August 15, 1945—

the day the Japanese nation,

led by arrogant, foolish leaders,

fell in defeat.

A day that marked the start

of a new era.

A day when the people’s hearts

began to pulse again with joy

toward a new future.

A day of penitence

recalling the senseless

battlefield deaths

of so many millions

of loved ones.

A day of eternal parting

from sweethearts and lovers.

A day of tears

for mothers who would

never again see their dear children.

A day of hopeless heartbreak,

learning that young sons,

—the future hope of their families

and society as a whole—

were never to return.

A day of anguished grief

as fathers, too, shed bitter tears…

The fifteenth of August—

Ah, August 15!

Even now these sights

are burned indelibly

in my heart.

In the midst of an air raid

in the middle of the night

an elderly couple shaking with fear

as they fled weaving their way

through the streets.

Also unforgettable

was this pitiful sight—

a group of middle-aged men,

apparently of some standing,

scampering in desperate rout

like trapped and panicked prisoners…

Our family saw

my four elder brothers,

all in the prime of life,

called away to war.

All four were made tools

of Japan’s invasion of China.

My eldest brother

was sent to fight in Burma,

where he died in battle.

With heavy steps

my aged parents

waited and waited,

wondering when, oh, when

would he and

their other three sons

return.

In those days,

my father and my mother

rarely smiled.

Suffering from tuberculosis,

I did not know

what to say—nor to whom—

of my future hopes and dreams.

It was an era of people

drifting through the streets

lost in solitary sadness

None of us had wanted

this war.

We had never

accepted or supported it.

Yet over time

almost without noticing,

we were all influenced,

maneuvered and brainwashed

to extol the glories of war.

The human heart holds

terrible possibilities.

More terrible still

are those who use their power

to mold and manipulate

people’s minds.

On August 15,

Japan was defeated,

utterly and totally defeated.

Ah, August 15, 1945!

That day the summer sky

was bright and brilliant.

At noon there was

a radio broadcast announcing

Japan’s defeat.

Invincible Japan,

so certain of victory,

had been thoroughly beaten.

Many wept,

but far more, no doubt,

felt relief

deep in their hearts.

The summer sky,

where once we had watched

enemy planes,

was now incredibly quiet,

and red dragonflies

flitted gaily through the air.

Japan, which had declared itself

the invincible land of the gods,

lay in utter ruin.

My family had been forced

to evacuate our home,

to stay with relatives

in Nishi Magome.

However, this refuge,

this house set amid peaceful fields,

took a direct hit

from an incendiary bomb.

With all our worldly

possessions inside,

it was instantly engulfed in flame.

With our relatives’ consent,

my father constructed a tiny hut

on the same lot,

with a small sheet

of scorched tin for a roof.

We had no mosquito netting,

so now, instead of bombs,

we faced the assault

of squadrons of mosquitoes.

On that day of August 15,

my father, face flushed with emotion,

murmured to himself,

“My sons will now return.

My eldest, Kiichi,

my second, Masuo,

my third, Kaizo,

and my fourth, Kiyonobu,

are coming home.

One from Burma

three from China—

they’re coming home.”

He uttered these words,

breath catching painfully

in his chest,

as one awakening

from a dream.

My diminutive mother

prepared dinner,

excited as a young girl:

“How bright it is!

Now we can keep the lights on!

How lovely and bright!”

That summer,

my father was fifty-seven,

my mother forty-nine,

and I was seventeen.

August 15 was the day,

the moment we emerged from a

deep and hellish gloom,

regaining as a family

some happiness and cheer.

Although some of my siblings

wept at Japan’s defeat,

deep inside everyone was relieved:

How good, they thought,

how good that the war

is over at last.

August 15—

We must never forget

the painful misery of that day.

We must never forget

the desolation of that day.

And we must never forget

that humiliating awakening

to the folly of slavish obedience.

August 15—

Let us make this day

a day praised by all

the people of Asia.

Let us make this day

a day respected by all

the world’s citizens.

This day of

August 15, 2001—

this is a day of fresh departure

for the youth of the new century.

It is a day

to be eternally commemorated

as a day of peace,

as the start of a new era of life.