Nagasaki, 68 Years Later and 30 Years Later

I nearly forgot -- today, August 9, is the anniversary of the atomic bomb explosion over Nagasaki. That was the last straw for the Japanese military effort of World War II; in a few days they finally agreed to surrender unconditionally to the Allies. Thirty years ago I was there, the first day of my solo train tour of the country. I will never forget how the citizens of Nagasaki observed the anniversary: at precisely the hour of the day when the bomb was dropped in 1945, bells in towers began to toll. Everyone in sight stopped what they were doing and lowered their heads in meditation. (It looked like a scene from the Star Trek episode "The Return of the Archons," with Landru's people acting in perfect precision whether they were walking, attacking the landing party, or suffering the Red Hour.) I don't remember how long the observance lasted -- it's probably recorded in the bound journal I kept during that trip, and I still have it -- it was maybe five minutes. I remember looking at the sky above me and trying to picture a mushroom cloud obliterating the soft blue of a summer's morning, back on August 9, 1945. 

I don't recall attending any Bomb museum in Nagasaki -- again, I'll need to check the journal. But I sure remember the museum I visited in Hiroshima a few days later. The photographic evidence of the damage, to property and to the people alike. The stories of death by radiation that were still occurring years after the explosion. As I was exiting the exhibit, I came to a table on which was a blank book for visitors to use to write their impressions.  I remember writing something like I hope the world will become a place where no city, no people ever have to endure such suffering again. And I said that I equally hope that no country will ever embark on a bloody path of destruction that is so effective that the use of an atom bomb can stop them. My small way of indicting both sides of the conflict.