Editor’s Note: Rangerette and Flare staff writer Dezirae Burnett, Huntington freshman, is in Washington D.C. to perform Jan. 19 in The Black Tie & Boots Presidential Inaugural Ball. The Rangerettes arrived Jan. 16, and are able to tour the capital. THE FLARE will share Burnett’s personal reflections on the trip. Keep up with us on Facebook or Twitter for updates on new entries.
Surrounded by history, a moment of silence
As our plane made its descent into the Washington D.C. area, clouds enveloped the entire aircraft. It looked as if we were drifting through snow.
When at last the clouds broke, the arial view was breathtaking. I immediately took notice of the Washington Monument and the Captiol building shortly thereafter, looking all powerful sitting atop its hill over looking the town. The scenery passed by me all too quickly as we finally landed.
After navigating through the various terminals and inner networkings of the airport, I claimed my lone suitcase and took my first steps out into our Nation’s Capital, where I was immediately met by a gust of crisp D.C. winter air.
The town is cloaked in gray from overcast skies as we drive to our hotel. It is misting. Everywhere I look, I’m faced by some historic building or monument. I’m completely amazed. It’s interesting to be surrounded by such old buildings nestled right alongside modern architecture.
The streets and sidewalks are narrow and bustling. Everyone seems to be in the biggest hurry.
I love the Metro even through buying the pass for this week was frustrating. Surprisingly, the Metro itself and the station are fairly clean.
Metro riders are very self-absorbed, paying no mind at all to the other riders.
The metro took me to the Holocaust museum. The museum was both dark in lighting and in mood. Before the self-guided tour began, I chose an identification card that represented an actual Holocaust victim. The moment I read her name I got chills, chills that remained throughout the entire exhibit. My tour and my card took me on her journey through the persecution of her people and her time in encampment.
The images, the stories, the artifacts and the possessions of the victims were absolutely haunting. I was overwhelmed by the cruelty of man and how real it all was.
Near the end of the tour, there was a breezeway lined with thousands of shoes of concentration camp victims.
To paraphrase a quote from the wall there, because they were made of fabric and leather and not of blood and flesh, they escaped the flames of the crematorium.
My Holocaust victim was killed in a concentration camp at age 65. I concluded my tour by taking a moment of silence in her memory in the candle-lit, domed-ceiling remembrance room.