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.

Floating

I feel my feelings floating around, and feel frustrated I cannot capture them. The last week has been pretty eventful, meeting and getting to 'know' new friends, reuniting with an old one, while the stress and pressure of having to do well in my exams lurks behind. Torn sometimes between having to study, and wanting to make sure that my (renewed) social life maintains that momentum.

In a few hours, the final exam of the term, but I feel so ill prepared. Two huge readers to go through, and I haven't managed to read through half of it. It's space law, something I've studied and read about on and off for the last two years. It's supposed to be my 'forte', but I feel so not confident. Rush, rush, through the readings, marking red all the relevant points, but in the back of my mind I wonder if any of this I will manage to remember at all, in those dreaded three hours of exam time. And I have this terrible back ache and rash that I've never had before... this itch and shooting pain that comes and goes.... only to come back again when I think it's finally gone.

Then, a trip awaits. I had been looking forward to it, working toward it all these weeks, all this time since I booked my flight to Washington. But now, somehow, the enthousiasm has faded and died, and I somehow look to the trip ahead with dread. Maybe it's this pre-exam pressure building that's preventing me from seeing the fun that I can have....

But I think there's something more sinister than that too. It'll be my first trip to the US in over 14 years. So much has changed, and cynicism has somehow enveloped me that I feel like I'm about to step into this very foreign territory, which seems all too familiar, and frightening at the same time. The very heart of Empire...

Once again, I'm thrown into this world where my words and thoughts are incoherent, my feelings confused, and my mind racing from one thought to another. All the while I feel lost, and am hoping I could slow down, take a look around, and catch my breath.

And catch up on sleep too while I'm at it.

Rushed

Have patience.

Good things come to those who wait. Once is too quick, twice too fast. It takes time for results to develop, certainly when two strangers just meet and are slowly getting to know one another. Maybe it's the desperation of not wanting to be alone, not being able to wait. But good things come to those who do. Or so they say.