Atomic Plague [1945]

Cambridge University Press 978-0-521-71826-4 - Rebel Journalism: The Writings of Wilfred Burchett Edited by George Burchett and Nick Shimmin Excerpt More information

1 The Atomic Plague [1945]

On 6 August 1945, as I shuffled along in the ‘chow line’ for lunch with fifty or so weary marines at a company cookhouse in Okinawa, a radio was spluttering away with no one paying attention to it as usual ...I strained my ears to pick up a few snatches from the radio – enough to learn that the world’s first A-bomb had been dropped on a place called Hiroshima.1 Wilfred Burchett’s international reputation as a journalist and war correspondent was built upon one of the great scoops of 20th century reportage. After the second atomic bomb was dropped on Japan in August 1945 and the Japanese had announced their surrender, the Americans issued accreditation to several hundred correspondents to report on the signing of the surrender documents. All the accredited journalists dutifully made their way to the USS Missouri, but Burchett ‘slipped the leash’ and in the small hours of the morning of 2 September 1945, he boarded a train for Hiroshima. The story of his journey to the bomb site and his efforts to get the despatch to London is one of the epic tales of modern journalism. General MacArthur had not yet sent official US Army journalists to the bomb site to manufacture a propaganda story (they arrived while Burchett was there), and so the following report was the first independent account of the results of the nuclear attack to appear anywhere in the world. The impact of the following article on world opinion and the subsequent debate about nuclear weapons cannot be overestimated. ∗∗∗

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2 Rebel Journalism

The Atomic Plague ‘I Write This as a Warning to the World’ Doctors Fall as They Work Poison gas fear: All wear masks Express Staff Reporter Peter Burchett [sic] was the ﬁrst Allied staff reporter to enter the atom-bomb city. He travelled 400 miles from Tokyo alone and unarmed carrying rations for seven meals – food is almost unobtainable in Japan – a black umbrella, and a typewriter. Here is his story from – HIROSHIMA, Tuesday.

In Hiroshima, 30 days afterthefirst atomicbomb destroyed the cityandshooktheworld, people arestill dying, mysteriously and horribly – people whowereuninjured by thecataclysm –from an unknown somethingwhich Ican only describe as atomic plague. Hiroshima does not look likeabombed city. It looksasif a monster steamrollerhadpassed overitand squasheditoutof exis- tence. I write these facts as dispassionately as I can inthe hopethat they will actasawarning to the world. In thisfirst testing ground of theatomic bomb I have seen the most terribleandfrightening desolation in fouryearsofwar. It makes a blitzedPacific island seem likeanEden. The damage is far greater than photographs can show. When you arrive inHiroshima you can look around andfor 25, perhaps 30, squaremiles you can hardly see a building. It gives you an emptyfeeling inthe stomach to see such man-made devastation. I picked myway to a shack [sic] used as a temporary police headquarters inthemiddleof the vanished city. Looking south from thereIcould see about three miles ofreddishrubble. That isall theatomic bombleftofdozens ofblocksof city streets, of buildings, homes, factories andhuman beings.

Still They Fall There is just nothing standing exceptabout 20 factory chimneys– chimneys with no factories. I lookedwest. Agroup ofhalf a dozen guttedbuildings. And then again nothing.

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The police chief of Hiroshima welcomed me eagerly as thefirst Allied correspondent to reach thecity. With the local manager of Domei,aleading Japanese news agency, he drovemethrough,or perhapsIshould say over,thecity. Andhetook me to hospitals wherethevictims of the bomb arestill being treated. In these hospitalsIfoundpeople who, when the bombfell,suffered absolutely no injuries, but now are dying from the uncanny after-effects. For no apparent reason their healthbegan to fail. Theylost appetite. Their hair fell out.Bluish spots appeared on their bodies. And the bleeding began from theears, nose and mouth. At first the doctorstold me they thoughtthese werethesymp- toms of generaldebility. They gave their patients VitaminAinjec- tions. The results were horrible. Theflesh startedrotting awayfrom the hole causedbythe injection of the needle. Andinevery case thevictim died. That is one of theafter-effects of thefirst atomic bomb man ever dropped and I do not want to see any more examples ofit.But in walking through the month-old rubbleIfound others.

The Sulphur Smell My nose detected a peculiar odour unlikeanything I have ever smelledbefore. It is something likesulphur, but not quite. Icould smell it when I passed aﬁrethat was still smouldering, or ataspot wheretheywerestill recovering bodies from the wreckage.But I could also smell it whereeverything was still deserted. Theybelieve it isgiven off by the poisonous gas still issuing from theearth soakedwithradioactivityreleasedbythesplituranium atom. And so the peopleof Hiroshima today are walking through the forlorn desolation of their once proud citywith gauze masksover their mouthsand noses. It probably does not help them physically. But it helpsthem mentally. From the moment that this devastation was loosed upon Hiroshima the people whosurvivedhave hated the white man. It isahate the intensity ofwhichisalmost as frightening as the bombitself.

