Most people call it the "Congressional Medal of Honor." They're technically wrong. It’s just the Medal of Honor. Simple. No "Congressional" prefix, even though Congress is the body that authorized it back in the 1860s. It’s a small distinction, sure, but for the people who actually wear it, those details matter. A lot.
When you think of congressional medal of honor recipients, you probably picture a grizzled Rambo figure charging a machine-gun nest. That happens. But the reality is often quieter, weirder, and way more tragic. Since the Civil War, there have been fewer than 4,000 recipients. To put that in perspective, millions of Americans have served in the military. This isn't a "participation trophy" for being a good soldier. It is the absolute ceiling of human courage.
Honestly, it’s a heavy thing to carry. If you talk to a living recipient—and there aren't many left, usually fewer than 70 at any given time—they don’t talk about being heroes. They talk about "doing the job" or, more often, the friends who didn't make it back. They don't "win" the medal. They receive it. You win a football game; you receive the nation’s highest award for valor because you survived something no one should have survived. Or, more likely, you didn't survive at all.
The weird history you weren't taught in school
The medal didn't start out as this ultra-exclusive club. During the Civil War, the standards were... flexible. At one point, the 27th Maine Volunteer Infantry was promised the medal just for re-enlisting. Hundreds of them got it. Later, the government realized this was a bit of a mess and did a massive purge in 1917, stripping over 900 names from the rolls. They wanted the medal to mean something specific: actual combat gallantry.
Take Mary Edwards Walker. She’s the only woman to ever receive it. She was a surgeon during the Civil War, frequently crossing battle lines to treat civilians and soldiers alike. She was even captured and held as a prisoner of war. In that 1917 purge, the board took her medal away because she wasn't technically a "commissioned officer" in combat. She refused to give it back. She wore it every day until she died. President Jimmy Carter eventually restored her honor posthumously in 1977.
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The criteria today is incredibly strict. It requires "gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty." That’s not just military jargon. It means you did something you weren't ordered to do, something that likely should have killed you, to save others.
Modern recipients and the weight of the gold
In the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the medal became even more elusive. For years, almost every award was given posthumously. We saw guys like Jason Dunham, who threw his helmet and his body over a grenade to save his squad. He died. Or Michael Monsoor, a Navy SEAL who jumped on a grenade in Ramadi. He died too. It started to feel like you had to die to get it.
Then came Salvatore Giunta. He was the first living recipient from the War on Terror. During an ambush in the Korengal Valley—arguably the most dangerous place on earth at the time—he ran through effective enemy fire to pull a friend away from Taliban fighters who were trying to carry him off. He didn't think. He just moved. When he got the call from the White House, he wasn't exactly celebratory. He has famously described the medal as a "bittersweet" burden because it represents one of the worst days of his life.
Why the "Congressional" part sticks around
We keep calling them congressional medal of honor recipients because the process is inherently political and bureaucratic, even if the act itself was pure. Every recommendation has to be vetted through a mountain of paperwork, eyewitness accounts, and forensic reviews. It can take years. Sometimes decades.
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In 2024 and 2025, we've seen a massive push to review records of minority servicemen from World War I and World War II who were overlooked because of the systemic racism of their era. These are "upgrades." A guy gets a Distinguished Service Cross in 1944, and eighty years later, the Pentagon realizes, "Wait, he actually deserved the big one." It's a way of correcting the record, but it also highlights how subjective "valor" can be when humans are the ones doing the grading.
The benefits (and the quiet reality)
Being a recipient comes with perks, but they aren't exactly "rich and famous" perks.
- A monthly pension (currently around $1,600).
- Invitations to presidential inaugurations.
- Their children can apply to military academies without the usual hurdles.
- A specific "Medal of Honor" license plate in most states.
But the real "benefit" is the respect. If a recipient walks into a room in uniform, even a four-star General is expected to salute them first. It’s the only time the hierarchy of the military flips. The rank doesn't matter; the ribbon does.
Myths that need to die
- You get a "get out of jail free" card. No. You can’t commit crimes just because you have the medal.
- The military pays for everything you want. Nope. Most recipients live very normal, middle-class lives.
- It’s illegal to sell them. This one is actually true. Under federal law (18 U.S.C. § 704), you cannot sell, trade, or barter a Medal of Honor. It’s a criminal offense. They are considered sacred property of the people of the United States.
The psychological toll of the ribbon
We don't talk enough about what happens after the ceremony. Imagine being 20 years old, seeing your friends die, doing something incredibly violent and brave, and then having to wear that 18-karat gold star for the rest of your life. You become a symbol. You’re expected to be a perfect hero.
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A lot of congressional medal of honor recipients struggle with that. They have PTSD. They have survivor's guilt. They feel like they’re wearing the medal for the guy who died next to them who "did more" but didn't have a witness to write it down. Valor is often a lonely thing.
Look at the story of Hiroshi "Hershey" Miyamura. During the Korean War, he stayed behind to cover his squad's retreat, engaging in hand-to-hand combat and killing dozens of enemy soldiers. He was captured and spent over two years as a POW. He didn't even know he had been awarded the Medal of Honor until he was released. The military kept it a "Top Secret" award while he was in captivity because they were afraid the North Koreans would torture or kill him if they knew they had a high-profile hero in their camp.
How to actually support the legacy
If you want to do more than just read about these people, you have to look at the organizations that actually support them. The Congressional Medal of Honor Society is the big one. They aren't just a fan club; they run outreach programs to teach "character development" in schools. They use the stories of these recipients to talk about courage and integrity—not just in war, but in everyday life.
Also, check out the National Medal of Honor Museum. It's a massive project in Arlington, Texas, dedicated to preserving these specific stories. They’ve realized that as the last of the WWII and Korea vets pass away, we’re losing the first-person accounts of what that kind of courage actually looks like.
What to do next:
- Visit the official rolls: Go to the Congressional Medal of Honor Society website and read one citation a week. Don't just look at the names. Read what they did. The prose in those citations is usually bone-dry, which somehow makes the acts of violence and bravery feel even more intense.
- Fact-check the "fake" stories: If you see a viral post about a recipient, verify it. There are a lot of "stolen valor" cases where people claim to be recipients to get free meals or respect. Real recipients almost never brag about it.
- Support the Medal of Honor Grove: It’s a living memorial in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Each recipient has a marker. It’s one of the most peaceful, sobering places in the country.
- Watch the "Medal of Honor" series: There are some decent documentaries on Netflix and the Smithsonian Channel that use real interviews. Seeing the eyes of a man who jumped on a grenade and survived tells you more than any book ever could.
The medal isn't about the gold or the ribbon. It’s a ledger of the highest price anyone can pay for someone else. Whether you call them congressional medal of honor recipients or just the "Bravest of the Brave," these individuals represent the absolute limit of what a human being can endure for the sake of their neighbor. It's not about the war. It's about the person standing next to you.