Remembering
Hiroshima & Nagasaki
By
David Krieger
Wagingpeace.org
August 1,
2003
At
1:45 a.m. on August 6, 1945, a US B-29 bomber, named Enola Gay, took
off from Tinian Island in the Mariana Islands. It carried the worlds
second atomic bomb, the first having been detonated three weeks earlier
at a US test site in Alamogordo, New Mexico. The Enola Gay carried one
atomic bomb, with an enriched uranium core. The bomb had been named
Little Boy. It had an explosive force of some 12,500 tons
of TNT. At 8:15 a.m. that morning, as the citizens of Hiroshima were
beginning their day, the Enola Gay released its horrific cargo, which
fell for 43 seconds before detonating at 580 meters above Shima Hospital
near the center of the city.
Here is a description
from a pamphlet published by the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum of
what happened immediately following the explosion:
The temperature
of the air at the point of explosion reached several million degrees
Celsius (the maximum temperature of conventional bombs is approximately
5,000 degrees Celsius). Several millionths of a second after the explosion
a fireball appeared, radiating white heat. After 1/10,000th of a second,
the fireball reached a diameter of approximately 28 meters with a temperature
of close to 300,000 degrees Celsius. At the instant of the explosion,
intense heat rays and radiation were released in all directions, and
a blast erupted with incredible pressure on the surrounding air.
As a result of the
blast, heat and ensuing fires, the city of Hiroshima was leveled and
some 90,000 people in it perished that day. The worlds second
test of a nuclear weapon demonstrated conclusively the awesome power
of nuclear weapons for killing and maiming. Schools were destroyed and
their students and teachers slaughtered. Hospitals with their patients
and medical staffs were obliterated. The bombing of Hiroshima was an
act of massive destruction of a civilian population, the destruction
of an entire city with a single bomb. Harry Truman, president of the
United States, upon being notified, said, in egregiously poor judgment,
This is the greatest thing in history.
Three days after
destroying Hiroshima, after failing to find an opening in the clouds
over its primary target of the city of Kokura, a US B-29 bomber, named
Bockscar, attacked the Japanese city of Nagasaki with the worlds
third atomic weapon. This bomb had a plutonium core and an explosive
force of some 22,000 tons of TNT. It had been named Fat Man.
The attack took place at 11:02 a.m. It resulted in the immediate deaths
of some 40,000 people.
In his first speech
to the US public about the bombing of Hiroshima, which he delivered
on August 9, 1945, the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki,
Harry Truman reported: The world will note that the first atomic
bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a military base. That was because we
wished in this first attack to avoid, insofar as possible, the killing
of civilians. While Hiroshima did have a military base in the
city, it was not the base that was targeted, but the center of the city.
The vast majority of the victims in Hiroshima were ordinary civilians,
including large numbers of women and children. Truman continued, But
that attack is only a warning of things to come. Truman went on
to refer to the awful responsibility which has come to us,
and to thank God that it has come to us, instead of to our enemies.
He prayed that God may guide us to use it in His ways and for
His purpose. It was a chilling and prophetic prayer.
By the end of 1945,
some 145,000 people had died in Hiroshima, and some 75,000 people had
died in Nagasaki. Tens of thousands more suffered serious injuries.
Deaths among survivors of the bombings have continued over the years
due primarily to the effects of radiation poisoning.
Now looking back
at these terrible events, inevitably our collective memory has faded
and is reshaped by current perspectives. With the passage of time, those
who actually experienced the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki have
become far fewer in number. Although their own memories of the trauma
to themselves and their cities may remain vivid, their stories are unknown
by large portions of the worlds population. The message of the
survivors has been simple, clear and consistent: Never Again!
At the Memorial Cenotaph in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park is this inscription:
Let all souls here rest in peace; for we shall not repeat the
evil. The we in the inscription refers to all of us
and to each of us.
Yet, the fate of
the world, and particularly the fate of humanity, may hang on how we
remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki. If we remember the bombings of these
cities as just another point in human history, along with many other
important points, we may well lack the political will to deal effectively
with the challenges that nuclear weapons pose to humanity. If, on the
other hand, we remember these bombings as a turning point in human history,
a time at which peace became an imperative, we may still find the political
will to save ourselves from the fate that befell the inhabitants of
these two cities.
