Something there is
Feb. 16th, 2019 09:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a_reasonable_manWe've been hearing a lot about a wall lately, so I find myself thinking about walls. When a wall becomes a ruin, we grow fascinated by it, as with Hadrian's Wall, or even sentimental about it, as when we come across a tumbledown stone wall in the New Hampshire woods, reminding us of forgotten farms. The few cities that retain their ancient fortifications--usually, only because the local government lacked the funds to take them down when everyone else was doing it--are now often designated "world heritage sites" and have become major tourist destinations. The most famous ancient wall, of course, is the Great Wall of China, celebrated by the Chinese Communist government as a symbol of national greatness. Millions visit it annually.
But when these walls were actually in use, they were not loved. They may have been big, but they were never called "beautiful." The Great Wall itself, for most of Chinese history, was considered a symbol of the cruelty of Qin Shi Huan, the first Chinese emperor. Building the wall was seen as of a piece with his many other tyrannical acts, such as burning the books of philosophers who questioned his claims of godlike authority and burying 460 scholars alive. He supposedly conscripted hundreds of thousands of workers to build his wall. They toiled without pay. Many died. One of the legendary heroines of China is Lady Meng Jiang, whose husband was conscripted as a wall builder. He was taken away, and she did not hear from him for months. With winter coming on, she went looking for him, to bring him warm clothes. When after a long and difficult journey, she reached the wall, and finally found people who knew her husband, she was told he was dead. She is supposed to have wept so bitterly part of the wall crumbled, revealing his bones.
I've stood on the remains of the Great Wall a couple of times. I've also seen the most famous modern wall, the one in Berlin. I've passed through its fearsome checkpoints when it was still in use and visited it not long after it "fell." I walked freely across ground where I would have been shot months earlier. Although the wall was now useless, much of it was still standing. The West Berlin side had long been covered with colorful graffiti protesting its existence, but by the time I got there, much the color had been chipped away by souvenir-seekers. The side of the wall facing the "German Democratic Republic," meanwhile, had always been plain grey. The East German police had made sure it stayed spotlessly grim. Yet the tourist demand for graffiti-covered wall bits was now high. Enterprising Roma children were spray-painting parts of the eastern side, chipping off fragments, and selling them in small plastic bags for a few marks. I bought one. I still have it somewhere.
But when these walls were actually in use, they were not loved. They may have been big, but they were never called "beautiful." The Great Wall itself, for most of Chinese history, was considered a symbol of the cruelty of Qin Shi Huan, the first Chinese emperor. Building the wall was seen as of a piece with his many other tyrannical acts, such as burning the books of philosophers who questioned his claims of godlike authority and burying 460 scholars alive. He supposedly conscripted hundreds of thousands of workers to build his wall. They toiled without pay. Many died. One of the legendary heroines of China is Lady Meng Jiang, whose husband was conscripted as a wall builder. He was taken away, and she did not hear from him for months. With winter coming on, she went looking for him, to bring him warm clothes. When after a long and difficult journey, she reached the wall, and finally found people who knew her husband, she was told he was dead. She is supposed to have wept so bitterly part of the wall crumbled, revealing his bones.
I've stood on the remains of the Great Wall a couple of times. I've also seen the most famous modern wall, the one in Berlin. I've passed through its fearsome checkpoints when it was still in use and visited it not long after it "fell." I walked freely across ground where I would have been shot months earlier. Although the wall was now useless, much of it was still standing. The West Berlin side had long been covered with colorful graffiti protesting its existence, but by the time I got there, much the color had been chipped away by souvenir-seekers. The side of the wall facing the "German Democratic Republic," meanwhile, had always been plain grey. The East German police had made sure it stayed spotlessly grim. Yet the tourist demand for graffiti-covered wall bits was now high. Enterprising Roma children were spray-painting parts of the eastern side, chipping off fragments, and selling them in small plastic bags for a few marks. I bought one. I still have it somewhere.
