Thoughts on the 75th Anniversary of the Bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki 4

I was born with the idea of peace in my heart, in my bones. I always turned from violence; school yard fights upset me, I could not watch, I could not encourage, I could not join.  I did not, and do not, enjoy cinematic salutations to war. Oh, I could and can argue, loudly and passionately, but that is not the same as raising a hand, brandishing a weapon, maiming another human being.

I grew up in a radical household so was aware of manifestations of power and war as a weapon of hate. My mother took me, when I was a preteen, to a Woman of Peace demonstration in San Francisco’s Civic Center. It was in the early days of the Viet Nam War and I listened to speeches I only halfway understood and was introduced to Eileen Hernandez, a Civil Rights,  Women’s Rights, and Union activist,  who I remember as wearing a most wonderful hat.  She was pretty and fashionable, she was strong, and she was for peace. I immediately liked her and only much later understood what a political powerhouse she was.

Years later Mr. Engelman, my AP English teacher, gave our class a list of books to read over the summer. I read Manchild in the Promised Land by Claude Brown that year. I read Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man. I read John Hershey’s Hiroshima.* I cried a lot. I had known about Concentration Camps and had already read Anne Frank’s Diary. But Hiroshima was like this hidden ugliness that was unspoken, instead it was the bombing of Pearl Harbor, it was D-Day, it was the “good war” that we were encouraged to remember.

From early on I realized there was no good war. My parents had a friend, his first name was John. He had a wife who died of cancer while her children were young. He had spent years in prison as a conscientious objector to World War II. He knew before World War II that there was no good war. I liked him. I liked his family. Shadowed by death they believed in life.

Our planet is consumed by war, planning for war, fighting wars, spending money that good be used to feed, to heal, to house on weapons of war. The gates have been re-opened for a new race for more lethal nuclear weaponry. Militia in this country are training for a Civil War in case their leader loses in the presidential election. Federal forces are being sent to our nations cities to wield arms against American citizens. Sabers are being rattled at Iran.  Sudan, Syria, Afghanistan, Kashmir, Palestine, are among the nations bombed and assaulted.  And amidst all this we have Covid-19 which could have led to a joining of international forces, and acknowledgement of our common humanity, an appropriate enemy to conquer.  It has not.

So, I post this poem as an added voice to the survivors of Hiroshima who know of the need to abolish war, who have suffered its ravages and entertain no excuses for oppressing others and denying others their humanity.  I was born and always have been a believer in peace. I grew into and have remained a woman of peace.

woman of peace

in the me that is me

peace

take away she who is named

duty relationship status accomplishment

take away the she who wears any cloak

however thin

strip me down

to the me that is me unchanging

bare

peace

never wanted to fight as a child

peace

never wanted to hit or be hit

peace

understood early on

the lessons to be learned

from violence were of little value

fear and resentment

cruelty

domination revenge

always a wound

always a scar

always damage

peace

the me that is me

whatever else i am or am not

what ever else i have or simply desire

what ever else i dream of or fear

peace

i struggle for justice

peace

i resist oppression

peace

i hold on to humanity

peace

peace in my footsteps

peace in my tongue

peace in my heart

devorah major

*The Hiroshima link above is to a free download of the book if you do not already have it or cannot afford to buy it.