The former Yugoslavia is filled with unique monuments to World War II called Spomeniks that have evolved in their meaning and underlying ideology depending on the political and social climate at the time.

The Allied victory at the end of World War II legitimized the newly formed Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia and the ruling Communist Party, led by Josip Tito. The Spomeniks (monuments) that were created during the Tito years were symbolic, abstract representations of fallen heroes and victims of fascism as described by Senadin Musabegovi, Professor of Philosophy at the University of Sarajevo, and Bojana Pejic, art historian. Following Tito's death in 1980, new nationalisms resulted in altering the interpretation of many of the Spomeniks in accordance with local nationalist sentiments.

The Spomeniks of the former Yugoslavia were created out of a need to remember lives lost and the struggle for victory over the fascist occupiers. Older monuments created by the Kingdom of Yugoslavia were deemed unnecessary and were destroyed out of a need to forget the former rulers while creating a new multi-national state that was unified under one Yugoslav banner. For Tito, this was essential so that the underlying national tensions could be pacified under his “Brotherhood and Unity” ideology. This unification was important because his vision depended on the myth of a single national liberation victory for all of Yugoslavia, not any single ethnicity, according to Veljko Radulovic, an Associate Professor of Architecture at the University of Montenegro.

The Yugoslav Communist Party celebrated the underlying myths of uprising and revolution. The National Liberation War was the uprising and seen as the victory over the invading fascists, while the revolution was the state being forged through the “brotherhood and unity” of the many ethnicities coming together to accomplish the victory as noted by Musabegovic and Pejic. With the creation of these new monuments arose a new collective Yugoslav memory and a new artform known as “socialist modernism”. During this time, Yugoslavia was unique in that it did not constrain its artists to state-mandated realist projects that emphasized a human figure, like the Soviet Union or other communist countries. Yugoslav artists began to interpret ideas and concepts in a more abstract form resulting in various art projects including the Spomeniks.

Two examples of Spomeniks that were created in the socialist modernist style are The Battle of Sutjeska Memorial Monument Complex at Tjentiste and the Monument to the Revolution in Kozara National Park. The Sutjeska Memorial was originally conceived in 1958. At the time it was simply a crypt for 3000 soldiers who fell during the 1943 Battle of Sutjeska which demonstrated that Tito’s partisans could withstand the German onslaught, resulting in the Allies beginning to directly support Tito. In 1971, the monument was completed by architect Miodrag Zivkovic and is one of the most important World War II monuments in Yugoslavia. It is often compared to the Greek “Winged Hero of Samothrace” due to of the shapes of the wings as well as Greece and Bosnia being seen by some as crossroads of ideas, politics, and religion according to the Spomenik Database. Unfortunately, during the Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s, there was an attempt to blow up the monument. Today, the monument enjoys a resurgent popularity not because of its former ideological presence, but because of its artistic form. It is used as a venue for music festivals and art shows. It has even inspired other artworks such as the Ninth Fort WWII monument in Kaunas, Lithuania.

Kozara National Park, near Prijedor, Bosnia, was originally created in 1958 as it was deemed by Tito to be of “historical significance” owing to the 1942 Battle of Kozara as noted on the park's website. According to the local Prijedor Danas newspaper, a Monument to the Revolution construction committee was formed in 1962 with 49 applicants submitting design ideas with the one from Dusan Dzamonja being selected. The memorial was completed in 1972, with an adjacent museum, also designed by Dzamonja, built one year later to house battle relics and artifacts. In a 2007 interview documented in the Spomenki Database, Dzamonja would say that “it was a common saying in Yugoslavia those who were going to Rome, those who were going to Mecca, and those going to Kozara (…) It is a very isolated place, you have to want it.”

The Monument to the Revolution at Kozara rises 33 m to its peak. It is rather difficult to get inside the monument, as Dzamonja wanted it to feel claustrophobic so that a visitor feels like the partisans who were surrounded by the Axis armies. He wanted people to feel that although there was little room for escape, there is always light which triumphs over the darkness. When one looks up, light shines in through a uniquely shaped circle. For locals, this symbolizes two ideas according to Gal Kirn, Faculty of Arts (Sociology of Culture) at the University of Ljubljana. The shape of the circle represents a Kolo dance, a local folk dance, which signifies solidarity and cohesiveness within living in a multinational community. The other is the suffocating feeling of the fascist armies closing in on the light.

The Kozara monument was largely spared during the Yugoslav wars due to its remote location. However, this did not keep the monument from becoming a piece of nationalist propaganda. The area was occupied by Serbian nationalists which resulted in a pro-victimized Serbian context to the museum displays with many other groups left out as their inclusion wouldn't fit the desired narrative as noted by Manuela Brenner, Faculty of Electrical Engineering and Information Technology at the University of Regensburg. This allowed the meaning of the monument to be deconstructed and then reconstructed to fit the needs of the occupiers, who pushed Serbian ethnicity rather than overall loss of life. After the war, the narrative was changed to not solely emphasize Serb losses. However, because Kozara and the city of Prijedor are in the Republika Srpska, an area dominated by Bosnian Serbs, some nationalist rhetoric remains according to Brenner. Like the monument at Sutjeska, Kozara enjoyed a rebirth of memory in the 2000’s as it has become home to commemorative ceremonies in remembrance to the battles fought here in the second World War.

Gal Kirn, Faculty of Arts (Sociology of Culture) at the University of Ljubljana, has stated that the post-WWII Yugoslavia monuments were the memorialization of a resistance movement based on a transnational ideal amongst the varying ethnicities that had been united under Tito’s banner. By bringing the ethnicities together, it attempted to omit the varying degrees of tension and hostility that each group might have against one another. The feeling of monuments amongst those same ethnicities today is a representation of the failure of a nation to eliminate these underlying tensions and stay together. Kirn believes that the monuments represent the past, as well as the defeat of Yugoslavia, with their original meanings often misunderstood. It is interesting to note that interpretation of the monuments continues to change even if the artists themselves specifically highlighted what it was supposed to mean.

Understanding the overall dynamic of Yugoslav monuments depends on the social and political climate in which they are portrayed. During their construction they were billed as abstract representations of the state ideology of “Brotherhood and Unity.” They came to represent a present and a future multinational state that attempted to omit or silence the tense inter-ethnic conflicts of the individual regions. Brenner states that once Yugoslavia dissolved, the monuments that had served the socialist republic needed to be deconstructed and reimagined in a way that fit the narratives of each new state. This was especially so for the Monument to the Revolution where the monument was made to fit the Serb narrative by placing a cross nearby, directed against the Muslim population. It is anticipated that as long as these monuments stand, they will continue to have meanings that are interpreted in ways that fit the current social and political climate.

(Edited by Brad Poss)

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It was a memorial 30 years in the making, commemorating a tragedy 50 years ago. The USS Indianapolis Memorial (CA-35) opened on August 2, 1995, along the east bank of a canal in downtown Indianapolis, the namesake for the ship. The event marked the 50th anniversary of the heavy cruiser's tragic sinking by a Japanese submarine at the end of World War II. The memorial pays tribute to the ship which carried parts of the atomic bomb to the island of Tinian. It also honors the 1,197 men who served as crew aboard the vessel, three-quarters of whom died from sinking in shark-infested waters. Today, only eight survivors remain of the 317 men who survived the tragedy. The memorial is at a crossroads, entering a new era that soon will be without the representation of living memory. Even as the remaining survivors pass, there are favorable signs the memorial will continue keeping alive the story of the USS Indianapolis and the memory of those who served on her in the last days of World War II.

The USS Indianapolis Memorial is the brainchild of the ship's survivors. In 1960, some gathered 15 years after the war's end for their first reunion. A suggestion arose to create a memorial to honor and remember their lost shipmates during their gathering. The idea resonated and then simmered. The subject of a memorial resurfaced at the 1965 reunion. This time the discussion generated momentum. An exploratory committee began to look further into the possibility of building a memorial. Initially, the biggest hurdle was finding a suitable piece of property in Indianapolis for the monument. Good news finally came in 1990 when the Mayor of Indianapolis, William H. Hudnut III, announced his intent to donate to the survivor's organization prime property along the water canal that ran through downtown Indianapolis. It was a perfect location for their memorial. And it was the ideal time to capitalize on the growing publicity for the upcoming 50th anniversary of the war's end.

From the beginning, challenges existed in raising money for the memorial. The first was its growing cost. The projected estimate was initially $500,000. By the time the memorial was completed in 1995 - 3 years later than projected - the total expenses had risen to 1 million dollars. The second challenge, an ignorant public, contributed to the first. "Part of the reason we have been unable to raise the money is that a lot of folks don't remember, or never heard the story of the Indianapolis," said Patrick Finneran, executive director of the USS Indianapolis (CA-35) Survivors Memorial Organization, Inc. "We have had to educate folks about the ship, her crew, her final voyage. When people hear her story, a lot of average citizens want to contribute. But we have to keep telling her story."

