THE MORAL IMPLICATION OF THE AVENGERS RISK IN "Captain America: Civil War"

In Captain America: Civil War, the Avengers engaged mercenaries in a densely populated area of Lagos, Nigeria, to retrieve a bioweapon from villains. This could easily have led, and did in fact lead, to the death of innocent civilians. Was it morally permissible for the Avengers to take this risk?

After explaining the doctrine of double effect, I will argue that per the doctrine it was morally permissible for the Avengers to take this risk because the harm was a side effect of pursuing a worthy, weightier goal. Next, I will develop an objection to that position, namely that the double effect principle does not adequately incorporate the moral intuitions involved, resulting in the improper or insufficient distinction between intentional conduct and foreseeable unintended conduct. For a response to this objection, I will describe how it fails to appreciate the higher risk here—the discharge of a bioweapon in an urban area. I will explain why this response is satisfactory with both Kantian and consequentialist considerations.

The Doctrine of Double Effect 

According to the doctrine or principle of double effect, sometimes it is permissible to cause a harm as a side effect (or “double effect”) of bringing about a good result even though it would be impermissible to cause such a harm as a means of achieving that good result. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (hereinafter, “SEP”), “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2). Philosopher Joseph Mangan (1949) asserts four requisite conditions for its application:

(1) the object of the action itself is good (or at least indifferent);

(2) the good effect is intended, not the evil effect;

(3) the good effect is not produced by means of the evil effect; and

(4) the reason for permitting the evil effect is sufficiently grave that the resultant benefit adequately offsets the harm. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2).

For instance, in your causing the death of a person who is pushing a victim off a cliff, the double effect principle permits you to incidentally cause the death of the attacker as a side effect of pursuing the good end of saving the victim. However, the instrumentality itself must not cause death for the sake of a good end—here, for instance, that your intervening does not simply shoot the attacker in the head; whereas it would be permissible to pull the victim away even if that foreseeably causes the attacker to fall to her death. The benefit of saving the innocent victim’s life is a proportionately grave reason to allow the foreseeable death of the attacker or risk thereof.

Therefore, the cause of the harm is not part of an agent's means to such an extent that it must count as instrumentally intended to bring about the good end. Some find this doctrine initially plausible because of its intuitive appeal. The permissible harm is viewed as a merely foreseen side effect, perhaps regretful, when urgency makes the side effect unavoidable and risk is not increased. It is akin to a forced cost-benefit analysis—situationally consequentialist.

This contrasts with what is deemed morally impermissible in causing harm. A common example is the terror bomber who kills civilians to weaken the resolve of the enemy—the civilian’s deaths are intentional. Whereas the tactical bomber aiming at military targets foresees civilian deaths as an unintended consequence of his actions. Terror bombing is impermissible; tactical bombing is permissible (though some will disagree, citing inadequate reflection—e.g., on Kantian ideals—or insufficient emotional engagement). (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2).

It Was Morally Permissible For The Avengers To Take This Risk 

Several Avengers—Captain America, Black Widow, Falcon, and Scarlet Witch—were on a mission gathering intelligence in Lagos, Nigeria, when a truck rammed inside the Center of Infectious Diseases. The villain Brock Rumlow escaped with a bioweapon. The Avengers tracked him to a market, where a fight occurred. Brock suddenly decided to commit a suicide bombing, perhaps hoping to kill Captain America, too. In a reflex move, Scarlet Witch contained the blast with telekinesis, but it damaged a nearby building, killing several Wakandan humanitarian workers inside.

Applying the principle of double effect, the good object of the Avengers actions was to achieve the higher goal of retrieving a bioweapon from villains. Although some civilian harm was foreseeable, it was certainly not intended, and the grave matter of preventing massive casualties by deployment of a bioweapon (there or elsewhere) outweighed the civilian harm foreseeable at the time the Avengers decided to act.

Also, the Avengers avoid culpability because the suicidal blast itself was not foreseeable, as it was a non-rational, superseding cause, and because the Scarlet Witch’s action to contain the explosion was reflexive, without time to deliberate. Citizens impliedly consent to a system where collateral damage is to be avoided or minimized, although not at all costs. The Wakandans weren’t citizens of Nigeria, but they necessarily consent to rely on their hosts system. In fact, if the battle didn’t occur there, it still could have happened in Wakanda or elsewhere.

An Objection to The Avengers Taking the Risk 

The double effect principle does not adequately incorporate the moral intuitions involved because independently grounded moral considerations implicitly influence how we distinguish between means and side effects in the first place. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 4). Application of the principle to the Lagos battle fails to look squarely at the result—either way, the Wakandans’ deaths was precipitated by the Avenger’s actions.

It’s almost as if the principle is misused to justify the means because the goal must be achieved. We are inclined to describe a harmful result as a merely foreseen side effect when we believe that it is permissibly brought about. We are also inclined to describe a harmful result as part of the agent's means when we believe that it is impermissibly brought about. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2).

Perhaps it is the “Side Effect Effect” that is at play. Complying with a norm while performing an impermissible act involves an intention in the compliance. Conversely, when one violates a norm incidentally in performing a permissible act, it merely involves knowingly violating a norm because one foresees the harm and knows of it but does not intend it. People intuitively feel that intent is closer to objectionable harm than is tolerating harm. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2). If one is somewhat physically removed from the situation, one’s active brain areas are those associated with math and consequentialist thinking, whereupon one tends to assess a harm as a side effect. If closer to the physicality, then the emotional center and deontological reasoning areas are activated, whereupon one tends to assess a harm as intentional.

In Lagos, it was an inherently dangerous situation, but in applying the principle of double effect, one can lose sight of the immorality of causing so many deaths in absolute numbers. Viewing potential civilian victims as mere collaterals is as erroneous here as it would be in other areas that the Avengers have caused such damage and death—Washington D.C., New York, and Sokovia. The battle in Lagos was avoidable, so the Wakandan deaths were avoidable. They or the relevant authorities could have decided to battle on another day (or place). Otherwise, the Avengers’ causing civilian deaths, though not intentional, was culpable and at best grossly negligent.

A Response to this Objection 

Notwithstanding, the best response to this objection is that battle is always inherently dangerous, wherever it occurs, and in this case the highest and most immediate risk was of the bioweapon discharging there. Given the exigency of the situation, the Avengers had to try to retrieve the weapon. Also, they did in fact get the bioweapon back and should be given credit for saving many lives—if not then, then in the future, as it could have happened in a different city, a denser city, and perhaps even the capital of Wakanda.