In the introduction
to their book, Hiroshima in America, Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell
write, You cannot understand the twentieth century without Hiroshima.
The same may be said of the twenty-first century. The same may be said
of the nuclear predicament that confronts humanity. Neither our time
nor our future can be adequately understood without understanding what
happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Since the bombings
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki there has been a struggle for memory. The
story of the bombings differs radically between what has been told in
America and how the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki recount this
tragedy. Americas rendition is a story of triumph triumph
of technology and triumph in war. It views the bomb from above, from
the perspective of those who dropped it. For the vast majority of US
citizens, the creation of the bomb has been seen as a technological
feat of extraordinary proportions, giving rise to the most powerful
weapon in the history of warfare. From this perspective, the atomic
bombs made possible the complete defeat of Japanese imperial power and
brought World War II to an abrupt end.
In the minds of
many, if not most US citizens, the atomic bombs saved the lives of perhaps
a million US soldiers, and the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
is seen as a small price to pay to save so many lives and bring a terrible
war to an end. This view leaves the impression that bombing these cities
with atomic weapons was useful, fruitful and an occasion to be celebrated.
The problem with
this rendition of history is that the need for dropping the bombs to
end the war has been widely challenged by historians. Many scholars,
including Lifton and Mitchell, have questioned the official US account
of the bombings. These critics have variously pointed out that Japan
was attempting to surrender at the time the bombs were dropped, that
the US Army Strategic Survey calculated far fewer US casualties from
an invasion of Japan, and that there were other ways to end the war
without using the atomic bombs on the two Japanese cities.
Among the critics
of the use of nuclear weapons at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were leading
US military figures. General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander
Europe during World War II and later US president, described his reaction
upon having been told by Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson that atomic
bombs would be used on Japanese cities:
During his
recitation of the relevant facts, I had been conscious of a feeling
of depression and so I voiced to him my grave misgivings, first on the
basis of my belief that Japan was already defeated and that dropping
the bomb was completely unnecessary, and secondly because I thought
that our country should avoid shocking world opinion by the use of a
weapon whose employment was, I thought, no longer mandatory as a measure
to save American lives. It was my belief that Japan was, at that very
moment, attempting to surrender with a minimum loss of face.
. . .
In a post-war interview,
Eisenhower told a journalist,
the Japanese were ready to
surrender and it wasnt necessary to hit them with that awful thing.
General Henry Hap
Arnold, Commanding General of the US Army Air Forces during World War
II, wrote, It always appeared to us that, atomic bomb or no atomic
bomb, the Japanese were already on the verge of collapse.
Trumans Chief
of Staff, Admiral William D. Leahy, wrote,
It is my opinion
that the use of this barbarous weapon at Hiroshima and Nagasaki was
of no material assistance in our war against Japan. The Japanese were
already defeated and ready to surrender
. My own feeling was that
in being the first to use it, we had adopted an ethical standard common
to the barbarians of the Dark Ages. I was not taught to make war in
that fashion, and wars cannot be won by destroying women and children
.
Despite these powerful
statements of dissent from US World War II military leaders, there is
still a strong sense in the United States and among its allies that
the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were justified by the war. There
is insufficient recognition that the victims of the bombings were largely
civilians, that those closest to the epicenters of the explosions were
incinerated, while those further away were exposed to radiation poisoning,
that many suffered excruciatingly painful deaths, and that even today,
more than five decades after the bombings, survivors continue to suffer
from the effects of the radiation exposure.
The bombings of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki are in the past. We cannot resurrect these cities.
The residents of these cities have done this for themselves. What we
can do is learn from their experience. What they have to teach is perhaps
humanitys most important lesson: We are confronted by the possibility
of our extinction as a species, not simply the reality of our individual
deaths, but the death of humanity. This possibility became evident at
Hiroshima. The great French existential writer, Albert Camus, wrote
in the immediate aftermath of the bombing of Hiroshima:
Our technical
civilization has just reached its greatest level of savagery. We will
have to choose, in the more or less near future, between collective
suicide and the intelligent use of our scientific conquests. Before
the terrifying prospects now available to humanity, we see even more
clearly that peace is the only battle worth waging. This is no longer
a prayer but a demand to be made by all peoples to their governments
a demand to choose definitively between hell and reason.
