While I was still in high school, the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) sponsored a contest for high schoolers to write essays on the theme “What Freedom Means to Me”. As I remember, there was a trophy for the first three places but no prize money. I can’t remember what I wrote and did not save a copy. I was pleased to place third, until I found out there were only three entries. I still have the trophy somewhere as a memento of how fleeting a bit of glory can be.
I am not sure what I would write today in response the theme “What Freedom Means to Me”. I hope it would be more mature and nuanced than my teenage ramblings. I reject some views of freedom. I do not think that freedom means getting to do whatever I want, nor does it mean having no responsibility. It doesn’t mean having no moral compass. It doesn’t mean being out of control. It certainly is multi-faceted.
I’m sure for the VFW essay judges it meant political freedom and that certainly is one aspect of freedom. It is also freedom of religion, freedom from want, freedom from oppression, freedom from disease, and many other freedoms. I hardly can decide where to begin, but I am fascinated by the old negro spiritual lyrics: “And before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave, and go home to my Lord and be free!”