Your sacrifice was not in vain, mate

And it is not forgotten.

A couple of weeks ago, we were walking through Hyde Park on our way to the Australian Museum when we happened upon the ANZAC Memorial. Its a small but stately building that commemorates the sacrifices of Australia and New Zealand's soldiers and sailors, especially in the two world wars. It is so named because these men and women were once joined in a single force known as the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps.

We decided to go in and look around. The Memorial includes several exhibits focused on several wars. It may surprise some Americans to learn that in addition to fighting in World Wars I and II, Australians fought in the Korean War, Vietnam War, Persian Gulf War, and America's Iraq War and Afghanistan War, among others.

The exhibits were extremely moving for me. They (mostly) depicted the experiences of specific, named Australian men before they went to war, while they were at war, and after they returned from war. They included specific objects kept by these men, such as biscuit tins that held cherished photographs, playing cards, cigarettes, etc. There were also original letters written by these men to mothers and wives and other family members back home.

When reading the letters, you could sense the mens' awareness that they might never see their loved ones again. You could tell they had no idea what might come next and knew that they could be killed at any moment, yet they went to great lengths to convince their family members not to worry and that they were confident things would turn out OK. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to write such letters over and over again while surrounded by the terror and inhumanity of combat.

These letters were heartbreaking. And they were put into context by photos that showed the men lying wounded after their assault on hardened Turkish machine gun batteries (in WW I), or as they sat as living skeletons, starved by the Japanese while they worked as slave laborers in a POW camp (WW II). The evil of war and the magnitude of the sacrifice has never been more real for me.

And the sacrifice was made even more stark by the photos and depictions of the land they left. Australia was an idyllic place in, for example, 1939. These young men worked hard in the fields sowing wheat and shearing sheep and picking apples. They learned everything from the classics to how to fix a car. On Friday nights, they drove into town to take their sweethearts to dances. They looked after their mum and dad and sis, grateful for all they'd been given. And they had a chance to buy a piece of land and to start a family of their own, or move to the big city and help build the modern Australian nation.

Basically, this was not a life or a place you would want to leave. But these men gave up everything because they believed in the cause. And I'm sure I don't have to explain why I sometimes look around and wonder whether we are collectively worthy of all that sacrifice. Will we squander what they built?

And I was wondering that very thing while standing in the ANZAC Memorial when I started talking with the gentleman behind the desk. He was a veteran of the Korean War. Astutely observing my age (and my buzzed hair), he asked me whether I had served in the Persian Gulf War. I was immediately taken back to the fall of 1990, when I turned 18 and the news of Iraq's invasion of Kuwait was greeted with hysteria in the American media. As America's "wimp president" prepared the nation for war, the TV pundits were saying things like we might lose 40,000 troops in the initial ground assault and we might need to reinstate the draft.

I was the prime age to be sent to the Middle East to spill my blood to ensure the stable flow of oil to the West, and I was frightened. Would I have to leave college? Was this war necessary? Was it just? If asked/ordered, would I go? Fortunately, I never had to answer that most important question.

All of that fear, anxiety, and uncertainty came back to my mind, and I suddenly realized that this man was awaiting my response to his question.

"No," I said. "No, I've never had to go to war. And I am extremely thankful for that.

I will always remember why.