To rely upon nuclear
weapons for security is to put the future of our species and most of
life at risk of annihilation. Humanity is faced with a choice: Eliminate
nuclear weapons or continue to run the risk of them eliminating us.
Unless we recognize this choice and act upon it, we face the possibility
of a global Hiroshima.
Living with Myths
In his book, The
Myths of August, former US Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall writes:
In the first
weeks after Hiroshima, extravagant statements by President Truman and
other official spokesmen for the US government transformed the inception
of the atomic age into the most mythologized event in American history.
These exhilarating, excessive utterances depicted a profoundly altered
universe and produced a reorientation of thought that influenced the
behavior of nations and changed the outlook and the expectations of
the inhabitants of this planet.
Many myths have
grown up around the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that have the
effect of making the use of nuclear weapons more palatable. To restate,
one such myth is that there was no choice but to use nuclear weapons
on these cities. Another is that doing so saved the lives of in excess
of one million US soldiers. Underlying these myths is a more general
myth that US leaders can be expected to do what is right and moral.
To conclude that our leaders did the wrong thing by acting immorally
at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, slaughtering civilian populations, flies
in the face of this widespread understanding of who we are as a people.
To maintain our sense of our own decency, reflected by the actions of
our leaders, may require us to bend the facts to fit our myths.
When a historical
retrospective of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki which
was to include the reservations of US military leaders such as Eisenhower,
Arnold and Leahy was planned for the fiftieth anniversary commemorations
of these events at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, a major
outcry of opposition arose from veterans groups and members of
the US Congress. In the end, the Smithsonian exhibition was reduced
under pressure from a broad historical perspective on the bombings to
a display and celebration of the Enola Gay, the B-29 that dropped the
bomb on Hiroshima.
Our Myths Help
Shape Our Ethical Perspectives
Our understanding
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki helps to give rise to our general orientation
toward nuclear weapons. Because of our myths about the benefits of using
nuclear weapons at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, there is a tendency to view
nuclear weapons in a positive light. Despite the moral issues involved
in destroying civilian populations, most US citizens can justify reliance
on such weapons for our protection. A good example of this
rationalization is found in the views of many students at the University
of California about the role of their university in the management of
the US nuclear weapons laboratories.
Recently, I spoke
to a class of students at the University of California at Santa Barbara.
I presented the students with a hypothetical situation. They were asked
to imagine that they were students at a prestigious German university
during the 1930s after the Nazis had come to power. They discovered
a secret laboratory at their university where professors were researching
and developing gas chambers and incinerators for the Nazis to use in
exterminating their enemies. I then posed the question: What were their
ethical responsibilities after making this discovery?
The hypothetical
generated a lively discussion. The students took their ethical responsibilities
within the hypothetical situation seriously. They realized that there
would be danger in overtly opposing the development of these genocidal
devices. Nonetheless, they were willing to take risks to prevent the
university from going forward with their program to develop the gas
chambers and incinerators. Some were ready to go to the authorities
at the university to protest. Others were prepared to form small groups
and make plans to secretly sabotage the program. Others were intent
upon escaping the country to let the world know what was happening in
order to bring international pressure to bear upon the Nazi regime.
The students were not neutral and most expressed a strong desire to
act courageously in opposition to this university program, even if their
futures and possibly their lives would be at risk.
After listening
to the impressive ethical stands that the students were willing to take
and congratulating them, I changed the hypothetical. I asked them to
consider that it was now some 70 years later and that they were students
at the University of California in the year 2003. This, of course, is
not hypothetical. The students are in fact enrolled at the University
of California at Santa Barbara. I asked them to imagine that their university,
the University of California, was involved in the research and development
of nuclear weapons, that their university managed the US nuclear weapons
laboratories that had researched and developed nearly all of the nuclear
weapons in the US arsenal. This also happens to be true since the University
of California has long managed the US nuclear weapons laboratories at
Los Alamos and Livermore.
