The Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington is difficult to describe in simple terms. Even its name raises questions. In English, the word "memorial" suffices, carrying the meaning of remembrance. In Korean, however, the word "bi" (碑) usually implies a stone monument standing upright. This memorial, however, lies beneath the ground, making the term feel somewhat inappropriate.

 

Perhaps it is better described as a "commemorative structure" rather than a traditional monument.

 

Why does this memorial not stand tall but instead descend into the earth? Most people assume that monuments should be raised high, visible from afar, so that people look up and remember. This memorial defies that expectation. It is not seen from a distance, but rather forces visitors to walk downward, toward the earth.

 

This design choice sparked enormous controversy during its planning, drawing the entire nation into debate.

 

▲ Names of fallen soldiers are engraved on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. (Yonhap)

 

The National Mall, where the memorial sits, is regarded as the symbolic face of America, home to the White House, Congress, major museums, and memorials. Between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial lies Constitution Gardens, and it is here that the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was placed.

 

The structure consists of two walls meeting at a 125-degree angle in a V-shape, each extending about 250 feet (roughly 70 meters) toward the two neighboring monuments. The walls slope downward, reaching a depth of about 3 meters at the center before rising again.

 

The surfaces are polished black granite, forming two long triangular retaining walls. On these walls are engraved the names of 57,939 U.S. soldiers who were killed or went missing in the Vietnam War, listed chronologically from the first casualty in 1957.

 

The memorial resembles minimalist sculpture or installation art more than a traditional monument. Instead of urging visitors to look upward, it compels them to look downward, to bow their heads as they walk into the earth and confront the engraved names. The effect is somber, evoking the mood of a religious rite.

 

The black wall confronts visitors like a "wailing wall," inducing a sense of despair. Many come to find familiar names, touching or kissing the engravings, making rubbings of the inscriptions, or leaving flowers and personal items behind as offerings.

 

These actions resemble ancestral rituals, such as bowing at graves or setting up ceremonial tables. Visitors participate in giving meaning to the memorial, turning it into a place of shared ritual. This makes the memorial a model example of modern public art.

 

While individuals mourn loved ones, they also reflect on a painful chapter of national history. The space transforms private grief into collective memory, demonstrating the true value of public art. Unlike older monuments that imposed reverence through grand form, this memorial creates a space for contemplation, communication, and shared reflection on war and peace.

 

It has become a genuine place of meditation, urging Americans to reconsider what the Vietnam War meant to them. Today, it is praised as one of the most successful and exemplary memorials, studied widely as a teaching model.

 

▲ A visitor lays flowers at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. (Yonhap)

 

Yet the story of how this memorial came into being is filled with drama worthy of a novel.

 

When the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund first proposed building a monument in 1980, wounds from the war—ended only five years earlier—were still raw. Debate over the war’s meaning persisted, and many Americans remained in moral confusion. Above all, the war’s end was seen as a national humiliation, offering no victory to celebrate.

 

The fierce antiwar movement of the era had stripped the conflict of honor, and the U.S. military faced international criticism without clear defense. Still, as always after war, efforts began to remember the fallen. A design competition was held.

 

Organizers stressed that the design must be "apolitical," reflecting the conflicted mood of the time. Yet many submissions still envisioned grand, triumphant monuments reminiscent of the iconic "Iwo Jima Marines."

 

Out of more than 1,400 entries, however, the winning design was startlingly simple: two sloping walls descending into the earth, devoid of decoration.

 

When the sealed envelope was opened, the surprise deepened. The winner was Maya Lin, a 21-year-old Chinese American woman, then a third-year architecture student at Yale University.

 

(To be continued)

 

 

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