Why the 80th Anniversary of VE Day Still Matters

Eighty years ago today, on a gray spring day, the guns fell silent across Europe, marking the formal surrender of Nazi Germany to the Allied forces. The men who had slogged through mud and snow, who had watched friends fall beside them, finally got the word: it was over. May 8, 1945—Victory in Europe Day. VE Day. They didn’t celebrate with parades or fanfare. Most just sat down, lit a cigarette, read their copies of The Stars & Stripes, and stared off into a silence they hadn’t heard in years.

There were no speeches that could match the moment. No headlines big enough. For the ones who’d fought, it was something quieter. A breath. A memory. A name they’d carried for miles and now whispered into peace.

Today, we’re eight decades removed from that moment. The world has turned many times since, but this anniversary is a reminder—sharp, simple, and sobering—of what was asked of an entire generation, and what they gave in return.

The lessons of that pivotal moment in history—sacrifice in the face of tyranny, unity in the face of division, and hope rising from devastation—continue to shape our values, guide our choices, and remind us of what’s required to protect peace and freedom today.

What That Day Meant

By the time Germany surrendered, Europe was a broken place. Cities were flattened. Rail lines twisted like string. Roads filled with people who owned only what they could carry. American boys had chased the war from Normandy through France, across the Rhine, and into the heart of a dying Reich. Russian soldiers had fought their way to Berlin, one block at a time. The cost was written on headstones and carved into faces.

VE Day was as much about survival as it was about victory. It meant the shooting had stopped, at least in Europe. It meant that for some, there would be a chance to go home. For others, there was no home to return to.

The Historical Significance of VE Day

By early 1945, the Allied forces had pushed Nazi Germany to the brink. Soviet troops were advancing from the east, while American, British, and other Allied forces closed in from the west. Following Adolf Hitler’s suicide and the collapse of the Nazi regime, Germany surrendered unconditionally on May 7. The following day—May 8—was declared Victory in Europe Day, bringing an end to a brutal war that had devastated the continent.

That victory came at a staggering human cost. Over 70 million people were killed in World War II—soldiers, civilians, and victims of genocide. Allied troops fought through horrific conditions. Cities across Europe and Asia were left in ruins. Families were shattered by death, displacement, and unimaginable loss. VE Day was not only a celebration—it was a solemn acknowledgment of the sacrifices made and a grieving farewell to those who never returned.

The end of the war in Europe did not bring immediate peace. Nations faced the colossal task of rebuilding from the rubble—economically, socially, and spiritually. Europe was scarred, its populations traumatized. The Holocaust had exposed the darkest depths of human cruelty. VE Day marked victory, but also the beginning of long, painful recovery—a process that would test the resilience of both individuals and nations.

What They Carried Home

Many soldiers returned quietly, seldom speaking of what they had endured. Instead, they came home and got to work. They built families, ran businesses, raised barns, taught school, and laid track. The country they returned to still bears the mark of their hands.

They knew something about unity—real unity, not the kind that fits on a bumper sticker. They knew what it meant to sacrifice together, to stand shoulder to shoulder with someone from another state or another country, or another political party, and do what had to be done.

When they came back, they built—homes, schools, businesses, and the foundations of a stronger nation.

Before the Last Voice Goes Quiet

The men and women who lived those years are nearly gone now.  Less than 60,000 remain. Each day, more voices fall silent. And with them go stories we can never retrieve. The kind of stories you don’t find in textbooks. The kind of stories that stick with you—quiet, unpolished, and true—told in a room where nobody feels the need to fill the silence.

If we want to understand the cost of peace, we have to listen now. We have to record what we can. Preserve it. Share it. Because every now and then, we need a good, hard reminder of what it took to get here.

It Feels Familiar, Doesn’t It?

Look around today and you’ll see echoes of that earlier time. Wars again, in places with hard names. Millions uprooted. Ideologies growing loud and cruel, nonsensical. History doesn’t repeat itself, not exactly—but it does rhyme on occasion.

The world of 1945 didn’t fix itself. People made choices. They built alliances. They turned from hate and looked toward rebuilding. The Marshall Plan, the United Nations, NATO—those weren’t accidents. They were deliberate steps toward something better.

The past doesn’t offer easy answers. But it does hand us a good roadmap. It shows us what happens when we look away too long—or when we stand together.

Why We Remember

Some folks brush off commemorations as nostalgia—or worse, twist them into something useful for their own agenda. But if we do them right, they’re something else entirely. They’re a promise. An oath we make to remember what matters, and to carry it forward. Every time we gather—at a monument, in a school, in a living room with an old photo album—we remind ourselves about the cost of freedom, and what it takes to hold onto it.

Educating ourselves on our shared critical past is something that benefits all of us. It grounds us. It reminds us who we are and how we got here. We pass it on through stories, film, and conversations that show young people they’re part of something bigger than themselves.

As for the veterans—we honor them not because they asked for it. Most never did. We honor them because we owe them. Because their lives shaped ours. Because the quiet humility they carried is something this world still needs.

Closing an 80 Year Loop

Eighty years have gone by. The world is louder now. Faster. But VE Day cuts through the noise. It brings us back to something steady. Something earned.

And here’s the truth of it: remembering is as much about the future as it is about our past. Every act of remembrance is a vote for the kind of world we want to live in. It’s a guardrail. A line that conveys,

“This is where we hold the line.”

So we remember. We listen. We teach. And we carry their legacy—passed down with calloused hands and tired eyes. It’s in our hands now, and what we do with it today, 80 years later, matters.