*deep breath*
Alright!
Good evening everyone,
I am on the eve of a great family pilgrimage to bring back and honor the spirit of my host father's dead father. Sound odd? Well, I am a bit nervous, being the only English speaker and Christian who will be attending. Also, at the beginning of the semester, my family informed me of this event and had arranged for me to stay in the dorms on campus for the duration of this trip. However, they have come to like me so much that they decided to bring me with them (the first host student ever to come with them in 8 years!) Needless to say, I feel quite honored that they would so openly share such a personal thing with me. I will blog about that trip when I come back.
I just wanted to get in a blog to keep you all satisfied while I am away. I will be recounting my weekend trip to the site of the first atomic bomb attack in Hiroshima, along with my day trip to the nearby island of Miajima. The trip was coordinated by my Peace, Development, and Democratization professor, Paul Scott. The planned portion of the trip included a one-way group priced Shinkansen ticket and a question and answer session with an Atomic bomb survivor. I will say right off the bat that I felt very privileged to be able to hear a first account story from a survivor. There is a list of only 27 survivors who are willing and able to tell their stories.
As mentioned before, those two things, the one way train and the speech, were the only planned parts of the trip. After those events, Professor Scott peaced-out and headed home, leaving us all to fend for ourselves (of course we were warned ahead of time that this was going to be the case). So, 3 of my Valpo friends and myself decided that we would stay the night so we could explore the area a little more. We booked a nice hostel located near Hiroshima peace park, and sketched out a rough plan of visiting both Hiroshima peace park and Miajima Island, the home of the world famous floating torii.
Let's begin!
I was driven by my host father to Hirakata train station early Saturday morning, around 7:45 to catch the rapid express train to downtown Osaka. The roads were empty, as it was the weekend, so I was anticipating a quiet scene at the station as well, however, the platform was bustling with Gaijin (foreigners) all participating in the class trip. I cringed at the sight of so many of us all together. I am used to being the only gaijin on my morning and afternoon commutes, and I do prefer to keep it that way. Too many of us together draws stares and people begin to treat you like a dangerous mafia group. I chose to distance myself a bit, since the group was getting very loud and drawing lots of disgruntled stares.
The train ride to Osaka wasn't bad at all, though I had caused more trouble for myself by weighing my bag down with water in an attempt to be thrifty and avoid buying bottles of it. My bag weighed near 30 lbs, and stuck out nearly a foot and a half behind me. It looked obnoxious and I felt like I was heading back to my Summer Field Training. 'What had I packed for just two days?' you may be wondering. Well, I had packed one set of clothes, my laptop (to download videos and photos when my camera storage would get full), my camelbak with water in it, and all the food my host mom had packed for me, which I hadn't originally planned for. She was afraid I was going to starve in Hiroshima, and I appreciated the gesture. :) Losing circulation in my arms repeatedly would get old by the end of the trip.
After switching trains to the subway system in Osaka and arriving and Shin-Osaka, all we had to do now was wait for our Shinkansen to arrive. Ahh the Shinkansen. The Shinkansen is the Japanese bullet train, which travels roughly 180 mph. Highly efficient, it deviates from its scheduled arrival time by only 7 seconds on average. Japanese engineers began work on the bullet train post WWII, after the US banned the construction of Jet aircraft (as a weapon) in Japan. As a result, the same engineers who designed jets designed the bullet train as a means of rapid transportation throughout Japan.
We made the trip from Osaka to Hiroshima (206 miles), with several stops along the way, in only an hour and a half. The bullet train travels fast, and because it can only turn a certain degree, the shinkansen railways are carved through mountains and are built over roads. They are completely inaccessible by any means except riding the train itself. There have been no fatalities(except for suicidal people jumping in the way of the train). It's a flawless system, run completely on electricity. Why doesn't the US have a Shinkansen system running nationwide? We have to be the most impatient nation in the world, and yet we still have outdated modes of transportation. Tisk tisk.
After arriving in Hiroshima, the group split up. People went to find their hostels, went to get lunch, or went straight to the peace park. Many groups used the simple,but effective tram system that runs throughout the city. My group decided to check into our hostel early and leave our bags in our room before venturing out to Hiroshima Peace Park. I felt very accomplished because I completed our check-in completely in Japanese :D. The hostel was very clean, safe, and full of Australians. I don't have many pictures of it, but it was a good choice of hostel, for sure (and cheap too!)
