How will history judge us a century from now?

From Saturday's Briefing:

European refugees turned away from our shore. Liberation of concentration camps. Unfettered slave trade. The Emancipation Proclamation. An East German death tower. Segments of the Berlin Wall, remnants of a dismantled regime.

My family's recent weekend trip to Washington, D.C., served as a reminder of the weight of history, with intermingled grief and triumph, despair and hope.

We have visited our nation's capital half a dozen times, but this was the first time I felt comfortable taking both children to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. It's essential that we study and attempt to understand the causes and devastating effects of the Holocaust, but the exhibits are tough to process, even for adults.

The museum immerses visitors right away, with individual stories of victims. Then you walk through the permanent exhibit, three floors that chronicle the rise of Nazism in Germany, the "Final Solution" and its aftermath.

The primary accounts, artifacts and explanations offer chilling context and lessons in the destruction that humans can create. Few visitors talk while walking through the galleries; words fail when confronted with so much horror.

There are plenty of tears.

Yet amid the evidence of unspeakable hatred and mass murder lay fragments of light and whispers of hope. There are stories of the persecuted who rebelled, of heroes who housed and protected Jews, of insurgency within Hitler's ranks, of Americans who never stopped seeking intervention.

We left with renewed courage to resist conformity and to speak up for those without a voice.

The next day, we were fortunate to get entry to the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture, which celebrates its second anniversary this month.

We could have spent an entire day at the museum and still not seen every exhibit. We had only a few hours, so we focused on the history galleries, which tell the stories of slave trading, the American Revolution, life on plantations, Civil War and Reconstruction, Jim Crow era, civil rights movement and more.

It's impossible to reconcile the words of the Declaration of Independence, "that all men are created equal," juxtaposed near artifacts of slavery.

The galleries offer more complex stories than any history textbook I've read. The exhibits reveal pain and sorrow, yet, because they are about the human condition, they also describe resilience and honor.

We left with a deeper understanding that the only way to tell the American story is to include the full African-American story.

Before we returned to Dallas, we required a repeat visit to one of our favorites, the Newseum, a testament to the First Amendment. The exhibits offer a distinct viewpoint of the past century, with Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs, video clips from breaking news and front pages from pivotal days in history.

The museum's Berlin Wall Gallery features eight panels from the Berlin Wall, preserved after the concrete wall was dismantled in 1989. The East Berlin side is stark, an empty slate, a reminder of an oppressed population. The West Berlin side is covered with graffiti that represents both frustration and freedom of expression, with phrases including "You are power" and "Act up!"

Another exhibit recalls the events of Sept. 11, 2001, with published accounts from around the country and videos that recall the horrors of that morning, 17 years ago. In the center of the space stands a mangled section of the broadcast antenna that once stood atop the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

I remember those days and weeks after 9/11, when amid shock and fear we witnessed the best of humanity, when we both preached and practiced unity.

We are light-years removed from such civility.

I wonder how history will judge us a century from now. Will historians find hints of hope amid evidence of public name-calling and angry divisions? Are we using our power and voices for good?

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

The Berlin Wall Gallery
 at the Newseum in Washington, D.C.,
 includes pieces of the fallen wall,
with West Berlin's graffiti-covered
side standing in stark
contrast to the bare East Berlin side. 

Meet Sandy, the shelter dog who gave us reason to open our hearts again

From Saturday's Briefing:

If my children were in charge around here, we would have adopted a dog a year ago, just after our beloved Scottish terrier passed away. They missed the noise, busyness and companionship that comes with a family dog.

I, on the other hand, wasn't sure that I could ever take in another pup. Margie had been our fuzzy friend for more than a decade, a rescue dog who stood sentry at the front door and enjoyed an occasional sprint down the street.

She was loyal and proud, snuggly and protective. I nursed her through two years of chronic illness before she died, and I couldn't imagine going through that pain again. Why set myself up for an eventual broken heart?

Katie and Cooper, eternal optimists, were subtly relentless. They shared stories about their friends' dogs. They fawned over dogs in the neighborhood. They accepted dog-sitting jobs with fervent devotion.

I refused to budge. Until I spied Sandy.

I fell in love with Sandy this summer, when her shelter intake photo was posted online. My defenses dissolved each time I stole glances of her on my cellphone. A few days later, the kids and I met her at a foster home, and an hour after that she was perched in Cooper's lap for the drive to her new home.

Sandy

We are smitten with this scruffy whirlwind of fluff.

Sandy is a terrier of unknown origin. She's blonde and white with a short snout, floppy ears and a significant underbite. She pounces on stuffed animals with a vengeance yet never chews them. She runs laps in the backyard like an Olympic champion. She has reflexes like a cat. She stretches her 15-pound body across the back door when she senses that one of her people are leaving.

She thinks she's the boss of us.

There have been some adjustments. We are resuming daily walks (when summer heat allows). We have learned to hide athletic shoes, as Sandy has an affinity for laces. We're trying to figure out what makes her bark — though it's not often, it's loud, and her triggers are a complete mystery.

When we return home from work and school, she can't decide which need is greater — to devour kibble or to demand nonstop belly rubs. When someone sits on the sofa, she's there in a flash, prepared to receive ear scratches.

She's not a puppy, but she's young enough and new enough to our home that she requires attention that actually forces me to slow down and take a break. She stays up late with whichever child has more homework. She wags her tail whenever we say hello or even glance in her direction.

Sandy is as good for us as we are for her.

This pup is a wiggly reminder that there is joy found in overcoming fear of the unknown. We don't know how many years we'll have with Sandy, but right now we're enjoying each new day. (Of course, that's the only way she knows how to live. Dogs were born to live in the moment.)

I don't regret waiting to find a pet for our little family — my caution led us to the perfect dog for us — yet I'm thankful that Katie and Cooper were persistent. Some decisions are best made with childlike faith, from the heart.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Katie, Cooper & Sandy