tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6 2007-08-12T02:43:14Z Can You Hear the Voice of Hiroshima? Movable Type 3.35 tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.64 2007-06-16T14:06:27Z 2007-07-03T09:18:24Z

I was in the third grade of Hakushima Na...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net I was in the third grade of Hakushima National Elementary School. That day, somehow I didn’t feel like going to the school and so said to my father, “I don’t want to go.” Usually a strict father, he listened to me and said, “Well then, you can stay home.” If I had gone to school, I... Everybody at the school, teachers and children died. One classmate who was on her way to school was exposed to the A-bombing on a bridge. She survived the bombing, but the left half of her body, having been seriously burned, was left rigid in the joints of her neck and arm. Rumor says there was one other classmate who survived the bombing, but none of us heard from him. The Atomic Bomb was dropped at 8:15. A little before it, far in the sky, the sound of airplanes was heard. My father went outside in the garden and looked up and said, “This doesn’t sound like Japanese planes. It’s dangerous. Run to the shelter!” My brother, two years and ten months old, and I ran into the shelter that had been finished some days before in our house. A moment later, I felt a gigantic shock. That was the instant of the A-bombing. My father rushed toward us. Our house collapsed in a moment, but I grabbed my father’s waist and crawled out through debris--the fallen pillars, wall dirt and roof tiles. We did not see Mother and called out loud for her. Then, the rubble under our feet moved and Mother appeared, holding my 57-day-old baby sister in her arms. Mother was injured with fragments of glass all over. Especially, large pieces of glass stuck on both of her eyelids and right cheek. Her right eyeball was out of its socket, dangling to her breast. My father scooped it with his cupped hand, but had no other way but to tear it off. To keep the blood from spouting, the glass fragments that had stuck everywhere--her left eyelid, cheeks, around her neck--were left as they were. My father also had serious injuries on the left half of his body, but he carried my mother with his right arm, leaving my younger brother and sister with me. We thought that our house of all other houses had been targeted, so we went to our neighbors for help. But the houses of the next door neighbor and two doors away were also broken. Because of the dusty smoke, there was little visibility. We tried house after house walking about 300 meters and reached the dry riverbed. Since we acted swiftly, we managed to lay my mother in the shade of a little shrub. Before I noticed, many injured people had gathered around us. Some burned and injured soldiers were cursing the “enemy” like mad men, brandishing their swords. However, they collapsed one after another. The narrow riverbed was not spacious enough for all those evacuees, and before long a heap of the dead formed as the people mounted over the others. My father, a civic officer, was the Chief of the Volunteer Service Corps Bureau. Since his duty was to lead evacuees or rescue people in case of emergency, he was eager to go on duty as soon as possible. But in order to do so, he needed to take care of his family first. I was entrusted to look after my mother and brother. My father thought that my baby sister had already died, since she was bloody with the splashed blood from her mother. So, he was going to bury her temporarily there, intending to come back to dig the grave up later. He dug a hole. He felt it too pitiful to bury the blood-covered baby as it was, so he cleaned her body casually in the river water. Then, she uttered a faint cry. “Ah, she is alive! I’m glad we didn’t bury her.” Our moments’ joy turned to a new problem for us to face; the baby needed milk, but our mother’s breast milk dried up because of the shock. We were at a loss. My father was conscious of his professional duty even in such a situation. A riot by a horde of the injured was not unthinkable, so my father, together with some soldiers in better shape, made the rounds trying to reassure those evacuees, “A rescue team will arrive soon. Stay calm, please.” He happened to find a woman among the victims, whose breast milk was dripping. He pleaded with her for her milk, “Would you please give your milk for my daughter?” The woman refused and said, “This milk is my baby’s who has just passed away. I cannot give it to anyone else.” My father, with his head touching the ground, pleaded and pleaded. Then, the people around spoke for his help, “The dead baby won’t come back to life. Give your milk to the surviving baby and save her life.” Thus, the woman was persuaded to give her breast milk to my sister. We had eaten nothing since the morning. We plucked the vegetables planted in the dry riverbed such as cucumbers, tomatoes, pumpkins and eggplants. At one bite, all of my family spat it out immediately. There were people who fought for what we had thrown away and ate it, which drew a distinctive line on the fate of survivors. Eating food or drink that was exposed to radiation meant radioactive intake into their intestines. Such people either died or, even if they survived, lived with many difficulties including internal organ disorders. They were forced to live a hard life in a tragic situation during the post-war period. My father tried to engage himself in his duty, leaving the family there, but the area was a sea of fire. He intended to go to the City Office, crossing the river in front and making a detour. However, he realized it was impossible to swim across the river as the water ran fast. Besides, there were many bodies flowing and people crowded in the water to escape the heat. Having second thoughts, he engaged himself in keeping security all night in cooperation with soldiers, so that no unrest would be attempted. Houses kept burning throughout the night, but by dawn the fires subsided. The A-bombed victims died one after another. Among those were the people who talked that woman into giving her breast milk to my sister. A silent morning came. My father went back to the burned ruins of our house and dug out jars of pickled plums and shallots. Ushita-cho across from the river, an area tucked into the mountain, was spared the fire, so we decided to take shelter at our acquaintance’s house in the area. Upon leaving, my sister was given the woman’s breast milk one last time. We gave the pickled plums and shallots to the woman as a token of our appreciation. That was to initiate the anguish of my family, as our gift items had been contaminated by radiation. After the war, when the immediate confusion in society somehow subsided, we began to look for the woman who gave milk to my sister through the NHK radio program, “Missing People” and the newspaper. However, we failed. If she had died because of those pickled plums and shallots, we would have made an irrevocable mistake. Some days later, my grandfather and uncle came all the way from Yamagata-gun to look for us. It was decided that my brother and I would be put under our grandparents’ care. On the way to their house, I looked over the burned ruins of Hiroshima for the first time. Nothing familiar was in sight. All I saw was rubble. At a broken water pipe, people crowded for water mounting one on another. My uncle carried my brother on his back. My brother cried, “Mom, Dad!” When my uncle needed some rest, he took my brother off his back, but then my brother dashed backward trying to return. I chased after and soothed him, but I myself was feeling helpless and about to cry. Summer in Hiroshima is hot and that summer was especially so, because the leveled land had nothing to make shade. We walked barefoot on the undistinguished roads filled with rubble that was heated by the blazing sun. Not knowingly, I stepped on a dead body that had been under the rubble. The feeling at that moment hasn’t faded to this date. Ever since, when summer comes around, the soles of my feet make me feel hot and uneasy. tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.65 2007-06-16T14:07:30Z 2007-07-03T09:18:24Z

