Living with Hiroshima

In early summer two years after Japan’s defeat, my father took me to Tokyo. It was soon after the new Constitution was enacted. The trains ran with coal in those days, and smoke came into cars from the gaps between the window and its frame. I had a towel covering my nose. It took us nearly 24 hours to get to Tokyo. It was a trip with a few buns and food ration tickets for rice in my bag, because it was the time of food shortages.

The first night in Tokyo, we slept in the open together with homeless children in Ueno Park. The second night we stayed in the Red Cross Hospital accommodation facility near Shiba Park. On the last day of our several days in Tokyo, my father said to me at the moat side of Hanzomon, “I wanted you to know that Hiroshima was not the only place that was destroyed in the war. That’s why I took you to Tokyo. Japan’s Capital City, Tokyo, is exactly what you’re seeing now. During the war, there were people imprisoned, as they were against the war, saying it was wrong. But, I worked to defend the person who resides in this Imperial Palace surrounded by thick green. Forgive me, your sinful father. Look, Keiko! Isn’t the Imperial Palace distinctly beautiful in the devastated Tokyo, as if there had been no war? I am going to work hard in order to rebuild Hiroshima from now on, but it is your generation that has to be determined in their hearts and minds that Japan will never again engage in war. Don’t forget what you saw and experienced first hand in Hiroshima and Tokyo. You should not support fighting whatever reason there may be. Even if you lose your friends because of that and are left alone, I want you to go forward with courage. I’m expecting you to grow up that way.”

These words and the rare experience given by my father stayed inside me growing and changing colors, and became my indicator. However, it took me a long time before I felt ready to speak out about my own A-bomb experience. For one thing, I didn’t like the idea of telling my private story to people. The other was that I was scared to be asked questions, as there were lots of things I’d rather keep inside. Even things that mean nothing to others can give a great pain to me.

My teacher, Prof. Miyao Ohara, advised me to write what I had experienced, but I took no action. He translated Sankichi Toge’s poem, “Bring back Father, Bring back Mother” into English, bringing the poem worldwide acknowledgement.

It was in 1981. It occurred to me to write an essay about my memory of the days at my grandparents’ home right after the A-bombing, and I applied for the first Hiroshima Civic Literary Works. It was kind of a casual decision out of my citizenship consciousness. My work, however, unexpectedly won the first place. Right after that, my mother died.

Though it was a new start for me to express ideas through writing, I was able to write only fiction, not my own experience. Yet, I wrote the thoughts and feelings of the A-bombed people to my heart’s content.

I remember it was perhaps 1984 when a pastor from Germany visited Hiroshima. I took charge to show him around. The same age as me, he began to speak while we were in the Peace Memorial Museum. “I had a very close friend during the war. One day, all of a sudden, his family disappeared. I asked my parents, ‘Why didn’t he say good-bye to me when they moved?’ My parents said nothing at that time. One day after the war ended, my parents told me that that family was Jewish.”

To hear that, I could barely stand with my knees trembling. I thought it a very true testimony of history. Although the pastor himself was not a Jew, what he said rattled something in my mind. If I say to someone, “I was exposed to the A-bombing in Hiroshima,” it might awaken his/her interests--“What is war?” “What is peace?” or “What are nuclear weapons?” Anti-nuke peace-seekers might increase. Then, I came to think that it was my responsibility to speak out on my A-bomb experience.

From that time on, I try not to miss a chance to speak whenever I can, but I never get accustomed to speaking. Although I keep regretting about something each time, I am short of words, or things like that, I’m trying my best to speak with my whole heart that I was affected by the first A-bombing in human history.

The current world situation is horrible. India and Pakistan are equipped with nuclear missiles, and the laborers at uranium mines throughout the world are exposed to radioactive contamination. The natives in the deserts and islands are also victimized by nuclear tests, but nobody is willing to compensate them for it. Some American soldiers who have been sent to the battlefields since the Gulf War are said to be suffering from the symptoms of radiation exposure. In the Gulf War area, Afghanistan and Iraq, of which America never loosens its tight grip, many cases affected by depleted uranium weapons are reported. America says the depleted uranium weapon is not a nuclear weapon, but the use of bullets made of depleted uranium means scattering radioactivity in the air. Today, weapons are so advanced that the radiation damages created are much worse than Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

In 2003, photographer Naomi Toyota’s photo exhibition on Iraq was held in Tsukuba City. Many of the pictures were of children. Their sad eyes synchronized with the image of myself; I must have looked just like them back in August, 1945. They must live with sad memories, just like me. Children aren’t supposed to have sad faces. It’s the role of world citizens, I think, to bring back their bright eyes that look to their hopeful future.

“Peace is nice,” “I hate war,” “No nukes”--It is easy to have those words only in your mind, but that doesn’t change anything. The important thing is to speak out and act whatever it is, however small it is. Over the past few years, we have seen big disasters inside and outside of Japan. In such circumstances, volunteer activities and spirit to care for the others gain strength. I believe that the realization of non-war and a peaceful world can be achieved by loving and caring for others, not just caring for ourselves. So, the time will come in the near future when this elderly woman won’t need to say anymore. I am going to live with hope.