Walking through downtown Hiroshima was a trip. I couldn't get out of my mind that ~60 years ago, this town had been completely leveled on a clear, sunny day just like today. My paranoid side wondered if radiation lingered under rocks or in the waterways (of course it hadn't). I was shocked by things I hadn't even seen in Osaka, a much larger metropolis. Tiffany's, Dolce and Gabanna, etc.
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As we continued walking through the Metropolis of Hiroshima, I saw a bridge ahead of us, and I knew it had to be the Aoi Bridge, which had been the original target of the Atomic Bomb. Sure enough, as we rounded a corner, the A-bomb dome lay before us, looking gaunt and terrify, the scraggly reach of a nearby tree partially obscuring our view of it. Getting closer, and actually taking the time to look around and through the destroyed building was something out of the twilight zone. This was where an atomic bomb had exploded. The charred black shadows on this building, the warped, metal staircase, the bicycle size hunks of rubble laying about were all caused by that single weapon dropped by the US so many years ago. This was where that terrible bomb of American history/ legend was dropped. Reading history in the classroom and actually being where the history happened is something that is completely bizarre to me still.
I had never before gotten the opportunity to walk the perimeter of the fabled dome, and the only picture one really sees is the famed on on the internet. However, being able to walk right up to the gates, look inside, see the rubble that has laid, untouched, for 60 years was really a privilege. Even here, at this first reminder the peace park had to offer, I could already tell that I was being deeply affected by the history of this place.
It was also at the A-bomb dome that I felt very uncomfortable for the first time. Tiny old women were walking around with petitions calling for the ‘ban of and promise to never again use nuclear weapons’. It’s a clever tactic- the dome is striking and it has a strong effect on people. Everyone but me quickly signed the petitions while I walked away. The students (European) cast sidelong glances at me as I walked away without having signed. They surely must have thought I was a cruel American. It’s not that I think nuclear weapons or their pre-emptive use are good things, but since their power has been released from Pandora’s Box, there is no way to simply lay down that power and forget about it. The strength of our military revolves around our nuclear capabilities, and these weapons will play a central role in my future career. There will always be someone out there who wants more power than the next guy, there will always be a rogue nation posing a threat. I am an American, and America still desires to maintain its nuclear capabilities in order to defend its people through deterrence. While I am dedicated to our armed forces and the protection of my home, this must also be my desire as well. It sounds like textbook doctrine, I know, but it is what it is.
The park was very large, a green contrast from the gray of the industrialized city, and it held over 40 separate shrines all relating to the atomic bomb. The shrines ranged from Children's peace shrines to Korean victim shrines, to a mass burial tomb site, to the eternal flame of peace and the arch with all the victims names housed within it.
If you are curious about any of the photographs, let me know and I will explain them to you in further detail.
One thing is certain, when you left the park, the time of the Atomic bombing would be engraved forever in your head. Reminders of the 8:15AM time lay everywhere.
After a short walk through the first section of the museum, which documented the growth and development of Hiroshima from pre-1900s to the time after the bombing, it was time to go hear our guest speaker. I was very nervous about this part. Did she still hate Americans? Was she disfigured? Would she start crying during her speech? A bit unsure of myself and carry quite a bit of American guilt, I entered the auditorium and firmly resolved to sit in the second row. Many students were already there, sitting further back in the auditorium, and up on the stage stood Professor Scott, who would be translating for us, and a small white-haired lady who instantly reminded me of my Grandma Lenzen. She smiled warmly as people continued to file in and she chatted quietly back and forth with our professor. I searched for any signs of physical damage, telltale scars, any whisper of a fake limb, but I saw none of these.
At 1PM sharp, the presentation began. The first thing the woman asked for was a count of the nations that were represented here. Our Prof asked for us to shout them out. The list grew long, many European students called out their countries names, Australians called out, Puerto Ricans and Canadians called out. Still, no one from America said anything, and I knew there were Americans present. It must have been fear of this woman’s reaction to us or an American guilt that kept people silent. Though I also felt that guilt, I felt it was worse to hide in the shadows like criminals, so I called out America’s name.
The next paragraph is not a direct quote from the Survivor, but a paraphrase of her story, told in her voice. It is easier for me to write it this way because much of her speech is imprinted in my mind this way. I am not adding any of my own thoughts here.
' Let us begin. I am pleased to meet you, my name is ----, I am so pleased you could be here to listen to my story. I will tell you my story and then I will show you some pictures and explain them to you.
