Contributed by: Sean Morrissey 
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September 21st has come to symbolise our shared hope of a more harmonious world. Introduced in 1981 under declaration of the United Nations general assembly, International Peace Day is honoured each year by UN-member states around the world. It provides a brief - though essential - moment for us to reflect on the complexities of our human family, and how we might reach a more egalitarian future together.

​Perhaps it goes without saying that 2020 has been a year of unprecedented challenge whose reach can be felt across the globe, and there is a lens which might see the unfolding events of this year as evidence of our great undoing. I think, though, one could argue the exact opposite; that in fact, the winds of change are blowing an inspired course. As a UK-Based charity with international ambition - to provide clean water, nutritious meals, and personal peace for affected communities around the world - Peace Partners is dedicated to the ideals put forth on this and every International Peace Day.

We the people are more empowered than ever to march and speak out against injustice, no matter the consequence. From pro-democracy demonstrations across Hong Kong and Belarus, to the international reckonings around racial prejudice, police brutality, environmental sustainability and sexual misconduct, the collective will of humanity is charting a truly incredible path.

​What’s more, these global waves of change are all shaped by many millions of people, galvanised around their shared vision of a just and peaceful world. They are, to borrow from this year’s theme, shaping peace together, across social media and the public square and often in solidarity with those most affected communities.

Take the international outpouring of support for the Black Lives Matter movement which, although rooted in the struggle for racial equality in the United States, has been re-appropriated by human rights groups the world over as communities reflect on their own flawed systems of oppression.

The murals of George Floyd appearing throughout historically contested conflict zones such as Bethlehem and Belfast, highlight this shared want for change. Now more than ever, people around the world are beginning to see themselves in their neighbour, to realise the power of Martin Luther King’s declaration that “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”.

And while a day so devoted to world peace may feel intangibly massive, it is important to remember that any vision of international peace is built on myriad acts of kindness, here there and everywhere on earth. We can observe this international peace day through the smallest gesture of compassion, or by engaging the greater good within our own community. Consider the guiding philosophy of the little flower, Saint Thérese of Lisieux:

Miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word; always doing the smallest right and doing it all for love.

Thérese lived by these tiny acts of kindness, believing the heart was made for nothing else but love. Now more than ever, we see how the small sacrifice of one to another can inspire whole communities to action, and how those actions reverberate into larger and larger spaces until at last it settles into the global imagination; shaping peace together.

​On the occasion of the 75th Anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing

Contributor: Sean Morrissey

Additionally, the traditional haiku should incorporate elements of the natural world, and culminate with an unexpected turn or action in the final line. Consider the haiku of Matsu Basho, one of Japan’s most celebrated and influential poets, as he contemplates the cherry blossom: 

                                                               How many, many things
                                                                They call to mind
                                                             These cherry-blossoms!

It is difficult to overstate the juxtaposition of scale, from the pastoral tranquillity of haiku to the enormity of the atomic bomb. However, one could argue that is exactly what makes the Japanese haiku of Hiroshima so incredibly powerful. Take, for example, the following haiku by Yasuhiko Shigemoto:

                                                                     Hiroshima Day -
                                                         I believe there must be bones
                                                              Under the paved street

There is nothing ephemeral about Shigemoto’s work, or in most haiku generally. It is a poetry rooted in the real, reflecting the simple joys (and enormous tragedies) of our lived experience. And what metaphor could rival the surreality of the atomic bomb? 

Given the structural rigidity of haiku, with its strict adherence to form and syllable count, there is little room for haphazard language. The poet writes with great deliberation, as in the following, again by Shigemoto: 

                                                                 The sunset glow -
                                                                 Hiroshima
                                                                 as if still burning

Shigemoto’s matter-of-fact diction is fairly characteristic, but here this plain spoken verse takes on greater democratic value. This poem, like all those featured, can be easily read and understood by everyone. There is nothing unattainable in Shigemoto’s language, thus ensuring maximum readership and exposure. It also speaks to a sense of urgency. 

That so much is contained within these short poems is not only a testament to Japanese aesthetic, but also to the universality of experience. Our empathetic instincts are born of the fact that we have all known tragedy and lived to carry that weight. These poems serve to bring us closer, as after any seismic event, to share the writer’s grief in mourning what all was lost 75 years ago. 


The Tanka, or “short song”, is another classical Japanese form that relies on a similar syllabic structure to haiku. However, where the haiku is comprised of 17 syllables, the tanka is extended to 31 syllables and often appears as a single line (though English translations will often depict the tanka in five-line stanzas). While it may be the lesser known of the two traditions, at least among western readers, the tanka dates back some 1,000 years before haiku, making it one of the oldest poetic styles in Japanese history.

As its name suggests, the tanka provides just enough length and stylistic freedom to make for a short song, even a complete scene. These poems feel even more deeply rooted in the world, replete with characters and speech, setting and dramatic turns of phrase. As readers we may be disarmed by their size and, with guards down, are all the more vulnerable to the impact of the poem. Take the following by Imai Tokusaburo:

                                                              Alas, my wife still hopes
​                                      Though setting his plate already for a month in vain. 

In two short lines, Tokusaburo has distilled the entirety of Hiroshima and its enduring impact on survivors. The poem offers a glimpse into the bomb’s aftermath which, far from the visceral extremes of that fateful day, are now filled with a more muted, lingering grief. The scene is private and domestic and otherwise unknown to the world were it not for Tokusaburo’s writing. Or consider the spectral voice in the following tanka by Haruka Tanimura

                                                       Hiroshima said to me every day:
                         "If you neglect to treasure those around you, you will surely regret it.”

Again, we are brought into the world of the ever after, what that which stays long after the military offences and media reporting and eventual peace treaties. The prevailing narratives of history are often criticised for telling the victor’s story, or perpetuating those on either side of power. Here the poet provides an essential people’s history of events, that which might otherwise be overlooked and lost to time. That so much is contained within these short poems is not only a testament to Japanese aesthetic, but also to the universality of experience. Our empathetic instincts are born of the fact that we have all known tragedy and lived to carry that weight. These poems serve to bring us closer, as after any seismic event, to share the writer’s grief in mourning all that was lost 75 years ago. 

Read about the 75th Anniversary of Hiroshima here