Monuments and the American Soul

Alright, lets dial in that imagination…

Picture yourself strolling through Berlin, heading south down the bustling, cosmopolitan avenue called Freidrichstrasse. Once you hit the tourist packed Checkpoint Charlie, you bang a right, treading down the spine of what was once a physical part of the Iron Curtain cutting off the East from the West called, The Wall. Leaving the crowds behind and heading into a more residential neighborhood, you eventually land upon a large, imposing structure that looks like a cross between a war monument and a cathedral. Walking up the steps, passing beneath looming marble pillars, you are finally met with a pair of gigantic gilded swastikas embossed on imposing, 14 foot high doors.

Crossing the threshold, you pierce into a fog of solemnity. At the end of the long footpath ahead stands a stately monument flanked by uniformed guards. As you head down the path, you pass an old couple standing in quiet reflection, then a small pavilion where young women garbed in traditional German dirndls sell post cards. Finally at the steps of this huge marble monument, you wait your turn to stand at the altar where an older man in a blazer now kneels in prayer. A giant red banner flutters overhead, bearing the words “For Those Who Have Fallen In The Name The Fatherland” printed in that unmistakable Gothic German font. The man…