I was 14 years old, in the third year of junior high school when the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. I was about 2 kilometers from the hypocenter of the explosion. At the time, I was working in a factory making propeller blades for airplanes. At this point in the war, everyone was working in the factories. We were actually all quite happy when we would go to school for the day but instead of school, they would send us to the factories to work. I remember it was a very very hot day outside, there was not a cloud in the sky. I was working inside when the bomb was dropped. I could not see the bomb, so I didn't know what had happened. There was a very loud noise and the earth shook and I was lifted up in the air. After this, I lost consciousness.
When I woke, I found that I could not move any part of my body from my head down because the entire second floor of the building had come down on top of me, trapping me. I was afraid to try to move because I did not know how badly I was hurt. I could hear the other students calling out, "Mother! Mother! Teacher! Please help!" As I looked around I saw what I recognized as my friends foot right in front of me. She was also pinned down like me and struggling to get free. We spoke to each other and both worried because we could see that the building was on fire all around us and we needed to get out. After struggling for quite some time, I managed to get my arm free and then the rest of my body. My friend was then also freed. We both rushed to get outside into the open air.
Both mine and my friends shirts were covered with blood and were torn. My friends arm was bleeding badly, her flesh torn from her arm straight through to the bone. My arm was also cut very badly and my leg was injured as well. I took my shirt and tore it so I could tie it around my friend's arm to stop the bleeding. We then went to help move the rubble and help free our other students from the rubble. When we finished we found that not a single student had been killed.
Around the time we were finishing, people from the city began to appear. They were all fleeing from the area where the bomb had been dropped. Their hair was singed and gray, standing straight up. Their clothes were burned off and some of their skin was burnt black so that you couldn't even tell who was a man and who was a woman. We saw adults and children fleeing, their clothes hanging off of them in shreds, but as they came closer, we saw that it wasn't their clothing, but it was their skin. Their skin was hanging off their arms, hands, and fingers. Some had their skin flapping down their backs like shirt tails. They all cried for water, but their throats were burned so badly that they could not drink it. As our group walked in towards the burning red city in search of refuge, we saw more people just like them, skin burnt black, all crying for water. Many people had fled to the rivers for water, but after their skin touched the water, they went into shock and died very quickly. The rivers were filling up with dead bodies.
Eventually, we were taken to a refuge area. Other children, injured people, and dead people were arriving here. They stacked the dead in rows under the trees, stacking the bodies in piles. They just kept arriving. No one had food before the bomb because of the war, but we still didn't have food now. Many people who arrived would be dead by the next evening. People called for their mothers.
After three days, my friend and I made our way to my old neighborhood. It was all destroyed, but my father was there. He had been in the city and at the factory looking for me for 3 days, and had thought that I was dead when he could not find me. Him and my friend and I all hugged each other, crying. We were so so happy to have found one another!
Up until a month after the bomb, I could barely eat any food that was given to me, and I became very sick. The cut in my arm had begun to grown maggots, and eventually my mother had to cut them out. I didn't see a doctor until two months after the bomb was dropped, and even then, it was no good, he had no medicine for me. My mother and I made medicine from weeds that we found, but it also did not help. My arm did eventually heal, though.
During the 3 days my father had been looking for me, he had been unlucky enough to be caught in the black rain that fell across the city and the countryside after the bomb. When this rain fell into the rivers, all the fish died. All the plants died. We all thought that nothing would grow for 75 years. From this black rain, my father got radiation sickness, and he was dead within a year. My mother died many years later.
This is my story,and I thank you for listening to it. It is important that an atomic bomb is never used against a city ever again. Thank you.'
The following some of the questions that were asked of the woman:
How did you find food?
We had no food before the bomb because of the war, but after the bomb, we continued to eat what we could find. We had no rice. We grew things like pumpkins radishes, weeds.
How were the troops during the occupation?
I didn't interact with them. I heard that they had maybe given some chocolate to Japanese people, but I did not hear much else.
Did anyone help you rebuild?
From the government? No. We received no aid or releif.
How was your life after the bomb?
It was very hard. No one wanted to marry atomic bomb survivors because people knew radiation sickness caused problems with infants. People thought we were tainted.
Do you hate Americans for dropping the bomb?
Up until only about ten years ago I hated Americans. They had stolen my youth from me, they had taken my father, my mother, everything. They destroyed my life. However, The first time I spoke to an audience of American college students, one came up to me and told me how very sorry he was. After this, my hatred for Americans dissipated.
