Today (11 November) is Remembrance Day – a time to honour those who died or suffered while serving in wars, conflicts and peace operations.
In August – prompted by a motion by Councillor Marisa Bell – Onkaparinga’s elected members similarly reflected on the legacy of war, commemorating the 80th anniversary of the US atomic bombings of Japanese cities, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, in 1945.
Shane Reiche, Willunga RSL’s president, also presented a deputation to Council during that meeting, exploring the consequences of the bombings and of war on defence force personnel and civilians.
With Shane’s permission, Onkaparinga Now has republished a lightly edited version of his deputation below as another way to commemorate on Remembrance Day. We will remember them. Lest we forget.
Reflections on the Consequences of War on Defence Force Personnel, Civilians, and the Legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
Tonight, as we gather in remembrance and reflection, we confront the enduring legacy of war, a spectre that has shaped nations, scarred landscapes, and above all, transformed countless human lives.
Eighty years have now passed since the world witnessed the unimaginable devastation unleashed upon Hiroshima on 6 August, and Nagasaki on 9 August 1945. These were days when the very fabric of humanity seemed to be torn apart in an instant.
I want to not only mark these dates, but also explore deeply how war, especially in its most extreme forms, leaves no one untouched: not the armed forces personnel who fight in its name, nor the civilians who struggle to survive its storms.
It may surprise some people that we, who wear or who have worn the nation’s uniform, do not relish the thought of war. Mostly, we abhor the prospect of suiting up for war with the possibility of losing our mates or, indeed, our own lives.
However, we all signed a blank cheque for up to, and including, the value of our lives, so if called upon by the nation to fight in its name, we would.
For those who serve in uniform, war is a crucible unlike any other. The visible injuries of battle are plain to see – wounds, scars, amputations. But it is the invisible wounds that so often persist long after the guns fall silent.
Many veterans carry inside them the weight of trauma, the echoes of artillery, the faces of friends lost. Post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, depression – these are not mere bywords, but daily realities for many who have served.
Many of us have dealt with our demons. However, the numbers of veterans who have taken their own lives and those who continue to suicide is an utter tragedy that I have unfortunately witnessed firsthand with too many of my own veteran mates.
The transition from battlefield to home-front can be a journey fraught with confusion, isolation and a longing for understanding that sometimes seems elusive.
Moreover, the structure and purpose that military service provides can, in the absence of war, give way to a sense of anxiety, agitation and restlessness. Careers shattered by injury, families strained by long absences, and communities that struggle to comprehend the burdens borne by their returning defenders.
These are the complex ripples that radiate through the lives of those who serve. This is why we, veterans of the profession of arms, lean on each other and gather together, knowing that we understand each other like those who haven’t served in uniform can't and that, collectively, we are a safe place for each other.
Our society needs to remember that behind every medal, every uniform, is a human being, deserving not only of gratitude, but also of compassion and support.
But wars are not fought by soldiers alone. Beyond the frontlines, it is civilians (women, children, the elderly) who so often pay the highest price. As currently being witnessed in Ukraine and Gaza, their homes become battlegrounds, their lives upended by forces far beyond their control.
In times of war, basic necessities become scarce: food, medicine, shelter – even the expectation of safety. Displacement of people – refugees in search of sanctuary, families torn apart, entire communities erased – is one of the most tragic consequences of conflict. The psychological toll is immense. Children growing up amid the rubble, parents haunted by the choices they must make to ensure their family’s survival.
The trauma of war lingers, shaping generations long after the fighting has ceased. And then, there is the cost to the fabric of society itself, schools shuttered, cultures disrupted, trust eroded between neighbours, the slow unravelling of the ordinary rhythms of life. War, in its most insidious form, is not only the destruction of bodies and buildings, but the erosion of hope.
It is against this backdrop that we turn our eyes, with solemn hearts, to the tragedy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, events that transpired 80 years ago.
On the morning of 6 August 1945, a single bomb fell from the sky above Hiroshima. In a blinding flash, the city was transformed into a furnace hotter than the surface of the sun. Tens-of-thousands perished instantly; tens-of-thousands more would succumb to their injuries in the days and months that followed.
Three days later, a second bomb fell on Nagasaki, bringing with it a similar apocalypse. The survivors carried not only the physical scars of radiation burns and illness, but the psychological burden of having witnessed a world unmade. They became living testaments to the horror of atomic warfare. Their stories speak not only of suffering, but of resilience: of lives rebuilt from ashes, of warnings offered to a world that must never forget.
The aftermath of those bombings reverberated far beyond Japan. The image of the mushroom cloud became a symbol, a warning to all humanity of the unthinkable power now wielded by nations with, what some would say, are questionable leaders.
In the Cold War years that followed, the shadow of nuclear annihilation loomed over the globe, reminding us that the fate of millions, armed forces personnel and civilians alike, could be decided in a single, irrevocable instant.
Why do we remember these events, 80 years on? Why do we reflect on the wounds inflicted by war? Because the lessons are as vital today as they ever were.
First, we must commit ourselves to the wellbeing of those who serve and who have served. Their sacrifices demand not only our gratitude, but our ongoing support, in healthcare, in community, in opportunity. We must ensure that their transition from war to peace and from uniform to civilian life, is marked not by neglect, but by understanding and care.
Second, we must never lose sight of the civilian cost of war. The protection of innocents must be at the forefront of any decision to wage conflict. Humanitarian aid, reconstruction, reconciliation, these are not secondary concerns but central to the pursuit of a just and lasting peace.
And third, we must heed the voices of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The atomic bombings were not mere episodes in history, but warnings etched in fire and shadow.
As new generations assume leadership, it is our moral responsibility to ensure the horrors of nuclear war are never repeated. Diplomacy, dialogue and disarmament must be our watchwords if we hope to secure a future free from the spectre of annihilation.
As I conclude, let us pause, not only in remembrance, but in resolve. Let us honour the armed forces personnel who have borne the weight of battle, the civilians who have endured the storm, and the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki who remind us, with every breath, of the price of war.
May we strive for a world where peace is not a distant dream, but a living reality. Where the tragedies of the past serve as guideposts, and where our collective humanity triumphs over division, destruction, and despair.
I would also like to thank the honourable mayor for recognising yesterday as Vietnam Veterans’ Day. The Battle of Long Tan took place on 18 August 1966, when a small force of 108 Australian and New Zealand soldiers from D Company, 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, faced an estimated 2,000 North Vietnamese and Viet Cong troops in a rubber plantation. They fought for hours in blinding monsoonal rain. We lost 18 brave men during that battle.
Lest we forget.