![Preventing a nuclear future](https://lakevillejournal.com/media-library/courtesy-of-bullfrog-films.jpg?id=48196420&width=980&quality=90)
Courtesy of Bullfrog Films
On August 6, 1945, America dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima killing over 70,000 citizens from both the blast exposure and the effects of radiation. A survivor of the bombing, 91-year-old Setsuko Thurlow has made nuclear disarmament her life’s mission, earning her The Nobel Peace Prize in 2017. Her story is documented in the film “The Vow from Hiroshima,” produced and written by Mitchie Takeuchi and directed by Sharon, Conn., resident Susan Strickler. I spoke with Takeuchi and Strickler in anticipation of a screening of the documentary for The Salisbury Forum.
Alexander Wilburn: Can you tell me about your first time meeting Setsuko Thurlow and how "The Vow from Hiroshima" came about?
Mitchie Takeuchi: The first time I met her was through the a program called Hibakusha Stories, hibakusha meaning the survivors of the atomic bomb. I met Setsuko through this educational program where she was going to speak at New York City high schools to share the hibakusha experience as a survivor firsthand. I was there as an interpreter — Setsuko didn’t need an interpreter, but there were other survivors from Japan so I was helping them.
Susan Strickler: Mitchie got me involved with Hibakusha Stories. As a group we went to a program at the Truman Little White House, and that was the first time where I really spent more time with Setsuko. At first I think she found me to be too opinionated, so we didn’t initially have the most warm and fuzzy relationship, but eventually we did. We did a trip to Vienna, which is portrayed in the film, where she was the keynote speaker at two major conferences. Her husband had recently died and she was trying to find a new balance in her life. Her husband had helped her write her speeches. She was saying “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, and I don’t really see myself writing a book.” I told her, she’s so charismatic, and she is both fierce and a delightful person to spend time with, someone should make a documentary about her. But I was a soap opera director, I certainly wasn’t thinking of myself. Then the next year in 2015 she was nominated for the Nobel Prize and was also going to be a part of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Conference which meets every five years, plus it was the 70th anniversary of the dropping of the bomb — it seemed like there was a lot happening and someone had to capture it. So without a script or money, I enlisted someone I knew through New York Women in Public Television who was a camera person. Over time, Setsuko and I became very close. I had quibbled in the beginning with the way she talked about certain things. She gave a speech at the Truman White House and we had an argument about that.
AW: What was the conflict?
SS: During her speech she referred to the dropping of the bomb as a war crime and compared it to the concentration camps. And some people got up and left because they were offended. Americans are still very sensitive about owning the fact that they were the first to drop the bomb. It may be what she thinks, but I didn’t think it was judicious of her to say that.
AW: In the film she talks about not wanting to be a figure of tragedy and sympathy, but focus on pushing policy forward. How did you balance that while also conveying the horror of her past?
MT: When we started to make the film we were purely focused on following her life because it was more like an autobiographical piece. It was a substitute for her wanting to write a book. We weren’t necessarily trying to capture the nuclear ban movement, but as it started moving forward very rapidly with the Nobel Prize, it became part of the narrative.
SS: When we started we were purely looking at Setsuko’s story to understand the humanitarian impact of nuclear weapons, but we were frequently shocked while filming how little Americans knew about the bombing — we had an adult say, “I didn’t know there were survivors.” People didn’t know that the U.S. occupied Japan for several years.
AW: What' the reaction been from the younger generations as you’ve shown the film? For students there seem to be a barrage of threats, from gun violence in schools to climate change, have you found it impacts the way they view the topic?
MT: We’ve shown the documentary to university and high school classes and the reception has been so encouraging. Gen Z are so surrounded by environmental issues and violence, they’re much more open to listening to our stories because I think they can relate to it.
AW: That’s what I was thinking while watching the film.
MT: It is a very realistic scenario for them, especially because of the environmental impact of nuclear weapons and climate chaos. I think young people are able to see through a lot of political elements for the sake of saving the planet. It’s very encouraging.
