When describing the horrors associated with the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, one of the primary concerns – especially as a writer – is the realization that words alone are wholly insufficient when trying to convey human pain and suffering on this scale. The hibakusha authors were confronted with many torments in trying to express their experiences through the written word.

The limitations of language itself under these conditions require the reader to use their own imagination in order to fully process the extent of the atrocities depicted. Perhaps there are more appropriate words in the Japanese language, but English seems to be particularly ineffective in describing the magnitude of the horror being defined. In Hiroshima: Three Witnesses the editors address the dangers associated with “speaking the unspeakable, describing the indescribable, taming the untamable.” Several hibakusha lamented the failure of words to truly express the horrors of the effects that these atrocious acts had on the victims, and their inability as writers to accurately portray the events.

This is certainly a consideration when discussing the narratives and the motives of writers who experienced atrocities on such a profound scale as the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Following the atomic bomb attacks, a number of atomic survivors took it upon themselves to record the experience of these events for the sake of posterity. These authors, commonly referred to as ‘atomic bomb writers’ (hibakusha), risked their personal freedom and defied the censorship of the both the Japanese authorities and the American occupation forces in order to get their accounts published.

Hara Tamiki claimed he had to constantly resist the censorship restrictions of the Allied Occupation in order to publish his works, and Ota Yoko noted that, “Not being able to publish- that was another of the fateful burdens writers of a defeated nation had to shoulder,” divulging that “a fair number of pages, containing parts I thought important,” had been deleted before publishing City of Corpses.

Three Witnesses focuses on the accounts of Hara Tamiki’s Summer Flowers, City of Corpses by Ota Yoko, and the poems of Toge Sankichi, which we did not discuss in class.

In the aftermath of World War II, few Japanese were interested in reading or writing about the atomic bombings. Eyewitnesses to the actual events – writers like Hara and Ota – nevertheless used their literary skills in an attempt to comprehend and help document the devastating events which changed their lives and their country so profoundly – with varying degrees of success.

It wasn’t until Masuji Ibuse’s serialized book Black Rain appeared in 1965 that a new market was created for the atomic bomb writers. Black Rain is the story of a young Hiroshima woman who is exposed to the radioactive precipitation that fell after the bombing. Although lbuse based his tale on actual diaries and interviews with victims of the atrocity, he wasn’t in Hiroshima at the time of the attack, and he never pretended to be there.

Yet, when Black Rain was published, it was exactly what the Japanese readers wanted; not the reality. The book received the Noma Prize for Literature, and Ibuse received the Order of Cultural Merit, Japan’s highest honor given to a writer. Black Rain is still considered one of Japan’s greatest novels. Its subtle, sanitized prose was acceptable to post-war, post-modern Japanese sensibilities. The story is free from sentimentality yet manages to evocatively reveal the magnitude of the human suffering caused by the atom bomb. But none of it is true. It is entirely a work of fiction.

Ibuse eventually became so disillusioned with his specious role as a spokesman for the hibakusha that he refused to discuss the matter publicly. He was not interested in being labeled a champion of any political cause and later, when he was asked to lecture about his most famous novel, he replied that he had nothing more to say.

Ota Yoko refers to the inadequacy of language to give an adequate representation of the terrible effects of the atom bomb. She describes how “we talked nonsense” after the attack. Ota also complains that no government authorities ever came to offer the survivors any explanations as to what had occurred, so they were left to draw their own conclusions. The government did little to alleviate the situation following the attack. For decades they refused to offer any aid to the victims, rejecting the “A-bomb Victims Relief Law.” Social and political conditions further aggravated the suffering of the atomic bombing victims, including the hibakusha.

For the rest of Ota’s life, she suffered from emotional and nervous paralysis, which she attributed to the trauma of the bombing. Her symptoms were severely aggravated by the threat of nuclear weapons being used during the Korean War.

