Seventy-some years ago our grandparents would not have thought it was possible.
We were at a fundraiser for a community member who’d received a discouraging diagnosis. Standing in the shade, we reflected on who we were and from where we had come.
The Norwegian shared stories his mother told of German-occupied Norway. Her childhood memories included hiding in the house listening to the footsteps of Nazis passing through her street. She once explained that “curfew” meant people out after the designated time were shot dead and relatives were forbidden from picking up the bodies.
The Dutchman said his dad worked for the Dutch Underground Railroad – rescuing American pilots who had been shot down by the Germans. A family picture exists of his 13-year old dad and his brothers with a machine gun mounted on their bicycle.
I interviewed the Dutchman’s father many years ago for this newspaper. I recall him saying, “I wasn’t no Jew-lover, but wrong is wrong. You can’t put people into cattle cars.”
I represented Germany in this conversation. My great-uncles were the occupiers. They were young and foolish and thought they were on the right side of history. They were wrong.
But here we were 70-some years later – Germans, Norwegians and Dutch – standing in the shade at the local brewery, beers in hand, gathering to support a family member and a friend who’d received a discouraging diagnosis.
Our forefathers would have thought it impossible. “A German and a Dutchman sharing a beer? I don’t think so! A German putting a donation in the jar for a Norwegian? Ha!”
What changed in 70 years is our focus.
We all graduated from the same high school. We farm the same land. We worship the same God.
We no longer see Germans and Norwegians and Dutchmen. We see friends, classmates and neighbors.
I pray that as a nation we will begin using the same filter to see political affiliation, employment choices and skin color.
And I pray it doesn’t take another 70 years.