NAGASAKI, JAPAN — Last Aug. 9, exactly 71 years since an atomic bomb was dropped on this city, I had the opportunity to attend the “peace ceremony” commemorating the historic and tragic occasion.
Though more known now for the bombing, Nagasaki holds a historic place as the only Japanese city that was open to the West for hundreds of years. Today, with a population of almost half a million, it is one of the major cities in Kyushu.
The program began at the Nagasaki Peace Park at 10:35 a.m. with a chorus by a group of hibakusha (literally, “bomb-affected people”). Seeing the atom bomb survivors — mostly in their 80s — singing was haunting. On top of the scars of the bomb, they lost family members — and were (still are) stigmatized as a group. Instead of serving as a badge of honor, being a hibakusha became a source of shame as they were perceived to be harboring a “radiation disease” thought to be contagious.
The opening address, delivered by a city official, made clear that a main purpose of the ceremony was to “ensure that we fully convey the reality of the bombing to the next generation.” It was followed by the laying of water and flowers at the 10-foot Peace Statue that loomed over the stage.
At 11:02 a.m. — the exact time the bomb exploded — the crowd rose for a minute of silence. An air raid siren sounded all over the city, as if to warn of an incoming bomb, bringing the people closer to that fateful moment.
Various officials led by Prime Minister Shinzo Abe delivered remarks, but what struck a chord was the speech of hibakusha Tokokazu Ihara. “I was dazzled by an enormous fireball, heard an earsplitting explosion, and was blown away by an incredible blast,” he recalled. He went on to say that he lost his entire family: “They all bled from their gums and lost their hair. They endured lengthy suffering, and passed away from radiation disease one after the other.”
Declaring that “peace cannot be protected by military might,” Ihara called for the abolition of nuclear weapons, and declared in English: “Nagasaki must be the last!”
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The history of the atomic bombs will always be shrouded in mystery, and the question of whether the A-bomb was a necessity from a military perspective will always be debated. But even small details surrounding the bombings could prove insightful. At the Atomic Bomb Museum which I visited after the ceremony, I learned that dropping the bomb on Nagasaki was actually a last-minute decision: The primary target — Kokura — was saved by clouds that blocked the bomber’s view — a reminder of how a nuclear weapon puts godlike power in the hands of a few.
Children are given special prominence in the museum’s stories and pictures. In one photograph, a boy is standing at attention while carrying his dead younger brother on his back, having brought him to a cremation ground. In another, a girl is so badly burned that her skin is hanging from her body in strips.
Perhaps what these pictures are saying is that the victims were not old, as the present generation may imagine them to be. They were of all ages; many were in their prime, or in the springtime of their life.
Another theme that I felt was emphasized in the memorial was this: It was not just the Japanese that got killed by the bomb, but also many Koreans, Chinese, and even a few Allied POWs. Extending the consequence of the bomb beyond humanity, Ihara said even “insects, birds, plants, and all other living things were annihilated.”
From the speeches, it meant a lot to the Japanese that Barack Obama recently visited Hiroshima — the first sitting US president to do so. But they are also aware of Japan’s geopolitical realities: Nagasaki Mayor Tomihisa Taue subtly criticized Abe’s government for the “contradictory” stance of advocating the elimination of nuclear weapons while relying on US nuclear deterrence.
Abe, for his part, was a bit vague in his speech. Perhaps in his world view, the fact that neighboring countries — China and now North Korea — have nuclear weapons should give Japan pause in unilaterally disavowing these.
We know, of course, that this kind of thinking is what gave rise to nuclear weapons worldwide in the first place. The need for deterrence led to a nuclear arms race — and weapons far more destructive than even A-bombs. The Cold War is now past, but is the world any safer today? Taue issued a grim reminder of today’s reality: “There are still over 15,000 nuclear warheads in existence, and there is the ever-present danger that they may be used in war, by accident, or as an act of terrorism.”
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The ceremony ended with children singing “A Thousand Paper Cranes,” which tells the story of a 12-year-old girl who develops leukemia 10 years after surviving the bombing. Confined to hospital, she makes 1,000 cranes, mindful of the Japanese legend that anyone who does so will be granted a wish. Her wish — for world peace — remains elusive even as her dream remains alive.
Many of us were teary-eyed when we left the park, but even in Nagasaki, it was easy to forget about the bomb. With its various attractions — like beautiful Mount Inasa, the old churches, the historic western districts — there is little trace of the apocalyptic force that was once unleashed here. And of course it is entirely understandable that its people don’t want to be continuously reminded of such a painful experience.
Even so, the labor of remembering weighs heavily. When the city officials asked that Pokemon Go be (virtually) banned from the Peace Park, perhaps they were also worried that the new generations, taking peace and relative prosperity for granted, were beginning to lose sight of their historic role as messengers of peace.
If there’s one lesson I learned in Nagasaki, it is that its message should be ours, too. While not discounting the everyday terrors that many people face even now — and the many other atrocities of World War II — the awesome, indiscriminate violence of weapons of mass destruction should inspire a special resoluteness in all of us.
When the last hibakusha passes away, who will remind the world of the horrors of nuclear weapons? For the sake of peace, for the sake of humanity, we must never forget. And may we never be deaf to their song: Can you hear us, the atom bomb survivors?/ Can you hear our voices?/ Don’t make any more of us hibakusha/ No one in the world should suffer this again.
Gideon Lasco is a physician and medical anthropologist. Follow him at Gideon Lasco on Facebook and @gideonlasco on Twitter and Instagram.