Haunted by Hiroshima’s horrid past
Nov 14, 2003
WAR is the work of man. War is destruction of life. War is death. To remember the past is to commit oneself to the future. To remember Hiroshima is to abhor nuclear war.
By Okodan Akwap
In Hiroshima, Japan
WAR is the work of man. War is destruction of life. War is death. To remember the past is to commit oneself to the future. To remember Hiroshima is to abhor nuclear war.
To remember Hiroshima is to commit oneself to peace.â€
This message, etched on a marble monument, caught my eye as I stepped into the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. Pope John Paul II left it behind when he visited the museum on February 25, 1981.
The Peace Memorial Park, on which the Peace Memorial Museum and the Memorial Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims were built, is registered as a world heritage site.
A tour guide told me that it is a must stop for all visitors to Hiroshima.
I gathered that millions of visitors flock there every year, driven by a mixture of curiosity, an appreciation of history, a need to empathise with the victims of the world’s first atomic bombing and anger at the evil extremes to which self-interest can push nation states.
Inside the museum, I saw artifacts depicting some of the worst moments of World War II. Looking at the exhibits, I imagined the pain and suffering of the people of Hiroshima when the atomic bomb was dropped on their city in 1945.
There is the watch that stopped at 8:15am, the horrific moment when a single American jet bomber released the deadliest weapon ever made by man –– the atomic bomb, popularly called the A-bomb.
Though dead for nearly 60 years now, when I looked at that watch I got a spooky feeling that it was still ticking.
It was at 8:15am on August 6, 1945 when Hiroshima, located in the south western end of the Island of Honshu, fell victim of the world’s first atomic bombing. (The second A-bomb was dropped three days later on Nagasaki, forcing Japan to surrender and effectively ending World War II).
As the tour guide spoke, a frightening picture of destruction caused by the unbridled firepower of World War II invaded my mind and I got goose bumps on my skin.
The physical destruction, said the guide, was complicated by radioactive poisoning, resulting in hundreds of other deaths.
Hiroshima had a population of about 350,000 when the A-bomb roughly the size of a Toyota Starlet was dropped, instantly incinerating thousands of people. By the end of 1945 about 150,000 people had died.
About half of the victims of the A-bomb attack died of radiation and the potential effects of this radiation continue to threaten the health of survivors. I met one of them, Osamu Tsuboi. The scars on his whole face were still scary to behold; the ears were sliced off from the tops and the right thumb was missing. Tsuboi, I was told, often travels abroad to call people’s attention the destructive power of nuclear weapons.
The A-bomb was detonated at 1,800 feet above the dome of the Hiroshima Industrial Promotion Hall, located west of the Aioi Bridge, the target of the attack.
The heat rays and blast burned and crashed nearly all buildings within two kilometres of the hypocentre. Miraculously, the promotion hall building did not collapse completely. Much of its dome was sheared off but it still stands mutely as witness to the events of August 6, 1945.
The horrible damage victims suffered included burns from the intense thermal rays, injuries from the blast and destruction of cells and tissues by radiation.
The Peace Memorial Museum, which was built in 1955, has on display a collection of belongings left by the victims, including photographs and other materials that convey the horror of that event.
There are also dozens of exhibits that show the beauty and potential of Hiroshima before the bombing and the ugliness, emptiness and senselessness that engulfed this city after the bombing. The current status of the nuclear age is also exhibited. Each of the items displayed vividly depicts the grief, anger, pain and frustrations of real people. But I would argue that some of them represent the tenacity of the human spirit. This is particularly clear from some of the A-bomb drawings by survivors. For the most part, the horror is splashed out in abundance. Yet there is a subtle salute to hope, optimism, courage and survival.
The city itself today stands as testimony to the indestructibility of the human spirit. It was rebuilt long ago and there is plenty of hustle and bustle on the streets and in the malls.
The modern high-rise buildings, the fountains with gushing water and the greenhouses with blooming flowers are easy on the eye.
Several beautiful rivers run through thezes and offering their tree-lined banks for lovers to cuddle up in peace or to sip tea in open air cafes.
From where I was standing at the Peace Memorial Park, I could hear the cheerful laughter of schoolgirls ringing clear across the Motoyasu River. I could hear it even as they passed in front of the statue of the Merciful Goddess of Peace that stands forlornly in consolation to the deaths of thousands of students from the atomic bombing.
Having put its calamity behind, Hiroshima now roots for peace throughout the world. The lions clubs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki sister cities have erected a monument as a symbol of eternal peace for mankind. There are many other monuments on the Peace Memorial Park, which is dubbed a “place of refuge.â€
To be sure, the A-bomb that destroyed Hiroshima did not kill nearly as many people as those who died in Tokyo just a few weeks before when the capital city was strafed by the Allied Forces using conventional weapons.
But the horrors of Tokyo are pale in comparison with those of Hiroshima. In Tokyo, the bombing was carried out by hundreds of planes.
In Hiroshima, the executioner was a single bomber, accompanied by another plane that was carrying US war department officers and civilian scientists to carefully observe and record the effects of the A-bomb.
