SINCE the fall of Soviet communism in 1989, the spectre of nuclear war has faded from public consciousness.
The atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki - on Monday August 6, 1945, and Thursday August 9, 1945, respectively - remain the only ones deployed against human beings. But the destructive power of today's weaponry is thousands of times greater.
It's salutary to recall the circumstances in which nuclear weapons were once used, and their ghastly toll.
Their target was supposed to be Kokura, an industrial town 180km to the north. Bad weather, mechanical failure and human error necessitated a change of course in mid-flight, and a one-chance-only pass over Nagasaki.
The bomb - which was live and had cost $US2 billion to make - otherwise would have had to be dropped in the ocean. In the event, Bockscar made the drop and limped home. After an emergency landing at Okinawa it finished only 3m from the end of the runway, with less than a minute's worth of fuel in its tanks.
US president Harry Truman did not authorise the dropping of either bomb. Truman had assumed the presidency only a few months earlier, following the death of Franklin Roosevelt.
He'd been unaware of the Manhattan Project while vice-president. He was soon briefed about it when he become commander-in-chief and, thereafter, kept periodically updated. But the formal order to use the first two bombs on Japan was issued by an unelected military officer, General Thomas Handy.
The day after Nagasaki, Truman insisted that any further use of nuclear weapons would require his express authority. It was just as well: the day before, four high-ranking US generals had been urging the use of a third atomic bomb on Tokyo.
They were already looking ahead to the Cold War, mindful of the fact the Soviets had their own nuclear program in train. (The Nazis and the Japanese had had theirs, too, albeit never far advanced.)
Were the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings necessary to defeat Japan?
Japan, he argues, was already doomed. For months, its cities had been subjected to fire bombing on a vast scale. Its navy and most of its factories were in ruins. Fuel and food were scarce.
True, Japan had ignored the Potsdam Declaration of July 26, 1945, requiring "unconditional surrender". Publicly its leaders still made belligerent noises, but they knew defeat was inevitable; behind closed doors, the only issue that divided them was how to go about extracting the least humiliating terms.
Some hardliners, including war minister Korechika Anami, who ultimately committed suicide, advocated holding out longer to try to save national honour.
But the Americans knew prime minister Kantaro Suzuki and foreign minister Shigenori Togo - as well as the emperor, Hirohito - were working for peace at almost any price. In the end, during the night of August 9-10, 1945, it was the emperor who belatedly decided that Japan "must endure the unendurable", and surrender.
Now here's the kicker. Contrary to mythology, the atomic bomb was not a significant factor in Japan's decision. Outside Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Japanese people remained largely unaware of what had happened (the result of strict media censorship) and even the powers-that-be did not completely understand.
The atomic bomb was but briefly discussed at the key cabinet and imperial council meetings of August 8-10. The deciding factor was Russia's decision on August 9 to enter the Pacific war. The Red Army invaded Manchuria to the north, dashing Japan's last faint hope: that the Soviets might intervene on their behalf in negotiations with the Allies.
It's hard to escape a mortifying conclusion: the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were victims of monstrous geo-political machinations. And what suffering they endured. It was better to be vaporised instantly, as tens of thousands were, than to survive maimed or irradiated for a few days or weeks.
Let the last word belong to the co-pilot of the Enola Gay, Robert Lewis. Just after the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, he wrote in his logbook:
"My God, what have we done?"
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