It might seem strange that the city of Indianapolis had forgotten or never heard of the ship that shared the city's name. The sinking of the Indianapolis occurred 45 years earlier, at the very end of the war. The Navy had initially delayed reporting on the loss of the Indianapolis until after the exuberant announcement of Japan's surrender. The ship's tragedy – representing the Navy's worst sea disaster and costing almost 900 lives - was strategically 'lost' between the euphoria of the war's end and the Navy's efforts to blame the sinking on the commanding officer of the ship, Captain Charles Butler McVay. He later faced court-martial as the scapegoat for the tragedy. In the relentless drive to get on with life after the war, most people forgot the USS Indianapolis's role in ending the Pacific War. The Enola Gay, a B-29 Superfortress, received the primary attention for dropping the atomic bomb over Hiroshima. Few recalled that the Indianapolis delivered the bomb as top-secret cargo to Tinian Island just days before her sinking.

The dedication for the USS Indianapolis Memorial on July 30, 1995, drew approximately 3,500 people, including 107 survivors, who came to witness the unveiling. Before the spectators were black and gray granite pieces from California used to fashion the 21-ton structure in the general shape of a Navy ship. The ship's bow pointed westward toward the Pacific Ocean to honor the ships' crew who died in the middle of the Philippine Sea. Indiana limestone acted as the base of the structure of the vessel. Adorning the black granite face of the memorial was a detailed silhouette of the USS Indianapolis. Listed on the memorial's reverse side were the names of the entire 1,197 member crew aboard the ship at the time of her sinking. Each engraved name had 1-inch letters. The survivors noted by the placement of a star beside their names.

The designer, architect Joseph Fischer, wrapped the text of the USS Indianapolis story around the 28 feet long base of the memorial. He used the north side of the base to present general information on the ship: construction details, physical dimensions, engine type, armament description, and her honorable resume of service in the Navy from 1932-45. The text written on the base's south side, beneath the crew member's names, summarized the tragic events of her sinking on July 30, 1945. Also explained was the long ordeal for the survivors and their attempts to survive in the water. He cut into the base of the memorial ten stars to represent the ten battle stars the Indianapolis received for her war service. Directly behind the granite ship, Fischer placed a high, curved wall to represent the ship's bridge serving as an overlook for the memorial.

One feature of the memorial was not visible to the crowd of on-lookers. Buried beneath it was a piece of the superstructure of the USS Arizona. As the last Navy ship sunk before the war's end, the USS Indianapolis became forever linked to the first sunken ship of the conflict during the attack at Pearl Harbor, the USS Arizona. The two ships became timeline bookends for the American experience in the Second World War. Both ships also became underwater tombs for some of their crew. In the case of the Arizona, 1,102 men became entrapped in the sunken ship. For the Indianapolis, approximately 300 men sank with their ship, while another 580 died on the open water by dehydration, salt-poisoning, and shark attacks.

While the memorial does an impressive job in remembering the crew and summarizing the ship's distinguished career, it is silent on some other essential details that paint a broader foreground to the evolving story of the war's end. In December of 1990, Miles McCoy, President of the USS Indianapolis Survivors' Association, was at Pearl Harbor attending the commemoration for the 49th Anniversary of the Attack on Pearl Harbor. Former Japanese Submarine Commander Machitsura Hashimoto, who had sunk the Indianapolis 49 years earlier, was also in attendance. McCoy planned to confront the man indirectly responsible for the USS Indianapolis Memorial. He planned initially to tell Hashimoto that he and the surviving crew did not forgive the commander for sinking their ship. After a couple of days, however, McCoy changed his mind. When he met Hashimoto at the end of the commemoration, he said to him through an interpreter, "Sir, I am the representative of all those that were aboard the Indianapolis on that fateful night, and I feel that you were doing your duty just as we were, and I forgive you." Hashimoto responded, "I forgive you too." When translated, McCoy asked for what he was receiving forgiveness. Hashimoto explained, "The bomb you delivered to Tinian was dropped on my hometown, Hiroshima, and it killed my entire family." McCoy was dumbfounded and responded, "I never knew. I'm sorry." For McCoy, the brief dialogue with Hashimoto acknowledged mutual loss, regret, and reconciliation.

Although the forgiveness dialogue between McCoy and Hashimoto is not mentioned anywhere on the monument, the memorial's dedication likely helped some survivors experience a form of self-forgiveness. Retired Navy Captain James Hold, president of the USS Indianapolis Survivors Memorial Organization, explained at the 1992 site dedication, "Those men who lived have carried a terrible load of unworthy emotion. They felt guilty and ashamed - ashamed they lost their ship, and guilt because they lived and so many of their shipmates died. When the memorial is finished, they will, I believe, feel at last the ship and crew are worthy of remembering, and the building of the memorial will take a larger load off their conscience." Survivor Jimmy O'Donnell put it more simply, "Building the monument… was also an opportunity for me to come to grips with that tragic event that happened so long ago."

For some survivors, the memorial's dedication facilitated an expression of forgiveness toward the Navy, who failed to notice and quickly rescue the ship's crew 50 years earlier. The same Navy that denied for so long any exoneration for Captain McVay, who ended up committing suicide in 1968. Survivor Clarence Hershberger of Elkhart, Indiana, shared, "For 45 years, I had kind of a negative attitude about the whole thing because of the way the Navy treated it. Finally, when I saw the memorial taking shape, and something positive coming out of this tragedy, I changed my attitude a bit."

If prime location indicates a memorial's survival, the USS Indianapolis memorials look quite secure. Hundreds of people pass by it every day on foot while walking along the popular canal. And, since 2018, many more children have been in the proximity of the memorial. The Indianapolis Colts Foundation built a large playground on a grassy area north and east of the monument. The playground has brought many young feet closer to the memorial, ensuring a chance that curious minds might stop and take a peek. The story of the USS Indianapolis remains accessible to all who pass by. Hopefully, people will take time to look and learn from the impressive memorial in front of them. And while they will not understand the "whole story" from viewing it, they will know enough about the contribution and tragedy of a ship and her crew to prompt them perhaps to look deeper into the broader narrative of the war's end.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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Traumatic memory exists for everyone in different ways. The USS Arizona Memorial is an example of a memorial that elicits varying and complicated memories for many Americans.

My grandmother remembered the trauma of seeing her father rounded up by "FBI men" for questioning about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor mere hours after the attack itself had ended. As a young boy, our 4th-grade class studied World War II around the 50th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack, resulting in classmates chastising me for having the last name "Yamamoto" and shouting, "IT WAS YOU, IT WAS YOUR FAMILY THAT BOMBED PEARL HARBOR!" Horrified, I ran home to my parents, asking them to tell me the truth about Pearl Harbor and what our family had done in World War II. They reassured me that my family was unrelated to Admiral Ikorodu Yamamoto and that my grandfathers proudly served in the U.S. Army during World War II. However, my trauma from that day in December 1991 remains and, in many ways, spurred my desire to know more about the place called Pearl Harbor.

As one of the United States Navy's most active homeports, Naval Station Pearl Harbor is a clear symbol of strength in the Indo-Pacific region. On the other side of the serene waters of the harbor stands a white marble structure lying above the remains of the USS Arizona, marking the boundary between strength and sorrow. The USS Arizona's existence within Pearl Harbor creates a historical paradox. Visitors are reminded of tremendous loss but, upon departure, are filled with enormous pride over America's role in World War II (WWII). The USS Arizona Memorial has changed over time to focus on the loss of life in Pearl Harbor and serve as a touchpoint for the detailed memory of all experiences in WWII.

The attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, resulted in the loss of 2,403 American lives, including 68 civilians, and the destruction or damage of 19 U.S. Navy ships, including eight battleships. The sinking of the USS Arizona claimed the lives of 1,177 sailors and marines, making it the most significant shipboard loss of life in American Naval history. These ships and their sacrifices add to the depth of memory contained at Pearl Harbor. While the USS Arizona serves as the Pearl Harbor National Memorial's touchpoint, visitors learn that many more ships and lives were lost that day.

As a result of the profound loss at Pearl Harbor, and especially aboard the USS Arizona, the Maui Rotary Club undertook attempts to memorialize the ship as early as 1942. In 1947, Hawaii businessman H. Tucker Gratz conceived of building a permanent memorial to the USS Arizona. He galvanized public support in Hawaii, and by 1949, the territory of Hawaii had designated the Pacific War Memorial Commission as the primary fundraiser for war memorials throughout the territory. In 1958, the USS Arizona Memorial's construction received authorization by Public Law 85-344. The law, signed by President Dwight D. Eisenhower, created a public-private partnership between the Navy and the Pacific War Memorial Commission to construct the memorial. At that time, the focus for developing the USS Arizona Memorial remained singular; to memorialize the loss and sacrifice of the men and ships in Pearl Harbor. Little effort went to honor or mention the civilian toll or the aftermath of the attacks in Hawaii.

The memorial's formal dedication occurred on May 30, 1962, with Public Law 85-344 designating the Navy as the caretaker of the memorial. Although the public could now visit and pay respect to the fallen sailors and marines entombed in the USS Arizona, only a few historical and interpretive exhibits existed. In addition, the thousands of visitors who made the pilgrimage to Pearl Harbor were subject to the hot Hawaiian sun without shade while waiting for a naval ferry to take them to the shrine. Federal legislation introduced in 1973 provided "shore-side facilities for the education and convenience of visitors to the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor," thanks largely to the late Hawaii Senator and World War II veteran Daniel Inouye. Inouye's initial push for funding was met with resistance by the Navy's top brass, who were concerned that funding the memorial facilities would adversely impact the budget for other vital naval operations. Senator Inouye eventually succeeded in helping to obtain federal funding for shore-side facilities in 1977. "The opportunity to present the important historical significance and atmosphere of the shrine will be lost without a proper visitor center," according to Spencer Architects. Unfortunately, the first visitor center was small due to being a "holding area" for those visiting the shrine. In addition, the memorial continued to lack historical exhibition and interpretative areas and areas for quiet reflection.