Ota states, “If I try to write about the Hiroshima of the summer of 1945, I am tormented, of course, by the accumulated memories and fragments of memories I have collected. I gaze fixedly at these events I have called up from memory in order to write, and I become ill; I become nauseated; my stomach starts to throb with pain”

Ota Yoko’s City of Corpses is one of the most riveting memoirs published by the hibakusha. Through a harrowing and gruesome autobiographical account of her experience of Hiroshima’s annihilation, she bears witness to an event that completely shatters her intellectual frame of reference. Ota lived with the shadow of the atomic bomb hanging over her for the rest of her life (an ironic use of analogy). Ota Yoko was never again able to write about anything but Hiroshima. “The reverberations continue to this day…I tried to write other works. I tried to write other works unrelated to the atomic bomb, different works. But the image of my hometown that Hiroshima branded onto my mind drove away the vision of other works.”

Tamiki Hara was a broken man even before the bombings. Summer Flowers begins on the first anniversary of his beloved wife’s death. Hara eventually took his own life by lying down on the railroad tracks and being run over by a train. What a way to go!

This brings us to the issue of ‘right of conscience’ as we discussed in class. Who has the authority to write or speak on behalf of the victims of such horrific events? Surely, this narrative need not be the exclusive domain of the eyewitnesses themselves. One doesn’t necessarily have to experience unspeakable terror to write eloquently about it, as long as the account is realistic and readable.

The separation of time from an event can also be a contributing factor in creating an effective narrative. Ellie Weisel is an example of an author who actually lived through the Holocaust, although he waited several years to write about his experiences because he didn’t think he had the “maturity” to do justice to his subject. He waited until he had fully researched the Holocaust before he felt he could write about it competently.

Benjamin Wilkomirski’s book Fragments: Memories of a Wartime Childhood was vilified by critics once it was discovered that his first-person account of a child survivor from Auschwitz was in fact a complete fabrication. Sadako Kurihara’s short poem, We Shall Bring Forth New Life (‘Midwives’), is a moving, extremely graphic tale of a mother giving birth among the dead and dying in Hiroshima, and it was similarly discredited because the author was not actually there to witness the events first hand. The account feels awkward enough to be authentic, but it is not.

The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane is another example of how the separation of time and distance can be beneficial because the subject can be fully researched, interviews can be conducted, and quotes taken from various sources. Literary professionals are more effective than historians or survivor accounts at conveying a potent message through the effective use of analogy, metaphor and simile. Their form is stylized and more gratifying to a reader. Eyewitness accounts are often inarticulate, surrealistic and awkward to read. Readers (especially academics and historians) value authenticity more than anything; or at least the appearance of authenticity. A man would be considered unqualified to write about childbirth or breast cancer, for instance.

But maybe an outsider can be more effective at creating an even more powerful narrative from historical events than the actual witnesses. A good story needs a good narrative, and readers are more sympathetic to dramatic narrative, character development and the proper use of literary techniques such as allegory, irony and understatement. The story must be realistic and readable in order to succeed. A little romance never hurts, either. These ‘memoirs’ should be considered works of literature; creative non-fiction. An effective writer can place himself into a situation using his research and his imagination, and he should be able to convey this experience through visual imagery and powerful language.

Writing reflects a moral judgment. Merely recording the events surrounding an event like Hiroshima is enough to validate it historically in a way: at least in the eyes of the victims. The hibakusha were compelled to write about the tragedy; if they hadn’t done so their story would have remained untold. It is a burden to articulate such indescribable things – but someone must do it. Ota Yoko considered it her duty to document the horror, and many considered her to be the conscience of the age as the premier ‘atomic bomb writer.’ Is this the ‘right of conscience’ which haunts this debate?

As an ‘outsider’ reading and analyzing the atomic bomb literature, it is important to acknowledge that these atrocities happened, not attempt to ignore or forget them, but at the same time we must realize that we can never truly understand what the victims suffered through. If we are to respect their memories, we have to admit that we could never have experienced anything so horrendous, and that the realities of these events are in many ways incomprehensible. It would be disrespectful and irresponsible for us to assume that we can ever hope to understand what the hibakusha experienced.