Nuclear weapons might not compel many into teaching, but for me, there was no greater motivation.

I taught second and third grade in the Marshall Islands, the site of more than 60 U.S. nuclear weapons tests during the Cold War. My concern for the people suffering with the lasting effects of radiation exposure was coupled with outrage at the prospect of nuclear armageddon — a reality that played out on those remote, yet populated, coral atolls.

I wanted to account for the violence perpetrated in my name as an American and contribute in some small way to repair the damage.

I made that effort in the classroom with the youngest generation of Marshallese.

One otherwise ordinary day with my students took a memorable turn when a chorus of young voices interrupted recess announcing the bloodied face of a classmate. I rushed outside to find one of my kindest and most reliably cheerful young boys sobbing gently through a mix of blood and tears.

Not far behind him was another boy, known for his short temper as much as his charm, standing alone, looking down.

The wounded face would heal quickly, but the damage of the attack left a deeper mark on the entire class.

I delayed the beginning of that afternoon’s lesson. I led a discussion with my students to acknowledge the charged atmosphere. It wasn’t the first time an incident like this had happened, but this was the most severe. I wanted to teach my young scholars responsibility for each other, and took this unfortunate incident as an opportunity to consider the value we each had for one another.

We wrote letters to both boys. We wished our injured classmate a speedy recovery while also expressing our disappointment and sadness to the other boy.

After a conversation that night with both of their families, I felt confident my concern had made its way home.

I was unprepared for the subtle power of the following day. The boy who acted out had written a letter to each of his classmates apologizing for his actions. In it he said he cared about everyone in the class and did not want to hurt them. He delivered them one at a time around the classroom and then read it aloud in front of the room. At that point his classmates, one by one, walked up and presented their letters to him. He apologized softly as each of his peers approached. This impromptu ceremony ended with a hug and embarrassed laughter shared by the two boys.

I was encouraged recently, as I was on that day, to see the Marshall Islands Nuclear Zero lawsuits brought against the nine nations that possess nuclear weapons. The lawsuit cites a lack of action called for in Article IV of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty to "pursue in good faith and bring to a conclusion negotiations leading to nuclear disarmament in all its aspects."

The need for a lasting peace without nuclear weapons is underscored by the experience of the people of the Marshall Islands. This campaign to hold nuclear powers to their word and challenge the existence of weapons that threat-en us all is especially timely.

Recent reports of the deteriorating condition of the U.S. nuclear arsenal and Eric Schlosser’s recent book, "Command and Control," highlight the truly menacing risk of accidental detonation. How can we justify weapons meant to annihilate every living thing on the planet to younger generations? How can we accept inaction in the face of such high stakes?

We need look no further than the Marshall Islands for guidance on the subject.