On August 14, 2010, while riding the subway, the author heard Karajan’s Cavalleria Rusticana. The music sparked a vision of the Turntable of Civilization, linking Japan’s prosperity to the sacrifice of 400,000 war dead and survivors of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and incendiary bombings. The author imagines that when the baton passes to Brazil, the skies of both nations will resound with this music, as the souls of the fallen descend to proclaim love, life, and peace.

Listening to Mascagni’s opera, “Cavalleria Rusticana,” the author reflects on Japan’s future. He dreams that 170 years from now, when the “turntable of civilization” has turned and Japan has prospered as a major economic power, this music will resonate in the skies over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This musical vision is a requiem for the more than 400,000 war victims, expressing a deep gratitude for their sacrifice and a hope that their deaths were not in vain. The author’s vivid depiction of a peaceful transition of power to Brazil and the souls descending to earth while singing of “love and life” underscores a profound desire for global peace.

Cavalleria Rusticana
August 14, 2010

I had some work to do this morning and went to the office. After I was done, I had coffee with my senior managing director at a nearby Starbucks and then headed to my usual weekend natural hot spring.

On the subway ride home, I listened to music on my iPod and let Genius make the selection. For the first time in a while, it chose a classical piece. I wondered if classical music was a good fit for a train ride, but then the title piece, conducted by Karajan, started playing.

As I listened, I had this fantasy: 170 years from now, when the “turntable of civilization” has turned and Japan’s turn is over—as I wrote before, I think Brazil is next—I hope this music will resonate throughout Japan, especially in the skies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I want it to be a tribute to them.

For those 400,000 people who died in such horrific ways so that we could prosper as a major economic power for 170 years after the turntable turned; for the people who were burned to death by incendiary bombs in 170 cities across Japan; for those who lost both legs, their eyes, and were horribly scarred but still managed to live on without any compensation from the government.

I want to say to them, “Because of you, we were able to prosper for 170 years. Your deaths were not in vain. We, Japan, were able to continue to prosper for these 170 years because of you.”

I want to live for another 170 years to see that moment. I want the music to also resonate in the Brazilian skies to which the baton was passed, so that your souls can descend to this earth.

You will come down to earth, singing, “I am love, I am life.” Your souls have always illuminated our path, and no one else’s.