Jessie and I are siting on the statue in the middle of the square. “with hard work and hope in our hearts we will make it through the darkness to the light.” These very words are carved in the base of the statue, which is in the shape of a large willow tree. Sleeping beneath its branches is a family and their two pets. The children are somber, looking more dead then asleep, unaware of their fates. The mother and father hold them tight as they gaze into each other’s eyes, frightened and yet sad. Maybe for the uncertain life ahead, knowing they would never see the sun again. The cat is curled up on the little girls lap, her hand gently laid on it’s back. The dog is curled up at his masters feet, but his head is up and ears perked, he is alert waiting for something coming out of the shadows.
Most people love the statue. “Its a cymbal of hope,” they would say. To me its like a grave marker, dedicated to the world they killed. I find it to be sad, a reminder of how human kind drove themselves underground and shattered the world as they knew it.