The memorial, designed by Alfred Preis, spans the breadth of the wreckage of the USS Arizona, with no part of the memorial structure touching the ship itself. When one boards the memorial shrine, an exhibit board shows a side profile of the remains and details the damage done to the vessel by the Japanese attack. The structure consists of 21 openings, seven each on the memorial's fore, aft, and overhead sides, indicative of the 21-gun salute of high military honors. The two focal points of the memorial structure are the shrine room, which houses the memorial wall containing the names of the 1,177 killed that day, and the eternal tree of life, a design element conceived by Preis that represents rebirth after a tragedy. The memorial's effect is calmness and serenity, imploring visitors to observe in quiet reflection. Signage aboard the memorial structure advises visitors of "reverence and respect." After one's time aboard the memorial, visitors are loaded onto the navy ferry and brought back ashore. Each navy ferry operates by the USS Arizona Memorial Detachment, an active-duty Navy assignment considered a tremendous honor.

In 2008, massive renovations to the visitor center in hopes of providing more space for exhibits and contemplation took place, as well as telling the story of the local and Japanese American contribution to the war effort. The entire visitor center campus changed to provide a more coherent visitor experience with three main rooms of exhibits. The first one explores the pre-war state of the world, with visitors able to see Japan's rise to prominence throughout Asia. Visitors are shown various pictures and videos of daily shipboard life before December 7, 1941. The next room focuses on the attack itself; central to this room is a small theater for a video presentation explaining the event. The 3rd room focuses on the aftermath of the attack, focusing on civilian heroes. While it does not focus on the warfighting following Pearl Harbor, it does expose visitors to Japanese American contributions to World War II, including a large photo of the men of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, consisting of Japanese American soldiers from Hawaii.

Further, including a contemplation circle gives visitors a chance to gather their thoughts and emotions before departing the visitor center, a distinct change from the previous visitor center. The 3rd room also includes an exhibit of Sadako Sasaki, who passed away in 1955 due to her exposure to the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. This significant change in interpretation indicates an attempt by the National Park Service, and by extension, the American government, to tell a more holistic and nuanced story of World War II.

Returning full circle to the origins of the author's experiences as a Japanese-American, the new visitor center at the Pearl Harbor National Memorial gives a different sense of American patriotism. The narrative no longer focuses on Japan attacking America and that America responded with the best it could offer to win the war. The visitor center's history now includes America lashing out against innocent Japanese-Americans like my great-grandfather. This simple recognition is a huge step forward. All the while, the memorial shrine itself remains as a stoic reminder of the losses on December 7, 1941, with an inscription on the Honolulu Memorial at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific reminding visitors that "the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

(edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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There are four memorials to the Navajo Code Talkers in Arizona and the "Four Corners" region - the area where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico meet. These monuments help us understand the history of Navajo code talkers in the United States Marine Corps.

Navajo Code Talker memorial statues in Arizona, New Mexico, and the Navajo Nation reflect the complex relationship between the United States government, indigenous peoples, and the "memory politics" of recent years.

The Navajo Code Talkers were recruited in 1942 to use their indigenous language (Diné) to develop a sophisticated communications code believed to have helped win World War II in the Pacific theater. United States Marine Corps proponents of Navajo code-making petitioned for the use of the language, which differs from that of neighboring indigenous communities. Furthermore, they argued, "Navaho (sic) is the only tribe in the United States that has not been infested with German students during the past twenty years."

The Navajo people, who refer to themselves as Diné, are indigenous to the Southwestern United States. The Navajo Nation encompasses 27,000 miles of land straddling New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah, known as the Four Corners region. The Navajo Nation sent 3600 individuals to serve during World War II, approximately 400 of whom were code talkers. Three hundred Navajo soldiers were killed, including 7 code talkers. When they returned to their native lands, some Navajo veterans participated in healing ceremonies using traditional medicine to rid them of the demons of war. Still, otherwise, their war service was yet to be publicly acknowledged.

Considered essential in helping to win the war against the Japanese, the Code Talkers, "who risked their lives encoding, relaying, and decoding critical messages under extreme battle conditions," were not recognized officially for their service until 1982, when President Ronald Reagan authorized Navajo Code Talkers Day. Although the declassification of information about their activities came in 1969, it would be another 8-9 years before the 29 original and subsequent 300+ Code Talkers received Congressional gold and silver medals for their service. This recognition resulted in the dedication of four memorials to the Navajo Code Talkers in the Four Corners region.

The oldest memorial, at 22 Thomas Rd in Phoenix, Arizona, depicts a single seated male figure dressed in Native clothing and holding a flute in front of Phoenix Plaza, a multi-story office building. The second Phoenix statue is a copy of a code talker figure designed by Navajo sculptor Oreland Joe. At 16 feet tall, it was dedicated in Wesley Bolin Memorial Park in 2008 with an accompanying interpretive sign written in English.

A third Code Talker Statue sculpted by Oreland Joe sits within Veteran's Memorial Park outside of Window Rock, Arizona, capital of the Navajo Nation. The statue features a single kneeling helmeted Marine operating a radio, with the soldier carrying communications equipment on his back and a machine gun on his lap. The Window Rock statue, erected in 2004, is surrounded by scenic red rocks in the Veteran's Memorial Park adjacent to tribal headquarters, with an interpretive sign written in English. Finally, a similar 8.5-foot statue in bronze featuring a standing Code talker was placed near downtown Gallup, New Mexico, by the Southwest Indian Foundation.

To understand the Code Talker statues, one must first consider the complicated history of US-Native American government policy and the cultural commodification of Native Americans. In manifest destiny, the Navajo people were displaced from their ancestral lands to Bosque Redondo in present-day New Mexico, where they were starved and forced to walk back to their homeland (The Long Walk) in the 1860s. Other policies included the equivalent of cultural genocide—removing Navajo children from their homeland and sending them to boarding schools where they were not allowed to speak their language and forced to abandon traditional attire for the Western costume. Navajo people experienced numerous problems due to US Uranium mining within their lands and subsequent unauthorized experimenting on Native miners. Not until after World War II in 1948 did Native Americans receive the right to vote in Arizona, New Mexico, and US elections.

In 1989, the first Code Talker memorial statue, an 18-foot bronze, was dedicated on the grounds of Phoenix Plaza, a privately owned 20-story office building. This code talker is dressed in native moccasins, wearing a squash blossom necklace and holding a flute. The interpretive sign on the monument is in the Diné tongue with an English translation. The sculptor, Doug Hyde (1946-present), is a veteran and Native American of Nez Perce descent.

The Hyde statue of the code talker in Native dress with a flute portrays the Code Talker not as a soldier or warrior, but as a "peaceful" Native American, without a trace of aggression or militaristic impulse, even though the code talkers were trained soldiers and saw combat. At first glance, it would seem that the individual's identity as a soldier is not distinguishable. The Native American prominence is palatable to the general public, at odds with older "savage" stereotypes. When one looks more deeply, however, the image may identify the Code Talker in Native American tradition as a "trickster" due to the nature of his code-making and breaking activities. In many Southwest indigenous traditions, the flute player (Kokopelli) correlates strongly with the attributes of the trickster.

The 2004 Window Rock statue is very different from the design of Hyde. First, its location is in the capital of the Navajo Nation (home to about 3000 Navajo people according to the 2000 Census), within a Veteran's memorial park established in 1995. As described, the code talker figure is realistic in form and features a single kneeling Navajo Marine dressed in military garb with communications equipment of the era upon his back. Other than the title and location of the sculpture, the figure is indistinguishable from other soldiers of the World War II era. The sculptor, Oreland Joe, was born in 1958 in the Four Corners area and is of Navajo/Ute descent. A copy of the statue also is displayed in Phoenix's Wesley Bolin plaza adjacent to the Arizona state capitol.

Like the Marine Corps statue of Iwo Jima in Arlington, VA, the Joe statue seems to find its pattern after a photograph of an unnamed Native American code talker held in the US Government archives. A plaque accompanies the Navajo Code Talkers memorial within Wesley Bolin Memorial Park in Phoenix that features a quote, "Were it not for the Navajos, the Marines would have never taken Iwo Jima," attributed to Major Howard Connor of the US Marine Corps.

The Gallup monument, also created by Joe, is very similar to that of the other two Joe Code Talker monuments and was erected in 2005 in the western New Mexico town of approximately 21,000 people, 43.8% of whom identify as Native American as of 2000 according to US Census records. The Gallup statue's difference from its siblings in Window Rock and Phoenix is noted primarily in the stance of the Code Talker, in which he is partially standing rather than crouched. The minimal interpretive sign reads, "29 Marines prepare to depart during World War II/Navajo Code Talkers/Departure/May 4, 1942."

The Navajo Nation itself has been relatively slow to recognize the code talkers. In 2007, 25 years after the US Government's recognition, the Nation established an annual Code Talkers Memorial Day on August 14. Similarly, it was not until 2020 that a national monument to Native American veterans found its position in Washington, DC, despite receiving authorization in 1994. The Washington DC memorial features an abstract rather than figurative design. It is geared toward all Native American veterans vs. World War II code talkers, although an accompanying online exhibit does focus on the Code Talker legacy.

