In Remembrance

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