Perhaps it is the scale of the cold-hearted ruthlessness of the A-bomb attack that impels millions of Japanese and foreigners to pay their respects to the people of Hiroshima.
In Hiroshima, Japan
WAR is the work of man. War is destruction of life. War is death. To remember the past is to commit oneself to the future. To remember Hiroshima is to abhor nuclear war.
To remember Hiroshima is to commit oneself to peace.â€
This message, etched on a marble monument, caught my eye as I stepped into the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. Pope John Paul II left it behind when he visited the museum on February 25, 1981.
The Peace Memorial Park, on which the Peace Memorial Museum and the Memorial Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims were built, is registered as a world heritage site.
A tour guide told me that it is a must stop for all visitors to Hiroshima.
I gathered that millions of visitors flock there every year, driven by a mixture of curiosity, an appreciation of history, a need to empathise with the victims of the world’s first atomic bombing and anger at the evil extremes to which self-interest can push nation states.
Inside the museum, I saw artifacts depicting some of the worst moments of World War II. Looking at the exhibits, I imagined the pain and suffering of the people of Hiroshima when the atomic bomb was dropped on their city in 1945.
There is the watch that stopped at 8:15am, the horrific moment when a single American jet bomber released the deadliest weapon ever made by man –– the atomic bomb, popularly called the A-bomb.
Though dead for nearly 60 years now, when I looked at that watch I got a spooky feeling that it was still ticking.
It was at 8:15am on August 6, 1945 when Hiroshima, located in the south western end of the Island of Honshu, fell victim of the world’s first atomic bombing. (The second A-bomb was dropped three days later on Nagasaki, forcing Japan to surrender and effectively ending World War II).
As the tour guide spoke, a frightening picture of destruction caused by the unbridled firepower of World War II invaded my mind and I got goose bumps on my skin.
The physical destruction, said the guide, was complicated by radioactive poisoning, resulting in hundreds of other deaths.
Hiroshima had a population of about 350,000 when the A-bomb roughly the size of a Toyota Starlet was dropped, instantly incinerating thousands of people. By the end of 1945 about 150,000 people had died.
About half of the victims of the A-bomb attack died of radiation and the potential effects of this radiation continue to threaten the health of survivors. I met one of them, Osamu Tsuboi. The scars on his whole face were still scary to behold; the ears were sliced off from the tops and the right thumb was missing. Tsuboi, I was told, often travels abroad to call people’s attention the destructive power of nuclear weapons.
The A-bomb was detonated at 1,800 feet above the dome of the Hiroshima Industrial Promotion Hall, located west of the Aioi Bridge, the target of the attack.
The heat rays and blast burned and crashed nearly all buildings within two kilometres of the hypocentre. Miraculously, the promotion hall building did not collapse completely. Much of its dome was sheared off but it still stands mutely as witness to the events of August 6, 1945.
The horrible damage victims suffered included burns from the intense thermal rays, injuries from the blast and destruction of cells and tissues by radiation.
The Peace Memorial Museum, which was built in 1955, has on display a collection of belongings left by the victims, including photographs and other materials that convey the horror of that event.
There are also dozens of exhibits that show the beauty and potential of Hiroshima before the bombing and the ugliness, emptiness and senselessness that engulfed this city after the bombing. The current status of the nuclear age is also exhibited. Each of the items displayed vividly depicts the grief, anger, pain and frustrations of real people. But I would argue that some of them represent the tenacity of the human spirit. This is particularly clear from some of the A-bomb drawings by survivors. For the most part, the horror is splashed out in abundance. Yet there is a subtle salute to hope, optimism, courage and survival.
The city itself today stands as testimony to the indestructibility of the human spirit. It was rebuilt long ago and there is plenty of hustle and bustle on the streets and in the malls.
The modern high-rise buildings, the fountains with gushing water and the greenhouses with blooming flowers are easy on the eye.
Several beautiful rivers run through thezes and offering their tree-lined banks for lovers to cuddle up in peace or to sip tea in open air cafes.
From where I was standing at the Peace Memorial Park, I could hear the cheerful laughter of schoolgirls ringing clear across the Motoyasu River. I could hear it even as they passed in front of the statue of the Merciful Goddess of Peace that stands forlornly in consolation to the deaths of thousands of students from the atomic bombing.
Having put its calamity behind, Hiroshima now roots for peace throughout the world. The lions clubs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki sister cities have erected a monument as a symbol of eternal peace for mankind. There are many other monuments on the Peace Memorial Park, which is dubbed a “place of refuge.â€
To be sure, the A-bomb that destroyed Hiroshima did not kill nearly as many people as those who died in Tokyo just a few weeks before when the capital city was strafed by the Allied Forces using conventional weapons.
But the horrors of Tokyo are pale in comparison with those of Hiroshima. In Tokyo, the bombing was carried out by hundreds of planes.
In Hiroshima, the executioner was a single bomber, accompanied by another plane that was carrying US war department officers and civilian scientists to carefully observe and record the effects of the A-bomb.
Perhaps it is the scale of the cold-hearted ruthlessness of the A-bomb attack that impels millions of Japanese and foreigners to pay their respects to the people of Hiroshima.