Tapping on the Wall

Not everyone who builds walls is a carpenter or a mason.  In fact, some of the strongest walls are built by those who have been wounded, hurt or have felt rejected.  The experience of it caused them, consciously or subconsciously, to begin erecting an invisible barrier between them and the rest of the world.  Brick by brick they construct this bulwark which they will rely upon to keep harm at a distance.

Maybe you know someone who has surrounded themselves with such a fortification.  If so, you also know that this defense, which has been designed to keep them safe, often becomes their own self imposed prison, cutting them off from the experience of being known and loved.  Though these are some of the deepest longings of the heart, the risk of pain is simply too great to consider deconstructing the walls they have built. The results of leaving these ramparts in place are feelings of isolation and loneliness, which are also tremendously painful.  This may lead them to build higher, stronger walls with which to protect them, trapping themselves inside.

If you know and love someone who has creates such edifices in their lives, chances are you have tried to tear their walls down.  More than likely you have discovered, the only one who has the capacity to deconstruct these kinds of barricades is the one who built them.  What do you do?

A few weeks ago I was pondering this question with some colleagues and an image came to mind which reminded me of a story.  The image was of a wall at the Hanoi Hilton.  Its official title was the Hỏa Lò Prison.  It housed prisoners of war held by the North Vietnamese.  There they tortured and interrogated captured servicemen, mostly American pilots shot down during bombing raids.  The goal was to break the will of the men so they could get them to sign statements which could use for propaganda purposes.  These were terrible walls to be trapped behind.

The physical torture could be madding.  So could the isolation.  They were imprisoned in a small room, maybe 6’ by 7’, with no windows. They scarcely saw the sun.  All this was intentional. As author John Borling, who was a prisoner of war in Hanoi, shares in his book, Taps on the Walls, “The enemy wanted them weak, despondent and totally cut off.”

To combat the isolation he men bean to devise ways of communicating with one another.  They would carve messages on the latrine walls, they would scratch words on objects they would leave behind for one another, and they developed a code which would allow them to tap messages to one another through the walls.  This tapping allowed them to maintain the chain of command, pass on information, encourage one another and pray for each other.  Maybe most importantly, it broke through the isolation and let the men know they were not alone.  The tapping shined light in a very dark place, and smuggled hope behind walls where it seemed impossible to find.  It was a lifeline which allowed them to endure until the walls finally fell in March of 1973 and they were released.

Thinking about these images and the story behind them, I could not help but wonder if the best thing we can offer to those we love who are trapped behind walls which were erected to protect, but which now isolate, is the kindness of tapping.  We may not be able to demolish the wall, but we can stand on the other side and faithfully tap messages of hope which allowed them to know they are not alone.  Messages which may enable the courage necessary to tear down their walls to well up inside of them.

There is great power, and healing in knowing someone is there, refusing to allow a stone barrier to separate them from you.  I have to imagine when a new prisoner first heard the tapping they were not sure what to make of it. They knew someone was there and they were trying to communicate, but they could not decipher the code.  Eventually, the random raps on the wall would begin to make sense and they would begin to decode words.  These words would turn into sentences, thoughts, encouragement, and hope.  How grateful they must have been that the person on the other side of the wall kept tapping long enough for them to come to that place.

I have to imagine the same is true for those who are trapped behind the invisible walls which cut them off from the capacity to be known and loved.  They may not understand the tapping when it is first heard, but given time they will begin to decode it.  They will recognize it as an invitation to hope, trust, and to take the risk of tearing down the walls which separate them from others.  When they decipher this, they will also discover hope.

Toward that end, I say, keep tapping.