From the heart of Empire

His eyes were hollow, his mouth contorted in frozen agony. Silver skinned, his helmet sat crooked on his head, as he looked on to the wide field around him. The platoon stood still, rifles at the ready, their military ponchos wavering in mid-air. A breathtaking, awing sight. A sight even more eerie at night, I was told.

I stepped silently around the Korean War Memorial, and saw the reflection of the sculptures of soldiers on the black memorial wall. A reflection of the past, projected so vividly and harshly through to the present. Silhouettes, images, impressions of soldiers, civilians, war planes, hallowed villages, broken men, women and children appeared as I stepped close. A tribute to those who fought and died. How many nobody really knows. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, a million or more civilians, not to mention the many, many lost in action. “Freedom is not free” reminds a plaque towards which the sculptures of war-forlorn soldiers are marching. And the Land of the Free paid much of the price in conflicts large and small throughout the past century. Not to conquer, but supposedly in the defense of freedom, in the perpetuance of democracy, and in the struggle against tyranny.

Guam, Vietnam, Normandy, Tripoli, Formosa, Iwo Jima, Pearl Harbour, Berlin, Arnhem, Afghanistan, Iraq… “Countries they never knew and peoples they never met”. The heart of Washington D.C. is littered with memorials dedicated to the glorious dead, and spine-shivering quotes from visionaries, generals, and presidents past.

Walking around, you cannot but feel what sense of pride this nation has achieved politically and militarily in its relatively young age. A nation born out of and shaped by revolutions and the barrel of the gun. A nation bound by the bonds of brotherhood, bloodshed, and that common belief in the cause of that much trumped—but often empty-of-meaning— idea(l)s of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. Its prowess is known, its greatness is felt, at times in desperation and need, and at times in shows of hypocrisy and big power arrogance. A great nation, no doubt. One that as a citizen of this world, and as a witness of (hu)man-made histories and tragedies, you either develop a feelings of hate or love towards.

Reflecting in a narrow pool is watery image of the Washington Monument, erected on the 100^th anniversary of the first President’s birth. Surrounding this giant marble candle, the stars and stripes of the United States of America flutter and flap in the wind. Even the most hardened sceptic cannot deny the effect flying flags can evoke deep inside. To one side, the dome of the Capitol glows in the dark in the background. To the other side, beyond the lit National Christmas Tree, past the silhouette of a giant chanuka chandelier, a faint glow illuminated the famous semi-circular archway of the White House. I stood there a few moments, and tried to peer inside, trying to imagine the man who has a proven record of not just being able to dodge difficult questions from probing journalists, but flying shoes too, was up to. No good visitor to the heart of the American empire can skip the very building where many presidents have come and gone, and the face and direction of much of the world’s history has been influenced and written.

A stern-faced Lincoln sits on his high chair and perpetually overlooks the city. The President that brought a once divided nation together and freed oppressed African-American slaves must have listened and watched attentively and proudly as Dr King stood at the steps before him and pronounced his dream. That same dream will soon be realised, and the house behind the rose garden, beautiful lawn, and cordon after cordon of fences, concrete buffers, sniffer dogs and armed policemen and security guards will no longer be as white as its name says it is.

Fourteen years ago, a boy skipped around the steps of these great monuments and posed candidly for pictures wearing an oversized T-shirt bought from a souvenir shop somewhere, He thought it was ‘cool’ to wear something which had the seal of the United States of America on the back and front. Fourteen years later, I wandered through the same streets, paths and alleyways of Washington DC, and had very different feelings to the same surroundings.

Perhaps there is a(n unhealthy?) sense of cynicism and criticism through the lenses which I see things today. A sense heightened by the forms and declarations I have had to fill in even before boarding my plane to the States. One cannot feel a bit apprehensive when the ‘greeting’ at the airport is having yours baggage poked and prodded, checked and scrutinised, not to mention having to take off your shoes and being subject to a body search. All in the name of national security… in the ironic state of insecurity, suspicion and “fight terrorism” which the country finds (or has trapped) itself in today.

The US government may have a permanent record of my finger and thumb prints. But my impressions, good and bad, of this great nation too have been captured, stored and worded.