The following link has many of the same images that the survivor showed us. She said these images very accurately depict what she saw that fateful day.
http://ocw.mit.edu/ans7870/21f/21f.027/groundzero1945/gz_essay03.html
It was a hard presentation, but the woman didn't shed a single tear. Her speech was very touching, very hard on me. I felt as if I was there with her; it doesn’t help I have a very strong imagination. Often I closed my eyes, felt the heat and the stink of Hiroshima, saw the people with bloody flesh crying for help, felt the fear from my own near-death experience creeping coldly back into my chest. That helplessness of being trapped underneath the rubble of a freshly destroyed world and seeing death pouring out from every crack and crevice leaves a strong imprint. Panic threatens to overtake you, your mind is pushed to the edge of its comprehension. I could have stopped myself from feeling these things, seeing these images, but I felt it better that I carry the burning images with me than hide from them. Pain taken from others is pain you are more prepared to endure in the future.
She then went on to describe life before the bomb and showed us several objects she had used in her everyday life. Afterward, she welcomed photographs and was very happy to receive the thousand origami paper cranes the students had made for her.
(It is said that if you fold a thousand paper cranes then you get a wish. A young girl sick with leukemia caused by radiation of the A-bomb died after making only near 600. She now has a memorial on the Hiroshima peace park grounds that people bring paper cranes to every day. There are small huts full of hundreds of thousands of paper cranes.)
Woo, that was very emotional to even rewrite. It's was like reliving the horror of the day with the woman. There are just some things no one should ever have to see- in the words of the woman herself.
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After the speech, we decided we needed to get some air and get off of the grounds of the peace park. Some members of our party were being really strongly affected and we figured we should take a break. So we headed off, passing the A-bomb dome one more time, to catch a city tram to Miajima harbor in Osaka Bay. The train ride was about an hour, but it was an interesting ride. The tram system took us down busy city streets and back ally ways and past blooming trees and beautiful oceanside views. We finally wound up at the harbor, and purchased our ferry tickets. We could see the beautiful blue mountainous islands cropped up in front of us. They reminded me of Hawaii, though I have never been there. The weather was perfect, we had all taken our coats off. We perched eagerly on the railings of the ferry throughout the ten minute ride to Miajima Island.
The small port drew closer and we could see that the famous orange, floating torii and temple were currently not floating because it was low tide. However, this was even more lucky- we got better pictures and we got to get up close and personal with the shrines. The island was full of dear, much more gentle than the deer in Nara had been. They simply stood around, satisfied to occasionally find a bit of food on the ground instead of mauling you to take your food. We headed down Shop ally, an ally full of... well, shops. They sold everything from kimonos to strange foods to spoons and more spoons and more spoons. Miajima Island is actually famous for their spoons. Rice spoons, sautee spoons, all made of bamboo or wood from the island, of course.
Much too our delight, we didn't have to look far for the famously delicious delicacy that is fried momiji. Momiji are sweet bread cakes shaped like maple leaves filled with a variety of things from fish ,to chocolate, to anko (sweet bean paste), a personal favorite of mine. They are then deep fried, or not. It depends on your choice. My arteries were feeling a bit too clean that day, so I opted for the fried version. For being so delicious, I was shocked that Miajima had managed to keep this tasty treat restricted to the island.
In the above photo, you can actually see the orange torii right next to my head.
Shortly after eating my momiji, the beautiful, giant floating torii came into view. It rested into what would become a shallow inlet when the tide came in. However, people were currently making their way down the inlet walls to walk out onto the sandbar and touch the torii and wedge Yen coins into the wood and say a little prayer. It was gorgeous and in the setting sun, the orange of the shrine glowed even more brilliantly. It is an image ingrained in my mind forever.
After the torii, I actually received a VERY unexpected phone call from a loved one, and while my friends spent the next 45 minutes wandering through shops that all held relatively identical wares, I spent some good quality time yakking away on my cellphone like an American, attracting lots of nasty looks. So in more ways than one, Miajima was a very special place for me.
Some more sight seeing on Miajima. Check out the poor paint and design choice of the fire hydrant!
After most of the tourists had left the island, we decided it was time to find a place to eat okonomiyaki. While Osaka is renowned to be the home of the great Japanese food, Hiroshima has its own take. A 'Hiroshima style' if you would. It's much like the competition between New York and Chicago pizza, and we know who the clear winner is there...It rhymes with Chicago. We found a family run place. It was a man and his wife and his 3 daughters who looked all around high-school aged. They were a well oiled machine, pumping out okonomiyaki like it was their higher calling. It was very good, but I have to say, I liked Osaka style better and since Osaka is often compared with Chicago, I think we know why.
