"A Time for Reflections and Scars"
Portsmouth, England
September 3, 1983
Dear Folks,
Just a little over one month after arriving in the British Isles, I've reached my final destination here--Portsmouth, on the south-central coastline of England.
Behind me now are some 1,800 miles--1,200 on American soil, the rest in Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, and down the entire length of England. Next comes France and then Spain.
First, however, I must take a week in Portsmouth to update my British Isles notes. Then I will go on to Cherbourg, France, by boat. The memories which have built up in my mind and heart these past few weeks are many. And, for the most part, they have been pleasant ones.
I honestly wonder if I'll remember most of what I've seen and heard. Already Scotland and its wide-open plains and low mountains seem light years ago, It was in the midwestern-type scenery of southern Scotland and the high, windy, grassy dells of northwest England's Lake District that I felt my strongest pangs of homesickness. In those areas the people were few in number, the sky and the land the largest, and the time for contemplation the longest.
Quickly--too quickly--I was to find myself going from the stone-walled sheep and cattle pastures and the pine forests of the north to the congested central and southern regions of England. Since leaving Nottingham (the friendliest large city so far on my walk), the countryside, like the people in general, has been a bit too "reserved" for my liking. Green and lush, you understand, but also ordinary.
In the north of England, where jobs are few and wages are at their lowest, the people seemed to have more time for a smile and a chat. In the booming south, the people, seemed more interested in making and spending money. And they were more suspicious of strangers who came to their doors asking for a glass of water or for directions.
Still, hardly a day goes by when some small incident doesn't remind me just how much love really does exist below the surface.
Just last night, during one of the only three or four rain showers I've seen since being here, a retired old man spent a good hour driving me all over the countryside in the search for a hotel room. I didn't ask him to do it, nor did I evenly remotely suggest it. He just did it out of concern for me. And although he never found a room for me, and I had to sleep in a horse stable on a floor of straw with the wind screeching madly outside, the night had been made quite warm all the same from his compassion.
Then there was last weekend.
That weekend was what the English call a "bank holiday," and for three days--Saturday, Sunday, and Monday--nearly every shop I came to was closed. Now normally having three days' worth of closed shops wouldn't have been been all that big a deal to me, except that I hadn't made it to a bank on Friday and had but two pounds to my name. Not a good thing in England, where the cost of food is terribly high in comparison to the U.S. Here, two pounds will hardly feed a man for one day, let alone for three.
I had little choice but to knock on some doors and ask for a glass of water (in the hopes that the homes' inhabitants might also offer a bit of food). Indeed, in the course of the knocking a few meals did come my way, along with lots of tea! And in one instance--from a policemen's club of all places--there came to me a five-pound note.
In all my walking through the British Isles, there were only two instances where the people were less than friendly. One time was when I went to London, to double-check my plans with some of the foreign embassies. As usual, when one deals with governmental agencies, there were plenty of run-arounds and looks of disinterest.
The second incident was worse, even potentially dangerous.
In the beautiful horse country around the city of Reading, near where the U.S. is basing several cruise missle-carrying jets. a small group of anti-nuclear protestors happened upon me. Quickly I was surrounded and subjected to much verbal abuse. An attempt was made to tear from my possession the small American flag that is pinned to the back of my backpack.
I was able to save the flag and, after a brief scuffle, to get away in one piece. But it was several hours before I could again enjoy myself. For the scars I suffered were not on my outside but inside, on my heart. You see, not even an hour before those protestors had been calling me a "murderer" I had been visiting with crippled children at a Red Cross hospital, bringing smiles and laughter to their faces.
That evening, after much contemplation, I decided to put the American flag into my backpack to avoid any further controversies. I felt afraid and embarrassed.
But my decision to hide the flag was very temporary.
As I neared Portsmouth, it occurred to me that the times when I as an American will be criticized will likely be numerous. This would only increase as I advanced into the Third World countries, I surmised. To start fearing that criticism now would not be wise. Rather, I should learn to face it.
Thus I walked into Portsmouth with my nation's colors showing proudly.
