On Memorial Day, I don't want to only remember the combatants.

Hear the words of Eric Burdon, singer and seeker of truth, who declared: “On Memorial Day, I don’t want to only remember the combatants. There were also those who came out of the trenches as writers and poets, who started preaching peace, men and women who have made this world a kinder place to live.” In these words lies a reminder, both tender and profound: that the legacy of war is not only written in blood and sacrifice, but also in the voices that rose from the ashes to call humanity to peace. To honor only the sword is to forget the pen; to remember only the soldier is to overlook the poet.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the deep currents of the twentieth century, where world wars scarred the earth and the hearts of generations. From the horror of the trenches came not only tales of valor, but also cries of grief, lament, and longing for an end to violence. Out of the mud of Flanders rose the poetry of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon, whose words carried more power than bullets, condemning the cruelty of war and awakening humanity to its futility. Burdon, reflecting on these voices, calls us to broaden our remembrance—to see not only those who fought, but those who transformed their wounds into songs of peace.

History itself offers us luminous examples of this truth. After the devastation of the Second World War, Albert Camus wrote of the need for justice tempered with mercy, for rebuilding not merely cities but the spirit of humanity. Likewise, Primo Levi, survivor of Auschwitz, used his pen to testify to suffering and to urge the world to never repeat it. These were not combatants in the traditional sense, yet they fought with words and ideas, ensuring that memory itself became a shield against future violence. Their courage was not in arms, but in truth-telling.

Burdon’s words remind us that Memorial Day is not only a day of sorrow but also of reflection. To honor the fallen is noble, yet to stop there is to miss the larger gift they left behind: the chance to build a gentler world. The poets, the writers, the healers, the teachers—these are the ones who took the pain of war and turned it into wisdom. They preached not vengeance, but reconciliation; not conquest, but kindness. Their service was no less vital, for they helped humanity remember that beyond trenches and guns, there is the eternal longing for peace.

This teaching challenges us to rethink what it means to honor sacrifice. If we remember only the battle, we risk glorifying war. But if we also remember the voices that called for peace, we anchor ourselves in hope. To build monuments of stone is good, but to build monuments of compassion in our lives is greater. To lay wreaths for the fallen is solemn, but to live lives that reduce hatred and violence is the truest offering.

Let us therefore expand our remembrance. When the bugle sounds and flags are lowered, let us also recall the poet writing by candlelight, the nurse tending the wounded, the mother teaching forgiveness, the philosopher urging mercy. These too are warriors—warriors of the spirit—who fought not to destroy, but to heal. By remembering them, we honor the full legacy of war: not only the cost, but also the chance to seek redemption.

The lesson is clear: memory must lead to action. If we honor the dead, let us do so not by repeating their wars, but by heeding the wisdom of those who turned war into peace. Let us teach our children to value kindness as much as courage, words as much as weapons, compassion as much as conquest. For only then will the sacrifice of the combatants and the wisdom of the poets come together to create a world worthy of both.

Therefore, remember Burdon’s call: do not only remember the combatants—remember also those who preached peace. In their words and deeds lies the promise of a better world. Take that promise into your own life. Speak truth, practice kindness, build peace where you stand. For this is the true memorial—not only to the dead, but to the living, and to the future that waits to be born.

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