This morning in Normandy was one of the most powerful mornings I’ve ever spent while traveling. I’ve visited places before that have left an impact — Anne Frank’s house in Amsterdam, the peace museums of Nagasaki — but nothing truly prepared me for the weight of standing on the shores and cliffs where thousands of Americans gave their lives to fight fascism.
We began our day at Pointe du Hoc, where a group of American Army Rangers scaled 100-foot cliffs under relentless enemy fire to destroy German artillery threatening the landings at Omaha and Utah beaches. The bomb craters are still there. So are the bunkers — shattered, rusted, silent. You can see the steep, jagged edges of the cliff and imagine what it must have taken to climb it while being shot at from above.
They were there for one reason: to stop fascism.
There’s no other way to say it — these were incredibly brave, ordinary men who crossed the ocean to fight a spreading evil that too many people had ignored for too long.
Next, we walked the sands of Omaha Beach. The wind was steady. The sea looked calm. And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about what this beach looked like on June 6, 1944 — exposed, violent, chaotic. Thousands of Allied soldiers came ashore here under heavy fire. Many didn’t make it past the waterline. They knew the danger, and they went anyway.
This wasn’t just a military strategy. It was a line in the sand — literally — drawn by people willing to die so that others could live free.
Our final stop this morning was the Normandy American Cemetery. There are over 9,000 American graves here — rows and rows of white crosses and Stars of David, stretching out in perfect order under the open sky. I was struck by the quote carved into stone near the entrance:
“These endured all and gave all.”
Those words have stayed with me all day.
Our guide explained that the cemetery was designed with evergreens so it would look nearly the same year-round. Season after season, it remains constant — just like our responsibility to remember.
There is no pretending here. No tourist gloss. You are standing on sacred ground.
And it reminded me again of why I believe so strongly in what they were fighting against — and what we must still be willing to stand up to today. Fascism doesn’t always announce itself with tanks and uniforms. Sometimes it creeps in slowly, fueled by fear, division, and power-hungry rhetoric. I’ve seen the results of fascism up close — not just here in Normandy, but in Anne Frank’s hidden home, and among the quiet ruins of Nagasaki. These places whisper warnings, if we’re willing to hear them.
What happened here was not inevitable. It was the result of silence, denial, and too many people looking the other way. Until others — brave, principled, and willing to endure all — said enough.
And today, I walked among their graves.
Cleared For Take-Off! 