In August of 1945, the United States unleashed the destructive force of newly developed nuclear bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. To wield the power that could mean the destruction of our species as we know it – and possibly all life on earth as we know it – is an unimaginable crime against humanity and our planet.
These bombs were dropped from so high, the cities below must have been unrecognizable, the people on the street invisible. The orders were clear, and the moral responsibility was blurry.
Japan, which had developed outsized military capabilities and had brutally imposed itself on the region in a bid for larger imperial power, could do nothing to stop its cities from being disintegrated.
And while in school I was taught the excuses for why the U.S. “had” to drop the bombs, I could never wrap my head around the justifications.
The main excuse espoused by middle school history teachers was that the war would have dragged on forever if they didn’t use the A-bomb. The Japanese cared not for loss of life, as evidenced by their kamikaze fighters, and would simply fight to the last man standing, which would somehow mean more deaths than simply leveling a couple of cities.
This is, of course, bullshit used to wipe the guilt from the consciences of people who should have faced Nuremburg-style trials.
Godzilla, a devastating monster awakened by nuclear tests in the Pacific, and a fairly clear analogy for the horrors of nuclear warfare, emerged shortly after the war ended as a cautionary tale for the lack of control humans have in the face of this power and the perils of awakening it.
As Japanese society reeled from both the devastation and lasting environmental impact from the nuclear attacks and the residual social effects of the collapse of the fascist order, a number of questions emerged as the old and the new came to head.
In the film Godzilla Minus One (2023), we are confronted not only with the effects of the war and the total destruction caused by the US decision to use nuclear weapons, but we are also forced to confront a culture of “cowardice” fostered in imperial Japan that demanded total self sacrifice from its constituents.
The protagonist, Koichi, is shown in his first “cowardly” act to be a disgraced kamikaze pilot, unable to complete his duty of sacrificing his life for a war which was all but lost. Landing on Odo Island, he sees first hand the destruction of Godzilla and once again freezes when tasked with shooting at the monster. He survives for a second time when he was supposed to die.
For this, he is berated as a coward by the sole surviving mechanic on Odo Island. He returns home to be rebuked by his community for failing to complete his duties – the blame for the destruction on the coward who failed to sacrifice his life rather than on the war that caused it. But in his journey we must constantly reconsider the question: what does it mean to be a coward?
In this pivotal return home, Koichi takes in a baby and a woman who are left with nothing after the war. But he is tormented by his own guilt and keeps himself distanced from the responsibility of claiming this chosen family as his own.
Is Koichi a coward for shirking his duty to die in the line of fire? And what of the society that placed him in these circumstances or the destruction he witnessed at the hands of Godzilla, a power that cannot be reckoned with by normal means?
In a slow progression, we see Koichi try to make his peace by taking up a job clearing mines and eventually taking part in a civilian-led plan to take down Godzilla himself. He has courage in the face of the dangers associated with clearing mines and attempting to take down the beast once and for all. Yet he is tormented by nightmares and still unwilling to claim the family that loves him. All because he believes he is a coward who was supposed to die.
But cowardice in the face of life is what holds him back. Life was treated too cheaply and Koichi believed he should be dead, and instead of the courage to live, he worked up the courage to die.
He filled his plane with explosives and planned to complete his kamikaze mission to defeat Godzilla. The war was not over for him.
But in a last minute decision, an ejection seat was installed in his plane by none other than the mechanic from Odo Island, who encourages Koichi to live on despite what had happened. That his life was valuable not as collateral damage, but as a father and a husband and a friend. His true battle was not with Godzilla but against himself. Against his idea of himself as a coward in an unfinished war when right in front of him were people who needed his courage and his support.
He was surrounded by people who needed to see someone who valued life and chose to live. The answer in the face of an unbeatable power such as Godzilla or nuclear weapons could not be more violence and loss of life, but collective action and peace.
While the story of Godzilla may be entertaining, it stems from the very real dangers of unleashing a power beyond human control. A power which the United States chose to wield against two entire cities.
The United States is the only country to ever wield this weapon in human history. As such, it holds primary responsibility for ridding the world of such horrific devices and choosing life over death. Choosing the courage to live over the cowardice of violence. They should be the first to lay down their weapons.
We must accept responsibility for our planet and the people in it. War tears people apart and instills a belief that to be courageous is to die rather than to live and care for those around you – to clear away mines and to rebuild, to gather together and to put an end to the violence.
Paraphrasing from the film: this battle is not one fought to the death but a battle fought to live for the future.
For some further reading/watching, I highly recommend the following that informed/inspired this piece:
Nico Flores 
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