My father served in the Pacific during World War II. As my mother was moving a few weeks ago, I came across my father’s Pacific scrapbook. I had seen it before, but its contents took on special meaning this time because mom was leaving her home of 46 years and because this spring and summer mark the 60th anniversary of the end of World War II.
Telegrams; money order receipts; train tickets; dinner programs; photographs and drawings; newspapers announcing peace; a copy of Pacific Leatherneck with a feature about Iwo Jima; a letter to my father from James V. Forrestal, Secretary of the Navy, dated Oct. 26, 1945, after my father’s formal separation from active military service. It reads, in part, “You have served in the greatest Navy in the world … No other Navy at any time has done so much. For your part in these achievements you deserve to be proud as long as you live.The Nation which you served at a time of crisis will remember you with gratitude.”
My father was deeply proud of his country and his military service until the day he died, and the care with which his Navy memorabilia are stowed is evidence of that pride.
A series of letters to my mother and eldest sister, written almost daily for a week, is also in the scrapbook. Folded carefully together, the letters had apparently been sent as a group. The first begins:
“Dearest Sweethearts: I don’t know whether I should write this letter or not. In fact I don’t know whether you’ll ever get it or not but I wanted to put it all down and if I have to carry it with me, maybe I can show it to you some day …”
His ship was on its way to Leyte Island in the Philippines, where a beachhead had been established the previous day. His tanker was to deliver fuel and supplies. He adds:
“Tokyo Rose told us yesterday that 30,000 of our troops have been killed which of course is a lie. She even told us to remember that Christmas presents were on the way for those men which they would never get. She also reminded us that we probably won’t get ours. We get a kick out of listening to her. Day before yesterday she told us that our entire third fleet was destroyed. We are part of that fleet and were very much afloat at that time.”
Tokyo Rose was the nickname given by GI’s to several English-speaking women who spread demoralizing propaganda via radio in the Pacific theater. An American woman was eventually tried and convicted of treason as Tokyo Rose, but President Gerald Ford granted her a full pardon in 1977 because of clear evidence that those who testified against her had perjured themselves. She had wrongly been used as a scapegoat.
My father and his buddies got a kick out of Tokyo Rose’s lies, but I have a feeling her repeated reminders that they were far from home and family dug a painful pit into their psyches. Because words, even false words, are powerful, propaganda has often been used in armed conflict to dishearten the opposition.
What about our words? In an age of instant communication, I wonder if we sometimes forget the power of our tongue — and our laptop — for good and for ill. The letter of James offers the metaphor of ships and rudders to explain the power of the tongue:
“… even though [ships] are so large and driven by fierce winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot’s inclination wishes. In the same way the tongue is a small member and yet has great pretensions … With [the tongue] we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. This need not be so, brothers.” (James 3)
Paul was equally convinced of the power of words. “Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.” (Ephesians 4:29) A Christian’s words should always be for “building up,” never for “tearing down.” Our words of peace and encouragement can, as Paul writes, give grace to those who hear them.
My father once wrote words of love to my mother and sister not knowing if they would ever read them. When finally received, those wartime words were so precious to my mother that she carefully preserved them in scrapbooks and boxes. The words of several Tokyo Roses, patently and deliberately false, were aimed at young homesick American GI’s. Words can build up — and they can tear down.
May every one of our words, written and spoken, have as their goal to strengthen, encourage, give hope and edify.Those who hear us will cherish the strength we give them. May a harsh word or a curse never fall from lips created by God to give him praise.
Do you have an intention for Bishop Sartain’s prayer? If so, send it to him at Bishop Sartain’s Prayer List, Diocese of Little Rock, 2500 North Tyler St., P.O. Box 7239, Little Rock, AR 72217.