SS: This film started with the program called Hibakusha Stories, and the survivors couldn’t really go on because they’re in their late 80s and 90s, and Setsuko, who is still very engaged in the movement, has started to use the film as a way to tell her story. It really saves her emotionally, and frees her to focus on policy, which is what she’s really interested in now.
AW: In the film we see Setsuko being awarded the Nobel Prize with ICAN (The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons) director Beatrice Fihn. Fihn told Time this week that she feels the possibilities of banning nuclear weapons have backslid. Since the invasion of Ukraine, do you feel the conversation around the film has changed?
MT: I think audiences are way more engaged in this subject now. Ever since Donald Trump and North Korea, there's been a shift in awareness, but particularly with the invasion of Ukraine and Putin using nuclear weapons as a threat, people in the United States are so much more interested. It’s unfortunate, but we really do need to utilize this awareness.
SS: When we started making this film, and we were going to foundations trying to get grants, we were frequently met with “Nuclear weapons? That’s so 1980s!” It was very discouraging and we always felt like we were pushing a rock up a hill. Now there’s so much more interest, and even though Beatrice may be saying it’s harder to advance policy towards disarmament, I think more people realize there’s a need. The general population, who were kind of asleep until Trump and then the invasion of Ukraine, they’re awake.
Screening and Q&A on Jan. 15 at The Moviehouse in Millerton, N.Y.
Riley Moriarty
Of thousands who attempt to walk the entire length of the Appalachian Trail, only one in four make it.
The AT, completed in 1937, runs over roughly 2,200 miles, from Springer Mountain in Georgia’s Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest to Mount Katahdin in Baxter State Park of Maine.
While a thru hike often begins as a solitary pursuit, hikers weave into one another’s lives on the journey. Hikers Liam Hickes, James Outlaw, Jackson O’Brasky, and Riley Moriarty – Hero, Outlaw, Rabbi, and White Claw as they are known on the trail – were strangers back in March but have now traveled together for months.
Great Falls, Falls Village.Provided
Before the trail, Moriarty – originally from Columbia, South Carolina – worked as a carpenter and lived in a yurt in Asheville, North Carolina. He went on a weekend long camping trip with friends and dreamed of a longer excursion in the woods.
Outlaw too craved adventure. Growing up in Atlanta, Georgia, he had hiked sections of the AT with his dad and always wanted to do the full trek. While working at a food truck in Boone, North Carolina, he decided to commit to the challenge.
Hickes is also from Atlanta and had no idea the AT started in Georgia until reading author Andy M. Davidson’s book “When Sunday Smiled.” Inspired by the story of a retired Navy officer, he began to plan his own journey. Following service in the Marine Corps, he got on the trail as early as possible, hoping to be surrounded by fellow hikers.
O’Brasky spent much of his life among crowds in the cities of Hartford and New York City and sought the wilderness as an escape. A painter by trade, he applied for the Elizabeth Greenshields Grant with a proposal to hike the AT. After losing his job, O’Brasky received the grant and embarked on this six-month quest.
Liam Hickes.Provided
Life on the trail can be monotonous. “People romanticize thru hiking, but it’s important to remember that it’s just walking,” said Outlaw. A night of burgers, beer, and civilization is sure to lift spirits and remedy the backcountry blues.
But mostly the hikers enjoy settling into the steady rhythm of a slower, quieter existence: taking siestas on hot days, letting thoughts wander, and gradually moving forward. “I get bored very easily, and I really have not been bored often out here,” said O’Brasky.
Throughout the journey, these individuals have confronted wildlife, weather, and rugged terrain: praying not to flip while rafting down the Shenandoah River, laughing in delirium through a North Carolina snowstorm, befriending wild ponies, and soaking up stories of strange characters they meet.
Jackson O'BraskyProvided
When the trail tests their resilience, they manage to sustain a gentle hum of optimism. A moment of sunshine can erase all recollection of the storm that soaked their belongings.