After presenting
the students with this scenario, I asked them to consider their ethical
responsibilities. I was expecting that they would reach similar conclusions
to the first hypothetical, that they would express dismay at discovering
that their university was involved in the research and development of
weapons of mass destruction and would be prepared to oppose this situation.
This time, however, only a small number of students expressed the same
sense of moral outrage at their universitys involvement and indicated
a willingness to take risks in protesting this involvement. Many of
the students felt that they had no ethical responsibilities under these
circumstances.
Many students sought
to distinguish the two scenarios. In the first scenario, some said,
it was known that the gas chambers and incinerators were to be used
for the purpose of committing genocide. In the second scenario, the
one they were actually living in, they didnt believe that the
nuclear weapons would be used. They pointed out that nuclear weapons
had not been used for more than 50 years and, therefore, they thought
it was unlikely that they would be used in the future. Further, they
didnt think that the United States would actually use nuclear
weapons because our leaders would feel constrained from doing so. Finally,
they thought that the United States had a responsibility to defend itself,
which they believed nuclear weapons would do.
Frankly, I was surprised
by the results of this exercise. I had expected that the students would
oppose both scenarios and that their idealism would call for protest
against their universitys management of the nuclear weapons laboratories.
In the second scenario, however, they had many rationales and/or rationalizations
for not becoming involved. This scenario was not hypothetical. It was
real. It would actually demand something of them. Many were reluctant
to commit themselves. Most had accepted the mythology about our leaders
doing the right thing and the further mythology about nuclear weapons
protecting us. They had not thought through the risks associated with
possessing and deploying large numbers of nuclear weapons. They had
not considered the risks of accidents and miscalculations, the dangers
of faulty communications and irrational leaders. They had not considered
the possibilities that deterrence could fail and the result could be
future Hiroshimas and Nagasakis, in fact, globalized Hiroshimas and
Nagasakis.
Most of the students
were able to avoid accepting personal responsibility for the involvement
of their university in the process of developing weapons of mass destruction.
Some also dismissed their personal responsibility on the basis that
the university did not belong solely to them and that in fact nuclear
weapons were a societal problem. They were, of course, right about this:
nuclear weapons are a societal problem. Unfortunately, it is a problem
for which far too few individuals are taking personal ethical responsibility.
The students represented a microcosm of a larger societal problem of
indifference and inaction in the face of our present reliance on nuclear
weapons. The result of this inaction is tragically the likelihood that
eventually these weapons will again be used with horrendous consequences
for humanity.
Making the Nuclear
Weapons Threat Real
Just as most of
these students do not take personal ethical responsibility to protest
involvement in nuclear weapons research and development by their university,
most leaders and potential leaders of nuclear weapons states do not
accept the necessity of challenging the nuclear status quo and working
to achieve nuclear disarmament.
What helped me to
understand the horrendous consequences and risks of nuclear weapons
was a visit to the memorial museums at Hiroshima and Nagasaki when I
was 21 years old. These museums keep alive the memory of the destructiveness
of the relatively small nuclear weapons that were used on these two
cities. They also provide a glimpse into the human suffering caused
by nuclear weapons. I have long believed that a visit to one or both
of these museums should be a requirement for any leader of a nuclear
weapons state. Without visiting these museums and being exposed by film,
artifacts and displays to the devastation that nuclear weapons cause,
it is difficult to grasp the extent of the destructiveness of these
devices. One realizes that nuclear weapons are not even weapons at all,
but something far more ominous. They are instruments of genocide and
perhaps omnicide, the destruction of all.
To the best of my
knowledge, no head of state or government of a nuclear weapons state
has actually visited these museums before or during his or her term
in office. If political leaders will not make the effort to visit the
sites of nuclear devastation, then it is necessary for the people of
their countries to bring the message of these cities to them. But first,
of course, the people must themselves be exposed to the stories and
messages of these cities. It is unrealistic to expect that many people
will travel to Hiroshima or Nagasaki to visit the memorial museums,
but it is not unrealistic to bring the messages of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
to communities all over the world.