This response is satisfactory because it would be safer for the Avengers or any force to assume that the villain’s intent was to use the bioweapon in that city as a terror weapon. In fact, if the perpetrator was willing to commit suicide with a blast, then employing a bioweapon was just as possible. T.M. Scanlon (2008) asserted that the appeal of the principle of double effect is, fundamentally, illusory, while the Kantian appeal is real. An agent's intentions are relevant to moral assessments of the way in which the agent deliberated. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 2.3.2). Per Kantian logic, if there is no bad intent, then the actor is not responsible for the secondary affect.

Applying Walzer’s “Supreme Emergency” Argument 

We can look at how Philosopher Michael Walzer’s doctrine of “supreme emergency” might apply to the Legos battle. Walzer argues that the terror bombing of German cities by Allied forces in World War II was morally permissible in its first year because it was necessary to prevent a “supreme emergency” – the conquest of all of Europe by the Nazis. First, the Allies were engaged in a just war. There was a just cause legitimately authorized with the right intention that was proportionate, necessary, and had a reasonable chance of success.

As for the necessity of the terror bombing itself, one could argue that the victims may be common citizens but were not innocent of the wrongs the Allies were fighting against. However, the Allies ultimately devastated many German cities, killed about 600,000 civilians, and seriously injured another 800,000 to terrorize the German people into forcing their leadership to surrender. (SEP, “Terrorism”, 2.3.2). However, it is a stretch to argue the realistic complicity of so many people over of varied backgrounds and geography, and so the impact on this analysis is de minimus. Also, the Germans should have tried to minimize civilian deaths per the Rules of Customary International Humanitarian Law. Each party to the conflict must, to the extent feasible, remove civilian persons and objects under its control from the vicinity of military objectives. (SEP, “Doctrine of Double Effect,” 4). For example, Britain removed many children from London during German bombing there. Nevertheless, the number of German deaths would still be very high from the Allied bombing, leaving our analysis substantially unaffected here, too.

A better argument is to concede the civilians’ innocence but to argue that attacks on them are nevertheless justified, either by their consequences on balance, or by some deontological considerations. (SEP, “Terrorism”, 2.3.1). For instance, in exceptional circumstances, considerations concerning consequences of not resorting to terrorism may be so weighty as to be overriding. (SEP, “Terrorism,” 2.3). Here, the Allies were faced with “the survival and freedom of political communities—whose members share a way of life, developed by their ancestors, to be passed on to their children,” which “are the highest values of international society.”

Not every case of oppression, foreign rule, or occupation, however morally indefensible, amounts to a moral disaster warranting application of the “supreme emergency” doctrine. However, when a nation is trying to exterminate an entire people or to “ethnically cleanse” them from its land, it becomes a moral disaster warranting terrorism, e.g., terror bombing, as a method of opposition, in view of the enormity and finality of its consequences, e.g., as applied to Jews, homosexuals, and various minorities in WWII.

Stephen Nathanson asserts that the idea of supreme emergency is vague, subject to arbitrary and subjective applications. It is a slippery slope to argue for exceptions allowing such terror. (SEP, “Terrorism,” 2.3.3). Consider that the Allies goal was unconditional surrender. Flexibility in the terms could possibly have saved many civilian and military lives.

Ultimately, however, when comes down to our civilians vs. theirs in a just war, and in dealing with desperate uncertainty, the “supreme emergency” doctrine has its rightful place.

If the Mercenaries Intended on Deploying the Biological Weapon In Wakanda 

If the Avengers believed that the mercenaries planned to deploy the biological weapon in a crowded Wakandan city center causing millions of deaths, then it was morally permissible for the Avengers to engage them, despite the clear risk to civilian lives. This Avengers’ case presents a “supreme emergency” on the level Walzer describes because the stakes are so high and the failure to act would likely be too costly. The capacity of the villains to use the weapon—even beyond the initial millions dead if deployed—is a real possibility, too. The Avengers’ cause was just, and even if their authority was not direct, it should be implied given the extreme situational peril faced by millions.

This could be in the nature of a preventative war. The villains are at virtually at war with society and/or the Avengers themselves. The threatened attack is clear and likely, even if not necessarily immanent at the time of engagement. Therefore, it was morally permissible to thwart the villains at the risk of civilian lives. Even if it was not strictly in self-defense, they hadn’t provoked it. It would be absurd to wait for an attack; once the bioweapon is released—then or later in another city—it would be too late to prevent massive casualties. More likely, however, is that this is a case of self-defense. The response was proportionate, considering the nature and extent of the threat to the civilian populations and the fast-breaking action.

The strongest objection to the preceding argument is that even in self-defense, the result of saving a million lives is not certain, whereas the deaths of innocent civilians in engaging the villains in an urban area is virtually certain. Also, acting so violently and quickly in dealing with such a dangerous weapon could set it off. One could question the manner of the Avenger’s efforts, and whether mitigation was attempted, such as cornering the weapon in a safer area.

However, this objection is ultimately not successful because the stakes are too high. The potential environmental damage, perhaps permanent, and especially the magnitude of the loss of life, militates for a drastic solution: stop them at virtually all costs, e.g., less than one million lives. It was not the time to initiate negotiations with such villains. Furthermore, a “supreme emergency” takes precedence over the doctrine of double effect. Michael Walzer (1977) has argued that an additional condition for the Double Effect doctrine is to minimize the foreseen harm even if this will involve accepting additional risk or foregoing some benefit. Only if mitigation was available, timely, and effective without foregoing benefits and without incurring additional risk, should the Avengers have considered mitigation in the moment.

Conclusion 

I’ve described the doctrine of double effect and argued its applicability to the Avenger’s decision to battle in Lagos despite the foreseeable civilian deaths. The objection to that applicability is that there are unacknowledged moral considerations and tendencies of human thought at play that cause the application to be somewhat illusory. However, that objection is weak in the face of the enormous life and death stakes in Legos. Furthermore, I described Walzer’s doctrine of “supreme emergency” and how it would apply to the Legos battle if the villains’ intent was to deploy the bioweapon there despite the lack of mitigation, if any, under the extreme circumstances. 