Almost all of the original code talkers have passed away. While oral histories and photographs remain, the four Memorials described here, massive and impervious to weather and time, may be what endures to shape future understanding of the Code Talker experience.

edited by Laura Bailey

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The Zekelman Holocaust Center, the largest Holocaust Museum in Michigan, is not only a place of remembrance but also serves as a research center serving both the 100,000 Jewish residents of Michigan and the public.

The Zekelman Holocaust Center opened in 1984 as part of the Jewish Community Center in West Bloomfield, Michigan. Twenty years later, the museum relocated to its current 55,000-square-foot standalone facility seven miles away. When visiting the museum, one can find many of the same exhibits in other Holocaust museums. You will find the history of the European Jews, the rise of Nazism and life in the concentration camps. Margorie Carignan authored a research paper during her graduate studies at the State University of New York, Buffalo State College, comparing US Holocaust Museums and the differences to Holocaust Museums found in Europe. In her analysis, she found that European museums generally tended to be places of mourning, while American museums were more focused on teaching and educating the public about the Holocaust. While the center has some similarities to other American Holocaust museums, it has unique characteristics and exhibits that make it different.

Upon arriving at the site, a visitor notices the forbidding building that has won architectural awards, as noted in the Holocaust Memorial Center Newsletter. It was designed by the architectural firm of Neumann / Smith & Associates and built by the Granger Construction Company.

Approaching the museum, one gets the sense that they are about to enter a concentration camp or prison. In World War II, reddish brick and blocks were the most commonly used materials for the construction of the concentration camps. This concept was also used in the construction of The Zekelman Holocaust Center. They took it a step further and overlaid the brick with diagonal wire and cable, giving the appearance of an electrified fence. The top of the elevator tower was designed to recall the images of the chimney stacks of the crematoriums. The entrance suggests a camp guard tower, complete with slit rifle openings. You can even find stripes on sections of the exterior walls, reminding the viewer of the stripes on the prisoners’ clothing. Even the exterior trees are purposely designed to be wiry and small, a sad suggestion to the starving inmates inside the walls.

However, for the nearly 50,000 people who drive by the museum every day, not everyone enjoys having what appears to be a prison in a heavily populated metropolitan area. For some, the museum’s architecture brings forth painful memories. As designers intended to send a message before the visitor ever steps inside, the museum’s outward appearance is not without its critics. Rene Lichtman, a local resident and Holocaust survivor, states that driving by every day brings up the terrible memories of her past, as recounted to Nathan Guttman, a journalist for the Israeli newspaper, Hareetz. Mr. Lichtman states, “It’s painful, it’s like having a concentration camp in your backyard.” Goldie Kalib was twelve years old when she arrived at Auschwitz. Her brother and father died in a cattle car during their transport. A few weeks after the camp's liberation, her mother also passed. Ms. Kalib says the museum brings back many painful memories. Still, she approves of the design, telling Jeffrey Zaslow, a journalist with The Wall Street Journal, that “camps were not a pretty experience – I don’t think the building should be pretty.” Guttman notes that Sidney Blokaski, who was once in charge of Holocaust documentation at the University of Michigan, felt that in the design, “they thought of every cliché.” Zaslow noted that another Holocaust survivor pointed out that no museum could ever capture the real-life nightmare Jews experienced. Zaslow further notes that when the museum’s founding Rabbi, Charles Rosenzveig, was asked about the criticism, he replied, "We wanted to express the hideousness and architecture is a language.”

Another special exhibit at the museum is the authentic boxcar used to transport Jews to the camps. The museum acquired the boxcar working with the German National Railroad and the Technical Museum in Berlin through a generous donation, as described in The Oakland Press. Upon first entering the museum, you’re immediately struck by the appearance of the large boxcar that’s approximately fifteen feet tall and sits right beyond the entrance door. Its sign reads “Werkstattwagen” with the original boxcar serial number still visible. It’s hard for the viewer to comprehend how one hundred occupants could survive a journey that could take weeks in a small compartment with no water or toilets. Adding to the authenticity of the exhibit, the center’s website notes that the boxcar is encircled by a historically accurate copy of the Hannoverscher Bahnhof train station in Hamburg, Germany. This background adds to the viewer’s experience as the boxcar seems to be parked at the station in 1940, waiting to be loaded. Further enhancing the visitor's experience, the boxcar sits on railroad tracks that run through the exhibit and under a glass wall leading outside the museum. This added dimension gives another layer of realism, as many concentration camps had railroad tracks running right up to the front gate to transport Jews and other prisoners.

Another unique exhibit is a living artifact that grows outside the museum and is viewable through a glass wall. Anne Donato, a teacher education specialist at The Zekelman Holocaust Center, notes that Anne Frank writes the following in her diary, “From my favorite spot on the floor, I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree, on whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver.” Pamela Engel, a journalist with The Times of Israel, details the story of when the 150-year-old tree located in Amsterdam started to die, it was ordered to be cut down. However, a judge ordered a temporary injunction prohibiting its removal. Later, botanists were able to save eleven saplings from the tree. In 2009, The Zekelman Holocaust Museum was awarded one of the saplings. Recipients of the saplings were chosen by the Anne Frank Center in Amsterdam in the Netherlands, based on “commitment to equality, demonstration of the consequences of intolerance or historical significance to civil rights and social justice,” according to a news release from the center. The tree is a powerful historical connection to Anne and her famous diary, as the viewer seems to be sitting with Anne, looking at the same tree.

The museum proudly displays other exhibits that are not only intended to tell the story of the Holocaust but what Jewish life looked like before the war. It features an exhibit about antisemitism and the rise of the Nazis. Similar to other Holocaust museums, it thoroughly covers the concentration camp network and what it was like living in the camps. Directly across from the boxcar, you find an internal flame that burns 24 hours a day and represents all the victims of the Holocaust. Behind it, engraved on a granite wall evoking the feeling of a gravestone, is a list of countries and the number of Jews that were murdered from each. The museum also features a video center that tells the story of the liberation of the camps.

James Young, the Distinguished Professor Emeritus and Founding Director of the Institute for Holocaust, Genocide, and Memory Studies at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, writes that Holocaust museums in the United States of America are becoming centers for historical education, activism, and fundraising. He observes that instead of studying Jewish history, many are learning about the history of Jews through studying the Holocaust. And while Jewish schools and community centers often run cost deficits, millions of dollars are invested in Holocaust projects and museums. More people now visit Holocaust museums and memorials in Germany, Austria, Holland, France, Poland, Israel, and America than the number of people that died during the Holocaust itself. Young also points out that American Jews have increasingly turned to studying the Holocaust because it has become their “vicariously shared memory.” Carignan found, as part of her analysis of US Holocaust centers, that most European museums and memorials were built with public funds while most US centers are privately funded. This is true with The Zekelman Holocaust Center, as it’s been fortunate enough to have a supportive public that has provided the resources needed to build a stunning museum, allowing more freedom in the design and theme of the museum. However, even being financially independent doesn’t shelter them from controversy and criticism. One critic pointed out to Zaslow when commenting on the building’s exterior, “can you imagine if someone built an African American Museum that looked like a lynching tree.”

(Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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The Yasukuni Shrine, located in Tokyo, was created to honor the dead who served Japan during times of war. It remains shrouded in controversy influencing the geopolitical dynamic of Southeast Asia, and preventing the spirits of the Japanese war dead from finding the rest they deserve.

Established at the end of the Boshin War that began the Meiji Era of Japan, Yasukuni Shrine was created to honor the dead who served Japan during times of war. Despite the equal treatment of names among the dead, the shrine has been shrouded in controversy due to the names of the fourteen Class-A war criminals that were enshrined within Yasukuni, as well as attempts to nationalize the shrine. The controversy influences current geopolitical relationships, especially between South Korea, and China. Yasukuni, however, is ultimately a religious site that has the responsibility of ensuring that the spirits of the Japanese war dead find rest, which seems impossible in light of the ongoing controversies.

Yasukuni is dedicated to those who served Japan in a military capacity regardless of their actions during the war; the dead are not revered for their actions beyond their shared military service. To the south of Yasukuni’s Honden, or main hall, is a smaller spirit pacification shrine or Chinreisha that is dedicated to all the dead from World War II (WWII), not just military servicemen or those who died in service to the emperor unlike those enshrined within the Honden. This marks Yasukuni as a true WWII memorial in spite of its service to the dead before the conflict as well.

As mentioned earlier, there are fourteen enshrined names who were military and government leaders that were tried by a military tribunal during the Tokyo Trials and found to be Class-A war criminals and were supposedly barred from being honored at Yasukuni. The relationship between Japan and the rest of Southeast Asia has been strained since the revelation that Yasukuni had enshrined these fourteen names in secret as described by The Japan Times in 2007: “Among the documents are lists dated from Jan. 31, 1969, presented at a meeting between shrine officials and the then Health and Welfare Ministry of people who could be enshrined at Yasukuni and the document says the shrine and the ministry shared the view that Class-A war criminals are “able to be honored.” The ministry and the shrine also agreed not to make public the idea that Yasukuni would enshrine the war criminals, a decision that appears to be linked to the constitutional issue of state and religion remaining separate.”

