Who We Are

After our viewing of the powerful WWII saga, The 12th Man yesterday, and the afterglow of moral indignation, I was weighing possible takeaways. I can always tell if the potential for magic is present because my first move is to mute the trucks radio. I need all the processing power available when mashing with the muse and even my default FM station, Seattle’s Classic King, diverts too much of my limited CPU. I simply cannot follow the string interplay with the a descending chromatic scale of woodwinds, keep ahead of the timpani, and think, all at the same time. Rock n Roll is so much easier. But even it distracts. Perhaps by design.

I am driving slow through the medium to heavy rain as the road crew sentinels stop and start the flow of traffic. We are in month three of a huge road widening project on our Island’s main arterial thoroughfare. I am trying to match the inspiration I gleaned from the movie with whatever protocol I concoct for the hour long spin class about to take place. I like to have a theme that can be used repeatedly, inspirationally and motivationally as the class unfolds. Music in this scenario is of secondary importance. Among the many thematic possibilities at my disposal, one occurred during a tense meeting between two families that have been hiding and caring for the British protagonist as he courageously both stays alive and moves ever nearer the Norway/Sweden border, and safety. The families have been relentlessly hounded by the Germans since the capture of the ship carrying the special forces team on their covert, behind enemy lines, mission. The filmmaker chooses at one point to spare us from the war crime atrocity of killing a child to extract the location of the last soldier by instead cutting to a scene with the patriarchs discussing a final escape strategy. It is bleak. Cold. The families have suffered more than anyone should ever have to. Fanning their gloved and bandaged hands over a fire barrel, one of the kids, maybe seven or eight, looks at her Dad with an amazing combination of outrage for the Nazi’s and compassion for the soldier who is responsible for, and a heartbeat away, from their own murders.

‘Father, why are we doing this?’ she innocently asks. There is a moment of silence as the camera pans the small gathering of families, all united in resistance of the brutal German occupation of their homeland. I am watching this unfold on our 65” LCD screen while riding my bike to burn calories as it rains outside. I am thinking about how weak this is compared to the bravery of these folks.

Camera goes close to the ruddy face of Dad who has been asked for his wisdom on the motivation necessary to inspire them to continue their heroics, despite the obvious danger and the rapidly escalating odds that they will be slaughtered by the Germans if they don’t talk.

Dad: BECAUSE IT IS WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE DO.

My voice is cracking as I re-tell the story today, the scene, it’s timeliness and potential. After challenging myself, I eye the audience, all peacefully turning the pedals on their bikes, and ask if the chance might exist that we take a page from this playbook and juxtapose it to today.

If for nothing else but simple reason that those that do not learn from history - are doomed to repeat it.