PEACE PILGRIMAGE - HIROSHIMA, NAGASAKI

19. PEACE PILGRIMAGE TO HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI (1992)



Millions of Paper Cranes from all over Japan

 I’d read plenty of accounts of the horrors of the atomic immolation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I had squirmed to accept that “we”, the victors, had inflicted such unspeakable destruction on a civilian population. I had also read and argued the justification of such an awesome weapon, pitting the possibility of one million allied lives in a Normandy- style landings with ensuing battles against an enemy which had shown the kind of savagery in Iwo Jima. But it wasn’t till I had read Paul Glynn’s simple book, THE SONG FOR NAGASAKI that I became convinced that it is never justifiable to use atomic weapons. Pope John Paul 2 proclaimed this with passion. I also became more personally involved as Marists had done much in the continuing challenge of  reconciliation.

In fact, it motivated me to make a mini pilgrimage to Cowra, a few hours south west of Sydney along with my two brothers, David and Denis. I got caught up in Fr. Tony Glynn’s crusade of reconciliation as part of his long mission at Nara in Japan. Many former diggers had handed over their WW2 prize trophies, the ceremonial officers’ swords as a sign of peace and reconciliation.

That was no easy gesture as the memory of the ghastly atrocities many prisoners had suffered in the Pacific War. Here just outside Cowra town among this softly rolling landscape the Japanese Gardens are a sheer delight. Visiting in the spring or autumn is a real treat with the blossoms in riot. The attendant buildings are all in traditional Japanese style, where light plays through the papered walls, feet shuffle over gleaming wooden floors and all is exquisitely simple. Winding tracks take you through a range of delightful aspects and the lake gleams with coloured carp. In a simple garden I found the smiling, bespectacled face of Fr. Tony in terra cotta portrait.

Why Cowra? Well, we three Murphy boys drove on to the site of a mass breakout of Japanese prisoners in World War 2. It was bold, swift and ultimately suicidal. Some Australian guards were killed as the prisoners  breached the fences and scattered through the countryside. Where to go? There was some plan of jumping on a train but the plan was not thought  through. But according to the Bushido code that impelled so many, it was preferable to die in the attempt than return home to undying shame as some kind of non-person. In the following days squads of soldiers searched through the surrounding areas. Eventually, only a small number gave themselves up while the rest had used various means of ‘hari-kiri’ in an “honourable death”.

While studying at the Jesuit University of Ateneo, in the East Asian Pastoral Institute in 1969, I had become a close friend of  Naoko Ishida or Sister Elizabeth, SSND. He was a survivor of the Tokyo Fire Bombing in 1945. It became a rare and precious friendship. Over the years we had kept good contact through letters, tapes, cards and a rare call.

So, when I accepted the invitation to a course in Rome in 1993, with an obligatory stay in Paris, my mind went into over-drive in planning the route. That’s when inspiration kicked in. Why not fly north to Japan and then across to the US and onto UK and Paris? Brilliant! Why not, as well, make a peace pilgrimage to Hiroshima and Nagasaki with my friend, Sr. Elizabeth?



Friends since 1969

 And so it was that I landed in the evening at Osaka, followed Naoko’s instructions and took the train to Nagoya. On the way, I phoned from the train to confirm my arrival and there she was to greet me on the station. Like myself you could see the burnishment of wisdom and age and grace; but I had forgotten just how small she was! It was a “blessed” reunion. Soon enough we arrived in the Catholic compound. A strange set up. Within a large, fenced, walled square there was a large church, and even larger kindergarten school, an impressive priests’ residence (all smiling Indonesian MSCs) and a range of smaller cottages around the periphery. A sisters’ community lived there as well as a Marist novitiate! Fr. John Walsh had one Japanese novice. I was their guest.

I was there some five days and did get a real taste of Japanese culture, including an unforgettable bath in a local “club” that Fr. John insisted on. I was so impressed with this throbbing city, replete with a magnificent castle and temple.

The highlight, of course, was the Peace Pilgrimage. Hiroshima was a brief train trip away. (With the super efficient rail system- which made me realise how far we were trailing behind) The resurrected city was a revelation. Maybe, I hoped for a quiet day where I could stroll meditatively about and roam around to take in something of the enormous tragedy when a clear, blue day was suddenly engulfed in unimaginable horror. There is no such day. Every day there are hordes of school children from all over this country of 100 million, who stream to this hallowed spot in a plea for peace. Each of them comes laden with a “weapon” of peace, a paper crane. Together they string them and they hang in garlands in every available place. Each of them is a prayer to ward off any such demonic destruction in a hazardous future.

