Tag Archives: nuclear war

Coming of (Nuclear) Age

On August 6, 1945, at 8:15 a.m. local time, the first atomic bomb used in warfare exploded over Hiroshima, Japan. Three days later, a second atomic bomb detonated over Nagasaki. Historians and pundits continue to debate the utility and morality of this launching of the “nuclear age.”

No one was sure ahead of time what the bombs’ impact would be. Within a week of the second drop, Japan had surrendered, its emperor announcing the end of the war over the radio. At least 100,000 mostly civilian deaths occurred during the first few days after the attacks. Over the next months, some survivors developed mysterious sets of sometimes lethal symptoms. These got grouped into a generic category, “radiation sickness.”  Longer term, cancer rates among survivors remained higher than among non-exposed populations, with leukemia deaths peaking several years after exposure, and deaths from cancerous tumors, “solid cancers,” showing up later. 

In 1945, if Americans thought at all about the implications of nuclear warfare, their musings were likely tinged with relief that this costly, horrific war was finally over. Surviving soldiers and sailors could begin returning home; families could begin reconstituting peacetime lives. Those who’d lost loved ones during the war could mourn, console each other, gain some sort of closure. Few outside the scientific community were ready to consider what a nuclear-armed and/or nuclear-enabled world might become. 

As the longer-term damage of nuclear radiation became clearer, public opinion changed. John Hersey’s lengthy article about the bomb’s impact on Hiroshima was important in advancing the transition. Hersey had spent several weeks in the springtime of 1946 interviewing A-bomb survivors in person. The resulting article filled the entire August 31, 1946 issue of The New Yorker. His piece was widely disseminated via print and radio. It was published in book form as Hiroshima. Hersey provided extensive profiles of six survivors: a personnel clerk, a private clinic doctor, a tailor’s widow who was mother to two young children, a German Jesuit priest, a Red Cross Hospital surgeon, and a Japanese born Methodist pastor, Kiyoshi Tanimoto. Hersey’s writing captured the human toll of the bombing in ways that photos, films, and statistics had not. One scene that especially moved me, generations later, was an interaction between Pastor Tanimoto and a dying neighbor: 

“After five days of ministering to the wounded in [Asano] park, Mr. Tanimoto returned to his parsonage… While he was at work, a Miss Tanaka came and said that her father had been asking for him. Mr. Tanimoto had reason to hate her father, the retired shipping company official who, …[j]ust before the bombing, had said openly to several people that Mr. Tanimoto was a spy for the Americans. At the moment of the bombing, Mr. Tanaka had … received serious flash burns, but was able to walk home. He took refuge in his Neighborhood Association shelter and from there tried hard to get medical aid. He expected all the doctors of Hiroshima to come to him, because he was so rich and so famous for giving his money away. … Now he was very weak and knew he was going to die. He was willing to be comforted by any religion. 

Mr. Tanimoto went to help him. …The old man smelled very bad, and he moaned constantly. He seemed to recognize Mr. Tanimoto. Standing at the shelter stairway to get light, Mr. Tanimoto read loudly from a Japanese language pocket Bible. … Mr. Tanaka died as Mr. Tanimoto read the psalm.” 

When World War II ended, the U.S. had a monopoly on nuclear weapons, but this ascendancy did not last long. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), using its own technology plus information from spies, developed its nuclear capacity and successfully detonated an atomic bomb in August, 1949. The nuclear arms race was on. It has not yet ended. 

In December of 1953, U.S. president Dwight D. Eisenhower gave a speech at the United Nations lamenting the increasingly expensive nuclear arms race and its potential for widespread harm. He suggested the possibility of peaceful uses for atomic energy. In this “Atoms for Peace” speech, Eisenhower urged the development and advancement of civilian uses for atomic energy. His talk was part of the effort that eventually led to the creation of the International Atomic Energy Agency in 1957. 

At the time Eisenhower gave his talk, the USSR had constructed the world’s first nuclear power plant in Obninsk, the “science city.” Completed in 1951, the plant was connected to the electric power grid in 1954. The first nuclear plant in the U.S. came online in 1958 in Pennsylvania. Since then, enthusiasm for nuclear energy has waxed and waned. Three highly publicized nuclear power plant disasters—Three Mile Island in the U.S. in 1979, Chernobyl in the then USSR in 1986, and Fukushima in Japan in 2011—have slowed or reversed the impetus toward wider use of civilian nuclear energy. Several countries who formerly used nuclear reactors have phased them out. Australia and Ireland now explicitly forbid nuclear power plants. 

As of 2026, there are eight acknowledged nuclear-armed nations: the United States, Russia, the United Kingdom (England), France, China, India, Pakistan, and North Korea. It is widely supposed that Israel possesses nuclear arms, though Israel does not explicitly admit it. The current conflict between the United States and Iran is characterized in part as an effort to prevent Iran from acquiring a nuclear weapon. 

Also as of 2026, per the trade group world-nuclear.org, civilian nuclear power produces about 10% of global electricity from over 400 reactors in 31 countries. (At its maximum, prior to both Fukushima and the increasing use of renewables, nuclear energy had produced about 17% of the world’s electricity.) Though the U.S. has the largest capacity, it is France that generates the highest proportion of its electric power through nuclear energy—65%.

