Tag: poetry

  • Stumbling in the Dark, Reaching for the Light

    This article was originally published by Human Rights in Australia / Right Now.

    I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

    The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars

    Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

    Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

    Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

    Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,

    And men forgot their passions in the dread

    Of this their desolation; and all hearts

    Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:

    And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,

    The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,

    The habitations of all things which dwell,

    Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,

    And men were gather’d round their blazing homes

    To look once more into each other’s face;  …

    Lord Byron’s evocative and prescient poem “Darkness” was written in 1816, the “year without a summer”, following the 1815 volcanic eruption of Mt Tambora in Indonesia. Byron “wrote it … at Geneva, when there was a celebrated dark day, on which the fowls went to roost at noon, and the candles were lighted as at midnight”. Average global cooling in 1816 from the volcanic debris blasted into the atmosphere was 0.7°C, enough to cause widespread crop failures in North America and famine across Europe and India, despite good harvests in 1815 and 1817.

    Just 100 Hiroshima-sized nuclear bombs, less than one per cent of the global nuclear arsenal, would generate more than five million tons of soot and smoke if targeted at cities. In addition to local devastation and widespread radioactive contamination, the climate impact would be catastrophic. Global cooling would be twice as large as following the Tambora explosion, and would persist not a couple of years but for over a decade, decimating global agriculture. On top of that would come the effects of price hikes; hoarding of food; food riots; intrastate and potential interstate conflicts over food supplies; the disease epidemics that inevitably spread through malnourished populations; disruption to trade and the complex international supply chains for agricultural inputs – seed, fertiliser, pesticides, fuel and machinery.

    World grain reserves currently range between 60 and 70 days supply. The 925 million people chronically malnourished today, and the additional 300+ million highly dependent on imported food, could not be expected to survive such a prolonged global food shortage.

    Famine on a scale never before witnessed would worst affect poor and malnourished people even on the other side of the world from the nuclear explosions. Such global nuclear famine is well within the capacity not only of the US and Russian arsenals, with between them more than 90 per cent of the world’s 17,300 nuclear weapons, but also the smaller arsenals of China, France, UK, India, Israel and Pakistan – in fact all the current nine nuclear-armed states except for North Korea.

    That the smaller nuclear arsenals of tens of hundreds of weapons pose not only a regional threat but a global danger has profound implications. It is not widely understood that the most acute risk of abrupt and dangerous climate change is from nuclear weapons. The extent of our collective vulnerability is illustrated by the fact that the nuclear warheads carried on a single US Ohio class submarine, if targeted on Chinese cities, could produce not 5 but 23 million tons of smoke. The US has 14 such submarines; Russia 10 similar ones.

    The fundamental realities of nuclear weapons are as profound as they are clear. Nuclear weapons are by far the most destructive, indiscriminate, persistently toxic weapons ever invented. Single nuclear weapons have been built with more destructive power than all explosives used in all wars throughout human history. In its landmark Resolution 1 of 2011, the Council of Delegates of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, its highest governing body, “finds it difficult to envisage how any use of nuclear weapons could be compatible with the rules of international humanitarian law, in particular the rules of distinction, precaution and proportionality”. They cannot be used in any way compliant with international law. While they exist, there is a danger they will be used. The only way to eliminate this danger is to eradicate nuclear weapons. While some nations possess them, others will inevitably seek to acquire them, or the means to produce them in short order. These means are now readily accessible around the world, even to isolated and impoverished countries like North Korea. The lifetimes of uranium and plutonium isotopes, which can fuel bombs, are measured over tens of thousands to millions of years. Human intent, nation-states and politics can change on a dime. Hence stocks of fissile materials, the capacity to create more, and nuclear weapons themselves are the problems, irrespective of the intentions of their custodians at any point in time.

    Whatever their ostensible justification or purpose, a nuclear weapon is a nuclear weapon – once detonated, whether through accident, cyberattack, in retaliation when deterrence fails, or any other human or technical failing, the searing catastrophe they would unleash is dictated by the laws of physics alone. Even a single nuclear weapon exploded over a city would cause a humanitarian catastrophe to which no effective response capacity exists or is feasible. If nuclear weapons were used, nuclear retaliation and escalation are likely to follow. It will not matter whose nuclear weapons were used first, second or third; the weapons of our allies will kill us just as surely and indiscriminately as any others.