The resultant controversy has befallen on any government official visiting the shrine in an official capacity. The conspiracy between Health and Welfare Ministry officials with the Yasukuni officials is viewed as a direct violation of Japan’s Constitution. During the Allied forces occupation, Yasukuni was under threat of demolition as part of concern that the Shinto shrine was the reason behind the Japanese military’s radicalization. However, due to a Catholic priest’s efforts, Yasukuni remained standing, thus protecting the historic site as well as respecting the religious significance of the shrine itself.

The shrine’s controversies did not begin on the international stage. Instead, controversies began within Japan in 1969 when members of the Japanese Liberal Democratic party attempted to renationalize the shrine, which would go against the Japanese constitution. Without the shrine being nationalized, the Japanese government has no say in who is enshrined within but this fact does not shield the government from these controversies. The international implications of honoring those who were responsible for the Japanese’s war of aggression across Southeast Asia and the Pacific are significant. Once the news broke that Yasukuni had enshrined the fourteen Class-A war criminals broke, international tensions within Southeast Asia rose. This was primarily centered on confronting the Japanese collective memory about their past as noted by Fujita and Kusano: “Indeed, there have been calls in China and South Korea, both former victims, for Japan, the former perpetrator, to follow Germany’s example in confronting its colonial and wartime history. Controversy over Japan’s past and its remembrance thereof, its so-called history problem, has become fiercer than ever, often causing Tokyo’s relationships with China and South Korea to worsen.”

The shrine became a lightning rod of controversy as the Japanese memory of WWII came under both international and national scrutiny. The controversies polarized the Japanese people, typically along political lines with the nationalists wanting a return to a strong Japan and the progressives who want to recognize what happened in the past and move past it. Due to international relations and the view of the shrine in the Southeast Asian region, the shrine has been under attack for various reasons including a 2015 bombing attack by a South Korean national.

The Yasukuni Shrine and the Hiroshima monument represents opposite ends of the spectrum of the Japanese experience of World War II (WWII); Hiroshima as a remembrance of Japan as a victim and Yasukuni as a celebration of militarization. Where Hiroshima focuses on peace, the museum attached to Yasukuni, the Yushukan, focuses on war and Japanese exceptionalism. The Yushukan museum sanitizes the actions of Japanese aggression during WWII while being silent on the horrors perpetrated at the hands of the Japanese military. Ultimately, however, both museums represent the conflicted Japanese perspective on the war itself. The issue of WWII education including the full story of the Yasukuni Shrine in Japan is one of balancing educating the nation’s youth about the war without inflicting the burden of the sins of the past on them. it.

While education may bring the shrine closer to removing the fourteen names and enshrining them elsewhere, there is no guarantee. The soldiers, politicians, and commanders each served Japan, each served under the emperor meeting the requirements for enshrinement within Yasukuni. For Japan to remove the fourteen names without the head priest of Yasukuni’s permission would go against their constitution which includes the separation of church and state. With the controversies getting in the way of international relationships with other nations, the Japanese are between a rock and a hard place without the ability to interfere with the shrine’s operation. The Yasukuni Shrine remains a formidable obstacle to a potential Japanese reconciliation with South Korea, despite the looming threat of China’s expansionism, with the path forward unclear.

If the fourteen names are poisoning the shrine’s reputation, is it worth keeping them within the main shrine? Would returning the names to local shrines fix the problem? This was the assumed status of the fourteen until they were deemed “worthy of enshrinement” into Yasukuni alongside their fellow servicemen. Prior to the enshrinement of these fourteen names, foreign dignitaries, including the United States, would visit the site. Importantly, the shrine still hosts festivals for the Japanese people while serving as a religious center.

Education surrounding Japan’s actions in WWII could be the beginning of change. The modern Japanese aren’t responsible for the actions of their ancestors, though they are responsible for teaching the lessons learned from the past. The glossing over of the horrors of war as seen at Yushukan serves to sanitize Japan’s actions during WWII. Yushukan and Yasukuni have the potential to be excellent teachers of the realities of war. I feel the dead deserve their rest, and the fourteen names should be displayed, but contextualized with the full history. These fourteen names served the emperor and thus should be able to rest on the grounds of Yasukuni, however they served dishonorably and should remain separate from those that served with honor. Barring government officials from thanking the dead for their sacrifices is a disservice to those who served honorably. Hopefully, education surrounding the actions of the fourteen can set Japan on the path of healing as Yasukuni remains an important site in the rich history of the nation.

(edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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After a long and honored history including service in both World Wars, the story of the USS Nevada and its subsequent memorial in Pearl Harbor are largely forgotten. Although it was present and sunk in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese military attacked the base on December 7, 1941, it is far less remembered than other World War II ships like the USS Arizona or the USS Missouri.

There is no question that the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial remains the signature site for visitors to Pearl Harbor each year. For many, it is the most tangible reminder of when Japanese planes attacked the Hawaiian naval base and surrounding airfields to open the United States’ formal participation in World War II. The U.S.S. Arizona Memorial has become a well-known landmark with its sweeping white superstructure and the engraved names of the 1177 men who died aboard the ship that day. The ship's remains rest on the shallow floor of the Pearl Harbor Naval Base, next to the quay where the ship was tied up that morning. Stretching in front of and behind the U.S.S. Arizona are additional quays where other battleships were tied up on what was known as Battleship Row.

Although it is the best known, the U.S.S Arizona was not the only ship to be attacked. Of the eight battleships that were present in Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7, six of them would be sunk during the attack. Visitors today can visualize where each of the battleships was located on the morning of the attack by looking at the quays rising above the water, painted a brilliant white with each ship’s name prominently displayed, signifying its location on the morning of December 7th, 1941.

Memorials commemorating some of the lost ships and men were built at different times. The U.S.S. Arizona Memorial was the first constructed after a significant portion of the memorial’s cost was raised by a campaign boosted by the TV show This Is Your Life and, more famously, a benefit concert featuring Elvis Presley in March 1961. Another significant boost came from the Revell model company, which donated proceeds from sales of plastic models of the sunken ship. The U.S. Naval Institute News documents the details of these fund-raising efforts. In 1972, the second memorial was dedicated to the U.S.S. Utah as described on the USS UTAH BB-31/AG-16: The Forgotten Ship of Pearl Harbor's website. The U.S.S. Utah’s crumbling remains a short distance from the U.S.S. Arizona, separated by a white quay bearing the name of the last battleship anchored in Battleship Row that day, the USS Nevada.

A memorial for the U.S.S. Nevada, the third ship memorialized at Pearl Harbor, didn’t appear until 1981, and of the three, it gets very little visitor attention. Commercial tour operators used to bring tourists through the Pearl Harbor Naval Base, where the memorial was pointed out to tourists. However, post-9/11 security restrictions ended this access. Today, it is not accessible by any of the commercially available tours. Situated near the former chief doctors’ quarters at Hospital Point, visitors need a military or Park Service escort to take them there if they wish to visit and honor the USS Nevada and the men who served aboard her. The Memorial’s location over a mile away from the U.S.S. Arizona memorial, its remoteness, and the security requirements all add to a minimal number of visitors annually. U.S.S. Nevada veteran Richard Ramsey wistfully noted, “It’s not exactly a tourist attraction. It’s pretty far from Honolulu.” The website on the monuments and memorials in Pearl Harbor doesn’t even list it since the Navy owns and maintains it. The isolation of the memorial thus contributes to a sense that the ship's history has been forgotten despite its fantastic record, a story that deserves to be remembered and preserved.

The U.S.S. Nevada’s career began with active service during World War I, but her first significant combat action came during the attack at Pearl Harbor. She is primarily remembered in Pearl Harbor lore for one of the few things that raised the morale of those present that morning. Over the weekend of December 5, 1941, she was moored immediately behind the Arizona. Much of the ship’s crew had gone ashore for the weekend, leaving a partial crew behind to man their watches. With no indications that anything was amiss, the U.S.S. Nevada’s band began playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the flag was raised at the battlewagon’s stern at 8:00 AM. At that moment, the first Japanese planes appeared and began attacking their targets. The ship’s band continued through the end of the song. Only then did the sailors run to their battle stations and prepare to return fire against the Japanese planes, as described by Wayne Scarpaci: a Naval artist, historian, and author.

The U.S.S. Nevada and her men were determined to fight back against the attackers. Her official history shows she downed a Japanese plane two minutes later. At 8:10 AM, Nevada was struck by an aerial torpedo, followed 14 minutes later by the first of many bombs that would hit her that day. Not wanting to be a stationary target and to get away from the furiously burning Arizona ahead of her, the officer of the deck ordered the ship to get underway as quickly as possible. This crucial effort allowed Nevada to cast off her mooring lines while swinging wide of Arizona and moving into the channel to head to sea by 8:40 AM. The U.S.S. Nevada was the only battleship to do so that day, as noted by Christopher Havern: a Historian at Naval History and Heritage Command.

As dazed and shocked sailors on ships and land cheered the sight of the Nevada’s sprint, Japanese pilots saw the ship moving and tried to sink her to block the channel. Already on fire, the Nevada was hit by at least six bombs and began to sink as she moved forward. Realizing she could potentially block any ships going in or out of Pearl Harbor, Nevada’s crew intentionally ran her aground. Later that afternoon, she was moved further out of the way and finally settled onto the bottom of Pearl Harbor just off Hospital Point, with most of her upper structure standing proudly out of the water. Fifty men lost their lives on the ship that day, and two of her crew members were awarded Medals of Honor for their actions, one posthumously as described by Havern.