Hiroshima is a city built on a delta at ...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Hiroshima is a city built on a delta at the mouth of the Ota River, that runs through the Chugoku Mountains. The city is surrounded by mountains in the north, east and west, and the south faces Hiroshima Bay. Originally it was a small land, but Mr. Senda in the Meiji Era promoted to reclaim land. Hiroshima became a large land as it literally means. Mostly, the land is sandy. Many parts of the land are at sea level, so the city was often flooded when typhoons hit. In October that year, strong typhoons hit the city twice, and washed away the sandy soil into the rivers. Many lives were also claimed by that natural disaster, which was tragic. However, because dirt and sand were newly brought in from other unaffected places to make up for the washed soil, the topsoil of Hiroshima became radiation-free. Scholars and medical staff were dispatched to Hiroshima from various places, including Tokyo University, to study about the A-bomb or to treat the victims. Rumor ran that some scholar said, “No plant will grow for the next 70 years on the A-bombed soil.” Trees and plants, however, began to sprout. The next spring in 1946, A-bombed cherry trees revived. Petals danced around in the spring wind. When summer neared, oleanders bloomed. At the sight of the oleander flowers, many A-bomb survivors are said to have gained encouragement. Therefore, the oleander was designated as the flower symbol of Hiroshima City. Hiroshima was a burned ruin as far as the eye could see, dotted with shacks that began to rise one by one. Around them tomatoes and cucumbers were seen growing. However, I never liked red oleanders. Also, flaring red canna is something I won’t forget. Those red flowers symbolize the threatening blaze of that day. tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.66 2007-06-16T14:08:11Z 2007-07-03T09:18:24Z

