* * *
It was agonizing, it was heart wrenching. It was exhilarating. The hatred I had harbored against these people for 22 years to the month reared its ugly head. My eyes burned holes in the passersby. Everyone on the square responded by enjoying their lunch, chasing away a flock of birds, flying a kite, or heading off to work or some other appointment. (Didn’t they care that I hated them?) Two men shook hands and laughed, perhaps made a deal of some sort. A woman handed a piece of bread to her child. (I hate you, too! Why don’t you feel that?) Children held hands and made a circle. An old man smoked a pipe. A young lady bought a cup of hot tea at a Kiosk. (I hate all of you!) They answered back by going on with their lives.
It was then that I began to wonder for perhaps the first time “Why?” Why did I hate these people? They had done me no wrong. Why did I hate this square? It was magnificent-- amazing in its size and ability to attract so many in a -- can I say it? -- peaceful and pleasant display of life. Why did I hate those walls? They stood so tall and proud. How could I hate St. Basil’s Cathedral? It said “Russia” much like the Taj Mahal says “India” or the Great Wall says “China.” My feet shuffled, I felt sick in my stomach as it churned, and my jaw muscles ached from maintaining silence yet a sense of felicity came over me.
* * *
Prior to this trip to Russia, I had lived in Japan for nearly five years. During my time there, I forced myself to visit Hiroshima and Nagasaki for the express purpose of finding out whether the Japanese still hated Americans, hated me, for what happened to them twice in August of 1945. I was relieved to learn they didn’t hate Americans, they hated the bombs. The Japanese hated what the bombs did, NOT what Americans did to them. On Red Square, I asked myself, why I should hate the Russian people? Shouldn’t I hate war instead?
The teachers I worked with: Sergei, Galya, Tanya, Little Rabbit were wonderful and warm hearted. KOLOBOK, (Little Loaf of Bread) Sergei’s mother, treated me like her own son. Nearly everyone I met was loving, enduring, affectionate, resilient and most of all resourceful people. Shouldn’t I hate idealistic notions and any attempt to unilaterally impose them on the unwilling? Why should I hate this country and its rich and glorious history? Shouldn’t I rather hate violations of freedom, selfish imposition of some leader’s desires and invasion instead? On Red Square, I wrestled with demons and the hate demons lost. It wasn’t the Russians who killed Fish. It was war that killed him. Nobody wins a war, one side just loses more.
