■英訳　about the #Berbenheimer issue

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Various things that really need to be said about the #Berbenheimer issue

In a discussion about the case, someone raised an objection to "someone who was not a party to the incident, who was not from Nagasaki, and who was not from Hiroshima, complaining about it. Seeing that opinion made me aware of my position, so I will say what I must say.

I was born in Nagasaki and am a third-generation A-bomb survivor.

I say this because I grew up hearing the stories of the A-bomb damage directly from those who suffered from the atomic bombings.

I feel that it is unacceptable for someone like me to speak about the A-bomb damage.

However, there are few A-bomb survivors left, so I will speak up.

In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. We were made to sit in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, where there was not even an air conditioner or a fan, and for nearly an hour we were made to listen to stories about the atomic bombing. It was hard for me anyway.

I think it was even more painful for the elderly people who told the stories. But I don't think an elementary school kid could have imagined that. I, too, have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most.

Another thing is that at this time of year, pictures of the victims of the atomic bombing are pasted up in the hallways.

In other parts of the country, these are grotesque images that would cause a fuss from the parents who are always nagging about them.

Recently, even the A-bomb museum has become more gentle in its exhibits, and most of the radical and horrifying exhibits that would have traumatized visitors have been removed.

I don't know how elementary schools now teach about the A-bomb damage. But when I was in elementary school, there were photos on display.

There was one photo that I just couldn't face as an elementary school student. It was a picture of Taniguchi Sumiteru(谷口稜曄). If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would still like you to see it.

I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was displayed, so I always took the long way around to another floor to avoid seeing the photo.

My grandfather was under the bomb and went to the burnt ruins of the bomb to look for his sister. I can understand now that he couldn't turn away or go another way.

There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning in the ruins of the burnt ruins. There would have been many more who would have died out in agony.

My grandfather walked for miles and miles, towing a rear wheelchair, through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister.

My grandfather was not a child then. But of course there were elementary school children who did the same thing he did. I am not speculating that there were. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it.

A young brother and sister found their father's corpse in the ruins of the fire and burned it themselves. They didn't have enough wood to burn him alive, and when they saw his brain spilling out, they ran away, and that was the last time they ever saw him again.

I can never forget that story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it's painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I'm crying.

I keep wondering how that old man who ran away from his father's brain was able to expose to the public the unimaginably horrible trauma, the scar that will never heal, even after all these years.

Now I think I understand a little.

Why I can't help but talk about my grandfather and the old man now, even as I remember my own trauma.

Because this level of suffering is nothing compared to their words being forgotten.

It's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that once existed that will be forgotten, like my hands shaking, my heart palpitating, my nose running with vertigo, and so on.

So maybe it's the same thing.

My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire.

In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire.

My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell.

I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles on the ground in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it.

Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, unimaginable suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.

Memories fade inexorably with each passing human mouth. The memories that those people could never allow to be forgotten are almost forgotten.

The tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted.

Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire without being able to tell anyone about it.

Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are still in their graves.

Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words.

But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing.

I know how it feels to think that I am the only one. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. I know that I have closed my mouth because I thought I shouldn't talk about it, and that is the result.

Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for fun.

I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.

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