underlying humanness

today my u.s. history class had its long-awaited atomic bomb debate (long-awaited due to typhoid). one of my favorite teachng strategies is having students assume the role of varying groups in history, debating/ questioning one another about a controversial issue. an earlier discussion featured slaves, slave owners, freed/ former slaves and non-slaveholding farmers. this particular debate featured harry truman, u.s. military strategists, manhattan project scientists and the japanese survivors of the atomic bomb. during tina’s speech from the viewpoint of a young woman who survived the bomb, an exceptional feeling asserted itself in the form of a fist in my chest. simultaneously, my students reached a new level of concentration, taking in tina’s comments while staring into space. in my mind i did a small dance, pumping my fists in the air. they felt it.

“do you feel that?” i asked at the end of tina’s comments. their eyes turned back to me as a few students nodded, locking in on the shared experience of the moment that we truly became human. when tina was speaking we left the confines of the classroom. the limitations of time and space. the mental constraints of teenagers and a young adult who have never experienced tragedy on a mass scale. and we delicately embraced-empathized with-felt the tragedy of the past.

the first time it happened was during our unit on slavery. multiple times during the unit a new sort of silence came over the classroom. people simultaneously receded into themselves while melding together as one. “do you feel that? that (i made a fist near my heart) right there? (a lot of them nodded in response, with somewhat befuddled expressions). that’s what holds us together. that’s the feeling of being human. it’s a common humanness that is connecting us with people we never knew through the deepest, most underlying human emotions. THIS is why we study history. THIS is why i am a teacher.”

it amazes me that the historical events that overlook basic humanity—utilizing an atomic bomb on a civilian population, owning human beings—foster the most basic illustrations of underlying humanity retrospectively. at the end of the debate, i told them to close their eyes and i read a bit out of an interview with a survivor of the bomb in hiroshima.

“i left home with my daughter, masako. she was on her way to work. i was going to see a friend. an air-raid warning was issued. i told masako i was going home. she said, “i’m going to the office. i did chores and waited for the warning to be lifted. i folded the bedding. i rearranged the closet. i cleaned the windows with a wet rag. there was a flash. my first thought was that it was the flash from a camera. that sounds so ridiculous now. it pierced my eyes. my mind went blank. the glass from the windows was shattered all around me. it sounded like when my mother used to hush me quiet.

when i became conscious again, i realized i wasn’t standing. i had been thrown into a different room. the rag weas still in my hand, but it was no longer wet. my only thought was to find my daughter. i looked outside the window and saw one of my neighbors standing almost naked. his skin was peeling off all over his body. it was hanging from his fingertips. i asked him what had happened. he was too exhausted to reply. he was looking in every direction, i can only assume for his family. i thought, i must go, i must find masako.

i put my shoes on and took my air-raid hood with me. i made my way to the train station. so many people were marching toward me, away from the city. i smelled something similar to grilled squid. i must have been in shock, because the people looked like squid washing up on shore. i saw a young girl coming toward me. her skin was melting down her. it was like wax. she was muttering, “mother. water. mother. water.” i thought she might be masako. but she wasn’t. i didn’t give her any water. i am sorry that i didn’t. but i was trying to find masako…

…i was in nikitsu shrine when the black rain started falling from the sky. i wondered what it was… i waited for her in the house. i opened the windows, even though there was no glass. i stayed awake all night waiting. but she didn’t come back. about 6:30 the next morning, mr. ishido came around. his daughter was working at the same office as my daughter. he called out asking for masako’s house. i ran outside. i called, “it’s here, over here!” mr. ishido came up to me. he said, “quick! get some clothes on and go for her. she is at the bank of the ota river.”

i ran as fast as i could. faster than i was able to run. when i reached the tokiwa bridge, there were soldiers lying on the ground. around hiroshima station, i saw more people lying dead. there were more on the riverbank, i couldn’t tell who was who. i kept looking for masako. i heard someone crying, “mother!” i recognized her voice. i found her in horrible condition. and she still appears in my dreams that way. she said, “it took you so long.” i apologized to her. i told her, “i came as fast as i could.”

it was just the two of us. i didn’t know what to do. i was not a nurse. there were maggots in her wounds and a sticky yellow liquid. i tried to clean her up. but her skin was peeling off. the maggots were coming out all over. i couldn’t wipe them off, or i would wipe off her skin and muscle. i had to pick them out. she asked me what i was doing. i told her, “oh, masako, it’s nothing.” she nodded. nine hours later, she died…

…when i heard that your organization was recording testimonies, i knew i had to come. she died in my arms, saying, “i don’t want to die.” that is what death is like. it doesn’t matter what uniforms the soldiers are wearing. it doesn’t matter how good the weapons are. i thought if everyone could see what i saw, we would never have war anymore.”

(cited in EXTREMELY LOUD AND INCREDIBLY CLOSE, 187-189)

do you feel it too? it doesn’t happen that often. but when moments like this come along in the classroom, you can ride them forever.