V-E Day and the myth of the ‘good war’

At the entrance of the National Archives in Washington, D.C., stands a majestic statue of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, with these powerful words carved into its base: The heritage of the past is the seed that brings forth the harvest of the future. It is a vivid reminder that history is not just a pastime for the curious. It is laden with meaning and consequence, and to ignore it is to risk reliving its darkest horrors.

We commemorate May 8 as Victory in Europe Day, or V-E Day, and this year marks 80 years since the final collapse of the Third Reich. It is a day rightly honored, representing the culmination of an extraordinary Allied effort to halt a genocidal regime and end a race war that claimed millions of lives. It was also the beginning of a long and arduous journey toward restoring peace and stability to a world ravaged by years of unthinkable oppression, deprivation, and bloodshed.

Over time, a narrative has taken hold that casts World War II as the last “good war.” A war defined by unmistakable heroes and villains, fought for a just cause, and ending in triumph after the “Greatest Generation” met history’s moment.

There is much reverence for that generation, and deservedly so. Many are understandably nostalgic about an era when Americans were so selflessly united in common purpose and moral clarity. In contrast, more recent conflicts, from Vietnam to Afghanistan, have stirred far more complex emotions, shaped by public discord over our involvement, blurred objectives, and moral ambiguity.

Yet, framing World War II as a “good war” oversimplifies the past.

We remember and teach, not only to honor stories of incredible courage and resilience, but to impart historical lessons. Without those lessons, we and our democratic allies are likely to repeat mistakes that led to the deaths of more than 60 million people, and the greatest devastation and suffering in human history.

History, however, is hard, and demands an honest, objective lens — even when conceding our own missteps challenges our sense of national pride. Consider the juxtaposition of American forces fighting abroad against fascism and imperialism, while inequality and injustice remained deeply rooted at home.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s order to lock up 120,000 Japanese Americans — most of them U.S. citizens — in remote desert and mountain camps, without cause or due process, stands as one of the most shameful chapters in American history.

Moreover, U.S. armed forces — like much of American society in the 1940s — remained racially segregated, and the deep-seated bigotry persisting across the nation exposed a profound disparity between the ideals America championed overseas and the reality on its own soil.

The firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945 offers another powerful example. In one night, the U.S. Army Air Forces incinerated 16 square miles of the city, killing more than 100,000 civilians. With most young men away at war, it was known that the victims would largely be women, children, and the elderly. As horrific as the carnage and destruction were, legitimate military considerations made the operation defensible.

But how many Americans are aware of this episode, let alone that it was a conscious and calculated decision?

Another pivotal and morally fraught dimension of the war was our alliance with the Soviet Union. Make no mistake — the Allies could not have prevailed without the Red Army, which turned the eastern front into a graveyard for Hitler’s invasion forces.

But Joseph Stalin was a tyrant in his own right. Throughout his three-decade reign, he orchestrated purges and crackdowns that eliminated political rivals, imprisoned millions in harsh Siberian gulags, and masterminded the deaths of countless others through famine, repression, and terror. He ranks among history’s most prolific mass murderers and war criminals, yet the Soviet Union remained our steadfast ally, one we armed and supported until the end.

Am I suggesting we should not have allied with the Soviets or bombed civilian population centers? Of course not. But it is entirely reasonable, and necessary, to reflect on the moral compromises we made without scornfully dismissing such critical thinking as second-guessing or questioning one’s patriotism.

We must approach history with honesty and humility, and it is a disservice to those who sacrificed if we whitewash our past and turn away from moral complexities.

There is much reverence for that generation, and deservedly so.

In many ways, those war years stand as America’s finest era. But a true tribute must extend beyond celebrating victories and valor. Selective history only serves those who wish to manipulate it.

In the free and open society we cherish so much, it is not only fair to objectively appraise the military decisions, strategic choices, and domestic policies that shaped our role in the war, it is our obligation.

For the sake of our future — and our humanity — we cannot afford to forget or ignore the hard-earned lessons of World War II.

All of them.

Andy Kutler is the author of the award-winning “The Fight of Their Lives: A 21st Century Primer on World War II.”