I hear the tales of bombs exploding and people running for cover in the mountains or dying in their homes; of children shot for stealing a piece of bread in hungry desperation; of eating food with mold because there is nothing else; of soldiers, limbless, begging for water; of being drafted at 17 and surviving a sinking ship and seven years of imprisonment. This is the reality that my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins faced during the war that brought the world to its knees. Years passed during which they lived in extreme poverty, dirt, and fear. And what I can’t say I would have the strength to live through, these people survived.
In nightmares only can I envision the night lit up by bombs and guns blasting; the poster of the dictator telling you that you have no rights to speak out as a citizen or be out in the streets past 7pm. These are the stories they don’t teach you in history class. These are the stories that shed so much light upon the people in my life who I have at times taken for granted because I never fully understood just how hard they lived or how strong they were…and still are. These ordinary people are heroes to me; anyone that can survive through what they did has to be. They lived through what I fear happening here, and I realize ever more strongly that we must all work to maintain peace and freedom before it is taken away.
Be careful who you elect into power. It’s so easy to take things for granted. Crying about this economy seems somewhat ridiculous after being reminded of a time when humanity’s deepest fears manifested, and people were dying in attempts to bring freedom back. But at the same time, what we are going through now is a wake-up call to not let things get worse, to not hand over control to people who may end up abusing it in the end, and to stay educated and awake enough to see corruption coming, masked to look like a savior.
It was my family’s tenacity that brought me to life. And perhaps a part of them—that rebellious, freedom-craving part of me that doesn’t like being controlled—is in my bones and in my blood, reminding me, maybe in some form of cell memory, of what was and could be again if we’re not careful. That ancient part of me lived through it just as they did, and refuses to see it again. And a new appreciation is found for the comforts I have had, and for those people who worked so hard to make it possible because they never gave up even when it seemed completely hopeless and life wasn’t really life. I don’t even know how to repay them; I don’t know where to begin. After all, it is because of them that I can focus on achieving my dreams and act like a spoiled brat when things don’t go my way or I feel lost.
When I think on it, real-life heroes are flowing through me, though they never got famous, though their names will eventually be forgotten. Their courage and ability to see through one of the darkest times in human history and make a better life for themselves is super-human to me. These ordinary people aren’t so ordinary anymore, and I look to them for my strength, hoping that one day I can accomplish half of what they did, without fear and with the fortitude to take risks and the resolve to make things right.
- Lisa Selvaggio
(Originally Posted on 4/1/10)
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