Memoir from “little diplomat,” of childhood in Hiroshima, to be translated into Japanese
May 13, 2015
by Yumi Kanazaki, Staff Writer
The daughter of a former American diplomat is preparing a Japanese translation of her memoir. Farida Fotouhi, 68, spent four and a half years in Hiroshima from the end of 1952 when her father took up a new position in the city. She published her memoir in the United States last autumn, and is now planning to publish the Japanese version by August 6, 2015, the 70th anniversary of the atomic bombing. Through her book, she hopes to convey that nuclear weapons must not be used and that peace is of the utmost importance. She also wants to share the experience of her childhood in Hiroshima as a “little diplomat” during the postwar reconstruction period.
Her late father, Abol Fotouhi, was head of the American Culture Center in Hiroshima, which was established by the U.S. Department of State. The Fotouhis lived in Minami Ward, and Farida went to Hiroshima University Attached Elementary School until the fifth grade. Because her parents were busy, she developed a strong attachment to her neighbor, Keiko Hada, as if she were a “second mother.” Ms. Hada’s children, including her son, Jun, 68, who is the same age as Ms. Fotouhi, were like siblings.
Jun Hada recalled, “She liked playing at samurai sword-fighting.” Ms. Fotouhi said, “I was a lively child and played every day, speaking in Japanese. My Hiroshima accent from the 1950s is thick, isn’t it?” She lives a busy life now, running an advertising agency in Los Angeles, but has maintained strong ties with her second hometown. She came to Japan last month for the first time in six years and attended an elementary school class reunion.
She said she decided to capture her experience in a book last year when she was interviewed by NHK, Japan’s public broadcaster.
To prepare for the interview, she sifted through old photos and found a set of picture cards for storytelling. She recalled make the picture cards and doing a storytelling presentation in her class when she was in second grade. The story, titled Sumi no Kan-chan (Kan-chan the Charcoal) was about an oak tree that watched over children as they played but was eventually cut down to be made into charcoal. When the tree is cut down, it cries out, “I’m falling!” and ends up as a heap of white ashes.
“The memories from 60 years ago came flooding back,” she said, saying that the story elicited the suffering experienced by the victims of the atomic bombing, which she had unconsciously internalized, and a sense of guilt as a citizen of the country that dropped the atomic bombs. “I couldn’t stop crying.”
Encouraged by her husband, she decided to publish a collection of her experiences and title it Charcoal Girl. The book includes her memories of the picture-card story, the Hadas who lavished her with affection, and her parents learning the shakuhachi (a bamboo flute) and the koto (a zither-like instrument), traditional Japanese musical instruments, in an effort to blend into the local community. Because she was pressed for time when writing the book, she was unable to record all of her experiences.
Her father was actively involved in a consensus-building effort to hold the 1956 exhibition on the peaceful uses of nuclear energy in Hiroshima, where people held strong antinuclear sentiments. The event is said to have helped shape Japanese public opinion into accepting the use of nuclear energy. This event drew attention again when a major accident occurred at the Fukushima No. 1 (Daiichi) nuclear power plant four years ago.
Ms. Fotouhi remembers her excitement over such exhibits as the “Magic Hand,” which was used for handling radioactive materials by remote control. “Everyone believed in science in those days. But there’s no magic hand that can save Fukushima now,” she said, describing her shock at the damage again wrought by radiation.
“When I saw scenes of the Fukushima disaster on TV, there were images of Hiroshima’s rural areas that I remembered from those days,” she said. Through Hiroshima, she continues to reflect on nuclear issues.
(Originally published on May 4, 2015)
The daughter of a former American diplomat is preparing a Japanese translation of her memoir. Farida Fotouhi, 68, spent four and a half years in Hiroshima from the end of 1952 when her father took up a new position in the city. She published her memoir in the United States last autumn, and is now planning to publish the Japanese version by August 6, 2015, the 70th anniversary of the atomic bombing. Through her book, she hopes to convey that nuclear weapons must not be used and that peace is of the utmost importance. She also wants to share the experience of her childhood in Hiroshima as a “little diplomat” during the postwar reconstruction period.
Her late father, Abol Fotouhi, was head of the American Culture Center in Hiroshima, which was established by the U.S. Department of State. The Fotouhis lived in Minami Ward, and Farida went to Hiroshima University Attached Elementary School until the fifth grade. Because her parents were busy, she developed a strong attachment to her neighbor, Keiko Hada, as if she were a “second mother.” Ms. Hada’s children, including her son, Jun, 68, who is the same age as Ms. Fotouhi, were like siblings.
Jun Hada recalled, “She liked playing at samurai sword-fighting.” Ms. Fotouhi said, “I was a lively child and played every day, speaking in Japanese. My Hiroshima accent from the 1950s is thick, isn’t it?” She lives a busy life now, running an advertising agency in Los Angeles, but has maintained strong ties with her second hometown. She came to Japan last month for the first time in six years and attended an elementary school class reunion.
She said she decided to capture her experience in a book last year when she was interviewed by NHK, Japan’s public broadcaster.
To prepare for the interview, she sifted through old photos and found a set of picture cards for storytelling. She recalled make the picture cards and doing a storytelling presentation in her class when she was in second grade. The story, titled Sumi no Kan-chan (Kan-chan the Charcoal) was about an oak tree that watched over children as they played but was eventually cut down to be made into charcoal. When the tree is cut down, it cries out, “I’m falling!” and ends up as a heap of white ashes.
“The memories from 60 years ago came flooding back,” she said, saying that the story elicited the suffering experienced by the victims of the atomic bombing, which she had unconsciously internalized, and a sense of guilt as a citizen of the country that dropped the atomic bombs. “I couldn’t stop crying.”
Encouraged by her husband, she decided to publish a collection of her experiences and title it Charcoal Girl. The book includes her memories of the picture-card story, the Hadas who lavished her with affection, and her parents learning the shakuhachi (a bamboo flute) and the koto (a zither-like instrument), traditional Japanese musical instruments, in an effort to blend into the local community. Because she was pressed for time when writing the book, she was unable to record all of her experiences.
Her father was actively involved in a consensus-building effort to hold the 1956 exhibition on the peaceful uses of nuclear energy in Hiroshima, where people held strong antinuclear sentiments. The event is said to have helped shape Japanese public opinion into accepting the use of nuclear energy. This event drew attention again when a major accident occurred at the Fukushima No. 1 (Daiichi) nuclear power plant four years ago.
Ms. Fotouhi remembers her excitement over such exhibits as the “Magic Hand,” which was used for handling radioactive materials by remote control. “Everyone believed in science in those days. But there’s no magic hand that can save Fukushima now,” she said, describing her shock at the damage again wrought by radiation.
“When I saw scenes of the Fukushima disaster on TV, there were images of Hiroshima’s rural areas that I remembered from those days,” she said. Through Hiroshima, she continues to reflect on nuclear issues.
(Originally published on May 4, 2015)
