Hiroshima in the aftermath of the atomic bomb
[www.chinfo.navy.mil/chinfoprivacy.html]
I oppose nuclear weapons because they are long-distance killing machines incapable of discriminating between soldiers and civilians, the aged and the newly born, or between men, women and children.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they threaten the destruction of all that is sacred, of all that is human, of all that exists.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they threaten to foreclose the future.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they are cowardly weapons, and in their use there can be no honor.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they are a false god, dividing nations into nuclear "haves" and "have-nots," bestowing unwarranted prestige and privilege on those that possess them.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they are a distortion of science and technology, twisting our knowledge of nature to destructive purposes.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they mock international law, displacing it with an allegiance to raw power.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they waste our resources on the development of instruments of annihilation.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they concentrate power and undermine democracy.
I oppose nuclear weapons because they corrupt our humanity.
Shortly after graduating from college, I visited the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Peace Memorial Museums. At these museums, I was awakened to the human suffering caused by the use of these weapons. This suffering is not part of the American lore about the use of the bombs. These museums gave me insight into the differences in perspective between those who had been above the bombs and those beneath the bombs.
Those above the bombs, the victors, celebrated the technology of triumph, and went on to engage in a mad nuclear arms race. Those beneath the bombs, the victims, learned the simple lesson: "Never again! We shall not repeat the evil."
The vision of the future held by those above the bombs and those beneath the bombs may be the decisive struggle of our time. On the side of nuclear weapons is the arrogance of power that is willing to put at risk the future of civilization, if not of life itself. On the side of the survivors, the hibakusha, is the moral clarity of calling evil by its name.
Resolving this struggle is the challenge presented to humanity by nuclear weapons. Each of us must choose. Ignorance, apathy and denial are de facto votes for continuing the nuclear threat. Only by unalterably opposing nuclear weapons and working actively for their elimination can an individual align himself or herself with those who experienced first-hand the absolute devastation of these weapons. This is my choice. I seek without reservation the elimination of all nuclear weapons from our unique planet, the only one we know of in the universe that supports life.
It began with fear, not famine.
What was missing was an understanding
of consequences.
Still, the sky held a blue-white innocence.
It would be many years before light
would become so intense that you could see
your bones through translucent skin.
Silos still held grain, not missiles.
Snow-capped mountains brushed the sky
and held it aloft.
The bomb may have ended the war, but only
if history is read like a distant star.
What happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki
cannot be forgotten, nor easily forgiven.
If only time had not bolted and changed course.
If only the white flags had flown before
the strange storm. If only there had been
one less Einstein and one more Vonnegut.
The sky turned white and aged, then
the colors of daybreak melted our hearts.
From The Doves Flew High, a new collection of poetry by David Krieger
The Hiroshima Peace Memorial
[Michael Helmer]
David Krieger is president of the Nuclear Age Peace Foundation (www.wagingpeace.org) and a councilor of the World Future Council.