AFFIRMATIVE ACTION REACTION

In the dean’s office at a university in Washington, D.C., several students gathered there suggested that I should not have been allowed admission into the university. Because of the color of my skin.

It disturbed my head more than my heart because I knew where they were coming from. Still, they should have given me more consideration. I belonged.

There was more to it. This was in law school years ago at Howard University, one of 107 Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), most of which were created in former slave states in the aftermath of the American Civil War.

And I am white.

Howard is in the nation’s capital, where our current president, Trump, presides over a nationalistic American First agenda. Trump appears ready to take on affirmative action by investigating and suing universities that discriminate against white applicants.

Notably, Trump revoked President Obama’s executive order on the White House Initiative on Historically Black Colleges and Universities (WHIHBCU), which has been extant since the Carter administration. Trump’s replacement order in February 2017 eliminates “measurable directives” and deletes the emphasis “especially African Americans”, adding instead the phrase “advancing the interests of all Americans”.

The WHIHBCU notes that the HBCU Career Development Marketplace celebrates its 10th anniversary today, but Trump is no where to be seen in the outdated website. President Obama’s name is still there on the first page.

As for other U.S. presidents:

• President Kennedy - started “affirmative action” with his executive order that government contractors were to "take affirmative action to ensure that applicants are employed and treated without regard to their race, creed, color, or national origin."
• President Johnson - required government employers to take "affirmative action" to "hire without regard to race, religion and national origin" (gender was added two years later).
• President Carter - distributed resources and funds to strengthen the nation's public and private HBCUs.
• President Nixon - fired Leon Panetta as the Director of Civil Rights for attempting to enforce desegregation.
• President Reagan - minimized desegregation by non-enforcement, but shifted focus to funding and support for black college and universities.
• George H. W. Bush - created the presidential advisory board on HBCUs to counsel the government on HBCU’s future development.

HBCUs have always allowed admission to students of all races. U.S. News ranks Howard second nationally for HBUCs, behind Spelman College (all women’s college), and ahead of Morehouse College (all men’s college). Hampton University in Virginia, the third-ranked HBUC, traces its roots to Mary Peake, a free African-American who taught a group of about 20 freed slaves under an oak tree.

My roots are Irish Catholic, with some English—naturally conflicted. My ancestors were horribly oppressed in Ireland under the Penal Laws. Even presidential candidate John F. Kennedy worried about his Irish Catholic background. Remember, Catholics informally represent one of the Ks in the KKK—Katholics, Kikes (Jews), and Koons (Blacks). But Kennedy faced the religious issue head on.

Later, President Kennedy started the U.S. Peace Corps. Before joining the Peace Corps, I had read then-senator Kennedy’s book, Profiles in Courage. He had donated his Pulitzer Prize money for that book to the United Negro College Fund.

Eventually, the Irish in America became “white” because, although everyone’s skin color is an “immutable characteristic”, our white skin allowed us to blend in and access the American dream. I grew up in a virtually all white suburb of Boston. One reason I chose Howard for law school was because it was an intra-cultural experience, which followed naturally my intercultural experience in the Peace Corps.

As for the law school dean, he flat out told the students who had approached him that I did belong there at Howard. All these years later, I found an article, “Peace Corps Teams Up with The White House Initiative on Historically Black Colleges and Universities for East Coast Tour.” This pleases me. The connection is palpable.

Affirmative action is a reaction, a reaction to past discrimination. It didn’t come out of an ideological or factual vacuum. It came out of the reality born of millions of racially prejudiced experiences. Millions, which has momentum, momentum that must be overcome, offset until America is affirmatively on a path toward equitable balance. At what point that is, is a matter of dispute. In Grutter v. Bollinger, the Supreme Court stated: “We expect that 25 years from now, the use of racial preferences will no longer be necessary to further the interest approved today.” That was in 2003, which means the justices expected that balance in 2028.

They are not the only prejudices out there, but cumulatively, racial prejudices represent a significant target for remedy. So yes, we, collectively—collecting our flaws as well, necessarily—all belong.

How to Ruin a Reunion

Okay, keeping all that old crap in my files paid off. I found this nugget about my high school reunion. Yes, it is embarrassing, so feel free to enjoy. 

The Spoof:

Our 20th high school reunion was coming up, so I posted this on our page at Classmates.com:

Wow. I'm even more horrified as I re-read this again years later. But what the hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

So I got a call from the reunion organizer asking, hesitantly, if I was "okay." People spooked by my post called her in a panic. She almost didn't call me--fortunately, we'd gone to prom together, so she did call. 

The Apology:

Reading the apology now, I wonder if anyone disbelieved it, the bio part, i.e., that I hadn't graduated from a suburban voc-tech and became a lawyer/professor who married a Polynesian while in the Peace Corps and went to an historically Black law school, but was telling stories.  Which would mean . . . the first post was true! But, no, I believe the apology worked as best it could at that point.

The Relief:

Okay, re-reading this again, I have to chuckle--her knees have stopped shaking. 
And I stopped turning red at the memory of all this.

8. Hideaway, While You Still Can

We boarded a bus bound for the other side of the island, away from this small town capital, the closest to so-called civilization (no disrespect intended) for us over the next two years. My lingering cold left me groggy, as did drinking beer last night in the initial festive air that also lingered. We took a dirt road through dense flora that hid a nearby village. Arriving at the Hideaway Hotel, we saw a compound by an isolated beach. We paired off with our assigned roommates and unpacked in small thatched-roof structures, a single room to each. A more basic living was already apparent.

On November 24^th, language and culture lessons began at 8:00 am. Tea was served at 10:00 a.m., with the usual snack of large crackers and butter. More lessons, lunch at noon, then more lessons. Cindy, Mary‑Margaret, Pat and I were in the same group for language. Pat, in her 60s, was having some difficulty. Older people often have difficulty learning a second language, she’d said. I felt for her, not having a background or gift for foreign languages myself. Years before, I’d asked my brother Tommy what culture was. Knowing five languages, he looked at me almost pitifully. Now, I had really begun to know, and this was no textbook example. I was fulfilled: on an adventure, learning, and soon to serve.

On Wednesday afternoon, we had a full group session where we addressed areas of common concern. Afterward, we walked way down the beach—a mile or more—to where the river entered the ocean. The crashing surf sounded the coral reef, about a mile out. Scents of salt, sea, moisture, flowers and other plants, some unfamiliar, made for a permeating experience. From mountains and tall palms to sea shells and sand grains, in reds, blues, and greens, and hues in between, it was beautiful.