My grandfather took my brother and me to...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net My grandfather took my brother and me to his place in Yamagata-gun, where he was living as a specialist of shrine carpentry. Therefore, he had only a small farmland, and the farmers nearby couldn’t afford to share food with others, as they themselves had accepted other victims to take care of. On August 15, Japan surrendered. Adults seemed to be at a loss at what they had believed in, but as a child I was happy, because we had no more enemy planes flying over and no more dashing into the air-raid shelter. In October I had a high fever and began to suffer from bloody urine and stools. No information on the A-bombing had reached the local doctors in the rural area, so I was diagnosed as some bad infectious disease, and isolated in the shed. My brother banged on the door crying, “Sister, sister!” but I could do nothing. Since medicine was scarce in those days, I just stayed in bed. In about a month, those symptoms subsided, but smelly pus began to ooze from my ears. It came down to my throat overflowing my mouth. Again, there was no way to treat it, but only wipe it off. In November, my family managed to rent a half-broken, survived house in Minami-machi, south of the city and started to live together. I began to see the doctor at the Red Cross Hospital, but medicine was in short supply at the hospital. A nurse murmured, “How I wish we had penicillin!” I told what I overheard to my father. A few days later, my father got three ampoules of penicillin on the black market. I remember I began to recover thanks to them. After my brother and I left for Yamagata-gun, my parents and baby sister moved to the Relief Center for the A-bomb victims set up in the Fukuromachi National Elementary School. My mother had the pieces of glass removed by a doctor, who found out that her left eyeball was intact. It was fortunate that she was operated on by a specialist eye doctor and regained her eyesight. However, she had to stay mostly in bed as she was suffering from the malfunction of her internal organs as well as many injuries by glass fragments. All the house chores were on my shoulders, and I went to school with my sister on my back tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.67 2007-06-16T14:08:52Z 2007-07-03T09:18:24Z

Ever since August 6, 1945, residual radi...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Ever since August 6, 1945, residual radiation has troubled people. Not just the people who were exposed to the A-bombing, but those who got involved in Hiroshima later in one way or another were also affected, either falling ill or dying. Among them were the people who tended the victims, who walked around the ruins, who were caught in the black rain, or those who did the corpse-clearing job. A rumor that you would be infected if you had physical contact with hibakusha, or survivor, spread wildly, and the hibakusha were discriminated against. Many of those who came to live in Hiroshima after the war were either the people who had evacuated till the war ended or newcomers who had expected job opportunities in the city reconstructing process. They were busy looking after their own living, and had little sympathy with hibakusha. Also, many of the A-bombed had evacuated to remote or mountainous areas and remained there quite a while for recuperation, so it was fairly long before they could return to Hiroshima. A-bombed women often had miscarriages, stillborn babies, or handicapped babies. For a long time, hibakusha were rejected or hesitant to get married, or chose not to have children. There were many known cases. Twelve years had already passed before a hospital specializing in hibakusha treatment was finally built in 1957. It was established, not by the national government, by the effort of the Director of the Red Cross Hospital, Dr. Shigeto, who was instrumental to get the charity money from the New Year greeting postcards and constructed it on an vacant lot in the Red Cross Hospital grounds. I got a job in that A-bomb Hospital in its initial stage. There, my job was to interview hibakusha and take notes of their A-bomb experiences as well as their complaints about health or life as a whole. Twelve long years had passed since Japan’s defeat, yet the A-bomb Hospital was crowded with those who had never visited any hospital before then due to their tight living. The interviewer, myself, was a hibakusha, but it was painful for me to take notes of their pathetic stories. Through my job, I came to think that my family was a relatively blessed one among other A-bombed families, although my mother was in critical condition lying in bed on the 2nd floor of the A-bomb Hospital. One day I had a thorough examination. Although I had often been dizzy, I was not aware that I was ill. The result of the blood test was that both red and white blood corpuscles were fewer than half of the normal. I, a worker at the Hospital, became a designated hibakusha, which made me realize the sheer fact that I was an A-bomb survivor. The situation in those days drove me into the edge of despair, and I gave up and quit my job only after one and a half years. Once a year ever since, I have a thorough examination, and the test result always shows that my blood is under the normal figure. However, I survive. Each individual is different--tall, short, thin, fat, or handicapped. It is true that I am allowed to live, whatever conditions there may be. So, I’d like to live in gratitude to my last day, thankful to God. tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.68 2007-06-16T14:09:29Z 2007-07-03T09:18:24Z