On February 12th, 1942, the Navy carefully completed refloating the battleship, hoping to return it to service after repairing the substantial damage and modernizing it. The ship's holes were patched, and she was sailed carefully back to Puget Sound, Washington, where repair work was done over the course of several months. Her first wartime assignment took her to the Aleutian Islands in April 1943 to regain control of the only American territory occupied by Axis troops. It was the first time the Nevada’s main guns were used in combat. By May, Japanese troops withdrew.

The U.S.S. Nevada subsequently transferred to the U.S. Atlantic Fleet for convoy duty, and in late May 1944, the ship was alerted to prepare for the D-Day landings in France. The ship fired the first shots from the huge supporting armada to begin bombarding German positions in Normandy. She continued providing fire support until her ammunition ran low, forcing a return to England to reload. The U.S.S. Nevada later supported Operation Dragoon, the landing of troops in Southern France before returning to the U.S. Pacific Fleet to provide fire support at Iwo Jima and later at Okinawa. While operating off Okinawa, the ship was hit by a Japanese dive bomber that killed 11 men. The battleship then brought home former prisoners of war from captivity in what was known as Operation Magic Carpet per Havern.

Like thousands of ships, Navy leaders had to figure out what to do with the U.S.S. Nevada and other surplus ships after the war ended. Given the ship's age and the peacetime drawdown of the Navy, it was decided that tests of the new atomic bomb were needed, and one of the things leaders wanted to know was how well ships would survive this new form of warfare. The U.S.S. Nevada was hit with two nuclear blasts in 1946 but did not sink. Unsure what to do with the radioactive ship, it finally met its end in 1947 following several days of being fired upon by ships of the Pacific fleet for target practice. The scarred battleship that had survived two world wars, including being sunk and refloated later at Pearl Harbor only to be later hit in a kamikaze attack, would not be allowed to be memorialized and preserved like other ships. Instead, she slipped beneath the waves, living only in the memories of those who loved her. There would be no tourists climbing all over the ship as they do on the U.S.S. Missouri, reading about the Nevada’s exploits and learning about its involvement in some of the most titanic events of the 20th century.

The U.S.S. Nevada Memorial came into being thanks to World War II veteran Paul Hughey, who arrived in Pearl Harbor aboard the carrier U.S.S. Lexington immediately following the attack. In a 1983 interview in The Columbia Record, he recalled visiting the base in the late 1970s, when "I took the boat tour up the Pearl Harbor channel and looking at the shoreline, I couldn't place in my mind exactly where the Nevada had been, and I thought that wasn't right... It was a terrific story courage and bravery and seamanship, and I thought it should be recognized. "

The design and construction of the Memorial was very different and smaller than that of the Arizona’s and the Utah’s Memorials. No one offered to host a big-name concert or sell ship models to pay for the memorial’s construction. If the ship were memorialized, it would be left to veterans and their friends to raise the needed funds. A plaque on the Memorial credits the USS Nevada Association and the Pacific Central Navy League with providing the money for its construction. Designers decided to place the U.S.S. Nevada Memorial on a piece of land near Hospital Point, where she ran aground during the attack. The location allows the fortunate visitor to look out and to the right toward the naval base, mentally recreating the courageous journey of the battleship on December 7th. An American flag flies proudly from the tall, white flagpole rising behind the center of the concrete plinth that is the heart of the memorial. A large brass plaque centered on the front side remembers Nevada’s two Medal of Honor and 15 Navy Cross recipients from December 7th and solemnly displays the name of each of the 50 men killed in action.

Dan Martinez, a longtime National Park Service historian assigned to Pearl Harbor, recalls that the members of the Nevada Association intended for the Memorial to be a “purposeful” one, primarily to display the large brass plaque. As such, little effort was made to add symbolic touches. The dedication on December 7th, 1983, was attended by many U.S.S. Nevada veterans, who took the opportunity to have their annual reunion in Honolulu for the occasion. The Memorial has evolved with additional signage and plaques to provide additional information for tourists to understand the ship's history better.

Over time, the memorial has been the site of naval re-enlistments for base personnel and the location for various ceremonies such as significant anniversaries of the attack. The 80th anniversary in 2021 might be the last event that a U.S.S. Nevada veteran could attend in person. The attendee was Richard Ramsey, then 98 years old. The loquacious nonagenarian recalled the Memorial “is a place I can go to, and it’s a place that says Nevada; it just brings back memories.”

As the last veterans who witnessed Pearl Harbor or served aboard the U.S.S. Nevada fade away, the U.S.S. Nevada Memorial ensures that her memory and the actions of the men aboard that historic day will not be entirely forgotten. While far less accessible and grand than the U.S.S. Arizona’s famous memorial, the U.S.S. Nevada Memorial continues to evolve, educate, and inspire its visitors about a storied ship that served in two World Wars only to finally sink under the waves in the early stages of the atomic age.

(Edited by Brad Poss and Laura Bailey)

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The largest, and most controversial, Holocaust monument in the world takes the shape of more than one hundred thousand markers scattered through the streets of European countries from Spain to Ukraine, each commemorating the last known address of a victim of the Holocaust.

Most monuments consist of a single object, or multiple objects on the same property. In the case of stolpersteine, the world’s largest Holocaust memorial, the concept is exactly the opposite. Conceived in the early 1990’s by Gunter Demnig as an art project, stolpersteine, or ‘stumbling stones’, consist of small brass and concrete markers placed at the last known home or workplace of someone killed or persecuted by the Holocaust.

Stolpersteine were not originally intended to be the enormous project that they are today. In the early 1990s, Deming was working on a separate project: a memorialization of the path Romani citizens were forced to take to railroad cars in Cologne following the Auschwitz decree. In a way that online sources give no consistent account of– and which could not be confirmed with anyone at the Stolpersteine Foundation– that project sparked the idea for stolpersteine, and the first were installed at that site, in memory of the Romani sent to Auschwitz.

These original stolpersteine– in whatever form they took– were intended to be a one–off, conceptual project, but were warmly received by the relatives of those they honored, and members of the surrounding community. With that encouragement, the project spread like wildfire.

Each marker begins with the words ``hier wohnte” or the national language equivalent of “here lived”, followed by the person's name, and information such as their birth, deportation, and death dates. This information is verified through careful research done by members of the Stolpersteine Foundation. Any family members of the deceased are also contacted prior to the installation.

Gunter Demnig is passionate about maintaining an attitude of respect, honor, and empathy around the creation and installation of the individual markers. This is one reason for the use of one marker per person when possible– Demnig felt that this choice emphasized the value and individuality of each person which Nazi ideology and policy sought to destroy. Each marker is hand-made by Berlin sculptor Michael Friedrichs-Friedlaender, and most are personally installed by Demnig.

Unlike many other monuments to the victims of the Holocaust, stolpersteine are installed to honor people of every background: Jews, Roma, Poles, homosexuals, communists, the disabled, and anyone else who came to harm at the hand of Nazi prejudice. Nor are they specifically placed in honor of those who lost their lives to the Holocaust– any who suffered can be honored with the placement of stolpersteine. This diversity has led to criticism from some groups who feel it detracts from the suffering of the Jewish people.

Stolpersteine also depart from the traditional model for monuments in their decentralized placement and small size. At just ten centimeters square, sitting at sidewalk level, those who find them tend to ‘stumble’ upon them– either literally or figuratively– by surprise. This aspect tends to invite the most criticism for the project, because of the markers’ physical position underfoot, and the many layers of symbolism surrounding the terms used for them.

Some of this symbolism in language is intentional– Demnig wanted the viewers of the project to feel both that they were ‘stumbling onto’ a piece of history, and to feel a ‘stumbling’ in their hearts at the reminder of the people who once lived and worked on the very street where they now stand in the present day.

However, critics, such as members of the civil government of Munich, cite other connotations. During the Nazi regime, Jewish cemeteries were desecrated, with the tombstones carted away and used as pavers for sidewalks, the engraving still visible. Though stolpersteine are not meant to resemble anything like a tombstone, some nonetheless find the connotation distasteful (Demnig). In general, critics dislike the fact that the markers are stepped on, which gives an image of the Jewish people being once again underfoot.

Another commonly discussed concern has to do with an anti-Semitic saying popular during the Nazi regime: “A Jew must be buried here.” might be said when tripping over an uneven stone. Though the official stolpersteine website states that “Contrary to what certain online sources claim, Gunter Demnig did NOT want to create a link to a certain anti-Semitic expression apparently used in Nazi Germany that he did not even know”, this saying was used as support for arguments against the installation of stolpersteine in Munich in 2004 (City Council of the City Capital of Munich) (Demnig).

Munich is a specific outlier in the stolpersteine story that must be discussed, because of the ban on their installation within city limits: a decision their government came to following a meeting of their city council, during which many representatives of the Jewish community– and descendants of Holocaust victims– spoke out against the project. One member quoted Mrs. Charlotte Knobloch, a leader of the Jewish community in Munich, and a survivor of the Holocaust, who said, “The artist does not share our past, my past, the past I have experienced myself when human beings were trampled under foot, attacked with boots, hurt by boots. Shall it happen again that the names of the people, who have experienced endless pain before, be trampled upon again?” (City Council of the City Capital of Munich) (Heger).

