Hallowed Ground

The Navajo Veterans Cemetery sits on a windswept rise of land south of Fort Defiance, Arizona. The wind blows from the west, off Defiance Plateau. across the Black Creek Valley, toward the rocky ramparts in the east. On gusty days scores of American flags stand stiffly at attention in the constant wind. The flags flutter languidly on less windy days. A day with no wind is rare. Just after Memorial Day, when Navajos decorate the graves of their warriors, the flags are bright and whole. In the following year, most give way to wind, water and sun. A few lie tattered on the red earth. Most continue to wave, however little remains. Some are new throughout the year, tended by loving families. In the strong late afternoon light the flags seem to glow, radiating a serene strength.

The graves are rough mounds, some enclosed by low a wall or fence, most simply rise from the earth adjacent to their neighbors. The mounds compete in size with the white military headstones. Newer graves are the tallest mounds, the raw, red earth still piled with the remains of flowers and evocative tributes. A new grave rarely has a stone markers, just a small metal tag staked at its head. The mounds on older graves are lower, worn by wind and rain but still equal to their headstones in mass. Occasionally a grave has collapsed into a shallow depression.

By military standards of order, the Navajo Veterans Cemetery is chaos. No special effort is made to maintain landscape. No even green lawn sprouts uniform ranks of white headstones. Native sage grows everywhere. The ubiquitous litter that travels on the constant wind lies amid the detritus of old flowers and memorials. Graves are aligned in uneven rows but no attempt is made to maintain columns. Military order is not here. Compared to national cemeteries or most non-Navajo cemeteries, this place looks forlorn, forgotten and bleak.

But it’s not forgotten and forlorn. The Navajo Veterans Cemetery fits into this windswept landscape. Formal landscaping, order, all the attempts to change the land so common everywhere else are largely ignored here. There’s no point to it; it serves no purpose to life in such a remote place. Like so much of Navajo Reservation, the Veterans Cemetery reflects the people who live here, people of the land. People who live with the land even as they adopt non-traditional ways. In this context, the Navajo Veterans Cemetery is a place of honor, a place to recognize fallen warriors.

Military service is s proud tradition among modern Navajos. Perhaps it traces back to the days when Navajo warriors fought to protect their people from Spanish, Mexican and finally American incursions. Despite the outrages perpetrated by the United States–Kit Carson’s scorched earth campaign, the Long Walk and systematic attempts to eradicate Navajo language and culture–Navajos have given their allegiance to the nation that subdued them. It’s an odd turn of events; people who have every reason to distrust their conquerors not only serve but serve proudly. When asked, Navajo veterans simply answer that they serve to defend their native land.

I am drawn to this place, my purpose ostensibly to photograph but really to walk among the men and women who had every reason to resent the national government which asked for their service. I envy their certainty even as I suspect that some may have been as uncertain about that service as I was. Somehow, walking here is a reprieve from the guilt, shame and anger I have long felt about my military service in a war I believed was wrong. I have long been drawn to military cemeteries for this reason. I feel a bond with these “honored dead”, wishing that I could feel the pride of warriors who did not doubt. More than the stately, manicured order of the National Cemeteries, the Navajo Veterans Cemetery speaks to me. The seeming chaos and rawness reminds me that all stories are complex.