In early summer two years after Japan’s ...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net 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. tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.91 2007-07-03T04:20:33Z 2007-08-12T02:33:38Z

My First Trip Hjördis Andersson, a Swedi...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net My First Trip Hjördis Andersson, a Swedish missionary, used to live near my house in Hiroshima. She had a large number of visitors from all over the world. Whenever she had guests, I told them about my experiences of the A-bombing and showed them Peace Memorial Museum. In September 1995, she returned home on leave and I decided to follow her and visit Sweden. When I was preparing for the trip, some friends said they also wanted to go. The number increased day by day and the party numbered 17 in all. In Stockholm, our first destination, we visited the church of Pastor Karin Jansson who was proficient in Japanese. From then, every time I went on a peace pilgrimage around Stockholm, she served as interpreter. At the end of 2003, we received the sad news that she had passed away of a heart attack at the age of 54. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. Two days later, we moved to Jönköing, an inland town in the south. They had a potluck party and we Japanese were supposed to bring sushi and jiao-zi. While my friends were preparing them, I was interviewed by a newspaper reporter. I talked about my A-bomb experiences only briefly, but tears welled up out of his eyes. He said, wiping the tears away with his fair-haired arm, “My country doesn’t take part in war and I cannot imagine such atrocity. Considering the current world situation, my country should contribute to the realization of world peace. I will write a good article.” He was a young and sensitive-looking reporter. The party started when the Swedish folk music band and dancers came in. We also joined in the circle of dancing. “I understand why the Japanese are small. With two thin chopsticks, food will fall off before it reaches your mouth,” said one old man. Friendly conversations made us forget the passage of time. The next day, the article about me appeared in the newspaper. The people who had read it made a request that I should come back and talk about my A-bomb experiences. Hjördis said, “Let’s make a peace tour. I will serve as interpreter.” It was realized in 2001, after she retired and returned home. (Picture) I enjoyed dancing with people in a Swedish costume. ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.92 2007-07-03T04:22:11Z 2007-08-12T02:34:35Z

Early April in 1997, a friend in Numazu ...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net (picture) Miyajima, a World Heritage Site : when the tide is in, the floors of Itsukushima Shrine are covered with water. ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.93 2007-07-03T04:25:44Z 2007-08-12T02:35:42Z

