Fighting Fear

Travel in a Time of Terror

I’ve been fortunate to see a fair amount of our world — mostly western Europe and the United States so far. And, my traveling has generally happened in peacetime in the places I’ve been. There was a noteable exception when we lived in Marburg, Germany during the tense time before and during the first Gulf War. Western European cities and towns were full of people protesting the conflict and the protests had a decidedly anti-American tone. We went to Paris for the weekend when attacks began and there was a strong military presence at places that screamed “American.” I had to go into a McDonald’s (in Paris, ugh, I know!) to find something my three year old would eat, and I was greeted by the presence of armed gendarmes inside. Security was tight at the Louvre. This was all very unusual in 1991, but, given the war, not unexpected.

I’ve never travelled for work or military service — I’ve travelled for leisure, for learning (writing conferences), for pleasure, to see and know more about other cultures, other lands, other people. Travel to me is a chance to build bridges. The only thing I hope to see get blown up is my own ignorance.

In addition to the westernized places I’ve seen, I’ve been to Israel twice, and hope to return one day soon. The first time my feet touched Israeli soil was in 2000— before 9/11. The presence of armed police at the airport, on the streets, an armed guard accompanying our tour group when we were heading to a park for a hike, our bus stopped by a police officer so an unaccompanied backpack left outside a hotel could be picked up by a robotic thing which “swallowed” the bag — those sites were shocking and disturbing to me and the other Americans in my group. (Some members of our group had grown up in Israel and they were far less surprised, obviously.)

A day after the attack in Manchester, England at the end of the Ariana Grande concert, my husband and I were on our way from Llandudno in northern Wales to Manchester. Our time in Wales had been a delightful time of unwinding, of castle-hopping and discovering the joys of poached eggs on crumpets. The weather was not the expected dreary grey skies with cool sprinkles, instead, we had this:

Conwy Castle, Wales

I hadn’t packed any sunscreen or enough warm-weather clothes — such problems. :-) We hiked along the Welsh coastal path, walked from Llandudno to Conwy and happily spent most of our time outside sans rain coats, an unexpected treat in Britain! But world news came across the web and we learned of the attack in Manchester.

Tweens at a Concert

Like caring people everywhere, our hearts broke at the thought of those young girls, their parents and friends. The next day, I nearly cried when I heard a Three Dog Night song playing, “Just an Old-fashioned Love Song.”

You’ll swear you’ve heard it before
As it slowly rambles on and on
No need in bringing ’em back
’Cause they’ve never really gone

I had been a tween or just barely a teenager when I went to that concert — my first. My big sister took me and my cousin and we loved it. I remember our excitement, my fascination with the lights, the noise, the ability to see and sing along with the band! Here’s a Youtube clip of them singing that song at a concert a few years later.

https://medium.com/media/6575271e8ce5e25460879af1b16cbe63/href

Never once did I worry about being blown up. Not once.

I hate it that girls will have to fight that thought from now on.

At Piccadilly Station in Manchester (not far from the concert venue), armed police were very visible. That had not been my experience previously in Great Britain. This sign at Piccadilly was ironic, given the targets of the attack:

I hadn’t felt afraid heading to Manchester, certain security would be strong; even so, I wasn’t interested in wandering far from our hotel — a combination of fatigue and caution. We knew the search was still active for people involved in the killing. When a police siren screamed nearby, as often happens in any city, I wasn’t the only one to stop and look around. When my husband and I went to a pub to watch the Manchester United vs Ajax football (soccer to Americans) game, we were surprised that the place wasn’t packed. We scored a great seat. During the opening, the Manchester players looked so subdued and serious. Who wouldn’t in their shoes? What a relief to see a smile or two on the accompanying children’s faces.

Something good needed to happen for Manchester and they won the Europa League final held in Stockholm. The crowd in our pub cheered, sang and enjoyed, but many, like us, hurried home from wherever they’d watched it. The crowds on the sidewalk were smiling this time, and somehow, despite the news, that gave hope.

From Manchester, we traveled by train the next day to Glasgow, Scotland — seeing armed police at both ends of the journey and sharing, with the rest of Britain, a moment of silence on our train at 11 a.m. in honor of the victims in Manchester.

George’s Square in Glasgow is in the central city. We lived not far from there two years ago and learned it was a popular place for protests, meetings and marking memorials. We weren’t surprised to find memorials out for Manchester.

The full length of the front of the monument is filled with memorial bouquets, messages and stuffed animals.

I know there are people who are afraid to travel in these times. I am afraid not to travel. Maybe that will change for me, but it hasn’t yet. If I get to the point where fear rules my life, I hope I will be able to get beyond that.

Cancer survivors understand something different about fear than perhaps others do. We know that fear welled up in us long before our diagnosis and prevented us from acting with courage in certain situations. The clear idea of death makes you focus on where you’ve let fear hold you back. For me, fear had kept me from submitting and sharing my writing. Fear of rejection had silenced me. Cancer, my wake-up call, led me to a braver, better life.

I am not about to let terrorist actions pull me back into the land of fear and silence. If I want to go to a concert, I’ll go to a concert. If I want to travel somewhere, I’ll go. But more than anything, I hope parents of young girls will find a way to strengthen them, to help them battle their fears and move forward. Not in a risky, thoughtless way — clearly we all need to be aware and cautious — but with confidence that the good side is doing their damndest for all of us. It’s a sad truth that they don’t get to never think about the possibility of being blown up anymore. That sucks, but like nonstop news and a bazillion channels on t.v., it can’t be undone. Still, they don’t have to dwell on the possibility of terrorism either. Music will still play. Let them see, hear and sing along. Let them rise above terror and experience life. Don’t lock them away. Don’t let fear win.

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