| This is
a letter to someone I have never met. I'll call you Ivan. I know
that is most likely not your name, but it's what I was taught to
call you. I'm Bryian, not Joe, as our people would have me believe
is how you would refer to me. I've never met you, so I am going
to make a few assumptions about you. I ask you to forgive me now,
and maybe help me understand. We do, after all, have a lot in common.
I remember back when I joined our armed forces. I had a clear vision of the enemy. It was you, Ivan. Maybe not you personally, but at least your ideology. "Communist Scum" is how we thought of you. We were told by our propaganda and taught to believe that you thought of us as "Capitalist Dogs". We didn't know each other by name, but we were sworn enemies. We both knew we were right, saving the world from the other one. You were not human but something less. As were we. Looking back now, I know we were both wrong, but it was not our faults. I can point no finger to any one person; maybe it was just a natural course of events. We all seem to fear that which we don't understand. I knew little of you or your homeland. I knew even less of your history. I can only assume you were in the same situation.
We didn't get any parades or yellow ribbons. There were no special speeches thanking us for our willingness to be a human shield to our homelands during our tours. Not even a smile for our willingness to give up our lives if need be to halt global destruction. Neither medals nor special benefits for us except perhaps our title. We didn't need them. We were Cold Warriors. Hundreds of little brushfire conflicts, threats and posturing by our leaders, time after time. We remember the icy chill of the alarms when we thought nuclear destruction was at hand. We remember what it was like to see our planes stream overhead and that iron-like taste of fear we never spoke about. Maybe we were not glorified media sweethearts, but we did our jobs as best as we could, and tried not to fold under the pressure. We were neither all famous pilots nor Special Forces. More often than not, just a simple sailor or soldier doing as we were told. Following because we knew we were right. Knowing whom the enemy was. You were mine and I was yours.
Now, things are different for us. It seems we have been forgotten. I've taken the time to think of this and learn of your homeland. I was surprised to find it is a lot like mine. Hills and green, cities and plains, all inhabited by people, not mythical evil monsters. I've even tried to learn a little of your language over time, admittedly poorly. You are not my enemy, Ivan. I hope you know I'm not yours. Maybe it is the way of differing ideologies, to seek out and demonize the opposing view. Maybe to make your point seem more valid or in your own mind, a little more right and just. Now, looking back, after the wall has fallen and the sands of time have softened our views of each other a little, things are different. Maybe you look at me a little differently now as well.
Well, Ivan, I've said my piece. Maybe you will read this some day and it will give you pause to think a little. To look back and perhaps nod knowingly. I understand now how wrong we both were back then. Maybe you will remember how we were as well, perhaps how we still had a shred of innocence in our minds. If we both think of it now and again we can know that we are not truly forgotten: at least we can be remembered by the two of us. Cold Warriors.
Maybe things will be better from now on for both of us. I wish you
well, Tovarich, and I bid you peace and rest in your heart. We have
earned it.
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