Wind from Myanmar In July 1997, Ms. A., ...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Wind from Myanmar In July 1997, Ms. A., the vice president of a seminary in Myanmar, visited Hiroshima, escorted by my friend, Ms. Noriko Kadota, who lives in the Kansai region. I took the opportunity to ask Ms. A. to deliver a lecture at the Hiroshima YWCA. However, she could only speak on the condition of anonymity, because the people in Myanmar are under the jurisdiction of its military regime, and there is a possibility that her behavior abroad would be subject to scrutiny. The following is what she said in the lecture: “In Myanmar, Buddhist monks are given special treatment. Even so, they have to make a living by asking for alms. Maymyo, where I live, is in the northern heights of Mandalay, which was the old capital of Myanmar. It is so far away from the present capital, Yangon, and for better or worse, is paid little attention by the central government. Furthermore, as there was once a British military base here, there are many Christians – some of them understand English. Most of the people are poor. Daily goods are widely available in the markets, but meat is a luxury item, and seafood is hard to obtain inland, so many people contract rickets due to protein deficiency. Students don’t even have enough stationery, but they have a passion for learning because they long to escape their current situation.” After Ms. A.’s lecture, there was a question from the audience regarding the attitude of the Myanmar people towards Japan. Ms. A. answered as follows: “During the war, Japanese troops committed robbery, rape and murder, so there are elderly people who have anti-Japanese sentiments. But many young people, who are jobless, aspire to go and work in Japan, though they don’t like Japan. As an educator, I am making the effort to take an impartial view of the world. I would like to see Hiroshima, which was destroyed by a nuclear bomb, with my own eyes, and convey to my students how this matters to mankind.” During the tour of the Peace Memorial Museum, and in front of a number of monuments in the Peace Park, she stopped many times to put her hands together in prayer. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Then, she put her arm around my shoulders, and said, “Keiko, you’ve come so far, in spite of being exposed to the atomic bombing. Please speak out on behalf of those who perished.” After Ms. A. left Hiroshima like the wind, a fund-raising campaign began at the Hiroshima YWCA. It was decided that I would visit Ms. A.’s school with Noriko the following spring to deliver the money and daily necessities. I received a letter from Ms. A., asking me to talk about my A-bomb experience to her students. Noriko translated my A-bomb experience into English. Practicing my A-bomb testimony in English became a part of my daily routine. Only God knew that this was to be the first step in my peace pilgrimage. Constant visitors from abroad to the Peace Memorial Museum ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.94 2007-07-03T04:27:34Z 2007-08-12T02:37:20Z

Feeling Maymyo breeze he funds we had ra...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Feeling Maymyo breeze he funds we had raised at the Hiroshima YWCA amounted to 100,000 yen. I decided to go to Myanmar in March, 1998 to deliver the money, together with Noriko, who is a translator. I was also scheduled to talk about my A-bomb experience in a seminar held at Ms. A.’s seminary, and to attend its graduation ceremony as well as Ms. A.’s wedding ceremony. It took 13 hours to go the 621km from Yangon to Mandalay by train. It was an extraordinarily bumpy and noisy ride. Moreover, from Mandalay to Maymyo where Ms. A. lives, I took a taxi, which was exclusively for foreigners, but the taxi was a rundown pickup truck, made in Japan. In the seminary classroom, there was only one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and some broken windows had been repaired with pieces of cardboard. While I was talking about my A-bomb experience, I wondered if it was really necessary to talk about Hiroshima to such poverty-stricken students. However my doubts were unfounded. They commented one after another that no possession of nuclear weapons, no fights and no hatred are the bases of world peace. Besides, they prayed for the A-bomb survivors who are still sick in bed. When I gave the donations to the seminary principal, I said, “Please use this money to buy light bulbs or to repair the school building.” But I was struck speechless, when he said to me, “Tangible things will be broken. I want to use the money to support the life of poor students. That will be more meaningful.” In the evening, I was spoken to by a small old lady on the street. She said to me, “There are electric lights in the school, but ordinary houses don’t even have electricity. They have a TV at the school and allow us to watch it, so I go there to watch ‘Oshin.’” I realized that I had a self-righteous view and at the same time I kept thinking back on what the principal said to me. The graduation ceremony was simple, but solemn. The next day, Ms. A. paraded the streets in a horse-drawn carriage in her wedding dress. A pig, which her students had raised, was cooked and set out on the wedding reception table. Half an hour after the reception started, the guests started to disappear one after another. Then, many people who had been watching the reception through the windows dashed to fill the empty seats and to eat the dishes on the table. One of the townspeople told me, “It’s customary for poor people to swap places at a wedding reception, otherwise we would not have any chance to eat meat. “ Students listening to my A-bomb testimony The classroom with its single bare light bulb is always dim. (The school building was previously to be used by the British army, but it was left incomplete due to the army’s withdrawal from Myanmar, so the stairways and classrooms are full of danger.) ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.95 2007-07-03T04:35:00Z 2007-08-12T02:38:18Z

