神風: Kamikaze

12:53 PM Unknown 2 Comments


During the Second World War, thousands of young Japanese men, known as the kamikaze, purposefully crashed their planes into Allied ships, slowing their attacks.  While the Japanese did, and still do, view these pilots as heroes, brave soldiers who would do anything for their country, much of the rest of the world sees them as “a whole generation of Japanese men [who] had been brainwashed into self-abnegation and blind obedience to the Emperor” (BBC). But despite all the clashes over the nature and motivation of these actions, one fact remains true: these men willingly sacrificed their lives for their country.

The kamikaze men, happy that they are about to die for their country.
You don’t really see that type of devotion in American soldiers. In fact, in many cases, American soldiers don’t even believe in the cause that their country is fighting for. In his novel The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien bemoans that he was “drafted to fight a war [he] hated” (O’Brien 37). It’s pretty obvious that not everybody agreed with the wars America has fought, the Vietnam War that O’Brien fought in being one of the most controversial. However, seeing that America has been fighting in some war for over 90% of its existence (Washington’s Blog), this lack of commitment and patriotism is, frankly, quite scary.

This creates a spectrum on which Japan is on one side and America the other. Why is there this drastic difference between the two countries? Before answering that question, let’s take a step back and look at the histories of both nations. Japan is a very homogenous society, owing to its location and historic policy of isolation. No matter where you go in Japan, everyone more or less looks similar, speaks the same language, and follows the same traditions. On the other hand, America is the famous “melting pot of the world.” This does a lot for creating an interesting blend of people and cultures, but at the same time, it results in many different ideas and perceptions of how things should be, which often differ greatly from how things are. This has come up time and time again in America’s history: women complained about the “repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman” (Declaration of Sentiments), African Americans claimed that “the character and conduct of [America] never looked blacker to [them] than on [the] 4th of July” (Frederick Douglass), and Native Americans blamed their increasing problems on assimilation by the white man (Sherman Alexie). It’s not surprising that Japan, obviously one people with the same culture, one nation with the same ideals, can band together so easily, while America flounders around still trying to sort out its own internal problems, while at the same time attempting to take care of other countries’ problems as well. It's biting off way more than it can chew.
It’s obvious that America is never going to achieve homogeneity without whitewashing and assimilating everybody in it. But the thing is, everybody, without a doubt, would resist said assimilation, and it’s the least likely thing to happen. The differences and disagreements will never disappear, because everybody wants to be acknowledged. So does the concept of “patriotic” exist in America? Maybe not in the most prevalent sense of the word. Maybe Americans are so loyal to their own in-groups that they cannot be loyal to America the country. But maybe individuals in America can find the perfect “balance of aggression and kindness” (Sarah Vowell) and over their differences, be patriotic to humanity.

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思い出: Memories

11:19 PM Unknown 3 Comments



Human memories are interesting things. While it's easy for me to forget about the dishes that my mother so insistently asked me to do a mere twenty minutes ago, it's surprisingly difficult to forget that time my pants ripped in second grade. Among other memory quirks, we tend to remember things that stand out and personally relate to ourselves, which is why I would remember that searing embarrassment I experienced over the familiar plead of my mother.
That may be the subconscious philosophy of authors, whose books can only succeed if we are able to remember them – that is, if they are outstanding and relatable enough. Nobody wants to read a book about the minutiae of the life of a random woman in Nebraska, with whom he or she has nothing in common. But then, that begs the question: would authors even choose to write about topics like that? Wouldn’t they also choose to write about topics that are outstanding and relatable to them, memorable to them?
In The Glass Castle, it’s evident that the parental guidance Jeannette Walls received as a child was what stood out her and made her childhood memorable. The memories of her parents are what makes this memoir interesting to readers as well, as we are able to relate to the lessons they taught. However, it’s not just the memory of her parents and what they did that matters; the present actions spurred by past memories also matters. And that’s really the purpose of our memories, to use them to mold our futures.
This concept doesn’t only exist in the pages of a book or the mind of a person. The same idea applies in many of our buildings, statues, and monuments, as well. A notable example is the Children’s Peace Monument located in Hiroshima, the site of the atomic bombing in World War II. Unlike other monuments or memorials, this one is eye catching due to its light figures of children, soft shape of the structure, and vibrancy of the surrounding paper cranes. It seems lighthearted, relaxing, and joyful. Which is why it may surprise some that the monument was built to honor a child who died – a Japanese girl named Sadako, who died at twelve due to atomic radiation exposure. 

Children's Peace Monument
However, the Children’s Peace Monument is lighthearted, relaxing, and joyful. Even more, it’s hopeful. Although it immortalizes the horrible memory of Sadako’s death, it also memorializes her hope. It is a symbol of her attempt to fold one thousand paper cranes, which in Japanese tradition grants a wish, and her hope for peace in the world. It serves as a reminder to the world that peace results in much more than warfare ever could.
Jeannette’s mother once assured her that everything would solve itself in the end. When Jeannette questioned that statement, her mother promptly replied that “that just means you haven’t come to the end yet” (Walls 259). I happen to agree with Jeannette’s mother. With the memories of the people you once knew and never met alike to guide you, by the time you reach the end, the future, there will be nothing left for you to worry about. 

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