D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
March 2010
Bataan Death March
Page: 4
I finally went into the first aid station to ask about her. It took a few tries before finding someone who knew who she was. "I'm sorry," the nurse said, "but because of HIPPA regulations, we can't tell you anything."
Now I was really worried. "What do you mean? Where is she?"
One young medico finally offered, "She's no longer on this base."
A security officer was kind enough to lend me his phone and I tried B's cell phone number. I was relieved to hear her voice.
"Where are you?"
"I'm so embarrassed," B said in a tone of disgust. "I'm at the hospital in Las Cruces. They won't let me leave until they run some more tests. It's because of my age. I'm fine!"
So the day didn't end with the celebratory dinner that we'd planned, but at least we'd both survived. Within three months' time, B would go on to do a walk for breast cancer research at 9,500-foot high Keystone, Colo. — a marathon one day and another half-marathon the next.
My feet suffered several blisters and three bruised-black toes, and I lost a big toenail. But they would heal. It was nothing like what the Bataan Death marchers suffered. After they were repatriated, many spent months recovering in veterans' hospitals. Men weighing less than 100 pounds, skeletons with haunted eyes. Of the 900 survivors from the original New Mexico 200th, many would die within the first few years home or suffer long-term complications from injuries, diseases, disorders related to malnutrition and traumatic shock.
"We tell our stories so people won't forget," the Bataan veterans said. "We tell our stories so it will never happen again."
So it will never happen again. As I thought about those words, I felt a wave of poignancy wash over me. Sadness and pride. Because these men who had suffered so much, who had witnessed the darkest side of human nature, had not given up on humankind. They could still believe in a future in which Death Marches did not exist.
The Memorial March keeps their stories alive. With each step, we connect to their memories through the soles of our feet. We march to honor their lives. We march to reflect on the hardships they endured, so their sacrifices have meaning. In the marrow of our bones, we understand why a Death March must never happen again.
It is a march to remember.
Postscript: On May 30 of last year, Japan's ambassador to the United States, Ichiro Fujisaki, delivered an official apology to survivors of the Bataan Death March at a reunion held in San Antonio, Texas. Seventy-three veterans attended the reunion, some of them bedridden. This was the 64th and likely the last reunion of the Bataan Death March survivors.
Nancy Gordon lives in Silver City. She would like to thank Gerry Schurtz for reviewing sections of this article; Thomas Foy for kindly sharing his experiences in an interview; and Dorothy Cave, for writing her excellent book Beyond Courage.