    Einstein reflected that “The splitting of the atom has changed everything, save our way of thinking, and thus we drift toward unparalleled catastrophe.” From any vantage, there is a massive dinosaur in the room. Tiptoeing around hoping it might go away if we ignore it is not a viable strategy for survival, for sustainability, for health, for the progressive realisation of human rights, for anything that matters in the thin shell of planet earth in which all living things known to us dwell. Since nuclear weapons entered our world, everything has changed; whether we like it or not; ready or not.

    There are three major sets of existential challenges we collectively need to navigate. These go beyond the wellbeing, life and death of individuals and populations alive at any one time, and speak to the habitability of earth; to whether there will be a place for future generations. One is collision of the earth with a large celestial body. Such collisions have been the main cause of previous major extinctions, like that of the dinosaurs. The second is environmental change, and degradation and depletion of vital resources – rampant global warming posing the greatest such challenge. The third, more acute, is the danger of nuclear war. The World Health Organization, the world’s leading health agency, has concluded that nuclear weapons “constitute the greatest immediate threat to human health and welfare”. Preventing use of nuclear weapons necessitates their eradication, a necessary, urgent and feasible precondition for securing global health and sustainability.

    Two of these great challenges are of human origin, needing human solutions. In all our evolutionary history , we are among the first generations to face such existential challenges. While the extraordinary responsibility we bear is a difficult burden, it is also a precious gift. Few people in all of human history have had as great an opportunity as we now have to avert harm and do good for humanity and for all the denizens of planet earth with whom we are intertwined.

    The last few decades have seen major progress on the elimination of other indiscriminate and inhumane weapons – chemical and biological weapons, landmines and cluster munitions. It represents a profound failure of the global community that the worst weapons of all – nuclear weapons – remain the only ones not subject to a specific legal prohibition. It is 68 years since the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, 43 years since the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) entered into force, and 17 years since the judges of the International Court of Justice held unanimously that “there exists an obligation to pursue in good faith and bring to a conclusion negotiations leading to nuclear disarmament in all its aspects under strict and effective international control.” Yet we still have no binding, verifiable, legal framework to eradicate nuclear weapons. And we have no international controls on uranium enrichment or the reprocessing of spent nuclear reactor fuel, both of which can provide the feedstock for nuclear weapons. Meanwhile, all the nuclear-armed states are investing massively in the modernisation of their nuclear arsenals, and justifying their planned retention indefinitely.

    In addressing such momentous challenges, we need wisdom from all cultures, faiths and ethical traditions; lessons, insights, tools and perspectives from every field of human endeavor; and the recognition that whatever our core business, eradicating nuclear weapons is part of everyone’s business. Like respect for universal human rights, like addressing global warming on the scale and urgency demanded. Nuclear weapons are a critical human rights issue; the most urgent development issue; the paramount sustainability issue; potentially the most egregious violation of international humanitarian law; the most urgent environmental issue; the most profound ethical issue; the greatest blasphemy.

    Two perspectives key to progress on complex global challenges like nuclear weapons and climate change are a global view transcending tribalism of all kinds, whether cultural, religious, ethnic or nation-state based; and a long-term, ecological perspective, that recognises human dependence on ecosystem services and custodial responsibilities for the biosphere. These both have strong roots in ancient wisdoms from many traditions, particularly indigenous ones, and are also increasingly underscored by scientific evidence and the ever-growing realities of global interdependence. There are few frames as powerful in a global view of human affairs and interests as the affirmation of universal human rights.

    The right to life is, after all, the precondition for the enjoyment of all other rights. If nuclear weapons are used, everything else could become tragically irrelevant in an afternoon. Law, politics and culture have yet to fully catch up with the reality of the existential threats faced by not only those alive today but all those who might follow us. The rights of future generations and of the myriad living things other than human beings, and of the biosphere, a far more complex and wondrous thing than the sum of its parts, barely get a mention in any of the widely-accepted human rights instruments.

