Her interrogator became interested in Sophie and wanted to help her out of the situation. He asked her why she couldn't just do what she was told and go on living her life like everyone else; survive and wait until it was all over, until the monster was gone. This was her response, and the monologue I performed:
“The real damage is done by those millions who want to 'survive.' The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn...Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don't dare express themselves as we did.”
I was very moved by this story and her words, and couldn't imagine how one could not be. Then I talked to my boyfriend at the time and was so shocked by his opinion that to this day I can remember every detail of that conversation.
We were in his car, and I was in my head, in a haze where Sophie's world and my world were combined. I was so enveloped in this that I had to talk about it, and so I told him everything, the whole story, hers and mine, and waited for his stirring confirmation that there are things that happen in this world that you obviously give your life for.
Instead, he just said: "That's stupid. Why would she just choose to die? When you're dead, you can't do anything. She could've just gotten out and kept reprinting her propaganda, or secretly attacking the regime in another way."
It was really a moment of destructive clarity for me. First, I learned (and at the time I fiercely denied this flash that entered my head) that my boyfriend and I viewed the world very differently and that line between us ran deep...and second that I could see something as so obvious, so sure, so soul-shattering, and discover that not everyone who looked saw what I did.
I've thought back to this monologue and this moment between Brian and I quite often over the years, wondering which side had the better answer. Sometimes I've agreed more with his response, sometimes not. As I've grown spiritually, I've also questioned the idea of getting worked up into "fighting against" things, instead of choosing peace, love and forgiveness in the way of Gandhi, Jesus, or Mandela.
And still, the theme replays itself.
It's obviously not as clearly defined as the Holocaust, but there are little moments that pass by when I'm questioning the same things now as I imagine they did back then. Before we had the hindsight and knowledge of what Hitler was really doing. When it was just people living their daily lives, happy to have a leader of Germany that seemed to be able to get the country back on it's feet...ordinary people just trying to survive the daily grind.
You know, in any conflict it starts little. For example, your employer dances around a few rules that allow them to take a little money out of your paycheck. You know they did wrong, they know they did wrong (even though they pretend) but it's only 50 euros, so why start a long, drawn-out battle?
Or maybe there are some people in your life that have an opinion on the choices you are making...let's say about giving birth or ways you would like to take care of your baby. Do you let them tell you everything you want to do will fail, let the words just roll off your back and avoid unnecessary conflict? Or do you defend yourself, and again enter into battle?
How many times do we take the easy road of avoidance instead of the more difficult route of action, of doing what is honest, or just, or true for us?
And how many times do we enter into battles that do us more harm than good, convinced that the way we see things is the only way?
How do you live a life of compassion, forgiveness and love, and at the same time respect yourself enough to not let people treat you in a way you feel harms you?
Just some questions for a Monday afternoon in June.
