By Diana M.
Every year, at the end of May, America slows down. Or rather, it pauses – respectfully. The cap comes off, the beer gets set down by the grill, and there’s a moment of silence. This isn’t just any day. It’s Memorial Day – a holiday that, beyond the cookouts and long weekend sales, is about something deeper: a collective memory that still has a spine.
Like many of us who come from other parts of the world, I used to think American patriotism was a bit theatrical – maybe even a little over the top. Flags everywhere, hand-on-heart pledges, teary eyes when the anthem plays. Back in Europe, we’ve gotten used to mocking that kind of display, treating it like a cartoon version of national identity. After all, in the age of globalization, what is “country” anymore? We have a “global village,” Netflix, chatbots, and corporations with no nationality. Or so it seems.
And yet… here in America, Memorial Day taught me something I didn’t think still mattered in 2025: collective memory is a choice. And it’s alive.
On Memorial Day, you don’t see tanks rolling through the streets or airshows overhead, like you might on national days elsewhere. Instead, you see hundreds, even thousands, of bikers – men and women, young and old, veterans and civilians – riding in silent, organized groups. They wear leather jackets, fly flags, and head toward cemeteries and memorials. It’s a quiet procession. But one that speaks volumes.
At Arlington National Cemetery, just outside Washington, D.C., the solemn hum of motorcycles blends with the silence among the perfectly aligned white crosses. And there, you realize that remembering isn’t just something we do in our minds. It’s something we act out. Americans haven’t forgotten. And they don’t let history collect dust in an academic archive. They wear it on their chests, on their cars, on their fences. They plant it in the form of poppies on the National Mall. They keep it alive.
This year, right in the heart of D.C., the National Mall hosted a powerful and moving exhibit honoring veterans, using the red poppy as its symbol. Tens of thousands of flowers – real, stylized, or projected – formed a living tapestry of remembrance for those who gave their lives. People stopped – many in silence, some in tears, others with a hand over their heart. Every poppy was a memory, a name, a story. It was a lesson in history written not with words, but with petals and respect.
What’s remarkable about the American spirit is how patriotism feels natural here – an extension of how people are raised. Wearing a uniform isn’t awkward. Standing up when a veteran passes isn’t outdated. These gestures are sincere. And volunteering for the military isn’t seen as something marginal – it’s a mark of honor. It’s common to see everyday people stop soldiers on the street to say thank you. Not for Instagram. But because they’ve learned, generation after generation, that freedom isn’t free.
Maybe that’s why America doesn’t forget. And maybe that’s why, despite all its crises and divisions, it continues to exist – not just as a country, but as an idea, a story written in blood, sacrifice, and gratitude.
Because countries that don’t preserve memory don’t just risk historical amnesia. They risk being erased – not by bombs or enemies, but by forgetfulness itself.
So, if you see a video, a photo, or a red poppy in my post today, know that it’s not just a memory. It’s a plea for remembrance. And a heartfelt salute to those who still believe that loving a country isn’t old-fashioned – it’s a form of clarity.
In place of a conclusion…
I may not have grown up with the American flag at my doorstep. But every year, around Memorial Day, I learn something new about dignity, remembrance, and the kind of silence that speaks louder than speeches. In a world where cynicism has become second nature, maybe it’s time we rediscover respect. Even if it’s not for your country – maybe it’s for the idea that sacrifice isn’t negotiable. It’s honored.
