Wars, Walls, Memorials, And Memories
Most monuments and memorials in Washington are symbols of power; the Washington Monument is an obelisk, a monolithic testament to George Washington’s power and greatness. On the other hand, The Lincoln Memorial seeks to establish Lincoln’s legacy, and reminds us of not simply his stature, but of his untimely death. The memorial is a not a completely glorifying form in the way a monument is: to borrow from Arthur Danto, “we erect monuments so that we shall always remember, and build memorials so that we shall never forget.”[su_pullquote align=”right”]“[W]e erect monuments so that we shall always remember, and build memorials so that we shall never forget.”[/su_pullquote]
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial is unlike most of Washington’s memorials. It is often described as a “cut” or a “gash” in the earth, due in part to the fact that it is a V-shaped scoop out of the ground, and in part because it brings to mind the pains of soldiers at war. Two black granite walls hold back the earth, converging at a 125° angle. On these walls, the name of every one of the 58,196 soldiers who died or went missing in Vietnam. One end of the wall is marked “1959;” the other end is marked “1975.” Between these years, the death of every soldier is written chronologically. At the center, where the two walls meet, visitors stand ten feet below street-level, consumed by the names of the missing and the dead.
Maya Lin, the Wall’s designer, captured a spirit of memory. The wall is polished so that visitors can see themselves reflected behind the names. The individual also can actively participate in the memorialization; not only is their visage reflected in the stone, but many visitors take pencil and paper rubbings of loved ones’ names by holding a sheet of paper against a name and shading it with a pencil.
[su_pullquote]The National Park Service has since started collected [items left at the wall] in an archive as cultural artifacts, fragments of individual memories of the war.[/su_pullquote]According to Professor Marita Sturken, Professor of Media, Culture and Communication at NYU, people leave “photographs, letters, poems, teddy bears, dog tags, combat boots and helmets, MIA/POW bracelets, clothes, medals of honor, headbands, beer cans, plaques, crosses playing cards” at the Wall. When the memorial first opened, these were discarded as trash, but the National Park Service has since started collected them in an archive of cultural artifacts, fragments of individual memories of the war.
[su_pullquote]”Your name is here but you are not. I made of a rubbing of it, thinking that if I rubbed hard enough I would rub your name off the wall and you would come back to me.”[/su_pullquote]The Wall’s sobering design makes some visitors feel close enough to reach out to the fallen. Many visitors leave letters addressed to soldiers whose names are on the wall—artifacts left by the living, hoping to build on memories with their loved ones. One letter reads: “Dear Michael: Your name is here but you are not. I made of a rubbing of it, thinking that if I rubbed hard enough I would rub your name off the wall and you would come back to me.” Others leave notes to those whose names aren’t on the wall: a veteran left the wedding ring of a Viet Cong soldier he killed, with a note that said, “I have carried this ring for 18 years and it’s time for me to lay it down. This boy is not my enemy any longer.” By leaving these items at the Memorial to be collected and archived, mourners build a public history from their personal memories. The manager of the archive says that “these are objects that are common and expendable. At the Wall they have become unique and irreplaceable.” The Wall gives individuals’ personal memories a path to becoming a piece of history.
The Vietnam War was part of a massive shift in America’s psyche, and it was one of the major issues that caused the nation’s fragmentation. Even following the war, the design of the memorial was controversial; Lin was criticized for proposing a work that many saw as abstract, flat, Modernist, feminine, black, and shameful. Artists and federal officials alike raised concerns that people wouldn’t understand the memorial and wouldn’t be able to connect with it. It was derided as an art-student reverie, lacking the figurative statuary necessary to honor the veterans and make the war publicly understood.
From the present perch from which we view the past, it seems fair to say that these critics were wrong. The memorial these critics wanted—a figurative, straightforward piece that would impress honor and glory on its visitors—would not have properly reflected the nation’s divided attitude towards the war as whole. For the first time, American soldiers returning from war abroad were not celebrated, but spat on and shunned. The memory of the war, both what it was and what people wanted it to be, was unclear. A figurative memorial would not capture this uncertainty, but ignore it altogether. Lin not only memorialized and honored the veterans, but built a function of memory, allowing both soldier and civilian to influence history with their individual memories.
Adyant Kanakamedala ‘22 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at adyant.k@wustl.edu.