After eating our fill (and craving more deep fried momijis) we voted to head back to Hiroshima city and set up camp in our hostel. We resembled the weary travelers we were- we really had been moving since about 6AM that morning. Most of us fell asleep on the tram on the way back, but we all hopped off at the appropriate stop. We went up to our separate rooms and most of us (except those looking for bars) drifted off to sleep after chatting and eating some of the snacks my host mom had packed me. I slept like the dead.
The 3 Valpo gals got an early start the next morning. Driven by our apetites, we went out in search of a cafe. Instead, we found a very strange restaurant. The food was delicious, the people were creepy but friendly, and we certainly enjoyed laughing into our breakfasts at all the obnoxious things going on in the restaurant. It's a good story, I'll tell you if you ask me about that one restaurant in Hiroshima when I return.
After breakfast, we made our way back to peace park to look at the main exhibit that we had missed yesterday. The museum didn't catch me off guard as much this time as it had the day before. I was ready this time. The subject matter was more gruesome than yesterday, but the message was the same: Look what nuclear weapons do, we need to be rid of them. While exploring the main exhibit, an interesting thing happened. You see, most of the information and the way in which it is presented is something that you cannot find in the US. As such, most of the history my family has learned has come from one-sided and is sheltered. I tried to take as many pictures as possible of exhibits where photographs were allowed. I wanted to bring this message back to my family; to educate them. Maybe it will mean a few less people who jokingly use the phrase, “Let’s just nuke ‘em.”
As I was taking photographs in the main exhibit room, along with many other people, a middle-aged Japanese woman who was also viewing the exhibit came up to me and placed her hand on my camera, pushing it down. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “No.” I felt as if I had been slapped by this 4 foot-nothing woman. All of my insecurities and the old guilt about being an American service-member were brought to the forefront again. I wished I could have explained that I wasn’t there to make a freak show out of the display, but I was trying preserving it to educate others. I was here to learn, not to mock! However, before I could figure out how to say all of that in Japanese, the woman walked away, shaking her head. She hadn’t stopped any of the Japanese people taking photographs, just me, the obtrusive 外人(foreigner).
After leaving the main museum, 3 of my friends and I decided to take a rest in the attached café. We sat at our table, drinking our Pocari Sweats, when a tiny old man came and sat at the far corner of our table. We all looked at one another, the girls and I communicating how awkward it was that this random stranger had come to sit with us with lifted eyebrows and slight smirks. However, while subtly glancing at the stranger, we made eye contact and he smiled. Of course, I couldn’t ignore him now, so I greeted him and he immediately asked if I spoke Japanese. After cautiously responding that, yes, I did speak Japanese, the man launched into his life story
He told us that this spot, where we were sitting right now, used to be his house. I was shocked. After having seen all that I had, and learning the facts about the damage radius, I was surprised that this man was even alive, not to mention the fact that he had no physical signs of trauma. He must have sensed my skepticism, so he began to explain more. He said he was in his 70s, and he was in elementary school at the time. He was actually at his school when the bomb was dropped. It was some distance away from his house, apparently. He said he had remembered a loud sound, a bright flash, and then he was inside a broken schoolhouse. He held up his hands and showed a partially crushed right hand. He explained that this was what had happened to him. He talked about how he came back to his house, but no one was there, he described the rivers and how he was always so terrified of them because there were so many dead people in them after the bomb. But he needed water, so he always had to go anyways.
I asked him how he ate, which prompted a whole new topic. He explained that Japan had no food before the bomb, and that it was, in fact America’s fault. (He knew I was American, he had asked). He compared it to the cutting-off of Japan’s oil supplies. He said that this action had doomed the Japanese, and justified the attack on Pearl Harbor. He explained how this war, the bomb, the lack of food was, in fact, America’s fault. He was not hostile, he smiled warmly when he told me his story, and he welcomed my questions. We continued to discuss various things- he had lived in Osaka for a short time as a young man, but he felt driven to return to Hiroshima to after a few years. Now, he said he came to the park every day to offer up water to the people who died in the rivers trying to drink. He was an intriguing character. After thanking him for his time and excusing ourselves, he rose and also bounded off across the park. He certainly was a sprightly man. To this day, I am not sure if he was telling the truth or not. He may have just been a lonely old man looking for people to listen to him, to talk with him.
After one last stop at the A-bomb dome, we headed back to Hiroshima station and, after grabbing some snacks, we boarded our day bus bound for Osaka.
5 hours of midterm studying and 2 Japanese pit-stops later, we arrived back in Osaka. The trips through the various train lines seemed to take hours, and I just wanted to be home with my host family and to fall into my OWN futon. I got home around 10PM, and after a brief chat with my parents, I fell asleep quite soundly and happily.
The End.
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