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Appeal to humanity supersedes history
8/6/00
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| The fifty-fifth summer since "Hiroshima."
The last A-bomb Day of the century. It seems inevitable now that the 20th century will come to a close before we achieve our cherished dream, the abolition of nuclear weapons. And we have no guarantee that the 21st will ever be "free from nuclear weapons." In fact, the US National Missile Defense (NMD), raises the spectre of a worldwide nuclear arms race. The average age of the hibakusha, our only witnesses of nuclear war, has climbed over 70, and we sense a decline in their ability to continue testifying. How are we to convey their experience in the service of nuclear abolition and world peace? Hidden A-bomb Memories From under the ground in Peace Memorial Park near where the Memorial Ceremony was held, pathetic rubble of fifty-five years ago is emerging from what will be the foundation of the National Memorial Hall in Hiroshima for the Atomic Bomb Deceased. Scraping off 20 to 30 centimeters of surface reveals scorched bricks, rooftiles bubbled by heat rays, and other A-bomb artifacts. The Peace Memorial Museum is taking cross sections of soil layers down to about two meters to create a new exhibit. This process is symbolic of other hidden A-bomb memories coming to light. And like the thin skin over a healing wound, every touch stings. The cross sections of earth come from under the ruins of a maternity hospital. During the war, medical professionals were not allowed to evacuate from the city, so many of them were killed. Many others treated the victims despite their own serious injuries. Their equipment destroyed, with too little medicine, there was nothing they could do. "We were A-bombed but providing treatment, and we blame ourselves for not being able to do more. This is the point of departure for the doctors of Hiroshima appealing for nuclear abolition." (Hiroshima Medical Association, Hiroshima Doctor's Chart). Transcending Victim Consciousness The word "Hiroshima" raises the question of victim consciousness. Is it enough to talk about one's own suffering? "The problem with victim consciousness, first and foremost, is the way it obscures our own responsibility for the war. That war, the war in which four of my family died, was not something done to us. It is something we did. My parents, my brothers and sisters, I myself supported that war." These words spoken by Mitsuo Sano were made public by writer Hisae Sawachi in a book called Deruta no Ki (Delta Journal), compiled by Kurashi no Techo. But most survivors are not mired in victim consciousness. We discover that in the regrets of A-bomb doctors about what they couldn't do. Based on my experience as a reporter, I have found that the deepest pain in the hearts of many survivors comes not from their own victimization but from what they were unable to do yet feel they should have done as human beings. Many suffer the pain of human failures that time does little to heal. Unable to rescue a family member caught in the fire, choosing to escape. Unable while fleeing to respond to children screaming, "Help my Mommy!" Or the tears flow simply because the love was so deep. Tamotsu Eguchi brings Tokyo junior high school students to Hiroshima for school trips and intends to keep doing so until he dies. On his first school trip, the elderly survivor who was supposed to give his survivor testimony found himself in front of students the same age as the child he lost to the bomb. Unable to speak, he simply cried. "Those tears conveyed something very profound straight to the hearts of those students," Eguchi says. In those tears, the students saw the depth of a parent's love and the cruelty of war. A Change Triggered by the Museum At the end of last month, Rebecca Johnson, representative of a British NGO, participated in an international symposium held by Hiroshima. She has been tracking movements in each country related to nuclear weapons and has provided that information to the world. By observing, revealing, and helping to develop strategy at the NPT Review Conference, she initiated actions that were reflected in the results of the conference. Johnson says she took up the anti-nuclear cause after seeing the charred box lunch in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. In that tiny A-bomb artifact, she felt the presence of a mother's love and the humanity-destroying essence of the atomic bomb. On the other hand, to effectively convey the A-bomb experience from one heart to the next, Hiroshima must study the history of the war and unflinchingly accept its own responsibility. A poem by Kiyomi Tagawa in Hiroshima Hyakunin Isshu goes: let me in, the anti-war peace circle. This is sincere repentance. In Hiroshima before the bombing, it was no small minority involved in the war. Those of us behind the lines were all involved, even if indirectly, in the gruesome death and suffering inflicted on the people of the Asian Pacific. It may be that people overseas will open their hearts to spirit of Hiroshima only after we learn the truth and face it head on. But the hibakusha are aging. One survivor group will cease its activities next spring. Compared to their peak years, the number of school trips to Hiroshima has dropped by one third. More testimonies are going onto videotape, and storytellers are in training. Is it enough to preserve the testimony? These days around town you hear comments like, "We shouldn't have to talk about the A-bomb anymore." The "look how bad it was" sentiment needs a new, more humble approach, one that touches the root source of humanity. To that end, we need to learn to convey the message through drama, music, dance, fine arts, and other artistic media that bring out the universal themes. At the NPT Review Conference, five nuclear weapon states agreed to an "unequivocal undertaking" to totally eliminate their nuclear arsenals. To make them implement that undertaking one step at a time, we need to arouse overwhelming public demand against nuclear weapons at home and abroad. And this should be the sacred mission of an A-bombed city and an A-bombed nation.
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