With everything they need in their packs – tents, sleeping bags, three days’ worth of food – they are not tied to societal expectations or any physical place. Each roams freely and independently, deciding when to push and when to rest, but they camp together almost every night. Comradery makes the undertaking less daunting and memories more meaningful. “Being around others who want the same thing I want enhances everything,” said Hickes.
James Outlaw.Provided
Chipping away at this objective bestows a rewarding sense of accomplishment. “It’s always a big deal,” said Moriarty, “30 miles was a big deal. 100 miles was a big deal. I was really impressed with myself. Now it’s 1500, but it’s the same kind of feeling.”
As they approach Katahdin, minds wander to life post-trail. Hickes plans to start school in Louisiana with friends, while O’Brasky is unsure whether he will stay in New York City. Moriarty is considering joining the Coast Guard (though first he must figure out exactly what they do) and Outlaw is looking forward to a potential move to Colorado.
While they will put down their packs — at least temporarily — these men will carry willingness to be uncomfortable and determination to persevere wherever they go.
The clambake returns to SWSA's Satre Hill July 27 to support the Jane Lloyd Fund.
The 17th Annual Traditional New England Clambake, sponsored by NBT Bank and benefiting the Jane Lloyd Fund, is set for Saturday, July 27, transforming the Salisbury Winter Sports Association’s Satre Hill into a cornucopia of mouthwatering food, live music, and community spirit.
The Jane Lloyd Fund, now in its 19th year, is administered by the Berkshire Taconic Community Foundation and helps families battling cancer with day-to-day living expenses. Tanya Tedder, who serves on the fund’s small advisory board, was instrumental in the forming of the organization. After Jane Lloyd passed away in 2005 after an eight-year battle with cancer, the family asked Tedder to help start the foundation. “I was struggling myself with some loss,” said Tedder. “You know, you get in that spot, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Someone once said to me, ‘Grief is just love with no place to go.’ I was absolutely thrilled to be asked and thrilled to jump into a mission that was so meaningful for the community.”
Disbursements from the fund are made upon the written recommendation of a social service agent, town social worker, hospice care provider, visiting nurse, counselor, or pastor. These funds must be used for day-to-day expenses such as mortgage, rent, insurance, utilities, heating oil, car payments, and transportation to and from doctor appointments or cancer treatment appointments. “We’ve never turned anyone away,” said Tedder. “We have had to ask people to wait a little bit, but we have never said no, which in 19 years is amazing.”
Behind the scenes of the clambake, a team of 75 dedicated volunteers help make the event happen. Even getting the seafood from Fitchburg, Mass., to Salisbury is a journey all its own. “We meet up at the Mass Pike and do the switch,” Tedder explained. “We clean the clams and bag them...all with volunteers from the community.” Because of the generous sponsors and volunteers, all the money raised is donated. “Like the lady who does the flowers for the event,” said Tedder. “She decorates the tables and the tents, and she goes to Salisbury Garden Center, and they say, ‘Take what you need and bring it back when you’re done.’ It’s wonderful that everyone knows what we do and why we’re doing what we’re doing — it’s for such a good cause and there’s such a big need.”
The clambake meal tickets are your golden key to this feast, but fear not if seafood isn’t your thing. There will be a variety of options, including hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken sandwiches, clam chowder, and vegetarian options. And let’s not forget the dessert table of community-contributed delights, and an ice cream experience that promises to satisfy any sweet tooth. There will also be live music at The Music Circle with Eliot Osborn and Friends of The Joint Chiefs.
The actual clambake is quite the spectacle. Said Tedder, “The guys build a kiln out of wood with river rocks in the middle. They light it on fire until the rocks get really, really hot. Then they pull away the wood, cover the hot rocks with seaweed, and put bags of corn, clams, potatoes, and lobsters on top. It’s covered with large wet tarps and steams for about 40 minutes. After that, we have four teams of servers who serve 350 people.”
