Standing before Vietnam Veterans Memorial, my hands trembled slightly as I traced the cold black granite with my fingers. Fifty-one years have passed since the war ended, yet in this silent place, time disappeared. The names carved into the Wall were no longer letters etched in stone—they became faces, voices, laughter, and memories of young men who once stood beside me in the jungles and shattered streets of Vietnam.
Some of those names I recognized immediately.
An American Marine from Texas who shared his last cigarette with me during the siege of Khe Sanh.
A young Army medic from Ohio who carried wounded South Vietnamese soldiers on his back during the chaos of Bình Long.
A quiet radio operator who never made it out after the Tet Offensive.
As I stood there, the memories came rushing back like waves I could no longer hold back.
The thunder of artillery during Tết Mậu Thân.
The smoke and ruins of Huế after the massacre.
The endless nights at Khe Sanh when we wondered whether dawn would ever come.
The cries of wounded soldiers calling for their mothers—in English and Vietnamese.
The faces of civilians fleeing with fear in their eyes.
The silence after battle, when too many friends no longer answered roll call.
I was a soldier of South Vietnam. We fought beside American soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, believing that freedom and liberty were worth defending. Many never came home. American soldiers died on our soil, far away from their families. South Vietnamese soldiers also fell by the tens of thousands, their graves scattered, forgotten, or lost to time.
Today, America honors her fallen sons and daughters on Memorial Day, and rightly so. Standing before this Wall, my heart is filled with gratitude and sorrow. Gratitude for the brave Americans who sacrificed everything for a land that was not their own. Sorrow because the war left wounds that never truly healed.
And yet, deep inside my heart, there is another sadness difficult to explain.
There is no Memorial Day for the soldiers of South Vietnam.
No national ceremony.
No black granite wall with their names.
No folded flags handed to grieving widows.
No moment of silence recognized by the world.
But today, standing here in Washington, D.C., I salute them all.
The American soldiers who fought bravely beside us.
The South Vietnamese soldiers who defended their homeland until the very end.
The young men who never had the chance to grow old.
The brothers-in-arms whose sacrifices became part of the price of freedom.
The war ended 51 years ago, but memories do not end.
For those of us who survived, Memorial Day is not about politics or victory. It is about remembrance. It is about loyalty, sacrifice, and the unbearable cost of war.
As tears filled my eyes before the Wall, I whispered quietly to the fallen:
“You are not forgotten.”
And today, with all the strength left in these aging hands, I offer one final salute—to every soldier who fought and died for the freedom and liberty of South Vietnam.
-Chiến Sĩ Vô Danh-