Steven
Comments
Wow, now this is one of my favorite letters. I know this feeling well. I left the US of A not being very proud of it whatsoever because of my personal viewpoint regarding my countrymen and their choice of government.
Many times I found myself having to defend my country. Somethings I didn't agree it but others I did. Don't get me wrong, I am not a stereotypical flag waver but I had to point out on several occasions that when the world dials 911 they aren't dialing Europe, they're calling the USA.
I also had to point out that the vast majority of conflicts that we have been involved in the last 100 years have been due to European countries either not getting along with each other (like WWI and WWII) or because of conflicts that continue today because of failed colonial policy (Rwanda for example).
I left the USA stupidly ready to write off this country's rich history because of the buffoons in office now. That changed when I visited the American cemetary in Tunisia.
Tunisia was the scene of the bloodiest fighting in the African theatre. Seeing all the tombstones there will remove all doubt.
When I walked up to the gate I had a big lump in my throat and the Tunisian guard asked "You are an American?". I acknowledged that I was and he said "The Tunisian people owe you a great debt". I wasn't sure what to say, all the while I was looking at him I was getting my first glance at all the nameless tombstones and it was all I could do to keep my composure.
I spent that whole day determined to walk past every tombstone in that cemetary and I did exactly that. We can never stop visiting these brave men and women because they are even now still on duty.
These are men who gave up their todays and everything after so there would be tomorrows for the rest of us.
It was then I decided that I was DAMN proud to be an American and that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was very upset that over 2,000 of my countrymen were now dying in a war of choice and not necessity. I came back determined to change my government. The redneck yahoos are idiots for blindly following this joke of a Commander in Chief and the nay sayers who believe that war should NEVER be fought are equally wrong.
As always, there are many shades of gray.
You cannot go to Italy and be an Italian. You cannot go to France and become French. You can come to America and be an American. It is that diversity that is our greatest strength.
It is also a strength that the people do rule the country but occasionally we make mistakes like electing our current idiot president. Don't forget that the first time in, he was the court appointed president and not the popularly elected one. The second time was because he and his ilk did the most dastardly thing and played on our fears.
I take heart in knowing that although Americans will forgive, karma will not.
Patriotism is loving your country unconditionally and your politicians when they deserve it.
Our politicians now do not deserve our love but America always will.
I had to leave my country to truly love it. I wish everyone could do that.
Thanks Steven for reminding me.
Julian Cook
earthkora.com
Posted by: Julian Cook | May 22, 2006 9:55 PM
Julian,
Such a heartfelt response. You truly have a sense of what I mean when I tell of how the walk around the world not only taught me about the world but also about America. Both of us are much wiser for having taken the "road less traveled."
You will enjoy the next Letters From Steven installment. It will be from beautiful France and will decribe the incident that made me realize what being an "American" is truly all about.
It is my hope that other Americans who visit this website and read this story (and the next one from France) will share a story of how they came to view "Home" favorably as a result of some unforgettable experience in a foreign land.
Steven Newman
Posted by: steven newman | May 22, 2006 10:10 PM
Dear Steven,
Wow, it's been while since I've commented ^^ End of the year exams at school require much time to prepare for.
This is an interesting discussion about home countries. I agree with what Julian said , "I had to leave my country to truly love it. I wish everyone could do that." I left China 6 years ago to come here. I love the U.S, but still, I love china even more. Qualities of life here are better, but I still am an proud Chinese. My friends respect me for that, and of all the years here, no one has made fun of me for my culture. They think it's cool that I come from China. I am going back to China of the 11th of June, and I can't wait to go back to my home country.
It was very nice of the old man to drive you around. It's people like him that make this world a better place =)
I will be checking in more often for the next few weeks. I can't wait for the next Letters!
Love,
Lynne
Posted by: Lynne | May 30, 2006 8:22 PM
Lynne,
I am so glad you can find it in your heart to love and appreciate both America and your homeland. How blessed you are to have two places to call "home." I think your life after school will be filled with many friends.
Your heart is a big one indeed.
Steven
Posted by: steven newman | May 30, 2006 11:39 PM