Kacey Walker

Time at Memorial Cenotaph: Why it is so important to learn history from a new perspective.

World War II was a dark time for the entire world with countless new stressors every minute. Today schools teach the World Wars to the new generation in hopes that they will learn from history to never repeat the same mistakes. However, our understanding of history changes as new information is brought to light and different interpretations hinder the truth. All information is taught with some amount of bias. As I have been taught about World War II, it has always been from an American perspective, focusing on our part in the war and on Nazi Germany. After my experience at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima, Japan, my perspectives and beliefs shifted. 

On the trip, I was accompanied by other North Atlanta students as we wandered the streets of Japan. With smiles and joy after trying new foods, seeing new sights and learning about the culture, it was about time to educate ourselves on our own impact on this country. The tour was led by a kind Japanese lady who was a third-generation connection to the bombing of Hiroshima. We toured the outside park of the museum as she told stories relating to the buildings, bridges, lakes, statues and monuments. The bombing had changed the city of Hiroshima entirely. There was significance to every object, regardless of our first impressions. The outside walking tour was just the start before facing the focus of the day: the Peace Memorial Museum. 

Our group set off with an hour of time to explore. The initial piece on display was a table showing a timeline of events from a bird’s eye view. The city that once stood high and tall, bustling with life, faded into black as everything from humans to buildings burned. There were paintings retelling the day when a bright red-like hell came down on the earth. Then came the main collection of the museum with artifacts from the lives of victims and stories of how they had spent their final hours. The displays seemed never-ending, with room after room of heart-breaking stories. A count of the dead can only tell so much. 

The allotted hour of time in the museum had seemed almost too long at first, yet I found that it was not nearly long enough. The building was filled with stories of people who could have stayed alive, stayed healthy, or kept a sibling, parent, or grandparent, but did not all because of the decisions made on American soil. It fills me up with not just sadness but anger to know that my nation was the one that caused it and then did not have the sympathy to teach their children the full truth of what they did. All history is meant to be taught, especially when you are the one at fault.