Searching for Moral Clarity

I've always been inspired by the courage -- and moral clarity -- of the civilians who fought the Nazis. When I left for Scandinavia in early September, I knew my vacation plans would allow me to indulge a lifelong interest in the resistance movement that sprang up against the Nazi occupation of Europe.

So, in Copenhagen, I rushed to the Resistance museum. Though I already knew the story, I was like a small child who pleads, night after night, to hear the same tale, just one more time.

On Sept. 29, 1943, Danish leaders announced Nazi plans for a mass deportation of the nation's 7,800 Jews. The Danish people quickly sprang into action. Within a few short weeks, they managed to smuggle nearly all of Denmark's Jews into small villages, from which they ferried them, in fishing boats, across the water to neutral Sweden.

The museum recounted the tale through videos in which survivors recounted the risks they took and the ordeals they endured. After viewing them, I felt humbled by the courage of ordinary people.

In Norway, I had planned to interview a man who, as a teenager, had founded one of the most important resistance cells in the western fjords. Three days before our meeting, while still in a tiny hamlet, hiking around spectacular mountains, far from any newspapers or television, came the news of the attacks in New York and Washington.

It seemed surreal, unimaginable. I, a veteran anti-war activist, didn't know how to think about a terrorist attack on America.

When I finally met the man I had traveled so far to see, Jan Dahm, now 82, instantly asked if I still wanted to discuss the resistance movement with him.

Yes, I assured him. A lifelong peace activist needs to reconsider when it is right to fight the enemy.

We climbed three floors of rickety steps and entered the tiny Theta museum. From all over western Norway, fisherman sent the locations of German battleships to this one small room. Every day, four 19-year-old men, including Dahm, risked their lives as they transmitted this vital information to the British. Once they received these reports, the British air force could bomb German battleships lurking in fjords, ready to pounce on allied ships.

With pride, Dahm showed me the medal of honor awarded him by the British, along with their gratitude"for shortening the war."

"Why," I finally asked him,"were you willing to risk your life?" Dressed in a dapper suit, puffing on a pipe, he sat forward in his chair."You see, I had already gained expertise as an amateur radio operator before the Nazi occupation."

Sensing I sought some additional explanation, he smiled."It wasn't about politics. My country had been invaded and occupied. There was a job to be done, I had the skills, so I just did it."

No bombast. Just the pragmatic courage and decency of an ordinary person.

As we left the museum, Dahm said, with just a hint of sadness,"You know, the young are no longer terribly interested in the Resistance."

"Yes, I know." Silently, I thought about how much he could teach us right now. But then, with a wave of his hand, he disappeared around the corner.

This article first appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle and is reprinted with permission.