    Nor is prohibition and elimination of nuclear weapons high on the agenda of international human rights organisations. For example, the section on weapons and human rights on the Amnesty International website focuses only on conventional weapons, and the only specific recent Amnesty statement regarding nuclear weapons readily identifiable in a Google search is a (welcome) single sentenceaddressing the last question in a 10 April 2013 Q&A on the North Korea human rights crisis: “Amnesty International opposes the use, possession, production and transfer of nuclear weapons, given their indiscriminate nature.”

    Some recent initiatives have brought a human rights focus to nuclear issues. One is a 2012 report to the UN Human Rights Council by the Special Rapporteur on the implications for human rights of the environmentally sound management and disposal of hazardous substances and wastes,
Calin Georgescu, on the ongoing recognition, care and compensation needs of Marshall Islanders harmed by US atmospheric nuclear tests on and near their islands in the 1950s, and the long-term continuing environmental monitoring and clean-up needs.

    A second is the landmark 2012 report of the Fukushima Nuclear Accident Independent Investigation Commission established by Japan’s national Diet (parliament). The Commission highlights the lack of priority given to the wellbeing and safety of all Japanese citizens, the first responsibility of any government. Among the conclusions of the Commission: the 2011 Fukushima nuclear accident accident “was the result of collusion between the government, regulators and TEPCO … They effectively betrayed the nation’s right to be safe from nuclear accidents.” “The Commission concludes that the government and regulators are not fully committed to protecting public health and safety; that they have not acted to protect the health of the residents and to restore their welfare.”

    A third is an excellent report to the UN Human Rights Council by the UN Special Rapporteur on the right of everyone to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health, Anand Grover, who addresses the right to health for those affected by the Fukushima nuclear disaster. Grover makes recommendations to redress the various ways in which the health and safety of people has been neglected in order to reduce the eventual compensation bill.

    There are fundamental human rights dimensions to nuclear technology, whether weapons or power generation. A so-called “inalienable right” of nations to the “use of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes” articulated in Article IV of the NPT in reality means exposing people and other living things worldwide to a risk of indiscriminate, catastrophic radioactive contamination at any time. Nuclear power erodes the health and rights of future generations. Through its inevitable generation of plutonium, and the intrinsic potential of uranium enrichment plants to enrich uranium beyond reactor grade to weapons grade, it exacerbates the danger of nuclear war and its catastrophic human consequences. Nuclear power thus undermines fundamental human and biosphere rights, responsible custodianship and human security.

    Were the Universal Declaration of Human Rights being drafted today, one would hope that additional rights would be front and centre: the right to live free from the threat of indiscriminate, inhumane weapons, most of all nuclear weapons; the rights of future generations; the rights of people everywhere to access benign, renewable energy sources; and to be protected from preventable, indiscriminate, transgenerational radioactive contamination. These human rights urgently need to become prominent in the global human rights agenda.

    To quote Albert Einstein again: “There is no secret and there is no defense; there is no possibility of control except through the aroused understanding and insistence of the peoples of the world.”

    Dr Tilman Ruff is an infectious diseases and public health physician, with particular involvement in the urgent public health imperative to abolish nuclear weapons.
  • The Iraq War: Ten Years, Five Poems of Remembrance

    David KriegerIt has been ten years since the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq spearheaded by the George W. Bush administration.  It is an occasion for remembrance, reflection and deep regret.  It was a war built on lies that harmed everything it touched.  Most of all, it has harmed the children of Iraq and their families, and it continues to harm them even though the United States and its allies have officially left Iraq.

    The war has also done deep and possibly irreparable damage to the credibility and decency of the United States, the country that led in choosing war over peace.  It is an ongoing disgrace to America that we do not hold those who initiated aggressive warfare to account for their individual crimes, as the Allies did at Nuremberg following World War II.  Short of public international criminal trials, the best we can do now is commit ourselves to never again allowing an aggressive war to be committed in our names, build a world at peace, and be a force for peace in our personal and communal lives.

