The Hard Work of Peace
Memorial Day Reflection, by John F. Terzano
By John F. Terzano
On Memorial Day, we gather to honor those who never came home from war. We remember the Americans whose names are etched into stone on memorials across this country, and we remember the families whose lives were forever altered by loss. But Memorial Day asks more of us than remembrance alone. It should also compel us to reflect on the true cost of war and the responsibilities that fall upon those who survive it.
Look around the world—tens of thousands killed and hundreds of thousands wounded in places like Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Myanmar, Syria, and beyond. Most of those casualties are innocent civilians. Entire communities have been erased. Families wander without homes, without security, without certainty that they will ever return to normal life again. The number of lives devastated is beyond comprehension.
Now the drums of war are beating loudly in relation to Iran. We hear recitations of all-too familiar rhetoric about strength, deterrence, and decisive military action. Political leaders and television commentators speak casually about bombing campaigns, regime collapse, and strategic targets as though war were a controlled exercise with predictable consequences.
Veterans know better. We know that wars rarely unfold according to plan. We know that once violence begins, human suffering spreads far beyond military objectives and political calculations.
The current U.S. war with Iran has already produced staggering human costs on all sides. According to U.S. Central Command, 13 American service members have been killed and more than 350 wounded since the conflict began in late February. Iranian casualties have been far more extensive. More than 3,600 Iranians have been killed, including large numbers of civilians and hundreds of children, with tens of thousands wounded as U.S. and Israeli strikes have expanded across military, industrial, and urban areas. Beyond the numbers lies the familiar human wreckage and inevitable byproducts of war: grieving families, shattered cities, traumatized civilians, and young soldiers sent into another conflict with no clear mission and no apparent end in sight. As in Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan, the casualty counts tell only a small fraction of the story; the deeper wounds—physical, moral, and psychological—will endure long after the bombing stops.
Too often, political leaders speak about ending wars as though peace is achieved simply by the signing of an agreement or the achievement of a military objective. But wars do not end once a peace treaty is signed. Wars endure in the lives of those affected by them. Silencing the guns and ceasing the bombs does not bring peace. A true and lasting peace depends upon what happens afterward.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who chaired South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, once stated:
There is no handy roadmap for reconciliation. There is no shortcut or simple prescription for healing the wounds and divisions of a society in the aftermath of sustained violence. Creating trust and understanding between former enemies is a supremely difficult challenge. It is, however, an essential one to address in the process of building a lasting peace.
These are not merely inspiring words. They are a mandate. They remind us that peace requires truth, accountability, understanding, and the difficult work of restoring humanity between former enemies.
We have failed to learn that lesson; repeatedly.
More than two decades of war in Iraq and Afghanistan came at an enormous human cost to the United States. In Afghanistan, more than 2,300 U.S. service members were killed and over 20,000 wounded during America’s longest war. In Iraq, more than 4,400 U.S. military personnel lost their lives and almost 32,000 were injured.
Yet after years of sacrifice, trillions of dollars spent, and entire generations shaped by war and its echoes, both countries remain deeply unstable. Iraq continues to struggle with sectarian tensions, corruption, militia violence, and the lingering influence of outside powers — including Iran. In Afghanistan, following the withdrawal of U.S. forces and the return of the Taliban, the country faces economic collapse, repression, humanitarian crisis, and the near-total unraveling of many gains made after two decades of conflict. The wars ended officially, but the instability, trauma, and consequences continue long after the battlefield headlines faded.
This is a lesson that has been learned the hard way between two former enemies in Vietnam.
On the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., more than 58,000 Americans who gave their lives or remain missing are remembered. But every wall has two sides. On the other side of that tragedy were more than one million North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers killed, over two million Vietnamese civilians dead, and more than 300,000 Vietnamese still missing.
The United States dropped more than 7.5 million tons of bombs on Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia—more than were dropped in the entirety of World War II’s European and Pacific theaters combined. Nineteen million gallons of herbicides such as Agent Orange were sprayed across Vietnam. And even after the war officially ended in 1975, the United States maintained an economic embargo on Vietnam for nearly two decades.
That is an immense amount of suffering, trauma, and mistrust to overcome.
Nonetheless, two former enemies eventually found a path toward reconciliation. Veterans from both sides helped open doors once thought permanently closed. Relationships built through honesty, courage, and humanity gradually evolved into the comprehensive strategic partnership our two nations share today. It is a relationship I never could have imagined when I left Vietnam aboard a Navy destroyer in 1972—but it is one I have worked toward since returning to Vietnam in 1981.
It was not easy.
Confronting painful truths rarely is. Reconciliation requires listening to those who suffered, acknowledging harm done, and accepting that healing is a long, imperfect process. Peace becomes possible only when former enemies begin to see one another not through the hatred and wounds of war, but through shared humanity.
Crucially, the cornerstone of reconciliation between Vietnam and the United States was not trade or diplomacy alone. It was addressing war legacy issues: removing landmines and unexploded ordnance, remediating Agent Orange contamination, supporting people with disabilities, and accounting for the missing from both sides. Those efforts reinforced that humanity and justice must guide diplomacy if peace is to endure.
That lesson matters profoundly today.
In Gaza and Israel, generations have grown up knowing only fear, grief, displacement, and violence. In Ukraine, millions now carry the trauma of invasion, occupation, and loss. In Sudan, Myanmar, Syria, and elsewhere, ethnic and political divisions have hardened through bloodshed and destruction.
No ceasefire agreement by itself will heal those wounds.
Any future peace agreement involving Iran will face enormous obstacles, because modern wars do not end cleanly or quickly. Even if formal negotiations were reached, the devastation left behind — destroyed infrastructure, civilian casualties, economic collapse, displacement, and generational trauma — will leave wounds that cannot be repaired by signatures on a document. The deep mistrust between Iran, the United States, Israel, and regional actors complicates any durable settlement, particularly after years of sanctions, proxy conflicts, assassinations, and military escalation. Ceasefires and/or peace agreements may stop open warfare, but rebuilding trust, restoring institutions, addressing civilian suffering, and preventing renewed violence could take decades, if it happens at all.
Real peace requires confronting truth; accountability; and rebuilding trust between people who have every reason not to trust one another. It requires patience, moral courage, and leadership willing to look beyond superficial military victories toward authentic human reconciliation.
That is why Memorial Day must never be simply a celebration of military power or nationalism. It must remain a solemn reminder of war’s terrible human cost.
Those we honor today did not give their lives so future generations would glorify conflict or carelessly instigate new wars. We honor those lives best when we recognize the weight of decisions that send young men and women into combat and by telling the truth about war. We are not truly memorializing anybody until we dedicate ourselves to the hard, difficult work of peace.
Vietnam taught me that former enemies can become partners. Archbishop Tutu taught us that without truth there can be no reconciliation. And Memorial Day reminds us that tributes to those whose lives were lost is not enough.
If we truly wish to honor the fallen, we must work not only to end wars—but to build the kind of peace that prevents future generations from having to fight them.
John F. Terzano lives in Ludington, Mich., where he works as a social justice and human rights advocate, locally and around the world.