In the fale, the structure with posts supporting a thatched roof, we had evening lotu, singing Christian prayers that were part and parcel with these people. It was now part of our daily routine, too. In this melodic Polynesian language, the singing was an objectively beautiful sound, regardless of not understanding lyrics. All twenty-nine PCVs (of thirty, one was already lost due to health problems) and two of our trainers sat on the floor, singing and praying. The fale was fitting for this activity, without walls between nature and us, as if lacking a barrier between Man and Maker.

After dinner, John S. and I went to our little fale to put in an extra hour studying language. We went to Cindy’s and Mary‑Margaret’s fale and drank a beer, listening to their American music tapes for an hour until heading for the beach. There, we listened to James Taylor songs while sitting in a small, beached tourist boat, talking, viewing the stars, and listening to the surf brake. Ah, yes—breaks are important, especially with music from home. By mid‑night, having caught up in my journal and anticipating an early rise, it was time to read some of Kurt Vonnegut’s “Galapagos” before I slept.

Thanksgiving Day: it began with more language lessons. For Sikoti (Scott), Palauni (Brian), Atamu (Adam), and me, it was with trainer Siauane, who was difficult to understand. We were, however, becoming used to the Samoan names assigned to us. For some, our name was Samoan‑ized because there was no direct translation, hence still familiar, e.g., for me, “Kevini,” which lacked imagination but I didn’t much mind.

I developed a fever of 102.5 F and manava tata, which sounds much better than the English word--diarrhea. I received aspirin and advice from Meko, the contract Peace Corps medical officer whose nativity is Papua New Guinea. After dinner, I slept until hearing John and Cindy approach my fale to check on me. Unbeknownst to them, I woke. As they entered, I feigned a toss’n turn sleep, mumbling, eyes closed, in apparent delirium. They came bedside slowly and observed. John then gently put his hand on my arm. “Kevin . . . Kevin,” he whispered. My faint mumbling grew louder and clearer, becoming “Aunty Em, Aunty Em, Aunty Em ...”. Then I sat up and shouted, “Toto! Toto!”, and we all burst out laughing. They called me a few choice words, but I enjoyed earning them. I felt up for a walk, which took us to some PCVs playing guitars and hanging out in a common area.

On November 28th, feeling somewhat better, I joined the others for more language study in small groups. Later, we regrouped for fiafia practice, which was fun. A fiafia is a meeting of two sides at opposite ends of a fale in an entertainment format of singing, clapping, orating, chanting, teasing, and dancing, village vs. the guests of the village. There was much repartee and jest, and of course the usual words of respect exchanged. Afterward, we volunteers played the Samoan national card game that we’d learned, suipi, properly slamming down each card played.

Assignment Apia: The next day, we were assigned tasks to perform back in Apia, the only large town and the nation’s commercial center of about 35,000 people. In groups of three or four, we got on the standard wood-framed buses with wooden bench seats, for the first time un-chaperoned. Above the bus driver’s head, a picture of Jesus Christ was prominently pasted. A medley of decorations adorned the dashboard and all around. Polynesian music pounded out through large, mounted speakers as we crossed the mid-island mountains.

We arrived and wandered to find and purchase the items on the list with the money the training staff had provided. Samoans here spoke much more rapidly than in language class—no surprise, right? I recognized one word in twenty. And we were supposed to achieve something through this language? Well, we were determined to do so.

For some items, we went to the produce market where farmers and families brought their wares and lounged on pandandus mats until someone looked interested. It has been called the New Market ever since relocated by the government years ago. Below a huge corrugated aluminum roof, there were no walls and no stalls, except those created with boxes and blankets. A few vendors stood and smiled, gently suggesting a purchase. A few recognized words were all it took for us to make our first exchange, politely smiling, and we walked away, pleased with ourselves. At a few encounters, we did not at all understand what they were saying, so we said goodbye, too embarrassed or frustrated to keep trying. Other times, not only was the item not on our list, but we did not recognize the item as coming from anything—like the ground, the sea, or the air. A few vendors did speak English to us.

The fish market nearby was beside the water. We headed for it to find a jellyfish. My flip-flop got caught on the uneven ground and a strap broke, so I took them off. At tables, people cut and cleaned a plethora of various fish and sea creatures, but no jellyfish. Our queries proved fruitless. One thing I did discover, though, was that the floor had a disgusting way of making bare feet slippery.

Our final task was to find out what was playing at the 8:00 p.m. movie. We wandered among blocks of stores, but could not find the movie theater—the only real one on the island. We then tried to ask people what was playing there. We got friendly smiles and curious stares followed by shrugs. One person doggedly tried to direct us there, but he seemed to not understand that we only needed to know what movie was playing that night; either that or we could not understand that he did in fact understand us, but he didn’t know what was playing and was suggesting that we go find out for ourselves—a mystery, playing before our very eyes. We sensed our linguistic handicap. It was interesting, frustrating and funny, and I was glad to be with others on this first true test of cross‑cultural communication in Samoan.

We went back to the dirt-lot bus depot with our bags and looked for the bus, careful to find the exact spelling because many syllables were phonetically and visually similar. One vowel off and we could end up being overnight guests in a remote village, incommunicado. When we found it, we finally relaxed for the trip home (did I say home?). All groups came back, and we took turns discussing our experience in terms of language, culture, and impressions, what worked and what did not.

That evening, Mary‑Margaret pierced ears for John S., Jim, and me. She held a cold Sam Miguel beer bottle next to the ear for a minute as thermal anesthesia, cleaned it with alcohol, and then pierced it with a sewing needle. So those sewing kits they’d handed out had come in handy. Our early evening swim in the salty ocean was good for our ears.

November 30^th: We left the Hideaway Hotel for Tausaga village. We arrived and went directly to church. The entire congregation harmonized in their sonorous language. We were handed sheets with the lyrics and translations, and tried to join in. Even if we had beautiful voices, we probably sounded drunk to them, ill-timed and mispronounced. Fortunately, they drowned us out, mostly.