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‘All Clear’ Went The counteddead number 53,000. Another 30,000 aremissing, whichmeans‘certainlydead’.In thedayIhavestayedinHiroshima– and this is nearly a month after the bombing – 100 people have died from its effects. Theywere some of the 13,000 seriously injuredbytheexplosion. Theyhave been dying at the rate of 100 a day. And they will probably all die. Another 40,000 wereslightly injured. These casualties might not have been as high except for atragic mistake. Theauthorities thoughtthis was just anotherroutine Super-Fort raid. The plane flew over thetarget anddropped the parachute which carried the bomb to its explosion point. TheAmerican plane passed out of sight. Theall-clearwas sounded and the peopleof Hiroshima came out from their shelters. Almost a minute later the bombreached the 2,000 foot altitudeat whichit was timed to explode–atthe moment when nearly every- one inHiroshima was inthestreets. Hundredsupon hundredsof the deadweresobadly burnedin theterrific heat generatedbythe bomb that it was not even possible to tell whether theyweremenorwomen, old oryoung. Of thousandsof others, nearer thecentreof theexplosion, there was no trace. They vanished. Thetheory inHiroshima isthat the atomic heat was so great that theyburnedinstantly to ashes–except that there werenoashes. Ifyou could see what is leftof Hiroshima you would think that London had not been touchedbybombs. Heap of Rubble TheImperialPalace, once an imposing building, isaheap ofrubble three feet high,and there is one piece ofwall. Roof,floorsand everything else is dust. Hiroshima has one intact building – the Bank of Japan. This in acitywhich at the startof the warhad a population of 310,000. Almost every Japanese scientist has visited Hiroshima inthe past three weekstotry to find a way ofrelieving the people’ssuffering. Now they themselves have become sufferers. For thefirst fortnightafter the bombdropped theyfound they could not staylong inthe fallen city. Theyhad dizzy spellsand

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headaches. Then minorinsect bites developedinto great swellings whichwould not heal. Their health steadily deteriorated. Then theyfound another extraordinary effect of thenew terror from theskies. Manypeople had suffered only aslight cut from a falling splinter ofbrick or steel. They should have recoveredquickly. But they did not. Theydeveloped an acute sickness. Their gums began to bleed. And then they vomitedblood. And ﬁnally theydied. Allthesephenomena,theytoldme,wereduetotheradio-activity releasedbytheatomic bomb’sexplosion of theuranium atom.

Water Poisoned Theyfound that the waterhadbeen poisonedbychemicalreaction. Even todayeverydropofwaterconsumedinHiroshimacomesfrom other cities. The peopleof Hiroshima arestill afraid. Thescientists told me theyhave noted agreat difference between theeffect of the bombs inHiroshima andin Nagasaki. Hiroshima is in perfectly ﬂat delta country. Nagasaki is hilly. When the bombdropped on Hiroshima the weatherwas bad,and a big rainstorm developed soon afterwards. And so theybelieve that theuranium radiation was driven into theearth and that, because so many arestill falling sick anddying, it isstill the cause of this man-made plague. At Nagasaki,ontheotherhand,the weatherwas perfect, and scientists believe that thisallowed the radio-activity to dissipate into the atmospheremore rapidly. In addition, the force of the bomb’sexplosion was, to a large extent, expendedinto the sea, whereonly ﬁshwere killed. To supportthistheory,thescientists point to the fact that, in Nagasaki, death came swiftly,suddenly,and that there have been no after-effects such as those that Hiroshima isstill suffering. [The Daily Express, London, 5 September 1945.]

2 With Mick Grifﬁth to the Plaine des Lacs [1941]

In 1937 Burchett boarded a ship to England and in 1938 he travelled to Nazi Germany and experienced first hand the horrors of fascism while helping Jews escape its terror. On returning to Australia he bombarded the newspapers with letters warning against the danger posed by German and Japanese militarism, but they were ignored. The mood at the time was one of appeasement and conciliation, but when Hitler attacked Poland and Chamberlain declared war on Germany, Burchett was suddenly in demand as ‘one of the last Australians to leave Germany before the war’. Then on New Year’s Eve 1940 he set out to investigate Japanese activities in New Caledonia, recognising the French colony’s strategic importance in the event of war with Japan. Pacific Treasure Island is the result of this trip. It was also Burchett’s first book and he was obviously enjoying himself and his newly discovered writing talents, making the most of the exotic locations and colourful locals. The following chapter demonstrates this, but it also displays Burchett’s acute sensitivity to geopolitical circumstances. By the time this book was published, Burchett was on his way to Burma and China, and the start of his career as a war correspondent. ∗∗∗ Mick Griffithis one of the best knownmining characters inNew Caledonia–and one of the best liked. Mick admits that he likes a drink or two–or more–but always hastens to tell you that when he’s inthe bushhe’s ‘off the likker.’ Withhis brotherhe came to New Caledonia intheearly 1900’s–asatimber-getter – helping to deplete thegiant kauri forests which existedintheearly days of thecolony. When timber-getting began to be played out, Mick turnedhis attention to prospecting and mining, andfound that one can have much more luxurious debauches from the results of

To the Plaine des Lacs 7

a successfulprospecting tour,than afteryearsof toil asatimber- getter. Thus when he returned to Sydney and Melbourne in 1939 after having sold hisnickel mine to Krupps’representative he was able to go through £1,500 insix weeks with thegreatest ofpleasure. He borrowedhis fare back to Noumea, andregardedhisnew situation quite philosophically. ‘There’s plenty more holes intheground where a man can pick up a few more quid when he wants them,’ said Mick,andpromptly went bush again for a fewweeks. The resultof thistrip caused a well-known Australian mining engineer to rush across to New Caledonia, and caused another even better- known industrial concerntosend over their expertafewweeks later to check up on the report brought backbytheﬁrst engineer. WhenImetMickhe wasn’tvery sober, but he had such an open, likeable face that it was difﬁcult not to take notice ofwhat hesaid, even if his language was a littlethick. ‘So yer’n Australian journalist are yer, hic?’ heasked. ‘Well, I can showyer something that’ll make yer ****** eyes pop rightoutofyer ****** head ...We’ll get a car,shove a bitofkaikai inabag. ‘Uve yer got anyblankets?’ he demanded suddenly. ‘Well it don’t matter, Priday and I’ll get enough of’ern.’ (Mr. Priday, by the way, is Reuter’sand UnitedPress’ correspondent inNew Caledonia, and formerly well known in West Australian journalisticcircles.) ‘Yerdon’mindsleepin’ontheground?Good.We’llgetthe****** car to Plum, to theForestie`re if we can, an’ I’ll ring theJap so’s he’ll have thechoot-choot motorready for us to go up to the 23 kilometre.’ All these directions meant nothing to me, but as Priday nodded to me every now and againtoagree, I made intelligent noises of assent. Without having theslightest idea ofwhere we weregoing orwhat we weregoing to see, I agreed to be ready at5o’clock next morning for athree days’ excursion – somewhere. At 5 a.m. I was sitting on theedge of the bedwaiting for a motor car to hoot, as arranged. At6a.m. I was still sitting there. At 6.15 I went downandhad coffee, and commenced searching for Mick. Arrived at his hotel –everybody inNew Caledonia who hasn’ta home lives inahotel –IfoundPriday vainly trying to remind Mick

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of theexcursion he hadpromisedfor thethree of us. My entrance clinched the discussion, and Mickjumped out ofbed,apologising forhis lapse of memory. Blankets were rolled upinto swags, Mick searchedfor andfound hiscompass, while Pridaywent looking for a taxi. Thenextthing was the purchase ofkaikai – whichinanypartof the Pacific signifies food. Priday, who had a bad cold, was in favour of taking along a bottleofrum, but Mick,tomy surprise, was strongly opposed to this. He knewhis limitations.Kaikai consisted ofhalf a dozen long rollsofbread,6tins each ofbeef, pate (typeofbeefpaste) and preservedfruit, with acoupleofdozen small lemons with which to fight Priday’scold. The5a.m.became 10.30 a.m.bythetime our taxirolled out of Noumea and turned south-eastwardstowardsour first destination – Plum, about 30 kilometres from Noumea. On the waywe passed the St.Louismission station, one of theearliest mis- sion settlements inthe island –andpossessing 10,000 acres of the richest landwithinmiles of Noumea. It was obtainedbygiving a few axes to tribal chiefs. Most of thecolony’s sugar used to begrownat St.Louis, but now there isonly enough cultivatedfor the monksto distil the famous St.Louis rum, known by connoisseursthe world over. As we drove past, a new cropwas flourishing on the flat level acres bordering the road –the monks’ first attempttogrowrice in New Caledonia. Arrived at ourPlum, we had to obtain permission from the gendarme before wecould proceed. There hadbeen an outbreak of the plague inaCatholicmission station at Touaourou, inthe direction of our excursion, and a ‘cordon sanitaire’hadbeen placed around the entire district. As we wereabletoconvince the gendarme that we weren’tgoing withinthe prescribeddistance of the plague spot, we wereallowed to continue. Mick andPriday explained to me then, that innormal circumstances we would have gone by boat to withinafew miles of our destination, but the plague hadinterrupted the coastal steamer ser- vice, and as we had to reach the far sideof the islandwe would have to go as far as possible by car and‘choot-choot motor,’ andwalk the rest. I was kept guessing as to the identity of‘choot-choot motor’ until wearrived at ‘LaForestie`re,’ thesite of a huge timber mill. My guides informed me that an Australian companyhadworked

To the Plaine des Lacs 9

a kauri concession inthis district and taken out millions offeet of some of the best timberinthe world. The place had something of theair of aghost camp about it, with the engines, andlines of sideless trucks whichhadbeen used forbringing thetimberdown from the forests miles inland,all in perfect condition. The wholeequipment was left just as it hadbeen when the last log was handled. Tremendous transport difficulties would makethe cost ofdismantling and transferring the plant to Noumea heavier than importinganew one from Sydney. There wereseveral neatly built houses but no sign of life, until we walked half a kilometreup the line and could see blue smokecurling up from one of the cottages. Mickwas hailedwith agreat shout, and acoupleof Japanese who wereatwork in a nearby shed, repairing a boat’s bottom, dropped their toolstocomeover andwelcome Mick,andbe presented to Priday and me. We dropped ourpacksontheground alongside the railwayline, andfollowed theJapanese up to the source of the blue smoke. Following our guides’ example weslipped ourboots off before westepped on thespotlessly white, kauri floor of atidy verandah. Acoupleof gravely smiling Javanese women came out. There weremore introductions andwe were invitedinto another spotlessly clean kauri-plankedroom. Tablecloth andplates were laid,atinofbeef, loaf ofbread and a litreofwine producedbythesilent bare-footed Javanese. Anti- mosquito coils were lit, and whileMick, between mouthfulsof bread andbeef,conversedwith Japanese and Javanese alike inavile mixtureof French-Melanesian and Javanese, Priday and I concen- trated on havingagood meal and observing thecleanliness and tidiness of the bush establishment. Mick’sFrenchwas enough to makeany French scholarretch, but, as hesaid, it was based on utilityrather than grammar,and Mick could certainly make himself understood anywhereonthe island, whetherhe was amongst Javanese, Arabs, Chinese, natives or French. Of course hisexpres- sive hands played their parttoo. The meal finished, we were introduced to the ‘choot-choot motor’ – a motor-bikeengine geared to a small railway trolley. There was room forfourpassengers, one seated on the driver’s seat, and three moreonalong coffin-likenarrowbox mounted

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directly on thetrolley floor. Ourprovisions were stackedinthe box, a bag thrownover thetopfor upholstery andwe were ready for our 23 kilometre journey. With a Javanese boyinthesaddleand myself as cameraman installed on the front of the box we set out along the 24-inch gauge line, whileMickregaled us with stories of terribleaccidents that had occurred along the line. When the line was laid it seemed theyhad no curvedrails, and the process ofrounding the manyhairpin bendsenroute was extremely painful,aswe lurchedroundinaseries ofjumpsasthe wheelsmet the join inthestraight rails. Mick explained that it was usually at these places that theaccidents occurred. The ‘choot-choot’ sometimes didn’tmakethecurve andwent straightover,tolandinthe river a fewhundredfeet below us. Whilemylegs were dangling down in front of the box, Mickremembered another accident that occurred to a native, who was sitting like me, whenatruckload of oreswung round acorner, hitthe ‘choot-choot’head-on, and cut the native’s legs off at the knees. ‘You should have seen himashis legs went flying down into thecreek,’hesaid enthusiastically. He relieved myfeelings and incidentally Priday’stoo,by telling us that the line was out of use at the present time, so we weren’t likely to encounter any traffic. Nevertheless I tucked myfeet up and sat on them, as apparently the system of signalling wasn’tvery efficient and there seemed no way of telling if something was travelling intheopposite direction. The grade was uphill,sonorecord speedscould be attained,although I was mentally trying to work out howfast thecontraption would travelwhen we werecoming backwith the weightoffour men to give it impetus. For most of the journey thetrack skirted the Blue River,awide rushing stream. With the river on ourright, and steep barren-lookinghillsonourleft,thetrackwoundinandout,skirting deep gorges on crazy bridges – on which most of thesleepers had been gouged out by bushfires. Theswaying of the bridge reminded Mick that sometimes sleepersgetburnt, the pegs holding the rails in place get loose intheir sockets, the line spreadsand‘away goes the “choot-choot” over the bridge.’ The Javanese boy sat impassive at thecontrols,acigarette drooping from thecorner ofhis mouth,aswechugged up sidings, through great red-earthed cuttings, andpast the poorest country