I had a birthday recently. One terrific gift was a cake, announcing in lavender icing “Happy Birthday Valerie.” Did I mention the icing was buttercream? I loved all the bright colors on that bright white field of sugar. I called it the Cake of Good Hope.
Why name a cake? And why that name? It is my response to the 2024 national elections. I was dismayed by results. Yeah, I thought of karma and her “bitch” persona. A huge number of the people who voted have no idea of this country’s history or what they bought for themselves.
They forgot their white forebearers came here, killed the native inhabitants, destroyed their culture and stole their land. No amount of lying changes that. But now, there are folk of color entering the country and some descendants of the white invaders are inflamed with righteous indignation that people of color should dare to want to live a better life.
We were astonished that people who called themselves Christian began trying to snuff out anyone who was not made in their image. They apparently do not believe in their own god. They’re so scared, they feel they need to protect themselves from new arrivals by stealing their children, placing them in camps and shipping them out of the country. I haven’t heard any of them praying about what to do or saying they believe their god will protect them. “Christian” is just a name they chose because it used to mean a person who tried to live a life philosophy like their New Testament Jesus. Surely Jesus would not recognize his teachings in any of these people.
I digressed. Cake of Good Hope is my sticking point. I will continue to act in good faith in a country founded on the principle of equal treatment for all. I will resist mandates of hate and violence and I will act against it. I will speak out when I see injustice and I will do that without hesitation. We all know what evil requires to sprout and grow – for good people to do nothing.
I started looking at German resistance efforts in the 1930s. One of the most interesting was “The White Rose” movement started by a brother and sister team who were attending the University of Munich. They were surprised that so many of the educated in Germany supported Hitler. Hans and Sophie Scholl, aided by friend, Christoph Probst, began to print anti-Nazi leaflets and painted slogans like “Freedom!” and “Down With Hitler!” on walls of the university. There were creative resisters, like Oskar Schindler who hired Jews to keep them from Nazi hands and Dutch teacher, Johan van Hulst, who used bicycle delivery as a way to sneak Jewish children out of the country. Swiss diplomat, Carl Lutz, issued official Swiss protection papers to safe houses in Budapest. As thousands of Jews were forced to walk to concentration camps in Austria and Germany, Lutz, with his wife, pulled as many people as they could from the march and provided them protective documents.
And we have the American, Virginia Hall, the most daring and Reich-feared spy – a Maryland native, I’m proud to add. In 1941, posing as a NY Post reporter, Hall appeared in Paris with a fake id and forged papers. She radioed troop movements and other military info back to U.S. intelligence. She recruited agents for the French resistance.
Hall eventually had to flee the country. She escaped with Spanish guides across a treacherous 50-mile trek over the Pyrenees mountains into Spain. No mean feat, pardon the pun, when the woman had suffered an amputated foot as a result of a hunting accident years before.
Virginia returned to France a few months before D-Day via a British torpedo ship. She roamed the French countryside disguised as a 60-year-old peasant woman, organizing sabotage missions against the German army. The Office of Strategic Service (OSS), a precursor to the CIA, credited Hall’s team with derailing freight trains, destroying a number of bridges, killing 150 Nazis and capturing 500 more.
Hall was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, one of the highest U.S. military honors for bravery in combat. She was the only woman to receive the award during World War II.
Meanwhile, back to The Cake! None of us are going to parachute behind enemy lines and blow up infrastructure. We are not Virginia Hall. We do not own a factory where we can hide folk. And I, for one, have no diplomatic powers to employ. But I have faith in the community of decency and the common good. We will not be silent and we will not be silenced.
Originally the point at the southern tip of South Africa was Cabo das Tormentas (Cape of Storms). We know that years ahead of us will be stormy and our work to preserve a decent way of life will work at times, fail at others. It was much later that John II, king of Portugal, renamed the cape. He called it the Cape of Good Hope to reflect the optimism for new trade routes.
I’m nurturing my optimism; it will need care and feeding. We may get tired, like a boxer keeping his gloves up in a protracted and bitterly contested ring match. Then again, we will definitely have successes. We will go the distance and we will never, ever be those good people who do nothing.
