This past Wednesday August 6th, in Worcester by Lake Quinsigamond, we held a vigil, commemoration, memorial, expression of remorse - and a resolve to make a more peaceful world. I sang this beautiful and poignant song by Rev. Fred Small. I left out a verse (sorry Fred) but the message is there. The culture of war and its profiteers has been around a long time before some current administration. We are unfortunately the beneficiaries of a world-wide dominance and colonization supported by violence, unspeakable violence sometimes.
What do we do about it? Engage. Engage with those who we don’t agree with, and work to educate, inspire, motivate. I just read somewhere the biggest threat to peace is not evil, it’s ignorance. (It said stupidity, but I’m correcting). We need to hold the view that these people (whoever they are, on all fronts) are not the enemy, but folks who just don’t know. Maybe greed and evil intent exists, but I believe “You have to be carefully taught,” to quote a prescient song from South Pacific. Let’s not give up. Nuclear bombs still exist, and so does the culture of war. Humanity can do better. We have more work to do now than I would have ever thought. Let’s find the way.
Cranes Over Hiroshima
Baby blinks her eyes as sun falls from the sky
She feels the stings of a thousand fires as the city around her dies
Some sleep beneath the rubble, some wake to a different world
From the crying babe will grow a laughing girl
Ten summers fade to autumn, ten winters' snows have passed
She's a child of dreams and dances, she's a racer strong and fast
But the headaches come ever more often and the dizziness always returns
And the word that she hears is leukemia and it burns
Cranes over Hiroshima, white and red and gold
Flicker in the sunlight like a million vanished souls
I will fold these cranes of paper to a thousand one by one
And I'll fly away when I am done
Her ancestors knew the legend, if you make a thousand cranes
From squares of colored paper, it will take the pain away
With loving hands she folds them, 6 hundred 44
Till the morning her stumbling fingers can't fold anymore
Cranes over Hiroshima, white and red and gold
Flicker in the sunlight like a million vanished souls
I will fold these cranes of paper to a thousand one by one
And I'll fly away when I am done
Her friends did not forget her, crane after crane they made
Until they reached a thousand and laid them upon her grave
People from everywhere gathered, together a prayer they said
And they wrote the words in granite so none can forget
This is our cry, this is our prayer
Peace in the world, this is our cry
Fred Small ©1985
