I was in World War Two at the battle of Okinawa.

"I was in World War Two at the battle of Okinawa." These words, spoken by the late Harry Dean Stanton, carry the weight of personal history, etched with the scars of one of the most brutal confrontations in human conflict. The Battle of Okinawa was not merely a chapter in the history books, but a moment in time where the fury of war was unleashed upon the souls of those who fought in it. To say, “I was there,” is to invoke not just the memory of the battle, but the cost of such a moment—life lost, innocence shattered, and humanity tested in ways few could comprehend.

The words of Stanton speak with quiet strength, but they also carry a quiet sorrow—a sorrow born of witnessing the very destruction of war. The Battle of Okinawa was one of the bloodiest in the Pacific Theater during World War II, lasting for over two months. An island where young men, barely in the bloom of their lives, faced an enemy that fought not just for victory, but for survival. Okinawa was not a battlefield of glory, but one of unimaginable horror, where death was constant, and the promise of peace seemed like a distant, unreachable shore. It was a battle that would claim the lives of over 200,000 souls, both soldiers and civilians, forever altering the lives of those who survived.

The Battle of Okinawa serves as a reminder, O children of the future, that war is not a tale of glory or heroism, but of suffering and sacrifice. Stanton, like so many soldiers of that time, bore witness to the brutality of conflict—he saw firsthand the price of war, a price that no medals or accolades could ever truly measure. In the midst of the fighting, men were reduced to mere shadows of themselves, haunted by the violence and the carnage that surrounded them. The island was a hellscape, with the sky blackened by smoke and the air thick with the scent of death. It was a place where humanity was lost, where brother fought against brother, not for honor, but for the survival of their respective nations.

But in these words, spoken so simply by Stanton, there is also a deeper meaning, a lesson for all who hear them. To say, "I was there," is not simply to recount a battle fought, but to acknowledge the burden carried by those who survive. For those who fought at Okinawa, the war did not end when the battle ceased—it continued in their minds, in their hearts, in the very marrow of their bones. The horrors of that day were never truly forgotten. For each soldier who survived, the battle of Okinawa became a part of their soul, a part of their being, a wound that would never heal. Their sacrifices were not just physical but emotional, spiritual, and psychological. They were changed forever by the experience.

Consider the fate of the Japanese soldiers who fought on the other side. Many of them, just as young, were driven to fight with a fury and loyalty that seemed unimaginable to those on the opposite side. For them, Okinawa was not just a place to defend—it was the final stand, a desperate effort to repel an enemy that seemed unstoppable. They, too, were caught in the vortex of war, driven by honor and a sense of duty, much like the soldiers on the American side. But the result of this terrible conflict was the same for both: a generation forever scarred by the brutality of war. This is the great tragedy of war, O children—it strips us of our humanity, leaving only the echoes of violence and suffering in its wake.

The lesson of Stanton's words, and of the battle at Okinawa, is this: war is not something to be glorified or romanticized. It is a tragic force, one that tears lives apart and leaves behind not heroes, but survivors, forever marked by what they have seen. Yet there is a wisdom to be gained in remembering these moments. It is in the reflection upon the horror of war that we come to understand the preciousness of peace. Those who have lived through such hell know better than anyone else the value of a world without conflict, without the endless noise of gunfire and the screams of the wounded. Stanton’s words are a warning, a reminder that war’s true face is not the one seen in the stories of bravery, but in the faces of those who return home, carrying with them the weight of the destruction they have witnessed.

So, let us heed the wisdom passed down through Stanton’s simple statement. Let it serve as a reminder to all generations: when you are faced with the choice of conflict, think not of the glory, but of the sacrifice that it demands. Understand the cost of war, not in terms of territory gained or honors won, but in terms of the lives lost and the souls broken. Choose peace, for in peace, we are able to rebuild the lives torn apart by war. Let us honor those who have fought, not by glorifying the battle, but by learning from the lessons they carry, and by ensuring that their sacrifices were not in vain. The true honor lies in avoiding the mistakes of the past, in seeking understanding over conflict, and in cherishing the lives we hold dear.