    The five poems that follow were written over an eight-year period, nearly the length of the nine-year war.  The first poem, “The Children of Iraq Have Names,” was written in the lead-up to the war and was read at many hopeful peace marches in late 2002 and early 2003, when many people throughout the world took to the streets seeking to prevent the war from occurring.  The second poem, “Worse Than the War,” was written in June 2004, a little over a year into the war.  In it, I give my thoughts on what could be worse than the war.

    The third poem, “To an Iraqi Child,” was written nearly a year later, in April 2005.  It is about a 12-year-old boy, Ali Ismail Abbas, who lost his mother, father, brother and 11 other relatives when a US missile struck his home.  The boy lost both of his arms in the attack. He had wanted to be a doctor.

    The fourth poem, “Greeting Bush in Baghdad,” was written in December 2008, near the end of the war and is based upon an incident that occurred when George W. Bush visited Iraq and spoke to the press there.  The fifth and final poem, “Zaid’s Misfortune,” was written in July 2010, and is a poem about another Iraqi child.

    The children of Iraq paid the price for a war that should not have happened.  So did the people of Iraq.  So did the young Americans that the government sent to fight and die there.  So did those Americans who fought in Iraq and came home injured and traumatized.  So did America itself and its allies pay the price of military failure, the loss of credibility and the trillions of dollars wasted on the war.  So did we all pay the price of being implicated in an unnecessary and immeasurably futile war.  When will we ever learn?

     


     

    The Children of Iraq Have Names

    The children of Iraq have names.
    They are not the nameless ones.

    The children of Iraq have faces.
    They are not the faceless ones.

    The children of Iraq do not wear Saddam’s face.
    They each have their own face.

    The children of Iraq have names.
    They are not all called Saddam Hussein.

    The children of Iraq have hearts.
    They are not the heartless ones.

    The children of Iraq have dreams.
    They are not the dreamless ones.

    The children of Iraq have hearts that pound.
    They are not meant to be statistics of war.

    The children of Iraq have smiles.
    They are not the sullen ones.

    The children of Iraq have twinkling eyes.
    They are quick and lively with their laughter.

    The children of Iraq have hopes.
    They are not the hopeless ones.

    The children of Iraq have fears.
    They are not the fearless ones.

    The children of Iraq have names.
    Their names are not collateral damage.

    What do you call the children of Iraq?
    Call them Omar, Mohamed, Fahad.

    Call them Marwa and Tiba.
    Call them by their names.

     


     

    Worse Than the War

    Worse than the war, the endless, senseless war,
    Worse than the lies leading to the war,

    Worse than the countless deaths and injuries,
    Worse than hiding the coffins and not attending funerals,

    Worse than the flouting of international law,
    Worse than the torture at Abu Ghraib prison,

    Worse than the corruption of young soldiers,
    Worse than undermining our collective sense of decency,

    Worse than the arrogance, smugness and swagger,
    Worse than our loss of credibility in the world,
    Worse than the loss of our liberties,

    Worse than learning nothing from the past,
    Worse than destroying the future,
    Worse than the incredible stupidity of it all,

    Worse than all of these,
    As if they were not enough for one war or country or lifetime,
    Is the silence, the resounding silence of good Americans.

     


     

    To an Iraqi Child

    for Ali Ismail Abbas

    So you wanted to be a doctor?

    It was not likely that your dreams
    would have come true anyway.

    We didn’t intend for our bombs to find you.

    They are smart bombs, but they didn’t know
    that you wanted to be a doctor.

    They didn’t know anything about you
    and they know nothing of love.

    They cannot be trusted with dreams.

    They only know how to find their targets
    and explode in fulfillment.

    They are gray metal casings with violent hearts,
    doing only what they were created to do.

    It isn’t their fault that they found you.

    Perhaps you were not meant to be a doctor.

     


     

    Greeting Bush in Baghdad

    This is a farewell kiss, you dog.”
    — Muntader al-Zaidi

    You are a guest in my country, unwanted
    surely, but still a guest.

