An affirmation of life through the horrors of nuclear war — a true story
The mushroom clouds over Hiroshima and Nagasaki reach through more than seven decades of history to today, profoundly changing humanity’s understanding of security and geopolitics. Much of the world understands the image of a mushroom cloud as depicting the explosion of a nuclear weapon, notwithstanding the fact that mushroom clouds also accompany large non-nuclear explosions as well.
But there’s much less understanding about the human reach of Little Boy (Hiroshima) and Fat Man (Nagasaki). That they changed the lives of those were in the targeted cities is blindingly obvious—a hundred thousand died more or less instantly and another hundred thousand more passed during the intervening decades as the result of the two bombings. John Hershey told some stories of the immediate survivors in 1946 (look up John Hershey and Hiroshima). But, of course, the bombs did not leave unscathed the lives of the survivors in the decades to follow.
Perhaps more surprisingly, they had a profound effect on others who bore witness, not to the explosions themselves but to the survivors—the hibakusha. In particular, they changed the life of one Herbert Sussan, a U.S. Army photographer sent in 1946 to document the effects of the two explosions. He carried out his task perhaps too well, filming (in Kodachrome color!) the images and stories of the survivors. Why too well? Because the footage—all 90,000 feet—was classified Top Secret, never to be seen by the public (until recently) and thus unavailable to show just what the bombs had done in the name of America.
Even more surprisingly, they also changed the life of his daughter, Leslie Sussan, who is the author of this book. Leslie relates—tearfully and touchingly—how she came to understand the impact of Little Boy and Fat Man on her father’s character and comportment towards life and towards her only after she learned, after his death, of archives and letters and stories of her father. But this is no second-hand story—she uses these materials to track down and talk to many of the hibakusha that her father interviewed and filmed. Decades later, when Leslie visited some of them, they still remembered a tall, kind American soldier with a camera who spoke to them about their experiences with compassion and understanding.
What shines throughout are recurring themes that I did not expect to find—themes of personal reconciliation, redemption, and an affirmation of life. If anyone has reason for bitterness towards the Americans, one might suggest that the hibakusha do. But time has taught them that the enemy is not Americans, but rather war. They relate their stories with the same poignancy of Hersey’s interviewees, but the stories are tempered by a lifetime of additional experience and reflection. And for Leslie too—her troubled and tense relationship with her father in life turns morphs into a thoughtful and nuanced understanding of the forces that shaped how he was a father to her and her brother. The parallels are remarkable, and the entire story is well worth reading.
Herbert Lin
Stanford University
Member, Science and Security Board, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists
