For long stretches of time this weekend, I was unable to think of anything but atomic bombs.
Mostly the unnatural effects of it: being able to see the blast with your eyes closed, to see your bones through your skin with your eyes open; humans being instantly oblierated; radiation burns; fused digits.
One image just kept running through my head again and again, part real, part surely ripped off from bad sci-fi. A man with his skin melting off of him, ribbons of blood and liquid flesh running down his ruined hands, snaking between protruding bone and sinew, drizzling off of his fingertips. He struggls to walk, and one leg simply snaps off below the knee. Poisoned with radiation, contaminated to the core, the irridated cells deep inside him changing, dying, or turning into cancer, or something else. I wondered if this nuclear victim, someone who’d lost body parts and might have his very center transforming, would still be considered human. And if he wasn’t, then what the hell was he?
And while submerged in these thoughts, seeing folks like Steve Gilliard arguing that, counter to common lefty thought, that the US did have to drop atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to end WWII…
I don’t know what I’m trying to say here.
If modern warfare requires that we actually debate whether or not incinerating a hundred thousand people counts as “the greater good”, it’s probably something that humankind ought to back away from.
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