An Afghan woman In 1998, we traveled aro...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net An Afghan woman In 1998, we traveled around five states of northeast America, sent by the World Friendship Center, which has its base in Hiroshima. The members were an A-bomb survivor from Nagasaki, two students and me. Twenty-three hours had passed when we arrived in Annapolis, Maryland from Hiroshima on Sep. 15. I stayed with an Afghan woman, who was running an Asian restaurant. I was not satisfied, wondering why I had to stay with an Afghan in America. Her husband was American, but he didn’t seem to be pleased to have a Japanese in his home. During the six days of my stay, I heard the narrative of Mrs. F.’s life night after night. Her first husband was Afghan. He died of alcoholism, caused by repeated wars. A close relative of hers became disabled due to a land mine. She was a chemist back in her country, but she came to the U.S. and began a business in order to save her family from war-torn Afghanistan. Every story was painful. “But I was saved by my present husband,” she said happily. And she also said, “I read in the newspaper that hibakusha were coming, and asked one of them to stay with us. Keiko, you can share my pain, can’t you?” I heard that her husband had thought that I would blame the U.S. for the A-bombings. After Mrs. F. recommended he read my A-bomb story, it seemed that he was trying to understand our peace pilgrimage. But our distance was not narrowed enough. Other members stayed at typical American homes, and there seemed to be no end to cheerful talk. After they knew that I was enjoying Asian dishes, they said,” We envy you. Every time, we are served junk food. We might be fed up soon.” In my farewell, I said to Mrs. F., “Please come to Japan.” She answered，“No. When I have saved enough money, I will go back to Afghanistan to bring my family to the States. Keiko, YOU should come here again.” After 9/11, the U.S. attacked Afghanistan. I hear that Afghans living in the U.S. feel uncomfortable, but, according to church members, Mrs. F. brought over her sister and her husband to the U.S. and her restaurant is doing well. I wish they are doing well, as I heard. ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.96 2007-07-03T04:37:11Z 2007-08-12T02:39:20Z

School Visit and Civil Society The first...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net School Visit and Civil Society The first thing we did was to pay a courtesy call on the Mayor of Annapolis. In the center of the room we were shown into, we found a desk standing majestically, on which Washington, Jefferson and Franklin had made the draft of The Declaration of Independence. The city has a population of 35,000. Its assembly consists of nine councilors. I felt encouraged to learn four of them were women. Then we visited an elementary school. Each of us was given only ten minutes individually to talk to children. Things couldn’t go as well as we had planned because we were a hastily-assembled visiting team. Both the college student with a good command of English and the A-bomb survivor with little English felt awkward with each other. Children had learned about Sadako Sasaki, who was exposed to the A-bomb radiation and died of a radiation related disease, leukemia. When it came to their country’s dropping the bomb, however, they said in unison, “Remember Pearl Harbor!” They seemed to have learned that from their parents. What drew their interest was the thousand paper cranes. Asked to show them how to fold a paper crane, I was obliged to do so. Having been eager to talk to them more, my time ran out. Elementary school children were too little for us to argue with over the difference of historical perspectives, so we bit our tongues. I felt a lump in my throat, frustrated and mortified. I am afraid that Americans and Japanese may not be able to reach any settlement to fill the gap of each other’s public sentiment. We had chances to attend various meetings in the evenings, which started with a potluck. I came to learn that it was an American way to host guests. The most interesting one for me was the one held by a group acting to heal Vietnam veterans. I heard there were many veterans who were still agonizing over what that war had been for. They had not been able to return to society yet, not having found any answers. A lot of citizens extended their helping hands to them, by singing together or having a chat with them in a casual manner, to encourage them to feel that they were not left alone. A friendly man came up to me saying, “Hi.” He was the mayor in casual clothes. In spite of those devoted activists, the country has waged wars repeatedly since then. Annapolis is a thriving city hosting the U. S. Naval Academy, which became known in Japan from the movie, “An Officer and a Gentleman.” The trainees in the academy are respected as special elite students. But a certain suspicion crossed my mind that soldiers are professional murderers after all. (In the City Hall: Courtesy call on the Mayor of Annapolis) ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.97 2007-07-03T04:38:20Z 2007-08-12T02:40:20Z

