While in Normandy, our group paid respects at the U.S. and British national cemeteries where the dead from the Battle of Normandy are interred. Both countries meticulously designed their respective site with reverence and respect for the dead, but their approach took starkly different forms.
The U.S. cemetery’s layout forced every visitor to walk through a federal museum on the invasion; the exhibit included personal stories of war dead and survivors along with general praise for the actions of the U.S. military in Normandy. The graves stood high on a cliff directly next to Omaha Beach, with humongous Greco-Romanesque structures and statues separating the plots next to highflying American flags. The headstones came in one of two shapes, a Christian cross or a Jewish star, and exclusively included each veteran’s name, branch, home state, and death date. In order to protect the well-manicured lawn, only families of the dead could walk down the aisles of graves.
The British cemetery was intimate and serene. Instead of large monuments or national flags distracting me from the gravestones or a museum placing the D-Day invasion into a larger mythos surrounding the British armed forces at large, there were trees and small buildings providing shelter from the ongoing rain and benches providing respite for visitors. Each headstone included the soldier’s regimental symbol, rank, death date, age, and a personalized message from their family. Religious symbols were optional, and a burrow of soil separated each row, with various kinds of flowers and vegetation growing from the burial sites. The American cemetery housed only U.S. soldiers, while the British included the unclaimed Polish, German, American, and Soviet dead. All attention was focused on the individual veteran’s death as a tragedy, and I could freely walk through the rows and carefully read each name and message.
The U.S. cemetery was beautiful and glorious, but this grandiosity distracted from the dead. Honestly, this is unsurprising. Within American popular memory, the military is frequently mythologized and revered as the world’s primary peacekeeping force. U.S. soldiers are not just protecting their country; they are protecting the freedoms of every peace and democracy-loving world citizen. This noble cause deserves monuments akin to the great classical heroes of old, not a serene cemetery for personal reflection. On the other hand, the British cemetery venerates the old imperial mythos. WWII eventually brought the empire’s demise, but the British worldview surrounding the white man’s burden and the moralizing force of the Empire firmly rooted themselves into the national consciousness for generations. The act of burying foreign soldiers was noble but reflects the idea that all world citizens rightfully belong to the British Empire.
My own sense is that cemeteries should be spaces hospitable for grief, not ostentatious sites of nationalism and military propaganda.