By Vice Admiral J.A. Baldwin U.S. Navy (Ret.).

Sept. 2, 2025, marks 80 years since Imperial Japan’s formal surrender aboard US MISSOURI (BB 63), ending the Second World War. That ceremony in Tokyo Bay was the end of a global struggle that claimed more than 70 million lives and reshaped the modern world. It also saved many of the lives of those who otherwise would have invaded Japan, as well as those Japanese who would have died in Japan’s defense.

For most Americans, V-J Day is frozen in black-and-white images: a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square, ticker tape fluttering from skyscrapers, and joyous gatherings on main streets and boulevards across America. But the official end came weeks later, on Sept. 2, 1945, when Allied and Japanese representatives signed the Instruments of Surrender during a solemn, rain-flecked ceremony on the deck of MISSOURI.

From east to west, north to south, Americans marked that day with prayer, church bells, and parades. It allowed them to contemplate an end to new gold star families, rationing, and wartime news, as well as the promise of a better future. Across the Pacific, Allied forces stationed in Japan, the Philippines, and beyond began the painstaking work of disarming troops, rebuilding infrastructure, and aiding civilians. And, importantly, looking to return home.

The legacy of that day is not just political, it’s profoundly personal. Across the country, small-town museums, VFW halls, and even family living rooms hold treasures from the era: faded uniforms, dog-eared photographs, and handwritten letters home. These artifacts, preserved by families or entrusted to historical societies, are living links to the men and women who fought, waited, and worked for peace. They remind us that history is not just recorded in books. It is kept alive in the keepsakes and stories we choose to protect.

As we reach this milestone, the number of living World War II veterans has dwindled to fewer than 66,000 in the United States, according to Veterans Administration projections. Further, the number of Americans not in uniform who lived through and remember the war is also diminishing. Each year, more of their voices fall silent. This anniversary is a stark reminder that the firsthand witnesses to the War will soon be gone, leaving us with only what we have recorded, preserved, and taught. If we fail to capture their stories now, we risk allowing the sacrifices and lessons of V-J Day to fade into abstraction.

 

Sept. 2 will be a day for ceremonies, photographs, and speeches, but if that’s all it is, we will have failed the legacy of those who so honorably served. The true commemoration lies in our actions: recording veterans’ testimonies before they are lost; teaching the next generation the human cost of war; strengthening alliances that prevent future conflict; and rejecting the false comfort of forgetting.

Eighty years ago, the guns fell silent in the Pacific. Let’s ensure that their silence endures. It requires vigilance, empathy, and the hard, unglamorous work of peace.