In Santa Barbara,
where the Nuclear Age Peace Foundation is located, we have tried to
bring the message of Hiroshima to our community and beyond. On the 50th
anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima we created a peace memorial
garden that we named Sadako Peace Garden. The name Sadako comes from
that of a young girl, Sadako Sasaki, who was exposed to radiation as
a two-year-old in Hiroshima when the bomb fell. Sadako lived a normal
life for the next ten years until she developed leukemia as a result
of the radiation exposure. During her hospitalization, Sadako folded
paper cranes in the hopes of recovering her health. The crane is a symbol
of health and longevity in Japan, and it is believed that if one folds
one thousand paper cranes they will have their wish come true. Sadako
wished to regain her health and for peace in the world. On one of her
paper cranes she wrote this short poem, I will write peace on
your wings and you will fly all over the world.
Sadako did not finish
folding her one thousand paper cranes before her short life came to
an end. Her classmates, however, responded to Sadakos courage
and her wish for peace by finishing the job of folding the thousand
paper cranes. Soon Sadakos story began to spread, and throughout
Japan children folded paper cranes in remembrance of her and her wish
for peace. Tens of thousands of paper cranes poured into Hiroshima from
all over Japan. Eventually, Sadakos story spread throughout the
world, and today many children in distant lands have heard of Sadako
and have folded paper cranes in her memory.
In Hiroshima Peace
Memorial Park there stands a monument to Sadako. At the base of that
monument is this message, This is our cry. This is our prayer.
For peace in this world. It is the message of children throughout
the world who honor Sadakos memory.
Sadako Peace Garden
in Santa Barbara is a beautiful, tranquil place. In this garden are
some large rocks, and cranes are carved in relief onto their surfaces.
Each year on August 6th, Hiroshima Day, we celebrate Sadako Peace Day,
a day of remembrance of Sadako and other innocent victims of war. Each
year on Sadako Peace Day we have music, reflection and poetry at Sadako
Peace Garden. In this way, we seek to keep the memory of Hiroshima alive
in our community.
In addition to creating
Sadako Peace Garden and holding an annual commemoration on Hiroshima
Day, we also made arrangements with the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Peace
Memorial Museums to bring an exhibition about the destruction caused
by the atomic weapons to our community. The museums sent an impressive
exhibition that included artifacts, photographs and videos. The exhibit
helped make what happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki real to many members
of our community.
At the time of the
exhibit, several hibakusha, survivors of the bombings, visited our community
and spoke in public about their experiences. They brought to life the
horrors of nuclear weapons by relating their personal experiences. There
are also many books that collect the stories of atomic bomb survivors.
It is nearly impossible to hear or read of their experiences without
being deeply moved.
Here is the description
of one hibakusha, Miyoko Matsubara, who was a 12-year-old schoolgirl
in Hiroshima at the time of the bombing. Her description begins upon
awakening from being unconscious after the bombing:
I had no idea how long I had lain unconscious, but when I regained
consciousness the bright sunny morning had turned into night. Takiko,
who had stood next to me, had simply disappeared from my sight. I could
see none of my friends nor any other students. Perhaps they had been
blown away by the blast.
I rose to my feet surprised. All that was left of my jacket was
the upper part around my chest. And my baggy working trousers were gone,
leaving only the waistband and a few patches of cloth. The only clothes
left on me were dirty white underwear.
Then I realized that my face, hands, and legs had been burned,
and were swollen with the skin peeled off and hanging down in shreds.
I was bleeding and some areas had turned yellow. Terror struck me, and
I felt that I had to go home. And the next moment, I frantically started
running away from the scene forgetting all about the heat and pain.
On my way home, I saw a lot of people. All of them were almost
naked and looked like characters out of horror movies with their skin
and flesh horribly burned and blistered. The place around the Tsurumi
bridge was crowded with many injured people. They held their arms aloft
in front of them. Their hair stood on end. They were groaning and cursing.
With pain in their eyes and furious looks on their faces, they were
crying out for their mothers to help them.
