Downtown Washington adopts an uncanny atmosphere on Memorial Day. Connecticut Avenue, which usually thrums with energy as it weaves through the city and past the White House, feels eerily quiet like a peaceful Sunday, with an unsettling number of aircraft overhead and infrequent sirens. The weather carries hints of the tornadoes that have been sweeping the central states.
The Vietnam Wall draws a gathering. This dark granite memorial gracefully arches around the names of 58,000 American military personnel who lost their lives during the Vietnam War. A respectful, silent crowd congregates for a midday service. This unity and reverence is mirrored in numerous parades and ceremonies taking place nationwide.
Gary Galloway, a 75-year-old veteran from Hardinsburg, Kentucky, who served in Vietnam in 1969-70, has been a constant figure here since the opening in 1982. He makes the pilgrimage every Memorial and Veterans Day. “Four of my colleagues’ names are on the wall, and I also recognise many others. My Vietnam tenure was merely eight months.” Gary shares, “But what I witnessed…it left its mark. I was among the elder ones, even at 21.”
Memorial Day is perhaps the most paradoxical day in the American calendar; merging sun-soaked ushering of summer festivities and beach retreats with the poignant commemoration of countless military lives lost dating back to the civil war that held from 1861 to 1865 and threatened the unity of the country.
At Arlington Cemetery, in intense heat, a relentless congregation meanders along the tree-lined path leading to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. Only on this day are people granted the privilege to traverse the open space housing the crypts of unidentified soldiers, each symbolising unknown combatants from the first and second World Wars, along with the Korean and Vietnam conflicts.
In an interesting twist, the unknown serviceman from the Vietnam period interred at the tomb in 1998 was identified using advanced scientific techniques. Named as a former first lieutenant in the US air force, Michael J Blassie, he was then reinterred in Missouri as per his family’s request. That being said, Arlington’s vast landscape is adorned with over 4,000 headstones simply marked as “Unknown”.
The house that once belonged to Robert E Lee, the man who relinquished his position in the US army to assume command of the Confederate army, has been redesigned as a cemetery. Lee is a symbol of the South’s Lost Cause folklore. Originally, the graves at this location were identified by pale wooden clapboards in such a way that they seemed to resemble vast fields of white blossoms whenever visitors approached Arlington.
Over time, these wooden markers were substituted by marble, leaving an unchanged overall impression. A monument standing in what used to be Arlington House’s rose garden identifies the area where the bodies of 2,111 soldiers were brought following the Battle of Bull Run at Manassas. Arlington House is now open to the public, with the only modification to its interior – which remained unchanged since Lee’s rapid departure – being the introduction of circulating fans to cool down the continuous influx of sightseers taking snapshots of the original red velvet furniture purchased by Lee, as well as the still-set-up family dining table.
Arlington cemetery is the resting place for over 400,000 individuals and is divided into 70 segments, organised in a seemingly random fashion. Section 13 serves as the final resting place for the white soldiers who fought in the civil war, while Section 27 is designated for African-American union soldiers. A brief stroll away, Section 60 contains mostly those who were born in the 1990s. Not everyone laid to rest in Arlington perished in battle; Martin Sweeney, a relative of mine and a native of Connemara, served in the US army during World War II and the Korean War and was buried in Section 67 in the winter of 1984. He was fortunate to have lived to see old age.
The tranquillity and dignity of Arlington, with its birdsong echoing the atmosphere of a Masters golf tournament, is juxtaposed against the imposing house on the hill and the pervasive undertones of violence and death. The civil war serves as a major touchstone in America’s historical narrative, while the World Wars are celebrated as just causes. However, the recent clashes in Vietnam and the Gulf, along with the poorly handled invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, give rise to a mixture of complicated emotions. Phil Klay, a novelist and Iraq War veteran, pondered this week in a New York Times article on how to appropriately honour those who lost their lives in unsuccessful wars.
Within the sacred grounds of Arlington, feelings of admiration can easily surge as one sights certain tombs. These are the brave individuals who brought slavery to its end, and the ardent nationalists who overcame fascism. Their lives are often seen as intertwined with the principles for which they gave their utmost sacrifice. This sentiment however, is not universally applied in regard to more ethically controversial wars, including those in the Philippines and Vietnam. In terms of the war casualties from my own generation, or the comrades whom I am personally acquainted, the justifications of their deaths stand uncomfortably beside the respect I owe to their memory.
The Vietnam War Memorial only lists those who perished during the conflict, or succumbed within a 120-day period due to injuries or illnesses contracted from time spent in the battle zone. This brief parameter has sparked debates and queries relating to undetermined numbers who faced health issues much later in life. One of the most unsettling pieces of data related to the after-effects of serving in the US military pertains to suicide rates: in the year 2020 alone, over 6,100 veterans ended their own lives. This number represents a yearly decrease. Meanwhile, many continue to bear the burden of Agent Orange’s aftermath, including Gary Galloway, who has a cancer diagnosis. His coping mechanism includes maintaining an active lifestyle, being an enthusiastic motorcycle rider and making an effort to walk 8km daily.
“I haven’t been diagnosed with PTSD. The reason I believe is my active lifestyle. I knew an individual who served in the Second World War at Iowa Jima. He was a marine and lived to be 90 years old. He drove a Mustang convertible and journeyed across the nation. When I asked him the reason, he responded, ‘Should I slow down, I’ll be hit by shellshock.'”
During his speech on Monday morning in Arlington, President Joe Biden mentioned William Christman, a native of Pennsylvania, who was the first soldier to be buried there in June 1864, a mere seven weeks post-enlistment. He soon had company.
As with many of his predecessors, Biden’s rhetoric was immersed in military legend. His sentiments were heartfelt, yet seem to clash in a year when the US government is supporting Israel’s continuous violent actions within Palestine.
Gary Galloway has observed a shift in the behaviour of school children visiting the Vietnam Memorial Wall. Not too long ago, it was common for these children to pass on letters and offer a salutation. However, these days that seems to be a rare occurrence. The occasional ‘thank you for your service’ might escape the lips of a younger visitor. However, the reason for this differential behaviour is unknown to Gary. He recognises that times have indeed altered. All of this is narrated under the slight drizzle, with umbrellas opening up just before the ceremony commences.