The ban on stolpersteine notwithstanding, Munich proudly displays many memorials to the Holocaust. For the most part, their criticisms, and those of other opponents to the project, do not directly involve Mr. Demnig or his intentions in creating stolpersteine, but criticize the project itself in no uncertain terms because of how it is regarded by parts of the Jewish community.

Tamara Heger is a doctoral candidate in American Studies with an expertise in 20th century German and American history and the Flossenbürg concentration camp. Her perception of the reception of stolpersteine in German academic circles is markedly less dramatic than what one might find reported on the internet. “I have never met anyone who personally objected to the stolpersteine,” she said, when asked if she felt that the issue was as contentious as sources like the Munich city council minutes of March 3rd, 2016 might suggest (Heger).

“I know that there was a lot of controversy in the Jewish community in Munich, who felt that this form of commemoration was disrespectful. What we do see [more often] is that there are many people in Germany who object to Holocaust memory in general, because they feel like it perpetuates what they think of as “Schuldkult,” or a cult of guilt. These people would like for any form of public commemoration of the Holocaust to vanish” (Heger).

As to her personal opinion of stolpersteine, which she regularly runs across in Rosenberg, where she is employed, she said, “I understand that the concept may not feel entirely appropriate for everybody. However, I appreciate the project because it is a reminder that the space has a history, that individuals lived there who had plans and hopes and dreams for their lives that were violently cut short” (Heger).

Overall, she felt that, “These projects do a lot to show that the Holocaust is not something that just happened somewhere else, but that it is a part of our very own history, and happened right at our doorstep and among the people we may still know” (Heger). In a word, memory.

Despite the deep controversy surrounding stolpersteine, the Stolpersteine Foundation carries on its work of honoring those lost to the Holocaust. Demnig is no longer able to install as many stolpersteine as he once did, as he is now 76, but local groups continue to install new markers, and members of the Foundation individually research requests for new stolpersteine to be laid.

Last year, the stolpersteine Foundation celebrated three milestones. On May 26th, Demnig placed the 100,000th stolperstein in Nuremberg, Germany, in memory of Johann Wild, who was arrested and executed by guillotine for a “radio crime”. On October 1st, Demnig was awarded the Order of Merit of the German State of Berlin, to honor his work on the stolpersteine project and its benefit to the city. Finally, later in October, Demnig celebrated his 76th birthday– an event which led him to decide to spend less time traveling for the stolpersteine project, and more time at home, for the sake of his family and health.

No monument to an event as horrific as the Holocaust will ever be without its own measure of controversy. Despite its complicated past and present, the stolpersteine project accomplishes its one true goal with efficacy: those who come across the markers have no choice but to remember. As Ms. Heger said of her own experiences with stolpersteine she has encountered, “When the person was around my age, they linger in my thoughts for a while, and I wonder who they may have been beyond the information on the stone” (Heger).

There is something poetic in the idea of a person’s memory living on in the very place most important to them in life. Stolpersteine ensure that as long as the streets of Europe are traveled, the memory of those who walked before will not be lost.

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A celebration of American freedom leads to a friendly-fire incident in the wake of French liberation. Decades later, French and American descendants come together to commemorate both the liberation and the loss.

Cruel irony can be exemplified by no event better than the crash of an observation plane on July 4th, 1944. As the 90th Infantry Division completed its push for the capture of Hill 122, a celebration of the Fourth of July led to friendly fire downing and ending the lives of pilot Alfred Howard and observer William Windeler. Though such an incident is rarely expected to contain a silver lining, as a result, collaboration between French and American legacies blossomed, the courage of even more liberating forces was honored, and a measure of healing was found.

Independence Day of 1944 must have been a red-letter day for the men of the 90th Division. On the 3rd of July, the 3rd Battalion of the 90th’s 359th Regiment liberated the village of Prétot. They fought as part of a general US Army push farther south of the Cotentin Peninsula, following the capture of Cherbourg on June 27th . Morale must have been at a rare high, between the turning tides in battle and the celebratory spirit of the holiday. Reportedly, Army headquarters gave permission “to every carbine, rifle, machine gun, or artillery gun” to fire at the sky in celebration (Levaufre). Sometime that day, pilot Captain Alfred Howard, and his observer, 2nd Lieutenant William Windeler, took off from an airfield near the Chateau de Franquetot in a Piper L4 “Grasshopper”.

William George Windeler, a resident of Oakland, California, was twenty-four in July of 1944. He attended Piedmont High, in Piedmont, California, then the University of California, where he earned his undergraduate degree. During his high-school and college years, he was well-known locally for his athletic prowess, as well as his community involvement as a Sea Scout leader. He enlisted in the Army immediately following his graduation from the University of California, and was sent overseas in April of 1943.

Thirty-one-year-old Alfred Ryland Howard, known to friends and family as Ryland, hailed from Houston, Texas. He was an accomplished young man, having graduated from Rice Institute, the University of Texas law school, and Stanford Military academy, and having served the city of Houston as assistant city attorney. He enlisted in the 36th Infantry Division’s field artillery Battalion in 1940. When he was sent overseas in March of 1944, he left behind his new bride, Edith Anson, whom he married in August of 1943. At that time, they were expecting their first child.

By the time Howard and Windeler took off on that fated Independence Day, their 344th Field Artillery Battalion had been temporarily separated from the 36th Infantry Division, and attached to the 90th Infantry Division to support the liberation of the Cotentin Peninsula. That day, they were intended to assist in directing the artillery firing on infamous Hill 122.

They were never able to land. Their Piper L4 was hit, and crash-landed in a farmer’s field near Prétot, tragically ending the lives of both servicemen. Howard was survived by his young widow, Edith, and his parents, Dr. and Mrs. A. Philo Howard. Windeler was survived by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Windeler.

While no definite cause for the crash is listed in the official records, servicemen present in the area on July 4th testified that the shell which took down Howard and Windeler’s aircraft came from an American gun– likely a 155mm Howitzer. With so many shells in the air, both celebratory and offensive, it was more than likely that an accident would occur. Still, no units claimed responsibility for a friendly fire incident. The wreck remained where it fell, abandoned, for decades, and eventually disappeared, along with the memory of Howard and Windeler. Almost.

That is, until the owner of the field where the Grasshopper crashed met with the French historian of the 90th Infantry Division, Henri Levaufre, to share the story. “I remember one day meeting with a local farmer in a village named Prétot not too far from Hill 122 who told us about the wreck of a US observation plane,” remembers Christian Levaufre, chairman of the Normandy 44-90th Infantry Division Association, and Henri’s son. “He had even kept a piece of the aircraft spar that he gave to us” (2024). The piece of the Grasshopper remained in the senior Levaufre’s possession until his passing in 2019.

In 2019, Ryland Howard, the baby whom Alfred and Edith had been expecting prior to Alfred’s death, got in touch with Henri. Henri was able to share that he was aware of the incident and knew the location, but he passed away soon afterward. Mr. Howard then got in touch with Christian directly. In order to surprise Mr. Howard upon his arrival, Christian explained that he was planning a visit to Normandy to look for the location of his late father’s crash, and requested Mr. Levaufre’s help. Mr. Levaufre agreed, withholding that he knew exactly the location of the crash, and that he even had a piece of the plane itself.

Surprised Mr. Howard was, and he was thrilled to see not only the site of the crash, but the chateau where his father spent his last night, on July 3rd, 1944. Mr. Levaufre was also able to give Mr. Howard the piece of the spar from his father’s Grasshopper, having recovered it from the depths of the senior Mr. Levaufre’s collection, and felt that Mr. Howard “was happy to bring it back to San Antonio and show it to his children,” these being Cpt. Alfred Ryland Howard’s grandchildren (2024).

Keeping it a secret from their father, these grandchildren soon also contacted Mr. Levaufre with the idea of setting up a memorial to their grandfather and Windeler at the site of the crash. Mr. Levaufre recommended that a place in downtown Prétot would be preferable, with space for parking and more foot-traffic, and offered to begin the process for them.

A small monument dedicated by the children of Lt. Gene Williams, a paratrooper who was killed in an early attempt to liberate Prétot, was already standing in a nice location, so Mr. Levaufre reached out to the mayor of Prétot, Mr. Thierry Renaud, for permission to place a similar memorial for Howard and Windeler nearby. Thus the creation of the monument began.

In the process, it was decided to also remember the other men of the 90th who liberated Prétot the day before Howard and Windeler were killed– those of the 3rd Battalion of the 359th regiment.

The memorial takes the final form of a rectangular marble stele, which bears a bronze plaque honoring Howard and Windeler, an aluminum silhouette of a Piper L4 like the one they flew, the 90th Infantry Division insignia, and a carved message to the men of the 359th. The combination of memorials and materials on one stone brings together the legacy of men who likely never met, yet, who fought with the same heart and the same patch for the same cause.