Afterward, it was to’ona’i time. We sat in the fale by the lake, cross‑legged and waiting to be served by the young people of the village. Pigs, chickens, roosters and kids ran loose. We realized that they were starting with a kava ceremony, which was disappointing because we were hungry. Also, for me and a few others, the cross‑legged sitting position on the floor, for extended periods of time, was painful. We couldn’t extend our legs frontwards because that would be insulting to whomever the legs pointed toward. Who started these meanings and traditions anyway? Surely, there was nothing inherently insulting about extending your feet out while sitting.

They called out the names of the most respected guests, one at a time, to receive a half‑coconut shell cup of kava, and then it was out turn. If we were Samoan, they would either know each of our names or find out for the calling. However, we were many PCV palagi, making it impracticable for that, so for some, they made up names. They called out “Adam” for me. I laughed a little, and said, “Ava lea le Atua,” while pouring out a symbolic portion onto the floor for God, as we were trained to do. I drained the cup and said, “Ia, manuia,” (to your health), then the group responded with, “Soifua,” (live), or vice versa. Next, they called out PCV Mark as “Eve”, and everyone laughed louder. Then Jim was “Aspirin.” Meanwhile, the kava was slightly numbing of body and appetite.

Finally, after going through the whole group, and following more oration exchanges, the food came. First served was PCV Scott because he was our acting chief, necessarily selected because us palagi’s have no chiefly titles bestowed upon us. I sat beside Scott. We quietly complained to each other about needing to stretch our legs out. I never would have guessed how painful it would be to just sit cross-legged for a period of time. Standing would be impolite, and politeness was one of the paramount values of this culture. One luxurious loop hole we discovered was that if there was one of those woven grass mats on the floor in front of us, if we had to, we could pull it over and stretch our legs out underneath it without offending anyone.

Women brought food out on large banana leaves and placed it before each of us on the mats we sat on. They sat before us while we ate, using woven hand fans to keep the flies from landing on the food. The dessert, provided by the Peace Corps and formally presented earlier, was half-melted ice cream. Later on we kicked the soccer ball around coconut trees on the lawn.

It was dark when I went down to the beach alone and walked. It was beautiful, but a bit eerie. I watched out for the wild dogs that I’d been warned about, especially because (hey, it could happen) they could run me into the ocean to be eaten by sharks. I saw too many shadows, on land and in the ocean, so I looked up at the multitude of stars, sat on the sand, and thought positive about things like my family, old and new friends, and, oh yeah, God.

December 1st: After language lessons, we had an afternoon community meeting, including a demonstration on how to take a shower at an outside pipe, village style, by trainer Apulu, a very funny orator chief. I also got a chance to play pool--a national rarity--with Tile, a young male Samoan trainer.

Back at the beach, I updated my journal and watched the sun set. John S. sat nearby on a rock, writing, too. He was shirtless and wore a wrap-around lava lava, and with his whiffle haircut and eyeglasses, it called to mind Gandhi and his mission of peace and freedom. I was dressed similarly, and felt akin to a monk, writing silently in a natural setting, especially when the bell rang, calling us in for lotu, the evening reading and singing of prayers.

December 2^nd I recorded as “just another day in paradise”. This morning, I was tired despite having slept well.

Damn the cheap pen—it was difficult to writing with them. Often, it was the little difficulties that grated upon us.

We learned possessive pronouns this morning—not difficult, but necessary to memorize and keep straight. I also learned dirty words and phrases, and not just for fun. It was important to know if one was being verbally abused or not, especially as a teacher where classroom decorum and respect had to be maintained—a lesson a good friend of mine would learn the hard way.

Tea was at 10:00 a.m. As usual, the entire PCV training group went out under the fale with the scented breeze blowing and the waves moving mere yards away. More language training followed. Lunch featured hamburgers that tasted like odd meatloaf because their meat was home grown and not ground fine. Dessert was faux Jell-O that smelled of dirty socks, as if made with stagnant water.

Fiafia practice was moved to the afternoon so that we could have the evening free for studying or relaxation. Emmor of Washington and I were “volunteered” to imitate or demonstrate the part of the fiafia where men sort of jump around and yelp to the sides and rear of the featured woman dancer, to support her, which looked pretty cool. After seeing how it was supposed to be, they had a good laugh seeing us try, too vigorously. My lava lava, normally tied or tucked into itself around the waist like a towel, came undone and fell part way off. I held firm the right side with my left hand, while in a panic chasing the loose left side with my right hand, spinning and revealing a cheek. They applauded. I maintained that I had underwear on, but some dispute this (and yes, for you cheeky bastards, thong underwear would explain the discrepancy but no it wasn’t so). An elderly Samoan woman trainer, Koke, the epitome of correct culture, cut off the merriment and admonished Emmor and me for acting like monkeys. Although we had enjoyed hamming it up a bit, we were making sincere attempts. Nevertheless, she was right, and we were all subdued, for the very real subtleties of the dance and movement and the seriousness of purpose had momentarily escaped us.

December 4^th: Training continued, but today we received Newsweek Magazines, a courtesy monthly subscription every PCV devoured. I got a chance to read it by the water, in the room, and all over, cover to cover, right down to the copyright language, the Newsweek staff listing, and the advertisement details; it was due to our isolation, which worsened with the weeks trudging along. At least, I got to snorkel by the reef earlier.

In my progress review later that day, Jackie, the head trainer who was a PCV in Western Samoa many years before, told me I was doing well in language study and would be moved to a quicker group, which was encouraging. In an announcement some PCVs were warned about PDAs, public displays of affection. A cautionary note was also sounded about drinking beer. I guess we had to pay attention even when relaxing. At the end of the day we had fiafia practice again.

On the last day at the Hideaway Hotel, before going to spend the weekend with the volunteers we were to replace, we finished training in the afternoon and then went down to the river to play stickball. In the evening, we finally had our fiafia with the Hideaway Hotel employees as our opposites, which was fun to see performed by the people we got to know and was satisfying to put into practice. A party followed at John and Mark’s fale, then the fale of a trainer, Silau, with plenty of dancing and laughing. Many strolled to the beach from there. I joined for a little while then returned to my fale to brush up on a refrigeration text that I’d brought with me. I went back out later, but I shouldn’t have, as I ended up with only three hours sleep.     

As we left the hotel, the friendly staff that we had bonded with saw us off. We waved from the bus. The engine started and I started an adaptation of a classic 1960s American song – “Na, na, na, na. Na, na, na, na. Hey, ay, ay ... To fa (Samoan for ‘good bye’)”. Over and over we sang, until well out of sight. We then listened to a cassette tape of Pink Floyd going back to Apia, appropriate for the course over the mountains, dark green and shapely in the cool white mists, and rife with unique flora. The banyan trees looked surreal; instead of a single trunk, thick vines looked like roots that couldn’t wait to sink themselves into the moist soil.