Tedder shared that her favorite part of the event is getting up to thank everyone. “It’s nerve-wracking, but it comes from my heart,” she said. “The most meaningful thing is that I get to read notes from people that have written in to say thank you and what it’s meant to them. It’s heart-wrenching in such a positive way because they say things like, ‘I wasn’t going to live and the Jane Lloyd Fund gave me hope, it gave me a reason to live.’ It’s incredible how deeply we touch someone’s life.”
For more information and tickets, go to www.thejanelloydfund.org
Cover of "The Light Eaters" by Zoe Schlanger.
This installment of The Ungardener was to be about soil health but I will save that topic as I am compelled to tell you about a book I finished exactly three minutes before writing this sentence. It is called “The Light Eaters.” Written by Zoe Schlanger, a journalist by background, the book relays both the cutting edge of plant science and the outdated norms that surround this science. I promise that, in reading this book, you will be fascinated by what scientists are discovering about plants which extends far beyond the notions of plant communication and commerce — the wood wide web — that soaked into our consciousnesses several years ago. You might even find, as I did, some evidence for the empathetic, heart-expanding sentiment one feels in nature.
A staff writer for the Atlantic who left her full-time job to write this book, Schlanger has travelled around the world to bring us stories from scientists and researchers that evidence sophisticated plant behavior. These findings suggest a kind of plant ‘agency’ and perhaps even a consciousness; controversial notions that some in the scientific community have not been willing or able to distill into the prevailing human-centric conceptions of intelligence.
Plants exhibit behaviors that appear as variations of our own: they communicate, but using chemicals that are expelled through the air or soil. They have perceptual abilities that can be correlated, with varying degrees, to our sound, feeling and sight, in some cases using the same or similar mechanisms as we do. The human body uses electrical currents, powered by electrolytes, to enable just about every bodily action — touch, movement, thought etc. Plants use this method as well.
We learn about a slug that from birth is programmed to find and eat a specific plankton. When it does, its color changes from its original brown to green and the slug is then able to photosynthesize, after which it never has to eat food for the rest of its life (is it now a plant or still an animal?) A vine whose leaves change shape to resemble those of the plant or plants it climbs on (can it ‘see’ and, if not, how does it know what to transform into?)
In researching and relaying these and other science-backed revelations, Schlanger calls into question the line drawn between the categories of animal and plant. We know that we exist in this world only because of plants, they create the air we breathe, they are the nutrients we eat. We are learning that our bodies contain a microbiome made up of bacteria, fungi and viruses that control much of our functioning. Yet humanity seeks to control plants in ways that are often at cross purposes to our very existence.
While retaining a journalistic dispassion, she makes the case for science to surmount the hurdle that language poses in the pursuit of expressing new findings and posits a worldview that does not put humans at the center. Currently, the institutions surrounding science are designed to be circumspect in their effort to ensure that findings are not just correct but indelibly reliable; a base to be built on by other scientists. Scientists and researchers whose discoveries are at odds with prevailing findings are at risk of losing credibility, funding and even their careers, often to find themselves (if they are still alive) proven correct decades later. Which calls into question the reliability of science’s erstwhile indelibility and makes a case for systemic changes to the institutions that power the scientific community.
“Biological life is a spiraling diffusion of possibilities, fractal in its profusion.”
Schlanger’s observations and hypotheses can themselves appear as fractals of her revelatory reporting of plant discoveries. Like the shape-shifting entities she writes about she finds that she too has changed.
Perhaps you can relate. Plants can change us, and not just when we eat them. Looking at them, from both far and from close, they provoke awe and wonder. Time spent in the woods begets a sense of oneness and interconnectedness and has been proven to improve our well-being. Schlanger’s book asks us to consider working with plants, to learn more about them and be open to the lessons they may have for us. After all, plants were here well before humans and have had more time to evolve. They may well be here after we are not. Who’s to say they aren’t really the ones running the show?
Dee Salomon “ungardens” in Litchfield County.