invited the guy I started seeing before Basic along with me, who turned out to be a drunken buffoon. After making a complete ass of himself and humiliating me Christmas Eve, I asked my brother to help me get him home. There was no way I was going to be alone with that guy and my brother obliged me without objection, helping me laugh through the whole damned experience.

The day after Christmas I spoke with my new friend from Fort Jackson on the telephone. It was slightly weird for both of us because we were used to communicating through writing.

Even when we were together in the remedial program, conversations between males and females were frowned upon and essentially forbidden. They called it fraternization. So our friendship developed by passing notes between classes, in much the same way schoolchildren do.

It was completely innocent, at least from my end it was. Aside from already having had a boyfriend when I met Chris, I just didn’t see him in that way. I’ve always been what you’d call a “tomboy” and most of my early-life friends and colleagues were male.

Over the telephone we discussed how our “Christmas Exodus” as it was called, was going. Like me, he was happy to visit with loved ones but didn’t really feel comfortable sticking around for another week. After asking my father for permission, I invited Chris to hang out with me in Maryland before we had to report back. He was eager to see the sights and I’ve always enjoyed playing tour guide.

Chris took a Greyhound from Pennsylvania where he’d spent Christmas the next day, and I picked him up from the station in Baltimore.

After cordial hellos and a friendly relaxed evening at my parents’ house, it got late and my mother became unsettled. I won’t go into the details of it right now but basically in the middle of the night she decided and demanded that my friend had to leave. That was her way to get rid of me this time, knowing exactly what to do to strip me of any peace or joy. It was a pattern.

Humiliated, I asked Chris to pack his bag and took him to a hotel. I couldn’t expect him to pay and wasn’t going to leave him to go back. Here I’d offered him a fun sightseeing vacation and instead he wound up joining me in hell. I had to fix it.

Although we were just friends, having broken up with my boyfriend a mere 48-hours earlier, then weathering another traumatic event that he witnessed, Chris and I instantly and instinctively became more than friends.

By the time we boarded the train back to Fort Jackson together, we were engaged.

I wound up receiving a medical discharge from the Army and my husband received orders for Germany. My orders as his wife followed.

Back To The Subject At Hand

While living in Germany between 1997 and 2003 I extensively studied the aftermath of war first hand, initially through the lens of living as a military wife and employed on post. Later living independently on the economy with a work visa.

After I left my husband, I assimilated into German society and culture — developing deeply meaningful relationships with neighbors, students, colleagues, clients, and friends who were were all in some way or another the living, breathing products of Adolf Hitler’s war.

Prior to my move to Germany with the military, most of the stories about what happened in WWII had been introduced to me through content and media designed for education and entertainment in the United States. Every story had an angle — an emotional agenda designed to influence my thoughts. I didn’t completely understand that yet, but I soon would.

I found that the physical history I explored in person, which had been preserved by those committed to preventing similar atrocities to recur, as well as by those sympathetic to Hitler’s cause, to be far more revealing than anything I’d ever learned sitting in a classroom or theater.

The documentation available in Europe was astounding.

The firsthand stories told to me by those who lived through the war, coupled with my own observations of a functional society that genuinely welcomed and valued me, will be ones which I will forever carry with me and cherish.

Over the past 18-months or so, I have intimately encountered and experienced activities in many areas of the United States and Canada that harken back to pre-Nazi-era activity and propaganda — in ways I could have never imagined possible, had I not lived through and observed them with my own eyes, ears, and body.

It’s been years since I started noticing the buildup online and through media and entertainment but I somehow believed others saw what I saw too. I gave people much more credit than they ever deserved. Especially the ones who directly harmed me.

Nobody else seems to get it though, likely because they’re complicit, and that’s also not totally true. There are many people who do see it. Unfortunately most of them are either committed to their own story, glory, or are too fragile or frail to fight against it anymore.

Systemic oppression takes its toll over time, and is impossible to properly explain to those who’ve not lived it. They’re not generally willing to understand. They’re not generally willing to pay attention. It’s too hard. They’ve all been so deeply programmed they would rather retreat than just “get it”.

My heart breaks every single day seeing and hearing well meaning and not-so-well-meaning people perpetuating narratives and behaviors that are actively leading to the demise and destruction of their communities, families, and selves. 

In the future it will all undoubtedly all make sense. 

Truth is ugly. 

Truth is palpable. 

Truth is the only lens through which peace can ultimately prevail. 

Truth is the antidote to evil and oppression, though truth fuels fury and vengeance if you’re not careful. 

Please take your time and really, really care.

Times have changed yet cycles of history continue repeating on a global scale and unfathomable magnitude.

Thank you so much for sticking with me as I do the best I can to coherently put something legible together that is so big and complex and difficult for me to express.

Thank you for continuing to do your best to have an open mind and read my ramblings.

I care more about you understanding my perspectives than making you feel happy anymore because it’s your grandchildren’s and great grandchildren’s lives that I am fighting for now.

They deserve to inherit a clean slate. They deserve to inhabit a clean state.

They deserve to inherit a world that’s inhabitable, one which they need not be hooked up to machines.

It is possible.

It is profitable.

It is provable.

I understand the complexities and have been dying to show you how.

An Unlikely Politico

So far I have legally resided in three different countries —investing in, learning from, and meaningfully contributing to communities in each of them.

I’ve independently explored many other countries, engaging with citizens outside common tourist traps and attractions wherever I’ve traveled.

Inquisitive and empathetic by nature, I’ve always sought to uncover the “why” and “how” behind the “what” of my observations.

As previously mentioned, from a young age I found myself drawn to understanding human behavior and studied sociology textbooks from college and marketing and business books for fun while in middle school. 

The dynamics of human behavior, whether viewed through the lens of individuals or groups, has always fascinated me —including that of the most healthy and of the most antisocial.

As a self-developed generalist it’s much more impactful for me to curate specific data and content created by others to support my points, rather than focusing on any one area of expertise for expansion. With that in mind, I implore you to watch the following documentaries.

These programs are not fun. 

They are not meant to be entertaining. 

I share them with the intention of helping you recognize and understand how it happened, why it happened, and what is actively happening right now all around us, enabling the unspeakable to happen again — whether you can see or believe it to be possible yet or not.

First, I recommend Third Reich: The Rise https://www.hulu.com/series/11a23a15-77b1-4594-aabe-12a91674b3be?play=false&utm_source=shared_link followed by Third Reich: The Fall https://www.hulu.com/series/83453491-8de2-4419-8ea8-7f3ec27ca7a7?play=false&utm_source=shared_link. Together, these two 90-minute documentaries provide a reasonably unbiased historical narrative worth giving your full attention to. 

If you’re willing to invest a bit more time, Hitler: The Lost Tapes of the Third Reich https://www.hulu.com/series/ee9f9301-1e3f-4b19-b173-742ed4adaa17?play=false&utm_source=shared_link is a series of six 40-minute episodes, offering a compelling presentation of archival material that was recently made available for publication.

Based on my understanding of human behavior, history, and the direct investigations I’ve concluded through my own research and lived experiences, I see immense parallels between what occurred in Europe 80 years ago and the current situations in Canada and the USA — though on a different scale and magnitude.

By examining historical data with empathy rather than sympathy, and through curiosity rather than conjecture, we can each better understand our collective reality in terms of socio-economic issues and hostility toward events that have taken place in the past and continue to in local households every single day. Deeper understanding can lead to more sound and sophisticated strategies for the future.

One day, I hope to be in a position where transitioning into politics will be a given. For now, I share my observations and life stories with you, in the hope that soon you’ll personally invite me to contribute in a more significant way.

#GrowthSeekersWelcome

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