The Peace Corps office was across from the market, and that was where we met about half of the current PCVs from around the islands. We were to stay the weekend with them to gain their living and work perspective. First, most of us went to play softball at TTI, the Technical Training Institute where I would be teaching. I arrived with Andrew and he took me on a tour of the school and the refrigeration shop. I was very excited and apprehensive; I couldn’t wait to start teaching, yet I could. We played the Australian volunteers and won. Next we lost to the Japanese volunteers. I was glad to meet many of them and share a beer from the keg that was delivered from the local brewery.

We left TTI for a barbeque at a volunteer’s flat nearby. I took advantage of another keg when it wasn’t looking, lol (“lol” didn’t even exist back then—neither did texting . . . lol). Well, my feet were steady but my mind was brimming with sentiment. At one point in a conversation with a current PCV and Scott, a fellow trainee from North Dakota, I ventured that nobody cared about justice as much as I because I was so passionate about it, and I said it seriously, as if a challenge. I still cringe, recalling that.

Suddenly, two young Samoan men began fighting outside in the front yard. The unlucky one got punched, hit with the back edge of a bush knife and kicked in the head. This was not a place where a police car might luckily be in the neighborhood. They have no such fleet. Nevertheless, some people broke up the contenders.

We left for Andrew’s place, a government “flat”—a slab house. There were no basements in Samoa that I had ever seen. The corrugated aluminum roof kept out the rain, the screens kept out the flies and mosquitoes, and the louvered glass windows allowed the air to circulate into the house to dry things out, if possible, and let out the heat.

December 8^th: I rose with sun-blistered cheeks, something easily acquired on a softball field by a fair skinned person twelve degrees south of the equator. Andrew and I caught a bus to Apia then walked to the Apia Yacht Club, which consisted of small parcel of land with an unpainted two-room structure made of unfinished cinder block. There were few chairs, no amenities, and no staff. It looked more like a garage mid-constriction. The shed nearby contained twenty or so wind surfers, sailfish, and a couple of small Catamaran. I helped Andrew carry out the Cat that he was minding for a foreign couple who had left it behind for him to sell. We set the mast and sails. He took me out for a short ride along the coast, inside the coral reef. The distant perspective on the water, reef, and mountains deepened the colors.

That evening, Andrew and I walked to a small building near the National Hospital. We met there a few other PCVs with their trainees. We felt a bit like pets as the PCVs would meet in the street, introduce their guest, then discuss them. As we entered the “theatre,” we paid a few coins into the cardboard collection box. Inside there was a sea of brown skinned folk rendered uniform by their common attire. Many were older children. A white bed sheet hung in the front of the room. Apparently it was the “screen,” another of many things in this country to put in quotation marks. The projector was started then stopped for correction. After a few minutes, it started up. Then shut down. But nobody seemed to find quality control unduly lacking. After about ten times, the locals’ patience was thinner, but not thin. They had time—Samoan time—for Samoan things and palagi (white people) things.

During the movie, the Samoans laughed and reacted at what seemed the most inappropriate times, like when partial nudity was shown or someone was physically hurt. And when we reacted emotionally to a scene, they often remained silent. Movies were probably one of the major exposures to the West that they received, which could be very misleading and a bad influence. Do you know how many dogs I’ve heard were named “Rambo” in this country? Neither do I, I lost count.

We were to depart for a remote village the next day, to be immersed most deeply into the culture, so I went to sleep early; it was no time to play.

7. Injuries to Avoid

On November 21st, we had our work-site visits. Andrew and I hopped on his off-road motorcycle for the Western Samoa Technical Institute, or “T.I.” as it was informally called. It which was situated two miles from Apia center (it later became the Samoa Polytechnic, and then part of the National University of Samoa). The tropical airflow and changing scents and sights were invigorating. Andrew introduced me to the principal there, a Samoan man probably in his fifties, who welcomed me. I also met an educational consultant, a man from India, who had arrived via work in London, New Zealand, and Tonga. He seemed to have wise eyes, and from our conversation, it seemed to me that in his perception of the world, he had developed a coherent philosophy. (I would come to appreciate his non-judgmental compassion for me when I suffered some difficult times later).

Back at the hotel, our group had a session to gauge our progress and handle any issues, problems, or questions. Volunteers raised issues particular to their assignments. Before the end of the day, we had a medical orientation. Common problems and other information were described. For instance, male PCVs tended to lose weight while female PCVs tended to gain weight. A poisoning issue involved trainer Apulu demonstrating with a live “Crown of Thorns.”  It looked like a starfish from the planet Mars, red and crusty with spikes that can poison you if you step on them, sometimes fatally. He showed us how to flip it over to have the underside mouth placed over the wound so the animal would suck out the poison for you--certainly the preferred method for the person whose friend accidentally sits on one.

The training staff handed out one copy each of a large paperback book called “Where There Is No Doctor -a Village Health Care Handbook.” The cover photograph is of villagers crossing a waist-deep river in the wilderness, carrying a person on a stretcher covered with a raised, thin sheet. Inside the book, I saw depictions and descriptions of everything wretched that can happen to one’s insides and outsides.

The book was supposed to be empowering, not encouraging.

There was the National Hospital in Apia, where at least basic care was available, but at remote locations, you could only find a few basic medical stations with a nurse or “nurse like person.” 

November 22nd marked the assassination that had stunned the world. Because the Peace Corps began under John F. Kennedy’s administration, we were acutely aware of this date even while abroad. We acknowledged it while still gathered for the morning briefing following breakfast. The rest of the day was for R&R.

A few of us left for Palolo Deep, a deep area inside the coral reef that surrounds most of the island. Cindy, Mary Margaret, John S., John W., Mark, and I waded out to a pile of rocks about 100 yards off shore where we used a twenty-foot thatched roof hut as a base for swimming, sunning, lounging, and picnicking. While snorkeling, we saw many tropical fish flashing their amazing array of colors among the penetrating beams of sunlight. But my mind drifted toward sharks.

