Tomiko higa biography of barack

Never Too Young to Learn Why We Should Always Strive for Peace

Last year, International Peace Day (Sept. 21) was observed just a few weeks after the 75th anniversary commemoration of the end of World War II. That milestone in history is one that we adults need to share with children. But, how can parents or teachers tell their school-age youngsters this important period in history without boring them with facts and figures and faded photographs? How can we help them understand why we should always choose peace over war and how, even in our own lives, we each can make a difference by trying to resolve conflicts peacefully?

With school-age children in mind, I recently read three books for young readers that impressed me with their message of peace: The Girl with the White Flag, about the Battle of Okinawa, by Tomoko Higa; The Complete Story of Sadako Sasaki and the Thousand Paper Cranes by Sue DiCicco and Masahiro Sasaki; and The Peace Tree from Hiroshima: The Little Bonsai with a Big Story by Sandra Moore.

Here is a walk-through of the books, each of which sells for under $15.

The Girl with the White Flag
By Tomiko Higa

Kodansha International published this 127-page book in 1991. I read it many years ago, but re-read it for this review. If you believe that war is about one nation emerging victorious over another, you need to read this book, because it will tell you who really suffers the most in war.

The Girl with the White Flag is author Tomiko (nee Matsukawa) Higa’s real-life story of wandering through the battlefields of southern Okinawa, searching for her older sisters in what historians have come to regard as the bloodiest battle of the Pacific War — the Battle of Okinawa. The siblings become separated while searching for their widowed father a few weeks into the battle, which began April 1, 1945, when American troops landed on Okinawa. He was forced to leave his four youngest children at home w

Author's Note: The Battle of Okinawa began April 1st, 1945 and ended June 22nd, 1945. The entire island was devastated. Crumbled and charred black from bombing and shelling. 183,000 U.S. troops invaded the island, wielding tanks, grenades, and guns. 122,000 Okinawans, nearly one third of the population, almost all civilians, were killed. Almost all the rest were left homeless.

Mother and older sister disappeared in flame then smoke, nowhere to be found. Grandmother lost her sight and grandfather lost his limbs, we can't remember how. Grandmother and grandfather tell us to leave them behind. We beg them to let us stay. We don't want to be alone.

"We will fetch water for you. We will scratch your backs, pick off maggots and squeeze the pus out of your wounds for you. Please let us stay here and die with you."

We beg and weep for two whole days but they still refuse. "You're too young to die just yet. You can't give up. You must go."

So we obey. We dig a hole. We leave them in the hole with the rest of the food, not much, just a jar of miso paste and some dried squid. We cover the hole with branches. We cover the branches with dirt. We place stones in the shape of a circle on top of the dirt. We shout at them through the dirt and branches, saying goodbye one last time, promising to return when the war ends and bring their bones to our ancestral tomb. They do not answer us.

We hope they die calm, sleeping beside each other. We hope they breathe their last breath in silence, after the bombing and shooting finally stop.

When the war ends, we return to the hole but the hole is gone. The Americans have built a road over it. We search for scattered bones along the side of the road but the road keeps widening. The Americans build roads over tombs and graves, marked or unmarked. The Americans build roads through smol

By Malavika Nataraj, Singapore

Two years ago, I attended a concert where I heard an Okinawan all-women’s group sing melodious ballads about the rich, natural beauty of the Ryukyu Islands. The shaman-like lead singer, with her waist-length grey hair, played an ancient snakeskin sanshin. As the beautiful voices rose in song, I felt their pain and sadness vibrating within me.

From then on, I was fascinated by Okinawa with its waving palms and turquoise waters—Japanese, yet so different. I wanted to understand the pain of the Okinawan people, their pride and their plaintive cry for peace. It was at about this time that I came across The Girl with the White Flag, and feeling inexplicably drawn to it, began to read.

The book begins with Tomiko Higa’s recollections of an almost idyllic childhood, growing up on a farm in rural Shuri, the old capital of the Ryukyu Kingdom. After her mother’s death, she spends early childhood years with her father, digging up sweet potatoes from their field for lunch and listening to the wisdom he has to share. But soon, the threat of war looms large and seven-year-old Tomiko must prepare to flee with her siblings, when her father does not return from a trip into town. Hiding in caves that dot the coastline nearby, the children travel south with other refugees to find shelter, away from falling bombs and gunfire. Not long afterward, Tomiko’s brother Nini falls prey to a bullet-wound in his head, and little Tomiko becomes separated from her two older sisters.

Here begins Tomiko’s solo, nightmarish journey of survival. She spends weeks searching for her sisters, dodging the bullets and bombs that chase her very footsteps. Hiding in the tall pampas grass, ducking in and out of caves, she somehow lives on, all the while believing that her dead brother’s spirit is watching out for her. Throughout her ordeal, she also believes that her father’s voice is in her head guiding her and keeping her alive.

And maybe it is. For in