For my Grandma,
it was always Decoration Day. That last Monday in May. And for her, it was the
day for remembering all our dead.
That meant
tramping out to possibly overgrown cemeteries with pots of geraniums that we
would plant on the graves. There was
Grandpa’s grave, of course. And her sisters'. In fact, the whole work of Decoration Day involved going to several
cemeteries and crossing state lines. No
doubt we took a picnic lunch to eat along the way. Whatever the weather, rain or shine, the graves must be
decorated.
We were
remembering our dead.
Then, in school, I learned about Memorial Day, which was actually the same thing. And then I
began noticing the military-style ceremonies that took place in my small town
around the flagpole at the local cemetery, complete with taps and a gun salute.
Sometimes my preacher father was even asked to come say a prayer.
That's when I realized that Decoration Day had become Memorial Day, and it was not just about
honoring the dead—it was about the soldiers who had died in combat. Our
family hadn’t focused on that because we had roots in traditional peace
churches—Quaker and Mennonite. It was no surprise that I would end up a
pacifist.
I was distraught in 1969 when my brother enlisted in the Army. I had wanted him to hike north to Canada and declare his conscientious objection to war. Instead, he enlisted in order to avoid the Vietnam draft lottery. He was comfortably ensconced
in a bunker on the DMZ between North and South Korea, listening to North Korean
broadcasts (and partying for four days after every four-day shift in the
bunker).
So on Memorial Day, our family had no hero to mourn. No lost son to remember. We only had dead relatives’ graves to
decorate on “Decoration Day.”
From my late
teens on, I’ve had a problem celebrating Memorial Day. I understand now that the
first remembrance, which was called Decoration Day, came in 1868 and was to
honor soldiers who lost their lives “in defense of their country during
the late rebellion.”
I learned in school that it became known as
Memorial Day and included remembering soldiers who had lost their lives in
other wars, from World War I on.
But I had a hard time. On the one hand, I could imagine the grief
of losing a brother, a husband, a lover, a father, in a war. But on the other hand, I was conflicted about the whole idea of war and the veneration of it, especially because in my lifetime, it seemed like all the
wars have pretty much been about oil, and making sure we had access to it at a
good price.
It didn’t seem like our wars were about preserving our
freedom--for us or for anyone else--although that is how these wars were framed. So the people who served
their country allegedly to make sure we were free may ultimately have been mostly ensuring
a cheap gallon of gas at the pump. I know this is a rather cynical assertion, and I
understand that vets may take exception to this. (I welcome comments on
this post.) So what I really want to do is to
propose that we expand our idea of Memorial Day.
While remembering and honoring soldiers who lost their lives
in service to our country, let’s also remember activists who have lost their
lives in the service of the greater good. In service to humanity. In service to
their brothers and sisters.
Let’s remember people like Emma Goldman (buried a mile away
from where I live). Martin Luther King, Jr., Harvey Milk, Rev. Bruce Klunder. Let’s even go beyond our borders and honor folks like
Mahatma Gandhi. Chico Mendes and Dorothy Stang. Marielle Franco.
There are so many names. Who would you say we should be remembering this Memorial Day/ What
“soldiers” for human rights and environmental rights should we also honor today?
This
is an opinion piece and represents the opinion of the author, Etta Worthington