    You stand before us waiting for praise,
    but how can we praise you?

    You come after your planes have rained
    death on our cities.

    Your soldiers broke down our doors,
    humiliated our men, disgraced our women.

    We are not a frontier town and you are not
    our marshal.

    You are a torturer.  We know you force water
    down the throats of our prisoners.

    We have seen the pictures of our naked prisoners
    threatened by your snarling dogs.

    You are a maker of widows and orphans,
    a most unwelcome guest.

    I have only this for you, my left shoe that I hurl
    at your lost and smirking face,

    and my right shoe that I throw at your face
    of no remorse.


     

    Zaid’s Misfortune

    Zaid had the misfortune
    of being born in Iraq, a country
    rich with oil.

    Iraq had the misfortune
    of being invaded by a country
    greedy for oil.

    The country greedy for oil
    had the misfortune of being led
    by a man too eager for war.

    Zaid’s misfortune multiplied
    when his parents were shot down
    in front of their medical clinic.

    Being eleven and haunted
    by the deaths of one’s parents
    is a great misfortune.

    In Zaid’s misfortune
    a distant silence engulfs
    the sounds of war.

    David Krieger is President of the Nuclear Age Peace Foundation.
  • At the Temple

    You used to go there as soon as the gate opened
    you pulled back the heavy wooden beam
    then let it go to hit the huge bronze bell  the sound
    of it vibrating through your body and filling your ears


    you walked slowly in early morning air to the bench
    slightly uphill from the lake and sat there
    at the feet of the Koolau cliffs all dark green
    and waited for the gardener to appear


    he must have done this for years you thought
    maybe since the temple was built an exact replica
    of the Byodo-In in Japan as you discovered when
    you found a book with its pictures of the original


    the gardener came in silence into the greenery  paused
    and suddenly the spring came alive and water flowed
    down across rocks and stones across the lawn
    into the lake where later you watched him feed the fish


    and the sparrows that landed on his outstretched arms
    every morning he followed the same ritual
    as did you every day of that whole week in need
    of silence and the peace that surrounded you


    water over stones   the same stones   the flowing
    water  this image in your mind as you still
    hear these words:


    old man pours water
    over stones remembering
    the burned ones who died

  • Cease-Fire

    In Sarajevo, the air seemed immensely blue,
    even at night.  Shells no longer channeled
    the sky, and children played at hide-and-seek


    from dawn to dark among the crosses.  Snow
    began to melt in the market.  There were flowers
    for sale, staining the tables and pavement


    crimson, blood of earth returned to blossom,
    martyrs crying out anew in the language
    of fragrance, “Peace, peace.”

  • ROTC 1974

    The day that I wore red white & blue
    boxer shorts to morning drill,
    Major Winslow rushed into my face
    with a clipboard.  “Your name, cadet!”


    It was winter, and my legs shone pale
    in regulation black shoes and black socks. 
    “Hanger,” I told him.  “Cliff Hanger.”
    He wrote it down as if his pen
    were assassinating each false letter,
    and then he dismissed me,
    me and my troop of followers
    in pink shirts and bow ties.


    That night, a Texas boy from across the hall
    came through my door and slid
    his arm around my shoulders.
    “You know,” he said, “men have died
    in that uniform.”  “You know,” I said,
    “more men have died in their boxer shorts.”

  • War Over

    David KriegerIt was decided in Washington by someone
    wearing a suit and tie, perhaps suspenders,
    perhaps a bowtie.

    The war was declared over and thus
    it was — for us.  We pulled out our tired troops
    from one of the countries where we had been warring,

    leaving behind plenty of bullets and bombs
    for our proxies.  Despite our declaration of “war over”
    the war didn’t end at that certain moment,

    but went on without us while we sent our soldiers
    to fight in another, similarly senseless, war
    in another country.

    Other parties to the war kept fighting without us.
    In the mayhem that continued, we were hardly missed,
    even though we had set it all in motion years before.