The Brethren Church in Washington, D.C. ...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net After the volunteer activity at the soup kitchen ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.98 2007-07-03T04:39:29Z 2007-08-12T02:41:11Z

In Bluffton, Ohio in September, 1998 Joa...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net In Bluffton, Ohio in September, 1998 Joan asked me to tell my A-bomb experience on the first night I stayed with her. So I told her my story, making it short, since it was after the dinner, and I was going to give a talk for her peace education class the following day. Then she pleaded in tears, “My dear students are only third graders. So please teach them something about Japanese culture or songs for children.” While I was thinking in bed through the night, I realized what I should do in the class.” I observed the first class she taught. A chosen girl started reading. Each of the students was doing different things, which made me wonder. Some were sitting at computers, some lying on the floor, and some playing with word cards. The second class started. I was introduced to them as Keiko Murakami. Then I introduced myself, saying, “In many Asian countries family names come before individual names. I am Murakami Keiko. I took out and spread the one-thousand paper cranes which I was entrusted with by a nursery school my grandson attends. The children were excited and said, “Were they really made by children?” When I said, “I’m going to teach a Japanese song,” there was applause. I sang a song, which was easy, translating into English, “Spring has come. Spring has come. Where is it now?” And the students joined in with me. Suddenly Joan made a sign with her eyes, saying, “Keiko, start now.” I started to talk about my brief Atomic bomb experience, saying, “Please listen to my story in Hiroshima.” The lively class fell silent, which only made me feel almost scared. Afterwards one child came up to me, holding my hand, another mopping tears, another covering his face with his hands, and so on. Small as they were, the children seemed to have appreciated my story in their own ways. In the afternoon, I observed a lecture on how to conduct peace education at a nearby university. Those who took the lecture were all concerned with education. The lecturer said that when children were suggested to draw a picture imagining a peaceful country, they drew animals. She also suggested to have children discuss in the class who to invite to your table. According to her, education aiming at nurturing characteristics should be promoted, so that one can say, “Your skin has the same color as my horse, and I love it.” However, I saw some discriminatory view here. We took a drive on a freeway outside of town. Two hours’ ride took us to the birthplace of Wilbur Wright (1867-1912), one of the Wright brothers who invented the airplane. Cornfields, with corn already harvested, extended as far as the eye could see. Only birds were moving. Once upon a time an atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima by the U. S. Those who live here think that they have nothing to do with it. (The children love paper cranes.) ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.99 2007-07-03T04:40:48Z 2007-08-12T02:42:24Z