Everyone has a phobia. For me, since the movie “Jaws,” it’s sharks! Finding out that they had filmed it offshore of Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts didn’t help, even though great whites didn’t hunt in these waters. Ironically, I am less scared of them now, perhaps because the Jaws effect wore off and because I’ve lived long enough to feel I wouldn’t be terribly short changed if gobbled up. I used to think that if I lived to 33, the age Jesus died, then I could ask for no more. I think the worst part of it all is that it is beyond one’s control, once in the water, and you can’t see it coming. Contrast that with doing 100 m.p.h. on a motorcycle or parachuting or free rock climbing, where I’ve calculated visible risks—not as scary (parachuting was quite frightening at first).

Sharks occasionally get through the spaces in the coral reef here, especially at high tide. We were told that here in 1972, an 18-foot Tiger Shark bit off the top half of a PCV. Apparently, while spear fishing, the line holding his captured fish had snapped Rather than drag it along with his hand, he looped it around his neck. A Tiger Shark caught the unintended bait and reeled in the volunteer. It was said that a woman with him, perhaps his girlfriend, witnessed it.

Speaking of animals eating other animals, that evening, we devoured a baked pig and an imported turkey complemented by multiple dishes at a Thanksgiving dinner. This treat was at the Peace Corps Country Director’s semi-western style house, which was on the oceanfront and beautifully set. Most countries that Peace Corps serves have an office led by a Country Director and two to four Associate Country Directors with a small staff. Some Associate directors and staff are host country nationals. The food was wonderful, and we got to play volleyball on the well-tended lawn. In speaking with Andrew, he advised me to live with another volunteer if I had any need for privacy or time for myself, as a traditional Samoan family would usually not fully understand the need.

The next step in training was to take us deeper into Samoa, deeper into the culture. The nervous excitement was palpable among us as we headed for the Hideaway. On November 21st, we had our work-site visits. Andrew and I hopped on his off-road motorcycle for the Western Samoa Technical Institute, or “T.I.” as it was informally called. It which was situated two miles from Apia center (it later became the Samoa Polytechnic, and then part of the National University of Samoa). The tropical airflow and changing scents and sights were invigorating. Andrew introduced me to the principal there, a Samoan man probably in his fifties, who welcomed me. I also met an educational consultant, a man from India, who had arrived via work in London, New Zealand, and Tonga. He seemed to have wise eyes, and from our conversation, it seemed to me that in his perception of the world, he had developed a coherent philosophy. (I would come to appreciate his non-judgmental compassion for me when I suffered some difficult times later).

Back at the hotel, our group had a session to gauge our progress and handle any issues, problems, or questions. Volunteers raised issues particular to their assignments. Before the end of the day, we had a medical orientation. Common problems and other information were described. For instance, male PCVs tended to lose weight while female PCVs tended to gain weight. A poisoning issue involved trainer Apulu demonstrating with a live “Crown of Thorns.”  It looked like a starfish from the planet Mars, red and crusty with spikes that can poison you if you step on them, sometimes fatally. He showed us how to flip it over to have the underside mouth placed over the wound so the animal would suck out the poison for you--certainly the preferred method for the person whose friend accidentally sits on one.

The training staff handed out one copy each of a large paperback book called “Where There Is No Doctor -a Village Health Care Handbook.” The cover photograph is of villagers crossing a waist-deep river in the wilderness, carrying a person on a stretcher covered with a raised, thin sheet. Inside the book, I saw depictions and descriptions of everything wretched that can happen to one’s insides and outsides.

The book was supposed to be empowering, not encouraging.

There was the National Hospital in Apia, where at least basic care was available, but at remote locations, you could only find a few basic medical stations with a nurse or “nurse like person.” 

November 22nd marked the assassination that had stunned the world. Because the Peace Corps began under John F. Kennedy’s administration, we were acutely aware of this date even while abroad. We acknowledged it while still gathered for the morning briefing following breakfast. The rest of the day was for R&R.

A few of us left for Palolo Deep, a deep area inside the coral reef that surrounds most of the island. Cindy, Mary Margaret, John S., John W., Mark, and I waded out to a pile of rocks about 100 yards off shore where we used a twenty-foot thatched roof hut as a base for swimming, sunning, lounging, and picnicking. While snorkeling, we saw many tropical fish flashing their amazing array of colors among the penetrating beams of sunlight. But my mind drifted toward sharks.

Everyone has a phobia. For me, since the movie “Jaws,” it’s sharks! Finding out that they had filmed it offshore of Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts didn’t help, even though great whites didn’t hunt in these waters. Ironically, I am less scared of them now, perhaps because the Jaws effect wore off and because I’ve lived long enough to feel I wouldn’t be terribly short changed if gobbled up. I used to think that if I lived to 33, the age Jesus died, then I could ask for no more. I think the worst part of it all is that it is beyond one’s control, once in the water, and you can’t see it coming. Contrast that with doing 100 m.p.h. on a motorcycle or parachuting or free rock climbing, where I’ve calculated visible risks—not as scary (parachuting was quite frightening at first).

Sharks occasionally get through the spaces in the coral reef here, especially at high tide. We were told that here in 1972, an 18-foot Tiger Shark bit off the top half of a PCV. Apparently, while spear fishing, the line holding his captured fish had snapped Rather than drag it along with his hand, he looped it around his neck. A Tiger Shark caught the unintended bait and reeled in the volunteer. It was said that a woman with him, perhaps his girlfriend, witnessed it.

Speaking of animals eating other animals, that evening, we devoured a baked pig and an imported turkey complemented by multiple dishes at a Thanksgiving dinner. This treat was at the Peace Corps Country Director’s semi-western style house, which was on the oceanfront and beautifully set. Most countries that Peace Corps serves have an office led by a Country Director and two to four Associate Country Directors with a small staff. Some Associate directors and staff are host country nationals. The food was wonderful, and we got to play volleyball on the well-tended lawn. In speaking with Andrew, he advised me to live with another volunteer if I had any need for privacy or time for myself, as a traditional Samoan family would usually not fully understand the need.

Our time at the Tusitala Hotel ended on November 23rd. The next step would take us deeper into Samoa, deeper into the culture. The nervous excitement was palpable among us as we headed for the Hideaway.

Interesting Salon article from Kasai.

I was the black guy in a white frat

NEW SERIES . . .

Peace in Polynesia, War in D.C.

About my inter-cultural experience in the U.S. Peace Corps and intra-cultural experience as a white student at a historically black law school. (See numbered entries to the left.)