    By the old rules, a country is supposed to declare war
    before it begins, but those are the old rules.
    By the new rules, made up as we go, we declare

    an end to war when we are through with it.  If only
    we could mesh the old and new, and the people, in chorus,
    would demand “war over” before it had begun.

  • Thirst

    Humans are not our enemies.
            –Thich Nhat Hanh

    Out of the silence of writing she
    flies to the front of the lecture hall
    like a raven, black swirled around her head,
    draped over body, a veil
    fastened over mouth ear to ear,

    her eyes mirror and shadow,
    beauty and anguish at once.
    In her hand a small scrap of paper
    like a sail, her words a wind that propels her.

    She wants to read her poem
    released when I spoke
    of how poetry can be a road to peace,
    how Rumi wrote to greet every feeling
    as guest to the house of the heart.

    The veil that covers her mouth puffs in and out
    with each breath, a tent opening
    in the desert between us

    as she speaks about being hidden,
    not heard, how she aches
    with loss, relatives felled
    for war’s intolerable gain.

    When I ask what can I do
    she tears the veil from her mouth:
    Say more.
    I have such thirst.

    East and West moving one direction,
    sand becomes water we drink and drink.

    Published in The Paterson Literary Review (Issue 36, 2008-2009)

  • Veterans

    We take off our shoes. Japanese style.
    I’m glad I changed my socks.

    Tsunami-san, your name
    like the tidal
    wave, crashes over me.
    In Hokkaido I slept in your six-tatami room
    head on a rice pillow.

    You taught me to cook shabu-shabu:
    enhoki mushrooms,  chrysanthemum leaves
    in broth. Confused, I called it Basho-Basho.

    Knowing I loved poets and books,
    you took me to see paper-making.
    I expected kozo drying.
    Logs floated in one end,
    bales of newsprint tumbled out the other.

    When I married, you visited my home.
    You and my husband, young sailors,
    fought at Midway. Opposite sides.

    At night we went to the funeral
    of the Marine Colonel we knew.
    Someone said, “Those veterans are going out
    fast.”

    Tsunami-san, I was impatient at the time.
    But thank you for making me go through
    the whole factory. Thank you for signing
    my guestbook in kanji. That tanka
    about the plum tree that bloomed
    even when the master was far away.

  • A Song for Peace Day

    When I think of Sadako folding cranes
                    to heal her bomb-caused sickness,
    and her friends crane-forming in hopes for her health,
                    in a yearning for safety and peace,
    at once arises a wish     for joy for all children on this earth,
    for the goodness of life they deserve,   that murder-wars will cease

                    as we cry out with fervor    against the plagues of pain:
                                    Never again.

    Never again to waste young growth-time, squander play and pleasure; 
    O, defend the glory of children, their striving, their learning season;
    O, renew the pledge this Peace Day: end the lusts of greed and war,
    the slaughter of the innocents, insane beyond all reason.

                    And we cry out with fervor     against the plagues of pain:
                                    Never again.

                    Never again, in the name of all children;
                    Never again, in reverence of what young lives are for;
                    Never again: may the words come from the heart:
                    O, take up the work of peace, Peace-Warrior!

    No more bombing, no more burning, cranes of hope fly free;
    No more children slain in horror. Work and Love can make it be.

                    In the name of all the children:
                                    Never again.

                    In the name of all the children —
                    Work and Love can make it be.

  • Remembering Camilla

    We first met you when you were ninety
    or thereabouts, slender, verging on frail.

    In your softness there was a core of firmness
    like a full wind within a sail.

    You chose to live in harmony with what you
    knew was true.

    We were enchanted by your sweetness,
    though you surely meant only to be you.

    You brought us the lesson of the hungry wolves
    that live within us like fighting brothers.

    We can choose to feed our avarice, or we can choose
    compassion to meet the needs of others.

    The seasons turn and life, with all its trials,
    moves on far too fast.

    The brightness of the flower, rich and vibrant now,
    all too soon is past.

    Too soon you slipped away from life,
    leaving us behind

    with memories of your gentle presence,
    warm and kind.