By Brad Smith, Vice Chair and President, Microsoft

Along the 49th parallel in North America, a line divides forests, great lakes, mountain ranges, and two countries. Invisible to the eye, this international boundary represents the longest undefended border in the world.

Long before this boundary was first drawn, a great migration took place after the Earth’s last great climate change, the ending of an Ice Age that allowed people to move south, including into Cascadia. They established communities that honored the land, water, and the salmon that sustained them for millennia, before Europeans arrived in the region in 1792, 16 years after the United States was founded. In a matter of decades, a line emerged.

This line would seem arbitrary to anyone who had been here before, but it was an important line, nonetheless. But unlike so many other lines that marked the borders of the world, it was not, as you have heard, protected by armies. And as the 20th century dawned, two people, one from each country, came together with a vision of what became the Peace Arch.

One of these people was an American named Sam Hill, one of the greatest businesspeople of his day who built the railroad connecting Minneapolis with Seattle. The other was Alfred Todd, the mayor of Victoria, British Colombia. The two shared a common passion for the technological marvel of their day, the automobile. But you could not go far in a car unless there were roads.

The pair embarked on connecting the Pacific Northwest by roads, including the highway running down the coast from Vancouver, B.C. to Tijuana, Mexico. After they successfully connected the continent north to south, they realized that there was something missing. A monument marking what Sam called the “Highway of Peace,” the 49th Parallel stretching between the Canadian provinces of British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba to its north, and the states of Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota to its south.

Sam and Albert’s vision in some ways is magical, even to our day. They built a door on the border, in a place where there was no wall, which was a symbol for what it would take to unite two peoples and bind them as they move towards a common future.

 They had planned not only an arch, but an event. They hoped that they would have it in 1914 on the centennial of the signing of the Treaty of Ghent. But there was a war, and just as the war was coming to an end, there was a pandemic. Some things don't seem to change.

It wasn't until September 6, 1921, that the community came together to dedicate the Peace Arch. This week, a little more than 100 years later, we followed suit, celebrating peace, unity, and the future with a community that knows no border. The photographs from 1921 and today tell the same story. Neighbors of all ages, living through difficult times, joining in celebration and optimism on what we have and will create together.

 And I think that too, speaks to our opportunity to build a common future. A future that reinvests in what brought the indigenous people here: an appreciation for the planet, the opportunity to nurture the earth, and cultivate prosperity together. If we, like the people a century ago, can focus on our future, we too can build a foundation and a legacy that will last and inspire and serve the people who come after us.