On a brilliantly verdant slope in Burnaby, British Columbia, there’s a gravestone unlike any other in its peaceful company. It belongs to Spc. Rob McSorley, a 19-year-old soldier killed in 1970 near Khe Sanh, Vietnam. His bronze marker lists his rank, his unit — L Company, 75th Infantry (Rangers) — his medals and one detail that sets it apart: Canada.
McSorley was Canadian. He grew up at 641 Windermere St. in Vancouver, a couple blocks from where I live now. His childhood home still stands, as does his high school, which now plays Smallville High on television. The cemetery where he rests is full of Canadian veterans — but only one who died fighting in Vietnam.
We don’t often talk about Canadians who fought for the U.S. When I was growing up in Vancouver in the 1970s and 1980s, Vietnam wasn’t in our textbooks. My understanding of the war came from Hollywood movies, and more poignantly, from the sons of American draft dodgers who had fled north. Thirty thousand came to Canada, many of them blending seamlessly into our cities and raising families here. Their kids became my classmates, teammates and friends.
Years later, while serving in the Royal Canadian Navy and living in Halifax, I met a steelworker over a game of pool. When I asked if he’d served in the Navy, he replied, “No, Army.” When I asked where, he answered with one word that cut through the noise of the bar like a blade: Vietnam. I asked him what his military occupation was. Over Cameo’s “Word Up” he whispered, “killing machine.” It was no boast — his voice was cracked with pain and regret. I never asked him more, but that moment stayed with me.
Eventually, I learned that he wasn’t alone. More than 30,000 Canadians volunteered to serve in the U.S. armed forces during the Vietnam War. At least 134 were killed. Many others were wounded or went missing. Most of them simply crossed the border and enlisted.
In 2019, I visited Vietnam with my family, then later that year, Washington, D.C. One stop was Arlington National Cemetery, where I sought out a monument known as the Canadian Cross —a 24-foot bronze sword atop a granite base. I expected it to honor Canadians who had fought and died in Vietnam under the U.S. flag.
It did not.
The inscription reads: “Erected by the Government of Canada in honour of the citizens of the United States who served in the Canadian Army and gave their lives in the Great War, 1914–1918.” Later, it was amended to include American volunteers who died with Canadian forces in World War II and the Korean War.
That’s a beautiful gesture — one made by Canada to honor the American dead. But no such reciprocal monument exists for the Canadians who volunteered and died for the U.S. Their sacrifice has slipped through the cracks of both nations’ histories.
When Rob McSorley was repatriated, he was buried among Canadian veterans. But there were no headlines in Canadian newspapers to mark his death. No ceremonies, no named schools, no quiet cairns. The Royal Canadian Legion initially barred these veterans from membership. U.S. benefits were hard to access. Some called them mercenaries. It wasn’t until the early 1990s that any official recognition came during Remembrance Day ceremonies in Canada. By then, many of these veterans were already fighting age and illness, forgotten by the country they served and barely acknowledged by the one they came home to.
In 2021, I wrote to dozens of U.S. lawmakers — Republicans and Democrats — asking for a modest appropriation to build a monument to these forgotten Canadians. I reminded them that nearly a century ago, Canada had erected a monument at Arlington to honor American volunteers. I asked only for reciprocity. Not a single reply came — not even an acknowledgment of receipt.
That silence is telling.
The U.S. retains a vivid memory of its own fallen, etched deep into its national consciousness. But it affords little space to the sacrifices of others — not even those made in its name. Its posture in the world is not shaped by fairness, fraternity, or shared burden, but by advantage. Always, more advantage.
Perhaps this marks a shift in American character. Or perhaps we Canadians have simply been naive. The evidence has long been in plain sight, waiting to be acknowledged. Now, our generation must reckon with it. If these are the terms of engagement, then we must recognize them for what they are — and shape our policies to safeguard our own interests first.
On this Memorial Day, let us indeed honor the sacrifices made by all who have served. But let us also remember those whose stories were left out of the textbooks, whose names aren’t carved into monuments, and whose acts of courage crossed borders unacknowledged. If we aspire to build a world rooted in mutual respect, that recognition must run both ways.
Charlie Grahn served in the Royal Canadian Navy for 18 years. He teaches business at Langara College in Vancouver, British Columbia.
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