Hiroshima—
We got off the train in Hiroshima, and I instantly felt my mood change…it was if I knew that I was about to walk through a city that had seen the worst kind of atrocity. The city is surprisingly beautiful. There were flowers everywhere, carefully sculpted landscaping, clean streets, families picnicking by the river, people out riding their bicycles and taking their children for walks. I’m not really sure what I was expecting…but this wasn’t it. I wasn’t expecting to be dropped into a city where…if someone hadn’t know that this was the site of one of the worst human tragedies…you never would have known. As we somberly ventured into the Peace Park and I could feel my entire mood change. I tried with all of my might to imagine what it would be like to see a flashing light and have life end in an instant. But that kind of horror is not comprehendible…unimaginable by those of us who have never experienced any sort of real sadness. I don’t know what happened to me, but when I stepped onto the park and saw the atomic dome (the only building left standing after the blast) which is now framed perfectly by an arched memorial…I lost all sense of composure. At first they were silent tears. Then I sat down and sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying. I knew that I was standing on hollowed ground, on a mass burial. Looking across the park, which now is lined with flowers and monuments and strings of paper cranes, and knowing that thousands of people’s lives were ended instantaneously and thousands more endured unbelievable pain and suffering on the exact spot where I now stood was…well it was heartbreaking. After I regained some composure…although not much…I followed the group into the museum, where I proceeded to sob through most of the tour. I had seen footage of the bomb dropping before, but seeing it here, knowing that this footage meant something far more here than it ever did in a classroom was extremely intense. The museum didn’t spare any of us…graphic depictions of the effects the bomb upon the human body—charred corpses, children with their skin melted off, people walking around like zombies—literally without faces, women with kimono patterns seared into their flesh. And then, as if that wasn’t enough there were stories upon stories of people who had to live with the after effects of the bomb. People who developed dozens of different kinds of cancers, their bodies torn apart from the inside. Accounts of children who died violently from vomiting up their internal organs. Tales of skin deformities. Eye lesions. Gum infections. The list goes on and on. I will forever see those images in my head…and again, although I had seen some of them before, viewing them in the place where they actually occurred made them seem more tactile, more real. The museum had a definite message of hope and peace and begged and pleaded that nuclear armament cease immediately. There was an entire wall lined with letters written by the mayors of Hiroshima over the past 50 years asking countries like France, Russia and the United States to stop nuclear testing and armament. It was heart wrenching to think that so many people have died in vain and the pleas of those people who were personally affected by the atrocities of such technology have fallen upon deaf ears. After the museum I walked around the park and went to the memorial and saw the paper cranes and stood in front of the atomic dome…and looked at the river…the famous river that is now known for the image of bodies scrambling to reach the shore…it was such a surreal experience, and again I cried. The kind of crying that comes only when the only emotions in your entire body are pain, fear, angry, shame, guilt, regret, horror, and intense sadness. I have never felt the desire to pray more strongly and it was only because I had nothing else to do. I had nothing to say or do to make any of it better. I just needed to feel as though God existed, because otherwise the pain was too much to handle. I wanted to pray so badly…to have someone tell me that it was going to be alright, and even though humanity had failed on a profound and fundamental level, things could still be remedied. I understand why people look to God and religion in times of intense sadness…I understand that sometimes life is so painful that the thought of going on alone, without some divine purpose or plan is too devastating.
After we meandered through the park the UC students attended a lecture where we heard an eye witness account of the bomb from a woman named Teramae. Teramae was 74 years old, had lived with multiple kinds of cancer, was horribly deformed from the blast, and had lost her mother, friends, coworkers and sister all in an instant. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I know I wasn’t able to adequately process all of information she was giving on the subject but there are a few points that I found particularly worth mentioning-
--The bomb was dropped without warning and the citizens of Japan had no idea that such a thing was even possible. We are taught in American schools that the bomb was necessary. An essential procedure that saved thousands of lives…on both sides….but hearing this frail yet awesomely powerful woman talk about how they were completely unprepared, completely vulnerable to such an attack, completely unaware (due to Japanese propaganda) that the United States was even capable of attacking Japan makes one rethink the intentions of the US. The fact that thousands of people died of the after effects of the bombs radiation and Teramae herself has survived five different kinds of cancers as a direct result of our actions certainly makes one rethink just how many lives were really “saved” due to our actions.
