In Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemeteries worldwide, the Cross of Sacrifice stands as a towering presence, its white stone form reaching skyward in solemn remembrance of fallen servicemen and women. Designed by Sir Reginald Blomfield in 1918, this monument was conceived to honour the supreme sacrifice of those who gave their lives in service of the Commonwealth. Yet, as we approach this symbol today, we must ask: Does this Christian emblem represent all who made the ultimate sacrifice?
Consider Edward Cohen, a Jewish soldier whose final resting place may lie beneath a cross-marked headstone as an unknown soldier, his identity – and faith – lost to time. He represents countless others whose religious and cultural identities differ from the Christian symbolism that dominates these sacred spaces. Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Jews, atheists, and those of other faiths fought and died alongside their Christian comrades, their blood mingling in the same soil.
While meaningful to many, the Cross of Sacrifice perpetuates a default Christian stance that no longer, and never has, reflected the diverse tapestry of the Commonwealth’s military heritage. This is not about diminishing the significance of Christian sacrifice or erasing history—it’s about evolving our commemorative practices to honour all who served, regardless of their faith.
Through its Non-Commemoration Programme, the Commission has committed to ensuring that all who died in the world wars are remembered equally, regardless of where they were from, where they died, or how they died. This initiative shows that the CWGC can and will address historical inequities when recognized.
This same spirit of inclusion and equality should now extend to the Commission’s approach to religious symbolism. While the CWGC has long prided itself on equal treatment in death, regardless of rank, race, or religion – evident in the uniform headstones and meticulous maintenance of graves – the dominant Christian symbolism in these cemeteries suggests an implicit hierarchy of remembrance that contradicts this very principle.
A modern approach might involve creating new central monuments incorporating multiple faith traditions or abstract symbols of sacrifice and service. Some might argue that changing these historic sites risks diminishing their heritage value, but our war graves are not museum pieces – they are living memorials that should speak to all who visit them, regardless of faith.
The Commission already provides different religious symbols on individual headstones where faith is known. However, the default remains Christian for the unknown soldiers and in the broader symbolic landscape of these cemeteries. This practice requires reassessment in an era where we better understand and respect religious diversity.
Creating more inclusive memorial spaces doesn’t mean removing existing crosses, but rather supplementing them with new elements that acknowledge the multi-faith nature of service and sacrifice. This could involve adding complementary monuments or developing new designs for future cemeteries that better reflect the Commonwealth’s religious diversity.
As we continue to honour those who gave their lives in service, let us ensure our commemorative practices reflect the diversity of those who served. For Edward Cohen and countless others who lie in these hallowed grounds, we owe it to their memory to ensure that our monuments of remembrance speak for all who served. The greatest respect we can pay to our fallen is remembering them as they were – in all their diversity of belief and background, united in service and sacrifice.