I was feeling unbearably hot, so I went down to the river. There
were a lot of people in the water crying and shouting for help. Countless
dead bodies were being carried away by the water - some floating, some
sinking. Some bodies had been badly hurt, and their intestines were
exposed. It was a horrible sight, yet I had to jump in the water to
save myself from heat I felt all over.
After describing her personal struggle as a survivor of the bombing,
Miyoko Matsubara offered this message to the young people of the world:
Nuclear weapons do not deter war. Nuclear weapons and human beings
cannot co-exist. We all must learn the value of human life. If you do
not agree with me on this, please come to Hiroshima and see for yourself
the destructive power of these deadly weapons at the Hiroshima Peace
Memorial Museum.
A Simple Proposal
I would like to
offer a simple proposal related to remembering Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
which is also a way to confront the deadening myths in our culture that
surround the bombing of these cities. I suggest that every community
throughout the globe commemorate the period August 6th through August
9th as Hiroshima and Nagasaki Days. The commemoration can be short or
long, simple or elaborate, but these days should not be forgotten. By
looking back we can also look forward and remain cognizant of the risks
that are before us. These commemorations also provide a time to focus
on what needs to be done to end the nuclear weapons threat to humanity
and all life. By keeping the memory of the bombings of Hiroshima and
Nagasaki alive we may also be helping to keep humanity alive. This is
a critical part of our responsibility as citizens of Earth living in
the Nuclear Age.
Each year on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki Days, August 6th and 9th respectively, the mayors of these
two cities deliver proclamations on behalf of their cities. These proclamations
are distributed via the internet and by other means. Copies may be obtained
in advance and shared on the occasion of a community commemoration of
these days. It is also a time in which stories of the hibakusha, the
survivors, may be shared and a time to bring experts to speak on current
nuclear threats.
The world needs
common symbols to bring us together. One such common symbol is the photograph
of the Earth from outer space. It is a symbol that makes us understand
immediately that we all share a common planet and a common future. Hiroshima
and Nagasaki are other common symbols. We know that these names stand
for more than cities in Japan; they stand for the massive destructiveness
of nuclear weapons and for the human strength and spirit needed to overcome
this destructiveness.
The world needs
to recall and reflect on the experiences of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as
symbols of human strength and indomitable spirit. We need to be able
to remember truly what happened to these cities if we are going to unite
to end the nuclear weapons threat to humanity and all life. We need
to understand that it is not necessary to be victims of our own technologies,
that we are capable of controlling even the most dangerous of them.
In their book, Hiroshima
in America, Lifton and Mitchell conclude:
Confronting
Hiroshima can be a powerful source of renewal. It can enable us to emerge
from nuclear entrapment and rediscover our imaginative capacities on
behalf of human good. We can overcome our moral inversion and cease
to justify weapons or actions of mass killing. We can condemn and then
step back from acts of desecration and recognize what Camus called a
philosophy of limits. In that way we can also take steps
to cease betraying ourselves, cease harming and deceiving our own people.
We can also free our society from its apocalyptic concealment, and in
the process enlarge our vision. We can break out of our long-standing
numbing in the vitalizing endeavor of learning, or relearning, to feel.
And we can divest ourselves of a debilitating sense of futurelessness
and once more feel bonded to past and future generations.
The future is in
our hands. We must not be content to drift along on the path of nuclear
terror. Our responsibility as citizens of Earth and of all nations is
to grasp the enormity of our challenge in the Nuclear Age and to rise
to that challenge on behalf of ourselves, our children and all future
generations. Our task must be to reclaim our humanity and assure our
common future by ridding the world of these inhumane instruments of
indiscriminate death and destruction. The path to assuring humanitys
future runs through Hiroshima and Nagasakis past.
David Krieger is president of the Nuclear
Age Peace Foundation (www.wagingpeace.org). He is the co-author of Choose
Hope, Your Role in Waging Peace in the Nuclear Age (Middleway Press,
2002) and the editor of Hope in a Dark Time, Reflections on Humanitys
Future (Capra Press, 2003). This article is being published as Blackaby
Paper #4 by Abolition 2000-UK.
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