Living under the sword of damocles
As I was born after 1950 and before 1986, I lived a significant part of my life with the threat of sudden nuclear war. I suspect this will become a hallmark of my generation. We've lived under the threat of sudden nuclear annihilation, which does affect ones outlook on life.
If you look at science fiction, up until around 1991, all 'near future' fiction had the US/USSR conflict extended into the future. A lot had a limited nuclear exchange as a formative event. I'll even go so far as to say that most of the fiction that was middle distance future had a nuclear exchange of some form take place in the past. After 1991 when the USSR collapsed, the future suddenly had a lot less nukes in it.
In the 1980's I grew up about 2 miles north of the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport and the Fort Snelling Military Reservation. This was also about 6 miles south of Downtown Minneapolis. If I wasn't killed outright in the first flash, I was in the, "dead in 3 hours," band. If we had the fabled 20 minutes warning and the roads were miraculously clear, we'd merely be in the, "dead in 2 weeks," band. If we did get the 20 minutes warning, the highways would be a parking lot and we wouldn't be any further away from the nuclear blasts than if we had stayed at home.
This is how I grew up. We knew that if the nukes started flying, we'd be dead. Period. And there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. At all. That nuclear sword could fall at any time, and we'd know maybe 20 minutes before it actually did. That was enough time to be a good God-fearing American; say our prayers and get our affairs in order. Or in true SF fashion, grumble, "So this is it, we're going to die," then lay on the front lawn in our bathrobes with a towel under our heads.
Humor was about the only way to really deal with that. When Weird Al released, "Christmas at Ground Zero," it was taken by my peers in classic bitterly-ironic fashion and sung to the rafters come each December. However, to this day I still can't listen to the end of the song, where the air-raid sirens sound, without wincing and having to either change the channel or hit next-song. Like many dark things in my life, living under the threat of instant death is not something I like to think about.
To this day I still occasionally think about survival bands and the likelihood of targets near me being hit by a nuke. I no longer live in the instant kill zone. With MSP being a major airport it was a high value target in even a limited exchange, a 'mere' low-yield tactical nuke would be enough to reduce my lifespan to weeks. This is not a reflex that people who were born after about 1986 had a chance to learn.
It is hard to describe how it feels to know that yourself and everyone within 10 miles of your location could die instantly (or worse, almost instantly). Mostly you get through things by not thinking about it. This is not something I'd wish on anyone, and I strongly hope we never go through this again; leaving tales of living under the threat of global nuclear war along side tales of surviving the dust-bowl and the threat of lynch-mobs.
If you look at science fiction, up until around 1991, all 'near future' fiction had the US/USSR conflict extended into the future. A lot had a limited nuclear exchange as a formative event. I'll even go so far as to say that most of the fiction that was middle distance future had a nuclear exchange of some form take place in the past. After 1991 when the USSR collapsed, the future suddenly had a lot less nukes in it.
In the 1980's I grew up about 2 miles north of the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport and the Fort Snelling Military Reservation. This was also about 6 miles south of Downtown Minneapolis. If I wasn't killed outright in the first flash, I was in the, "dead in 3 hours," band. If we had the fabled 20 minutes warning and the roads were miraculously clear, we'd merely be in the, "dead in 2 weeks," band. If we did get the 20 minutes warning, the highways would be a parking lot and we wouldn't be any further away from the nuclear blasts than if we had stayed at home.
This is how I grew up. We knew that if the nukes started flying, we'd be dead. Period. And there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. At all. That nuclear sword could fall at any time, and we'd know maybe 20 minutes before it actually did. That was enough time to be a good God-fearing American; say our prayers and get our affairs in order. Or in true SF fashion, grumble, "So this is it, we're going to die," then lay on the front lawn in our bathrobes with a towel under our heads.
Humor was about the only way to really deal with that. When Weird Al released, "Christmas at Ground Zero," it was taken by my peers in classic bitterly-ironic fashion and sung to the rafters come each December. However, to this day I still can't listen to the end of the song, where the air-raid sirens sound, without wincing and having to either change the channel or hit next-song. Like many dark things in my life, living under the threat of instant death is not something I like to think about.
To this day I still occasionally think about survival bands and the likelihood of targets near me being hit by a nuke. I no longer live in the instant kill zone. With MSP being a major airport it was a high value target in even a limited exchange, a 'mere' low-yield tactical nuke would be enough to reduce my lifespan to weeks. This is not a reflex that people who were born after about 1986 had a chance to learn.
It is hard to describe how it feels to know that yourself and everyone within 10 miles of your location could die instantly (or worse, almost instantly). Mostly you get through things by not thinking about it. This is not something I'd wish on anyone, and I strongly hope we never go through this again; leaving tales of living under the threat of global nuclear war along side tales of surviving the dust-bowl and the threat of lynch-mobs.
