Yesterday,
September 2, was the 76th anniversary of the end of World War II. I saw nothing
on or in the news.
WW2
was the greatest blood-letting in recorded human history. That takes in a few
thousand years, but by far not all of mankind’s story.
We
do not know how many Ancient Aliens died when colonial factions warred to
determine which would earn the right to impregnate Earth’s indigenous. Or,
perhaps after dealing death to a few millions, the Ancients sat down at a Truce
Table and divided the planet.
There
would have been arguments.
“Wait
a minute! How come we got most of the cold area? There’s ice there!”
An
arbiter: “It’s not what it seems. That area might become warm, with no ice in a
few years. Another area might become icy. Say, Vingoreo.”
Vingoreo’s
representative would have protested. “What? Our area will become cold and icy?”
“We
said, ‘might become,’” said the arbiter. “Truth be known, we do not know what this
planet will become. Some future-tellers say warm, others say icy.”
We
also don’t know the percentages of deaths in pre-history wars and battles.
So-called First Nation Americans fought over hunting areas and farming areas,
when a few hundred deaths could have meant more than 50 percent of a tribe.
Communications
plays a large role in determining a Big War from a Not All That Bad a War. And
attitude, of course.
None
of the news programs I watched yesterday mentioned the end of War 2. I didn’t realize
yesterday’s date until this morning when I looked at my computer and said, “Hey!
Yesterday was the 76th anniversary of the end of World War II!”
That
was more than three months before my father got home, more than a month after
his B-29 landed on Okinawa. My mother was five months pregnant.
