When I found out I would be spending the summer in
Hiroshima, I thought about what it might mean to show up as an American in this
city – for me, personally, or for the people of Hiroshima. I realized that I knew precious little about
the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Furthermore, what I did know were facts about the war, not people’s own
personal narratives. My curiosity grew
for stories from the people of Hiroshima:
before, during and after the bomb.
I wanted to learn what had really happened in people’s lives and to
their livelihoods. I am drawn to
stories, partly because I find stories to be a lingua franca – a way to connect
with people and our humanity. I decided
to learn what I could about the narratives of the atomic bomb, and the personal
narratives that were erased and re-weaved as a result of this unbelievable
event.
Standing in the Peace Park in
Hiroshima, I marvel at the unique and macabre nature of being in the first
place where an atomic weapon was used on people, on purpose. Furthermore, it was MY country that used that
weapon (well, at least the country I was born in), and the weapon was deployed
into this country I’m now standing in.
Whenever I think about it I get shivers up my spine, and standing in the
Peace Park made me also feel really quiet and tender.
1)
Present in the city on the day of the bomb
2)
Arrived in the city to assist with rescue
efforts within two weeks of the bomb
3)
Were a fetus in utero at the time of the bomb
These are still the gruesome criteria for hibakusha. Imagine needing to identify your “status” to
receive medical attention and benefits.
However, I understand the desire that some people had to be as far away
from remembering anything about the horrors of the bomb or the war as they
could. To receive medical benefits would
mean identifying oneself as having been there, as having been affected. Just to receive care was to bring up unwanted
memories (and their associated emotions) for some survivors – and thus many
hibakusha went without treatment, special care or recognition of their often
precarious physical and mental health.
Furthermore, the memorial park itself, the Peace Memorial
Museum, and the Radiation Affects Research Foundation in Hijiyama Park were all
established and created by the Americans.
Controversy remains over whether these facilities adequately represent
the Japanese and Hiroshiman perspective, or whether they’re more monuments to
appease the West. Controversy aside, for
me the fact remains that my country bombed this city into oblivion, and killed
hundreds of thousands of people in so doing.
I am desperate for ways to atone for what my country has done, to
appease the sadness and devastation my country wreaked on another. So I do the only things I can think of, which
are to show up, contemplate, and wholeheartedly listen and bear witness to the
stories.
It’s
difficult to know what happened to all the people on August 6th, 1945
in Hiroshima. The vast majority of
people who died were never found or identified as victims of the bom. The estimates of those that died on that day
or in the several weeks and months following the bomb are made from educated
guesses. Many of the deceased were
reported by survivors or family members.
Yet many were never reported at all.
A confidential, sealed registry in Hiroshima now holds 292,325 names of
people deceased as a result of the bombing – those who died and were identified
by relatives and friends, updated as of August 5th 2014 (http://www.pcf.city.hiroshima.jp/virtual/VirtualMuseum_e/tour_e/ireihi/tour_20_e.html). A publicly accessible registry has been
created relatively recently, and people can submit names, stories and
photographs of victims. That registry
currently only holds about 20,000 names; a tiny fraction of the true numbers,
yet heroic for those that came forward with their stories. Many of the stories I heard and witnessed
were part of the efforts by that facility, the Hiroshima National Peace
Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims.
This facility is also in the Peace Park and contains its own museum
space for contemplation and prayer. I
found it to be a very powerful experience to enter into the museum.
On August 6th, 2014, I
attended the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Ceremony for the atomic bomb.
The ceremony takes place at 8 am, with
a minute of silence at 8:15 am. Take a
moment right now, take a deep breath, and consider the weight of one minute at
8:15 am on August 6th, 1945 in the city of Hiroshima. Being there at the ceremony took my breath
away. The bell marking the minute of
silence rang and I felt like my throat and thorax were being squeezed. I feel so fortunate to have been able to
participate in this ceremony of prayer and remembrance, to bear witness to the
survivors and the horror they must have experienced. Later in the morning, some hibakusha read
their stories out loud in English. I am
grateful for their courage and willingness to share. It was small, but this tiny moment that was
the only way I knew to manifest the shouting and screaming I wanted to do,
proclaiming that I stand for peace and justice for all, and that I’m sorry for
all acts of war and violence. I offered
flowers in at a large, magnificent altar of flowers and incense that had been
erected near the eternal flame. I did a
small thing, but it remains large in my heart and I believe in the importance
of each of us doing a small thing. If we
each do a small thing, we can do big, great, amazing things.
Flowers just offered at the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Memorial Ceremony, 2014. These flowers will be added to the large display as the container becomes full. |
A small section of the wall of flower offerings for the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Memorial Ceremony, 2014. |
On this journey I’ve found many caring
people, eager to speak English, eager to learn about me and my experience, eager
to learn about the country I was born into.
This despite the fact that in modern history, my country annihilated the
city these same people live in. We can
each work on peace in our hearts, and talk to each other instead of letting our
countries, our governments and policies and flags do the talking for us. Now the message I heard, over and over,
throughout Hiroshima, was one of peace and non-proliferation of weapons. I find this all inspiring. I’ve found monuments and ceremonies, erected
and conducted all for the ritual of remembrance, and in the name of peace. I’ve found a place rich in character and
compassion. I am fortunate, and I wish
to share the messages of peace and justice that I’ve heard in Hiroshima with
everyone.