The inscriptions are all written in French, but translate to the following. First, for Howard and Windeler: “On July 4, 1944, a Piper L4 observation plane responsible for adjusting the fire of an artillery Battalion of the 90th Infantry Division was shot down near here, killing both crew members./ Pilot: Alfred Ryland Howard- Houston Texas/ Observer: William Windeler- Oakland California/ Never forget them, for they died for your freedom.” (Levaufre, 2024). Then, for the men of the 359th: “In memory of the men of the 90th Infantry Division who fell for the liberation of Prétôt on July 3, 1944” (Levaufre, 2024).

The entire process was kept a secret from Mr. Howard by his children, in order to surprise him once more, and the dedication was originally planned for the end of May, 2021. However, Covid-19 restrictions prevented the Howard family from traveling to France. Thus, the monument was pre-dedicated in May of 2021, and a final, official dedication occurred a year later, on May 28th, 2022, with the Howard family in attendance. Ryland Howard was shocked and delighted by the proceedings.

No descendants of William Windeler could be found, and because of this, Mr. Levaufre “brought Ryland with me to celebrate Memorial Day at the US cemetery, and we went to lay a flower on Windeler’s grave” (2024). According to the local American Battle Monument Commission Archives, the pair were the first to ever visit his grave.

The dedication shown by Mr. Howard and Mr. Levaufre is a beautiful exemplification of the silver lining to these events. The collaboration between their families demonstrates how acts of remembrance can bridge generations and cultures, from something as simple as the gift of a forgotten airplane spar, to the erection of an eternal memorial.
The stele at Prétot stands not only as a monument to Howard, Windeler, and the other men of the 90th Infantry Division, but as a physical reminder that, through connection to and respect for the past, pain and loss can be transformed from something that seems senseless and painful, to something that can touch hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. Each visitor to the stele helps preserve the legacy of the fallen, and the legacy of those who stand to remember them. This memorial is a testament to the power of simple remembrance.

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At the end of World War II, the city of Nuremberg faced a dilemma. The largest single monument to Nazism in Germany, the Rally Grounds, existed in their city resulting in a struggle between memorializing or ignoring this important sight of memory.

A monument celebrated at one time as a site of glorious memories may later become die erblast, an inherited burden. The Nuremberg Nazi Rally Grounds serves as a prime example of this twisted fate of a monument. Maurice Halbwachs wrote in 'On Collective Memory' that groups engrave their form in some way on the soil and then use that soil to retrieve collective remembrances. Thus according to this view of collective remembrances, the soil of the Nuremberg Rally Grounds contains the collective remembrances of the grandiosity of Nazi ideology, the adulation of Adolf Hitler, Nazi militarism, and the anti-Semitism of the Nuremberg Race Laws. Post-war, these remembrances might have called out for an interpretive reexamination of Nazi principles. But instead, MacDonald argues that the city of Nuremberg chose to ignore or deny these remembrances by a process they called profanierung or profanation. Nuremberg dismissed the Rally Grounds' historical significance and its troubling possible collective memories by filling it with banal and pragmatic everyday activities. The goal of profanation called for burying any memories of the Nazis under a slew of uses that would aid Nuremberg economically and deny this sight of memory any historical provenance. Only later, as circumstances changed, did the city choose to modify this view slightly.

In the 1930s, Nuremberg actively pursued Hitler to favor their site for the Rally Grounds and rejoiced when Hitler declared in 1938 that their completion in Nuremberg would assume primary importance from other building projects within the Reich, as noted by Jaskot. In addition to economic benefits, the Rally Grounds, at over four square miles, made Nuremberg a spectacular showcase, attractive for its citizens, the city, and all of Germany. Hitler and Albert Speer designed the Rally Grounds as an exhibition of the belief in the power of monumental buildings to visually exhilarate the masses, to create high drama, to hold people spellbound, and to facilitate the surrender of their individuality to the mass, according to Hagen.

Martin Beckstein, in his article in Nations and Nationalities, writes that the crucial question for post-war Germany was not "…whether Germany's memorial culture opposes the National Socialist past, but how it does it." After the war, Nuremberg chose to repress the memory of their identification with Nazism by allowing the Grounds to be a casual public place. Over the decades, the city permitted the Grounds to hold such activities as car and motorcycle races, the 2006 World Cup soccer championship, Bob Dylan and Rolling Stones concerts, and a Jehovah's Witness Rally. Part of the Grounds became a housing area, and people were encouraged to have picnics and barbecues, fix their cars, skateboard, play tennis, and jog there. Parts of the Great Way where large Nazi parades occurred now had grass, and their history of stones quarried by slave labor went unacknowledged. A few significant Nazi buildings still standing, like the Congress Hall and the Zeppelin Grandstand, were ignored and left to deteriorate.

Profanation did not always proceed in a smooth linear projection. Nuremberg did not exist in a bubble, and forces within Germany that spoke to the idea of an anti-fascist material culture of remembrance emerged over time, according to Beckstein. In 1973 the Bavarian state government declared the Rally Grounds as a Denkmalschutz (a Monument Preservation site), putting an end to the city's slow destruction of the Grounds. A 1987 proposal, initially approved by the Nuremberg City Council, called for turning the Congress Hall, the most prominent building on the Rally Grounds, into a luxury shopping center/condo project. A citizen's initiative formed in response called into question the use of a historic building in this manner as it spoke to the city's efforts to conceal and repress the past. The initiative charged that for forty years, Nuremberg had ignored the significance of the Rally Grounds as a site of remembrance, as noted by MacDonald. In a closely contested vote, the city council defeated the proposal by a vote of 39-31. This vote may have been a turning point in Nuremberg's treatment of the Rally Grounds as a sight of memory, as questions arose about its future usage.

Yet, in 2006 the same type of issue arose, and this time profanation succeeded over historical memory. The transformer station on the Grounds, constructed by the Nazis in their usual monumental style to provide extensive light shows for the Rallies, was sold to Burger King. One side of the building displays the prominent shadow of a Nazi eagle clutching what was likely a swastika which found protection for historic preservation reasons. Although the purpose of the sale was economic, a Burger King in a prominent Nazi building raised issues again regarding the use of memorial spaces. Over time it was mocked by locals as "Hitler King." Like the transformer station, the few Nazi buildings left standing seem to speak to Albert Speer's "Theory of Ruin Value," which, according to MacDonald, contends that buildings continue to speak in ways originally intended even after they had gone to ruin. Based on the history of Greek and Roman ruins, this theory proposed that the stones spoke. Hitler emphasized this when laying the foundation stone for the Nuremberg Rally Grounds when he stated that the stones would speak "as eternal witnesses."

Profanation possibly found partial roots in Nuremberger's belief that they were victims of the Nazi "others." The "others" were the people from the outside who had imposed their will on a defenseless Nuremberg and made it into the city of rallies. Gregor notes that a placed emphasis on the ordinariness of Nazi victims who were cast overwhelmingly as passive civilians suffering from an unspecified conflict for which they had not been responsible and over which they had had no control. Particular attention in Nuremberg focused on the 6,000+ victims of the Allied bombing of the city in January 1945. This perpetuation of the German as the victim, and the concomitant absence of any reference to the peculiar racial and ideological dimensions of the conflict or the nature of the perpetrating regime, manifested itself in Nuremberg's treatment of the Rally Grounds. It sought to co-opt the city's historical associations with the Nazi regime into a story that presented the city and its inhabitants as having been the terrorized victims of a peculiarly vicious totalitarian regime against which they had been powerless to resist.

As the decades progressed, generations who experienced the war firsthand began to disappear, and new generations seeking an understanding of the Nazi past emerged in Germany. Victimization began to be replaced by a sense of guilt for German perpetration. A reconciliation of what the Rally Grounds represented, and a proper representation of the memory of adulation and aggrandization inherent in the Grounds, began to appear. Jaskot notes that the city eventually reached a political consensus that would allow everyone to find what they needed at the Nuremberg Rally Grounds by relegating questions of the symbolic import and ideological significance of National Socialism to a secondary concern. Economic interests could concentrate on new modernistic buildings, such as the Convention Center on the Grounds, designed to bring money to the city. Recreational groups could continue using the grounds as a large park. Liberal interests could institutionalize their effort to confront the Nazi past through historical tours, informational kiosks, and museum displays. Within the past twenty years, there has been the opening of a museum and the two official digital tours as a first attempt to interpret the Grounds, but one that needs continued refinement. One architectural structure that made a significant attempt to shed meaning on the Nazi Rally Grounds came as an addition to Congress Hall. The architect designed a glass walking area shaped like a spear piercing through the building, known as a "spear into Speer." The connection with Hitler's architect Albert Speer finds acknowledgment in the tour, but one has to wonder if the allusion of the spear escapes most people.

Neil Gregor wrote in the conclusion of his article, "City with a Past," that the arbiters of the memory culture of the city "…were unable to acknowledge who, exactly, the fascists had originally been, not outsiders who came to Nuremberg, marched up and down and left, leaving awkward material residues for an innocent city to deal with after the war" but among those were many tens of thousands of complicit Nurembergers. Keith Lowe wrote in Prisoners of History that "There is no good way to commemorate the criminals of the Second World War….Our solution to the problem is, generally speaking, to avoid commemorating them at all." Nuremberg has consistently accepted the viewpoint that commemoration, with all its difficulties, should be avoided when discussing the usage of the Rally Grounds. Ignoring by profaning speaks better to Nurembergers' view of their Nazi history. Facing the implications for the history of the Rally Grounds challenges Nuremberg to this day.

(edited by Brad Poss & Laura Bailey)

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