A Day Crusted Over with History.

So, it's the 125th anniversay of the last of the Jack the Ripper murders, the 75th anniversary of Kristallnacht, and the 24th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Of those all, the last means the most to me, probably because I remember it happening. That entire autumn seemed so dreamlike: the trains heading out of Hungary with people literally hanging off the sides, the Eastern Europeans taking their countries back, and the gradual realization that Smilin' Mike wasn't going to stop them, and that the Soviet Empire was crumbling to dust right before our eyes. The Cold War had ended without any fighting, and we could all be friends again. I can still recall how liberating that felt, after living my entire life under threat of nuclear annhilation, and now it was over. There was a sense that history had ended.

In retrospect, the world owes Gorbachev and the Politburo a debt of gratitude. When it finally became apparent that it was everyone, and not just troublemakers who wanted to end communism, they gave in to reality and let it go without a fight. Whatever ones thinks of Stalin, his political heirs meant well, and wanted to do the right thing for their country.

Edit: And it's 90 years since the Beer Hall Putsch.