Twin Cities Minneapolis and St. Paul, tw...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Twin Cities Minneapolis and St. Paul, two cities on both sides of a bridge crossing the Mississippi River are called the Twin Cities. I hear that Minnesota is a state where Native Americans and people from Europe dwell half and half, which makes it typically America that stands for liberty and equality. On the birthdays of Reverend Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, the citizens have a peace walk, and on August 6 and 9, they hold a memorial gathering of Hiroshima and Nagasaki wishing for nuclear abolition. The places we visited so far did not necessarily accept us, the A-bomb victims, open-mindedly. Remembering the last three weeks which was continually disappointing, I was kind of worn out. Somebody’s words at one church gathering, “Building a Hiroshima- Nagasaki Museum in America would be nice,” were good enough to boost me. I responded, “That would be more than nice, but there are many impediments. I would rather you, Americans, make it, please.” October 6, 1998 was the day when the “Atomic Bomb and Peace Gathering” was scheduled at Macalester College, the last program of our trip. It is the college people speak well since a number of figures renown for their contribution to world peace, including Kofi Annan, General Secretary of the UN, graduated from it. The gathering was to start in the early evening. People including students were coming in one after another, and the large place was filled before long. Since it was going to be our last presentation, we were full of spirit. When all four of us, finished speaking, silence dominated the place. The MC urged the audience to ask questions more than once, but nobody said anything. We were looking at one another feeling uneasy. After a while, there was somebody who commented, “You have talked enough. We have learned about the facts of the A-bombing. Let’s work together for peace.” The next moment a storm of clapping hands arose, and many came up to us to shake our hands. There were a few Japanese students studying in America who helped to interpret during the Q and A session. “How long did it take Hiroshima to be rebuilt?” “Don’t you bear a grudge against America?” The questions were similar to the ones commonly asked anywhere, but nobody brought up Pearl Harbor. I don’t know if we can give credit to Macalester College about it or we just happened not to be exposed to that kind of question. Having been able to have little dialogue, we were to go home with frustration, half resigned. However, I found a little hope in America. ]]> tag:h-s-o.net,2007:/eng/living//6.100 2007-07-03T04:41:50Z 2007-08-12T02:43:14Z

Former POWs taken by the Imperial Japane...

カーク美佳 http://h-s-o.net Former POWs taken by the Imperial Japanese Army I was contacted by Ms. Hjordis Andersson, who was a missionary living in Hiroshima. She said, “Former British soldiers taken prisoner by the Imperial Japanese Army are visiting Japan accompanied by Ms. Keiko Homes. I was asked to officiate at their memorial service for the war dead in front of the Cenotaph for the A-bomb Victims.” She continued, “Because of the atrocities of the Imperial Japanese Army, British people’s sentiment toward Japan isn’t good. But this will be a good opportunity to make them aware that all countries at war are equally to blame. So, Keiko, tell them about HIROSHIMA.” I had had my story translated into English to tell foreign people, so I decided to accept Ms. Andersson’s request. After learning that I would have only five minutes, I thought it would be more important to get HIROSHIMA across to them rather than my personal experience. On November 2nd, 1998, the group of former POWs stood in a row in front of the Cenotaph. The service proceeded with Ms. Andersson’s officiation. Introduced by her, I stepped forward and stood before them. After introducing myself briefly, I read a Junichi Mizuno’s poem of Hiroshima, “Please Walk Quietly,” which was translated into English by Kazuko Ichikawa. The poet asks people to walk quietly with care in Hiroshima where numerous people were killed. The poem seemed to come home to these visiting POWs’ hearts. So, wherever they were, they kindly walked quietly, whispering to each other, “Quietly, quietly with care…” Ms. Keiko Homes was honored by Queen Elizabeth II for her distinguished deed of making efforts to comfort the former British POWs. “We have many Keikos here. Would all the Keikos pose in a row for a photo?” At the request of the press, Keiko Homes, another Keiko in the group and I stood in front of the camera. Keiko Homes said close to my ear, “The former British POWs believe that they are the ones who suffered most during World War II. You should come over to tell your story in the UK.” At her words, I felt she was very close to me though we first met each other on that day. Former British POWs, their families and bereaved families (in front of the Cenotaph for the A-bomb Victims) ]]>