By this year’s anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, nearly all of its survivors will have died, either from radiation-related illnesses or from old age. Some of the few living hibakusha continue to advocate for the abolition of nuclear weapons, though the memory of their long ago catastrophe often gets sidelined by more current global problems.    

Yet the “nuclear genie” unleashed in 1945 cannot be put back in the bottle. The potential for both military and civilian uses of nuclear energy will be with us for at least as long as humans exist on earth. Will we come of nuclear age in time to use nuclear energy wisely?

McCarthy’s Ghost, Slavery’s Ghosts, Learning All the Verses

I write this on the morning of January 7, 2021, after a 24 hours that tried American democracy in ways not seen for a while. Our electoral system has survived a challenge. Once an unruly mob was finally cleared from the U.S. Capitol, both houses of the U.S. Congress debated and then certified the electoral victory of Joseph R. Biden, Jr. to become the 46th President of the United States. However, challenges remain. Amid a global pandemic, social problems abound. The reputation of the U.S.A. as a beacon of democracy has been badly tarnished, if not destroyed.

I was born into a United States of America reeling from World War II plus the dawn of the nuclear age. My childhood was spent in the shadow of possible thermonuclear war. Our family lived close to Washington D.C.  A nuclear attack on the U.S. capital city would lead to our deaths—from the blast itself or more slowly from radiation poisoning. Nuclear danger from our postwar rival, the communist Soviet Union (USSR), was real but hard to gauge.

Postwar tensions had helped change the make-up of the U.S. Congress. During the early 1950’s, a first-term Senator from Wisconsin made headlines about the alleged presence of “Communist infiltrators” in American government and media. Joseph R. McCarthy’s initial list of possible infiltrators and spies grew, leading to the blacklisting of many left-leaning writers, artists and civil libertarians. In early 1954, hearings about McCarthy’s attempted meddling in the U.S. Army were broadcast on television, a TV first. The senator was shown, per multiple sources, as “bullying, reckless, and dishonest.” (See partial transcript, including Army Special Counsel Welch’s “Have you no sense of decency?” quote at http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/6444/).  In retrospect, we realize that the distortions introduced by McCarthy made it more difficult to distinguish actual threats from malicious character assassination and misinformation. Later in 1954, McCarthy was censured by the U.S. Senate. Although he remained in office, his influence waned. He died of liver failure in 1957. 

One of McCarthy’s chief advisors, Roy Cohn, went on to mentor real estate developer and 45th President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, a master at social media. We still live with McCarthy’s ghost. Late yesterday, two prominent social media outlets, Facebook and Twitter, belatedly and temporarily deactivated Mr. Trump’s accounts. His posts had helped incite what became a full-blown riot and assault on the United States Capitol. He continued to spread false allegations about the election’s outcome.

Our country’s Declaration of Independence proclaims as self-evident that “all (men) are created equal, and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” We are taught from an early age to revere this founding document. What we are not taught, or taught only much later, is that about a third of the signers of the Declaration, including coauthor Thomas Jefferson, were slaveholders. 

We still live with slavery’s ghosts. The inherent contradiction between professed equality and the myth of white supremacy poisons our civic life. This past summer, widespread multiracial demonstrations against police brutality and racial injustice highlighted flaws in our criminal justice system. Since the outbreak of covid-19 related illnesses in the U.S., disparities in their impacts on communities of color have spotlighted lingering health and economic imbalances. Our education system’s attempts to adapt to remote learning further implicates the divides we’ve created in information access.

 I was brought up in a mainline Protestant congregation, taught the importance of loving our neighbors and ourselves. During the 1950’s at our small stone church, I was also exposed to lots of MAGA-style American exceptionalism and triumphalism. We frequently sang a hymn that I grew to dislike as I became a young woman, though its ghosts persist. It seemed sexist and militaristic and badly out of date:

Lead on, O King Eternal,
the day of march has come;
henceforth in fields of conquest,
thy tents shall be our home.
Through days of preparation
thy faith has made us strong;
and now, O King eternal,
we lift our battle song.

(In my initial interpretation, the third verse, about crowns and conquest and a mighty God,  seemed also to revert to militaristic themes.) 

What I much preferred was the second verse:

Lead on, O King eternal,
till sin’s fierce war shall cease,
and holiness shall whisper
the sweet amen of peace.
For not with swords loud clashing,
nor roll of stirring drums;
with deeds of love and mercy
the heavenly kingdom comes.

This morning I delved into the origins and evolution of this hymn. The lyric was composed as part of a seminary graduation ceremony, a rousing send-off for newly minted ministers. Ernest W. Shurtleff, its author, was among the graduates from Andover Theological Seminary in 1887. He served several American congregations before moving to Europe in 1905. From 1906 until the start of World War I, he was director of student activities at a Paris school. He then did war relief work in France until his death in Paris in 1917. Subsequent variations of the hymn’s lyric have adopted more inclusive language, such as one referring to the Biblical story of the exodus and “O Cloud of Presence.”  More recent interpretations make clearer that the “battles” Shurtleff envisioned were spiritual rather than temporal. (See a longer explanation in https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/articles/history-of-hymns-lead-on-o-king-eternal.)  

The inscription on Shurtleff’s tombstone ends with this summation: 

The path of the just is
as the shining light.

May we follow this light through whatever darkness lies ahead. May we react to yesterday’s travesties with outrage, yes, but also with deeds of love and mercy toward our neighbors and ourselves.