Remembering Memorials

Over the weekend, I had the chance to wander around D.C., play tourist (read: get lost), and muse at the number of squirrels plaguing this city. My wandering took me in and out of most of the memorials on the Mall, and I had enough strong feelings to merit commenting on a specific topic: war memorials, or at least four of them. And so...

Stones of War

The Forgotten

On a feverishly hot day, I wearily trudged past yet another broken water fountain, desperate for a way to beat the heat. Walking towards the monument with Lincoln's stern figure receding behind me, I noticed a small stone pathway leading off to my right. In the center of a small circle was a small dome with writing on the raised base. I broke off from the stream of tourists and approached the odd feature haltingly. I didn't see any signs about to alert as to what it was. It was only upon getting close enough to read the weathered and fading letters that I realized what I was looking at: the WWI memorial. This modest round of arches was quietly beautiful, had an aging elegance, and seemed woefully forgotten. Around the bottom were inscribed names.

Researching it later, I discovered that this "Doric peristyle temple," was an entirely local memorial, erected in the 30s to honor the D.C. fallen in the Great War. The sad part was that I had to research it. As the DC Preservation League notes, " The memorial has no signage or explanation except for that carved in the white marble." The absence of signs is one symptom of a broader malaise of neglect afflicting the monument, stemming from its local nature. The National Park Service and city government quarrelled over responsibility for the site's maintenance, a battle that has led to three decades of neglect.

By the time of my visit, the monument was crying out for attention. It's a gorgeous piece of architecture that does an impressive job of respectfully honoring the dead from the horrible, confused war. And as the DCPL's website notes, it does so without regard to race, gender or creed, giving equal respect to all those who paid the ultimate price. The stones surrounding the temple are splitting and lined with the green of weeds that have crawled into the cracks. The memorial itself is weathered and worn, its age clearly showing. The few other visitors as I walked by didn't bother to read any of the names inscribed, but rather idly glanced as passed on by.

I would argue this memorial stands among the most beautiful in the entire Mall. It certainly deserves better.

~

Painted Black

I've visited the Vietnam Memorial several times now, so I wasn't struck immediately upon this visit. On my last tour of the polished black, my head had been shaved and you were more likely to hear the word, "Kill!" out of my mouth as anything else. This visit, my third visit, I thought I could approach the monument without the novelty and without the dramatic nature of my last time around.

Constant to every time I've been has been the muted reaction of visitors. As soon as you draw within ten feet, you'll hear a near continuous rash of whispers..."Quiet honey, there might be someone here who lost someone in the war. Be respectful." I never cease to be impressed at the capacity of people to be discrete when along the rows of names.

At the same time, there's another effect of the monument that I can't shake and can't like. Hanging over the air like the haze that clings to hollows on a muggy morning, some sense of shame refuses to lift, refuses to burn off, no matter how hot the day. Perhaps it's just a product of my internalized version of the American Vietnam complex. But I think it's more. The hushed voices are respectful, but respectful in some way akin to the silence of those in the presence of a crime. The only other place I've experienced something somewhat like it (and it's only distantly related) was when visiting the Holocaust Museum. Something about being in the presence of a great evil committed.

It's admittedly difficult to describe, but it makes visiting the monument difficult. Though undoubtedly there were players and parts of the Vietnam War that were dishonorable or shameful, at the same time, many men passed away bravely and in the honest service of their country. Particularly after reading recently the book, We Were Soldiers Once...And Young, and following American commanders conversing with NVA officers about engagements decades later, it's difficult to impugn the honor of either combatants in many cases. Just as one would not want to vilify the average North Vietnamese for fighting bravely, the men who died at, say, LZ X-Ray, in Ia Drang definitely deserve to be honored for their role, not left lingering in shame.

Of course, this is all just the speculation on a sentiment that may not linger for all. Perhaps it's just the connotation of black, the absence of imagery, the way the wall is sunken into the ground. And the entire monument does include a flagpole and a pair of statues separate from the wall itself, things that I didn't take into much account. But while the NPS says, "The purpose of this memorial is to separate the issue of the sacrifices of the veterans from the U.S. policy in the war, thereby creating a venue for reconciliation," I couldn't shake the feeling it was a venue for mourning. The monument left me distinctly uneasy and more than a little sad for the men whose names I spent the better part of an hour tracking down.

~

That's all I have time for at the moment, but two more monuments are coming up soon, so stay posted for more.