(write the Peace Corps posts starting on Peace Corps week, and the Howard Law posts during national Black History Month? Ah, integrate them ...)

CHUM, CHAMP, AND CHUMP

Some will say Osama bin Laden at the bottom of the ocean is now appropriately closer to hell; others will say he will simply ascend farther to heaven. Some will wonder what his gunshot wounds look like; others will wonder if the sailors chummed the water before sliding his body into it. United we survivors stand over his body, but we need not gloat. We should be dignified—not for his death, but for our life.

We need not provide those visual proofs that would serve as anti-American propaganda and disserve “us”—the U.S. and those who would rather spend billions on helping people instead of on thwarting terrorist. Let us have faith that we discriminately terminated the one who through false interpretation of a genuine faith so indiscriminately murdered Americans and others. Maybe someday, like October 24^th, United Nations Day, we can release “doctored” photos, i.e., real photos but with gauze-pad graphics pasted over the gruesome head wound. For now, let us keep to ourselves the last mortal views of him as the rightful antidote to the horrific public views of death on 911.

Some say they would have personally pulled the trigger to kill Osama bin Laden, but would they have all really done so when the situation was not theoretical but real, requiring an instantaneous decision? Once, a government officer asked me if, under certain hypothetical circumstances, I would kill a person upon a superior’s order. My impulse was to say yes, but I wonder. As with most hypotheticals, the most common correct answer is “it depends.” With bin Laden, I hesitate because of the “human being” part of the apt phrase “evil human being.” However, in theory, at least, I would pull the trigger to end the life of someone who not only admitted the mass murder but also had never expressed remorse and continued to manifest intent to do it again.

Bin Laden sealed his own fate, in the end. The Abbottabad takedown was not an arrest by local police implying constitutional rights, so it did not violate U.S. law per se. It was a military operation. Did it violate international law? Well, it depends. Even in domestic law circumstances can permit justified homicide, e.g., self-defense by the victim, capital punishment by the state, both of which are analogous here. Seal Team Six members were properly committed to killing this terrorist under circumstances that before and during the action allowed no room for error or benefit of the doubt. Guns, not a white flag, greeted the Seals. Ultimately, the onus was on bin Laden to quit being a combatant quickly and clearly. He did not do so, so the killing was apparently legal.

Bin Laden is no chum to humanity; rather, he sank laden with sin. Obama is no chimp, Marilyn Davenport; rather he is one of a number of heroic champs. And yes, Robert Dinero, Trump with all his dinero acted like a chump recently. Now let’s get back to the business of being good Americans.

Related articles

• They had to shoot Osama bin Laden because he was not naked. (althouse.blogspot.com)
• ArabNews.com 
• Fidel Castro criticizes US for bin Laden kill (seattletimes.nwsource.com)

THE DEEPER TRUTH OF RADIATION – Nagasaki, Hiroshima, and Fukushima

Image via Wikipedia

Radiation: sending out rays; to shine; to glow.
It gives life on Earth via the sun or destroys life via bombs and contamination. Less than two years ago Samoa suffered a tsunami. It survived and its people will flourish despite the setback from being on the verge of removal from the United Nation’s list of least developed nations. When I taught refrigeration at the technical institute in Samoa’s capital, Apia, we Peace Corps volunteers had a tradition of playing softball on the campus grounds against Japanese Overseas Cooperation Volunteers from the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). We even played on the anniversary of VJ Day, the U.S. day of victory over Japan in World War II, but the game was in good fun and friendship, and we mixed the teams for a second game. Our American-Japanese friendships extended into other areas from work to parties to tennis tournaments and cultural demonstrations. For instance, I tutored my friend, Tatsuya Kanda of Osaka, in English and he taught me a little karate.

Several years ago I breakfasted, tȇte-ὰ-tȇte, with a former U.S. Senator, discussing our respective writing projects and backgrounds. The conversation turned to his career and to history. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was not justified, he said. Over the years, the issue has been debated extensively, whether or not the bombing helped end World War II sooner and saved more lives on both sides than it lost. To be clear, I am not entering that debate here. Additionally, he said it was a horrendous blow to humanity. And who could disagree? I could, at least insofar as a certain point I had. And it was this: the extreme human horror and radical devastation from those two detonated bombs made all subsequent nuclear-capable countries fear military escalation to an unprecedented degree. Consequently, it pre-empted a greater evil for the future of all humanity.

So far, anyway—we came very close to nuclear war during the Cuban Missile Crisis when President John F. Kennedy’s top generals recommended the nuclear bombing of Cuba because the Soviet Union had placed nuclear weapons on the island. My breakfast companion sat back and, looking thoughtful, agreed that whether or not that bombing was justified, it likely served a greater good for all humanity in holding back any number of fingers from the nuclear button in later conflicts. I still feel the truth in this, and beyond the Mutually Assured Destruction of the U.S. vs. Soviets or other countries; it is applicable to all nuclear-capable nations. But that’s me, looking for sunshine because darkness is too easily found.

And so, my proposal: take the nuclear waste from Japan’s stricken reactors and bury it within U.S. soil. First, they don’t have the room. Second, we do, with isolated salt mines and the like. It would be a literal and symbolic healing gesture that goes beyond friendship between the two nations to honor all life. From inflicting radiation in southern Japan—passing through their consciousness, bodies, and souls for decades—we could remove radiation from northern Japan. Sure, it’s poetic, romantic, and maybe even ridiculously radiant of love and white doves, but it is redemptive and meaningful. Perhaps President Kennedy, who was injured when a Japanese destroyer ran down his patrol boat during WWII, would agree.

Even if it is an expense for U.S. in a difficult economy—

Everything I touch

with tenderness, alas,

pricks like a bramble.

(Kobayashi Issa, 1763 – 1828)

—we should nevertheless reach out a welcome hand—

Sick and feverish

Glimpse of cherry blossoms

Still Shivering

(Akutagawa, Ryunosuke, 1892 – 1927)

Moreover, we will all be safer and healthier worldwide by taking action on nuclear waste. American just needs the political will to lead the way, beginning with recycling and developing the long-planned U.S. repository under Yucca Mountain in Nevada.

Related articles

• Hiroshima survivors fear new nuclear fallout (cnn.com)
• 2 British Ships Arrive In Japan to Carry Plutonium to US, by MARI YAMAGUCHI 2016