President Ronald Reagan Fortieth President (1981-1989) Life: 1911 to 2004
Remarks on Memorial Day
Honoring Unknown Vietnam Serviceman
Arlington National Cemetery
May 28, 1984
My fellow Americans, Memorial Day is a day of ceremonies and
speeches. Throughout America today, we honor the dead of our
wars. We recall their valor and their sacrifices. We remember
they gave their lives so that others might live.
We're also gathered here for a special event—the national
funeral for an unknown soldier who will today join the heroes of
three other wars.
When he spoke at a ceremony at Gettysburg in 1863, President
Lincoln reminded us that through their deeds, the dead had
spoken more eloquently for themselves than any of the living
ever could, and that we living could only honor them by
rededicating ourselves to the cause for which they so willingly
gave a last full measure of devotion.
Well, this is especially so today, for in our minds and hearts
is the memory of Vietnam and all that that conflict meant for
those who sacrificed on the field of battle and for their loved
ones who suffered here at home.
Not long ago, when a memorial was dedicated here in Washington
to our Vietnam veterans, the events surrounding that dedication
were a stirring reminder of America's resilience, of how our
nation could learn and grow and transcend the tragedies of the
past.
During the dedication ceremonies, the rolls of those who died
and are still missing were read for 3 days in a candlelight
ceremony at the National Cathedral. And the veterans of Vietnam
who were never welcomed home with speeches and bands, but who
were never defeated in battle and were heroes as surely as any
who have ever fought in a noble cause, staged their own parade
on Constitution Avenue. As America watched them—some in
wheelchairs, all of them proud—there was a feeling that this
nation—that as a nation we were coming together again and that
we had, at long last, welcomed the boys home.
"A lot of healing went on," said one combat veteran who helped
organize support for the memorial. And then there was this
newspaper account that appeared after the ceremonies. I'd like
to read it to you. "Yesterday, crowds returned to the Memorial.
Among them was Herbie Petit, a machinist and former marine from
New Orleans. 'Last night,' he said, standing near the wall, 'I
went out to dinner with some other ex-marines. There was also a
group of college students in the restaurant. We started talking
to each other. And before we left, they stood up and cheered us.
The whole week,' Petit said, his eyes red, 'it was worth it just
for that.'"
It has been worth it. We Americans have learned to listen to
each other and to trust each other again. We've learned that
government owes the people an explanation and needs their
support for its actions at home and abroad. And we have learned,
and I pray this time for good, the most valuable lesson of
all—the preciousness of human freedom.
It has been a lesson relearned not just by Americans but by all
the people of the world. Yet, while the experience of Vietnam
has given us a stark lesson that ultimately must move the
conscience of the world, we must remember that we cannot today,
as much as some might want to, close this chapter in our
history, for the war in Southeast Asia still haunts a small but
brave group of Americans—the families of those still missing in
the Vietnam conflict.
They live day and night with uncertainty, with an emptiness,
with a void that we cannot fathom. Today some sit among you.
Their feelings are a mixture of pride and fear. They're proud of
their sons or husbands, fathers or brothers who bravely and
nobly answered the call of their country. But some of them fear
that this ceremony writes a final chapter, leaving those they
love forgotten.
Well, today then, one way to honor those who served or may still
be serving in Vietnam is to gather here and rededicate ourselves
to securing the answers for the families of those missing in
action. I ask the Members of Congress, the leaders of veterans
groups, and the citizens of an entire nation present or
listening, to give these families your help and your support,
for they still sacrifice and suffer.
Vietnam is not over for them. They cannot rest until they know
the fate of those they loved and watched march off to serve
their country. Our dedication to their cause must be
strengthened with these events today. We write no last chapters.
We close no books. We put away no final memories. An end to
America's involvement in Vietnam cannot come before we've
achieved the fullest possible accounting of those missing in
action.
This can only happen when their families know with certainty
that this nation discharged her duty to those who served nobly
and well. Today a united people call upon Hanoi with one voice:
Heal the sorest wound of this conflict. Return our sons to
America. End the grief of those who are innocent and undeserving
of any retribution.
The Unknown Soldier who is returned to us today and whom we lay
to rest is symbolic of all our missing sons, and we will present
him with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the highest military
decoration that we can bestow.
About him we may well wonder, as others have: As a child, did he
play on some street in a great American city? Or did he work
beside his father on a farm out in America's heartland? Did he
marry? Did he have children? Did he look expectantly to return
to a bride?
We'll never know the answers to these questions about his life.
We do know, though, why he died. He saw the horrors of war but
bravely faced them, certain his own cause and his country's
cause was a noble one; that he was fighting for human dignity,
for free men everywhere. Today we pause to embrace him and all
who served us so well in a war whose end offered no parades, no
flags, and so little thanks. We can be worthy of the values and
ideals for which our sons sacrificed—worthy of their courage in
the face of a fear that few of us will ever experience—by
honoring their commitment and devotion to duty and country.
Many veterans of Vietnam still serve in the Armed Forces, work
in our offices, on our farms, and in our factories. Most have
kept their experiences private, but most have been strengthened
by their call to duty. A grateful nation opens her heart today
in gratitude for their sacrifice, for their courage, and for
their noble service. Let us, if we must, debate the lessons
learned at some other time. Today, we simply say with pride,
"Thank you, dear son. May God cradle you in His loving arms."
We present to you our nation's highest award, the Congressional
Medal of Honor, for service above and beyond the call of duty in
action with the enemy during the Vietnam era.
