Tomorrow is Memorial Day. So although it’s a day early, I’m using the occasion to repost something I wrote six years ago. It definitely needs repeating.
It’s Memorial Day. It isn’t a day that puts me in a good mood. It is a day to mourn, not to celebrate. We seem to have forgotten that part of it.
Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, in his General Order No. 11, and was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. The first state to officially recognize the holiday was New York in 1873. By 1890 it was recognized by all of the northern states. The South refused to acknowledge the day, honoring their dead on separate days until after World War I (when the holiday changed from honoring just those who died fighting in the Civil War to honoring Americans who died fighting in any war). It is now celebrated in almost every State on the last Monday in May (passed by Congress with the National Holiday Act of 1971 (P.L. 90 – 363) to ensure a three day weekend for Federal holidays), though several southern states have an additional separate day for honoring the Confederate war dead: January 19 in Texas, April 26 in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and Mississippi; May 10 in South Carolina; and June 3 (Jefferson Davis’ birthday) in Louisiana and Tennessee.
The day has now become an occasion for mainstream media to pour out an unrelenting stream of stories promoting the mythology of the heroic warrior killed in battle. It’s the kind of myth that does a great disservice by aiding and abetting the glorification of state-ordered killing.
When I think about war, I think about the nearly two million men of my generation who were drafted and given a hard choice–prison or war. It wasn’t pretty, whichever choice was made. Many didn’t come back (about 18,000 draftees died in combat). Many more of those who did found their lives changed for the worse, as veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan are now finding.
I think about those who were ensnared by official government lies and distortions, from the Pentagon Papers to the Saddam’s nonexistent WMDs.
I also think about victims of the economic draft, who are driven to join the military because it seems the only way to avoid chronic unemployment.
I think about the men and women of conscience who have suffered because their conscientious objection to war and killing is disrespected and marginalized, with the complicity of our mainstream media.
I think about the old white men who send young men off to kill and die.
I wonder what would happen if we had boot camps and basic training in peace making and conflict resolution, instead of basic training that breaks down our natural reluctance to take the lives of others.
And I think, as I do each and every year, how many more? How many more must die in wars before we decide there must be better ways to settle differences or manage power.

Photo: Memorial Day Protest, Punchbowl National Cemetery, 1971. Click on the photo for more.
