The following column -- lopped and chopped -- appeared in the Daily Hampshire Gazette yesterday (Feb. 7; Viewpoints Section)
Tuesday, February 06, 2018
The erroneous back-to-back warnings that a nuclear attack was
imminent — first in Hawaii on Jan. 13 and then Jan. 16 in Japan — may
have sent an understandable shiver down a lot of spines.
But the first thing I thought of was American comedian Will Rogers and his observation that “There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.”
Rogers’ smile-inducing quip is not meant to minimize or trivialize the seriousness of the potential catastrophe, but it is to suggest that many of us have been there and done that. Government has long nourished its capacity to frighten its citizenry and thereby, perhaps, divert attention from the business of governing ... you know, the fractious stuff like jobs, health care, infrastructure or climate change.
Serious discussion of nuclear disasters goes begging with survival sloganeering like “duck and cover,” the touchstone of the 1950s and early 1960s.
But I am not interested so much in another knee-jerk liberal peace rant. What I am interested in is the answer to the question, “Yeah, but what happens after you duck and cover?” What brass ring is there for those who might possibly survive?
"During the 1950s, the nation took part in an annual defense
drill called “Operation Alert.” During the first exercise, on June 14,
1954, the then-Federal Civil Defense Administration used a scenario of
nuclear bombs hitting about 100 American cities. The drill involved
everyone finding shelter while government officials and volunteers
practiced what their duties would be during an actual attack."
I remember participating in one such defense drill in the late 1950s or early 1960s in New York City. While everyone headed for his or her designated shelter during the drill, I sat outside on the steps at Columbia University and considered what it might be like if a bomb actually did hit New York. If it decimated the skyscrapers that were everywhere, would the resulting rubble entomb those who had fled to safety in subway tunnels or other below-ground shelters? What other result was possible?
If anyone did survive and did manage to dig themselves out, what world might await them? Instant incineration, however frightening, struck me as a sane alternative. But no one seemed or seems to want to consider the fallout from the fallout ... no food, no water, no medicine, no help that could possibly help enough. Which is worse, dying or waiting in considerable pain to die?
John Hershey’s “Hiroshima,” which was published in 1946, makes it clear that those who survived the nuclear bomb dropped there in 1945 were doomed to a world of ravaged anguish. Some 146,000 died. Flesh slipped from bones; radiation’s fallout was gruesome — the consequences made it clear that a quick incineration might have been preferable. But no one mentions that stuff — the hell of the heaven of survival. Wishing to survive may be a natural human instinct, but that doesn’t mean survival is the best possible outcome.
Living as we do in a time when a self-absorbed president of the United States is willing to play nuclear “chicken” with North Korea and Iran while overlooking the potential nuclear provocations of, say, Israel or Pakistan, here is a modest suggestion to add to the latter-day version of survival braggadocio.
I herewith call on internet hackers around the world to pick a day in the future — perhaps next summer — on which to hack into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other social media. Block all references, direct or indirect, to Donald Trump. Just for one day. No reporting, no analysis, no speculation, no praise, no blame, no press releases: Anything mentioning or penned by Trump will be barred in the same way that utterances from Islamic State or skinheads or other deranged or irresponsible “geniuses” might be blocked.
C’mon — just for one day! Imagine what a relief it might be.
Yes, I can hear the yowls about First Amendment rights. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dream.
Adam Fisher is retired and lives in Northampton. He can be reached at
genkakukigen@aol.com.
But the first thing I thought of was American comedian Will Rogers and his observation that “There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.”
Rogers’ smile-inducing quip is not meant to minimize or trivialize the seriousness of the potential catastrophe, but it is to suggest that many of us have been there and done that. Government has long nourished its capacity to frighten its citizenry and thereby, perhaps, divert attention from the business of governing ... you know, the fractious stuff like jobs, health care, infrastructure or climate change.
Serious discussion of nuclear disasters goes begging with survival sloganeering like “duck and cover,” the touchstone of the 1950s and early 1960s.
But I am not interested so much in another knee-jerk liberal peace rant. What I am interested in is the answer to the question, “Yeah, but what happens after you duck and cover?” What brass ring is there for those who might possibly survive?
I remember participating in one such defense drill in the late 1950s or early 1960s in New York City. While everyone headed for his or her designated shelter during the drill, I sat outside on the steps at Columbia University and considered what it might be like if a bomb actually did hit New York. If it decimated the skyscrapers that were everywhere, would the resulting rubble entomb those who had fled to safety in subway tunnels or other below-ground shelters? What other result was possible?
If anyone did survive and did manage to dig themselves out, what world might await them? Instant incineration, however frightening, struck me as a sane alternative. But no one seemed or seems to want to consider the fallout from the fallout ... no food, no water, no medicine, no help that could possibly help enough. Which is worse, dying or waiting in considerable pain to die?
John Hershey’s “Hiroshima,” which was published in 1946, makes it clear that those who survived the nuclear bomb dropped there in 1945 were doomed to a world of ravaged anguish. Some 146,000 died. Flesh slipped from bones; radiation’s fallout was gruesome — the consequences made it clear that a quick incineration might have been preferable. But no one mentions that stuff — the hell of the heaven of survival. Wishing to survive may be a natural human instinct, but that doesn’t mean survival is the best possible outcome.
Living as we do in a time when a self-absorbed president of the United States is willing to play nuclear “chicken” with North Korea and Iran while overlooking the potential nuclear provocations of, say, Israel or Pakistan, here is a modest suggestion to add to the latter-day version of survival braggadocio.
I herewith call on internet hackers around the world to pick a day in the future — perhaps next summer — on which to hack into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other social media. Block all references, direct or indirect, to Donald Trump. Just for one day. No reporting, no analysis, no speculation, no praise, no blame, no press releases: Anything mentioning or penned by Trump will be barred in the same way that utterances from Islamic State or skinheads or other deranged or irresponsible “geniuses” might be blocked.
C’mon — just for one day! Imagine what a relief it might be.
Yes, I can hear the yowls about First Amendment rights. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dream.
Adam Fisher is retired and lives in Northampton. He can be reached at
genkakukigen@aol.com.
I'd say dream bigger, dream of a Trumpless universe. But another would take his place. Stupidity is robust.
ReplyDeleteFeeling Retro.
DeleteRight On, Brother Genkaku!
Right On, Brother Olcharlie!
Ya know calling upon Hackers to break the law is soooo friggin’ wussy. If they catch the poor snook he or she will be in some dark cooler for years.
ReplyDeleteAt least ask for some unemployed Patriot to break his friggin’ thumbs.