No Words . . . Just Silence

I am alone, or at least I feel that way; standing at the base of a jet black marble monolith that radiates the weight of this place, and the horrors of the human race. At its base is a large black coffin with the names of countless people killed by the push of a button in a matter of months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. I came to Nagasaki knowing that this would be the hardest part of my trip, but also the most essential. So I’m standing at the base of the Atomic Bomb Hypocenter Memorial. Here, somewhere around 500 meters above ground, the American weapon of destruction named “Fat Man” was detonated. About 74,000 people were killed by the bomb and its aftermath. It is strange that I’m now two generations later and far, far removed from the events of World War II, yet I still feel somewhat responsible for this place. The monolith isn’t the only sobering factor of this space. There is also a shattered church pillar that towers in broken glory next to the hypocenter marker, as well as a large statue of a motherly figure holding a child which represents the women and children that made up 70% of the casualties of the bombing. The heaviness bearing down on my shoulders is becoming a physical burden and my throat is dry now. Next to the shattered church there are hundreds of thousands of rainbow origami cranes strung together into bundles of hope for a peaceful future.

We walk down to the river, flowing clean and slow, that was once so full of dead bodies that the water poisoned by the radiation was dammed for days. My throat has now begun to tighten, and I can’t look my two friends I came with directly in the eyes any more. As we progress towards the Atomic Bomb museum I am relieved of the emotional intensity by more peace cranes and the flame of peace (carried from Greece to Nagasaki). However this sense of relief is only brief and upon entering the museum my feelings of shame and remorse are thrown back on my shoulders by five huge TV screens repeating images of the growing and vile mushroom cloud. I won’t describe the videos that followed within this museum, but know that they were incredibly telling, graphic, and completely necessary for me to watch. I continued through the museum looking upon the blast radius of the bomb, burned clothing of children from one of the multiple elementary schools that was destroyed, and hand bones melted into the center of glass coke bottles because of the unimaginable heat of the bomb. At times I simply stand and look to the floor. I feel dirty and ashamed not necessarily to be and American, but to be human. How is it that we are capable of doing such ungodly things to one another? The feelings that are running through my mind are a mumbled mess of confusion and shock. This is without a doubt one of the best if not the best such museum I’ve ever been to. It forces one to look upon the items of individuals rather than presenting cold hard facts. It shows me melted catholic rosaries, charred mangled reading glasses and the shadows of children burned into school house walls left standing.

After finishing, my friends and I silently get some lunch and proceed up to the ruined foundations of the Nagasaki prison; the current sight of the welcoming and hopeful Peace Park. The grounds are dotted with donated peace statues from many other countries. At the heart of the Peace Park a huge bronze man points to the sky and the threat of nuclear war, as well as to the mountains to his side representing the future and peace. It was uplifting but somehow seemed cheaper and less real than the hypocenter. Still it was beautiful and again entirely necessary.
I always thought I understood the need for peace, but now it is resoundingly clear. Nothing could seem more urgent and pressing that the pursuit of some type of nuclear disarmament in my eyes. After hearing and seeing the terror my country threw down upon the civilian populous of Nagasaki I can only pray that nothing this terrible ever happens again. Many argue that the bomb was the best choice. It did end the war, and in so doing saved many American soldiers lives. Yet somehow that explanation does not work after what I have seen, and the feelings I have felt. I just don’t think I can comprehend cruelty on this magnitude, and attempting to exhausts me. I have many happier stories to tell but it is quite late, and I’m dead tired.

But before I go, please don’t get the wrong idea. This has been one of the most powerful and moving moments of my entire stay in Japan. The feelings I describe are horrible and drove me to silent tears but if no one cries over the atrocities of the past then no one will ever work to keep the past from repeating itself. If you ever should find yourself in Nagasaki it is paramount that you go to these monuments and honor the spirits of those who lost their lives, and learn their stories.