--Japan has long been a culture centered on cleanliness, powerfulness and pride. After the bomb was dropped citizens of Hiroshima that managed to survive the initial blast were treated horribly by their country-men. Many hibakusha (atomic bomb survivors) were harassed in the streets, denied jobs, unable to marry, and given little medical compensation by the government. If anything Teramae was incredibly resentful toward her own country. She herself, an innocent victim of a colossal atrocity has spent the last 60 years fighting off discrimination by her own countrymen…condemned to a life of struggle for no other reason than her city of origin. To think that these people not only had to watch their families and loved ones die in front of them, or live a life riddled with radiation poisoning and cancer and fear of sudden death…but they also have to deal with discrimination from their fellow countrymen over a horrific event that was completely out of their control is a devastating thought. Teramae was relentless against the Japanese government for not taking care of their own.
--There is no way I could ever relate to the pain and suffering of this woman. Her stories, her pain, her life is something that an American could never understand. We are so sheltered in America…so safe and we often forget that that safety comes at a price. But…as Teramae spoke about watching her sister slowly die of radiation poisoning I was able to think about my own sister and how I would feel if I lost her. If nothing else, I feel as though nuclear armament must cease simply because I never want to lose Theresa. Teramae’s sister died of organ failure so that mine wouldn’t have to…and that kind of gift deserves recognition…deserves consideration.
When I first walked through the museum I felt so guilty being a white American. I tried to tell myself before I went in that however much guilt I may take on…there was nothing I could have done, it was part of my country’s history—but it wasn’t my fault…and yet all the reasoning with myself did not help my feelings of intense shame. However, after I heard Teramae speak, I had an easier time reconciling this intense feeling of guilt…I’m not sure why but I think it had something to do with the Japanese reaction to the bomb victims and my realization that mankind often allows hate and fear to get the best of them and this fact is not isolated to one country or one group of people. Part of me—while still torn with inner turmoil—was able to step back and recognize that atrocities are committed by all peoples in all times in human history and that my feelings of guilt were not going to change that. It was tough though. The two days in Hiroshima were hard and I don’t have the words to adequately describe what I felt or what it means to me to have been able to stand there…and perhaps I will never will…but this is something that I never want to forget…something that will stay with me forever and while it was heartbreaking to walk along the river, knowing that buried less than 20 ft down are thousands of bodies and tons and tons of rubble…I am so glad I came here. Reading about this place in history books could never do it justice. Seeing pictures of the tragedy could never convey the magnitude of destruction that occurred on the spot in which I have stood. However much pain I was experiencing along that river shore I kept thinking about my mama, my dad, my family, my friends, my loved ones, and my sister and I guess the shinning message of hope in all of this is while the human race is capable of such hatred and cruelty…it is also capable of forgiveness and love. I am filled with so much love and awe of the human ability to love, to forgive and to live. Teramae had no feelings of hatred towards the US…only pleaded that her pain not be ignored and her story not be forgotten so that other people would never have to go through the horrors that she has. Her message of nuclear disarmament and a peaceful world were in the forefront of her lecture. I suppose the only thing I can do—for the sake of my own sister and those people who I love so much is make sure that her message does not fall upon deaf or apathetic ears.
I send love from Japan…I pray…yes I pray that this never happens again because the thought of losing anyone of you is too much. We live in horrific, yet amazing times and during my two days at Hiroshima I have seen humanity at its worst…and at it’s best.
And I hope I never forget that.