Together we strolled around, taking in the various monuments. A large mound like some gigantic boil hides a horror at the heart. Here there are numberless remnants of people, fathers, mothers, children all bulldozed into one huge unmarked grave.

The large, imposing modern building at the centre is a museum. I had an unnerving experience there. The centre piece is a large model of the old city and the impact of the bomb. Hundreds examined it and you could feel the mounting emotion as they took it in. It suddenly hit me that I was the only Caucasian person there. Were they accusing eyes pointing my way?  Maybe, they thought, I could have been the son of the pilot of Enola Gay, who, apparently, never felt any remorse. I tumbled downstairs and into the sunlight.

I captured our visit in photos. There we are standing by the monument to commemorate Pope John Paul II’s visit on his quest for peace. And in every photo there are these countless garlands of cranes. For a place of immense death and grief the children are like a  springtime of life and flowers.



Masses of School Children Visit.

 Nagasaki was very different. In fact, this is where Fr. Paul’s story is played out. The hero is a catholic doctor, Takashi Nagai. By some quirk….miracle his hospital, quite close to ground zero had survived the blast, being shielded by a hill. It was in the terrible aftermath that so many victims, walked, crawled, dragged themselves, or were carried through the seared landscape to this hospital. For days, the doctors and nurses worked around the clock, giving what little succour with their pitiful resources. It was only after some ten days that our doctor Nagai was able to take time and search through the ashes for his home, where his wife and family had been. In this vaporised setting there was no sign of his people. Eventually, scratching among the ashes he glimpsed some metal. There was a congealed lump of metal and plastic. He was holding his wife’s rosary in his hand.

His wife had been a rare survivor of that Catholic remnant that had survived the most  bitter persecution ever visited on Christians. With a ruthlessness and terrible efficiency over many years the Shogun Tokugawa had hunted down, rooted out, tortured and killed every Christian. It was in reading that remarkable novel, THE SILENCE by Japan’s  most famous novel and a catholic, Endo that I experienced a horror of torture that eventually broke the Jesuit superior who headed the catholic mission. A pitiful few were able to survive to some rocky islands well off the coast. For 300 years they had struggled through so much misery. With no priest, bible and dwindling resources they eventually made contact with the early Franciscan missionaries, who arrived as part of an opening to the west, after the American fleet, under Admiral Perry opened the country to western influence….and trade.




Dr. Nagai's Home

  So, in some way Nagasaki was the Catholic centre in Japan,  that boasted only 1-2% Christian after countless missionaries had laboured there. There is a magnificent monument to the twenty six martyrs crucified on the hill. Behind it there is startling church by Gaudi, the Spanish architect. It writhes and shouts. The two towers, instead of lifting magnificently to the sky in glory to God, are two twisted arms, raised to the skies and begging for mercy. An old Franciscan wooden church, restored, has some rich connection. Here, working for some years before returning to his homeland to be engulfed in another holocaust, was Saint  Maximilian  Kolbi.

For me, the most precious sacred place is the old “shack” that doctor Nagai where he lived and worked for many years in his research into atomic radiation. Eventually, this mysterious disease claimed him as well. Surely a saint but maybe not with the backing for the full pontifical process!!

We attended a Mass in the rebuilt cathedral where the piety of the people so impressed me. The façade of the cathedral still features some of the statues that survived, minus a nose or arm, with the mutilation giving a message as well. Outside, strewn around are large chunks of the original cathedral. Only a short walk away in a Peace Park is a towering sculpture. A massive hero, of   powerful physique, is sitting on one leg , one arm pointing to the sky and the other to the east. Again, it’s a plea for peace and justice.

The two days had provided many moving experiences for me. I felt I had somehow touched the spirit of doctor who inspired so much hope for our uncertain future. Since his time, near fifty years we have lived through some perilous times when fingers seemed poised over nuclear triggers. Our prayer would be that the Spirit of Peace work in the hearts of leaders and so prevent another cataclysm.

The fruit of friendship that Naoko and I had shared and celebrated had been one of the most unexpected and marvellous gifts. As we were passing a beautiful sculpture of a young Japanese geisha, in exotic attire, with a swishing fan outstretched, I grabbed the opportunity of a last photo.

The title of this masterpiece was MADAM BUTTERLY !! Was Pinkerton again moving on?



A Plea for Peace





Left- Monument to Martyrs. Right - Gaudi's Church



A Plea for Peace