‘That's why he lived': a Malaysian survivor's memories of Hiroshima
PETALING JAYA : The atomic bombs
Thedropped by the United States on Japan tore through the fabric of time, ending World War II, ushering in the Atomic Age, and jolting the world into the Cold War.
While world leaders struggled to process the shockwaves from Hiroshima and Nagasaki – before these events were etched into the annals of civilisation – countless victims on the ground experienced an immeasurably intense tragedy.
'I believe he was given a responsibility by God to survive and tell the story of what happened. That's why he lived,' said Dzulkifli Abdul Razak, recalling the story of his father, Abdul Razak Abdul Hamid – the only Malayan citizen to have survived the world's first nuclear disaster that claimed over 140,000 lives.
Razak, then a 19-year-old student from Penang, had been on a scholarship from the Japanese government to study at Hiroshima University and was in a lecture room when the bomb went off.
'My father said at first, everything went pitch black. Then there was a flash, like lightning. Then black again. Only after that did the building collapse. The roof came down but didn't crush him. He was unconscious under that roof for a whole day.'
Razak then woke up in what remained of the classroom, sunlight streaming through the rubble. 'He crawled out, following the sunlight, but could not recognise any of the buildings around him. It looked like a barren, desolate plain.'
Hiroshima was left desolate, like a barren wasteland, after the atomic bomb. (AP pic)
With his first instinct being to return to his lodgings, Razak headed towards a river near the campus that could guide him back to where he lived.
Walking along that river opened his eyes to the consequences of that decision made in Washington that day.
'Bodies were scattered everywhere,' Dzulkifli said. 'Along the river, bodies had been swept downstream. People were suffering – and everyone was desperately thirsty.
'My father brought them water but, after they drank, they all died – either from radiation or the shock of the difference in temperature between the water and their bodies.'
Dzulkifli remembers his father telling him that the clothing of survivors had been fused to their skin due to the intense heat. 'It was as if your body bore the pattern of the clothes you were wearing.
'Some people would pull at their own hair in agony and it would fall out.'
Dzulkifli Abdul Razak, emeritus professor at Universiti Sains Malaysia, weaves his father's message into his storytelling.
These horrifying memories were retold time and again by Razak – stories passed down to Dzulkifli, now emeritus professor at Universiti Sains Malaysia.
'Every Aug 6, my father would gather us siblings and retell what happened on the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima in 1945,' said Dzulkifli.
Razak's connection to Japan never faded; after his return from Hiroshima, and especially after his story became known, their family home was rarely without visitors.
'Our house became like a site for visits. My mother would prepare traditional snacks, and guests would often bring gifts.'
Razak died on July 18, 2013, less than two weeks after his 88th birthday.
Photos and personal items that belonged to Abdul Razak are safely preserved by Dzulkifli's family.
Dzulkifli describes his father as a deeply patient man whose stories always carried a message that still rings true today amidst ongoing political strife, racial rhetoric, and societal discord.
'Don't let our lives be filled with conflict,' Dzulkifli recalled his father's wise words. 'Yes, Malaysia is peaceful today without bombs exploding, but in the hearts and behaviours of some, the seeds of war still grow.'
Two other Malayans – Nik Yusof Nik Ali and Syed Omar Syed Mohammad Alsagoff – had also been in Japan during the tragedy. They died at just 17 years old from radiation exposure while attempting to leave the campus.
Nik Yusof was buried in Nagano, and Syed Omar in Kyoto.
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Malay Mail
10 hours ago
- Malay Mail
Decades later, Korean survivors of WWII atomic bombs still carry the scars, and the silence
HAPCHEON, Aug 6 — Bae Kyung-mi was five years old when the Americans dropped 'Little Boy', the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Like thousands of other ethnic Koreans working in the city at the time, her family kept the horror a secret. Many feared the stigma from doing menial work for colonial ruler Japan, and false rumours that radiation sickness was contagious. Bae recalls hearing planes overhead while she was playing at her home in Hiroshima on that day. Within minutes, she was buried in rubble. 'I told my mom in Japanese, 'Mom! There are airplanes!'' Bae, now 85, told AFP. She passed out shortly after. This photo taken on June 26, 2025 shows Kim Hwa-ja (front left), an ethnic Korean who is also an atomic bomb survivor, or 'hibakusha', and Kwon Joon-oh (2nd left), whose mother and father were also survivors, as they visit the 'Monument in Memory of the Korean Victims of the A-bomb', following an interview with AFP near the Peace Park Memorial in the city of Hiroshima, Hiroshima prefecture. — AFP pic Her home collapsed on top of her, but the debris shielded her from the burns that killed tens of thousands of people — including her aunt and uncle. After the family moved back to Korea, they did not speak of their experience. 'I never told my husband that I was in Hiroshima and a victim of the bombing,' Bae said. 'Back then, people often said you had married the wrong person if he or she was an atomic bombing survivor.' Her two sons only learned she had been in Hiroshima when she registered at a special centre set up in 1996 in Hapcheon in South Korea for victims of the bombings, she said. Bae said she feared her children would suffer from radiation-related illnesses that afflicted her, forcing her to have her ovaries and a breast removed because of the high cancer risk. This photo taken in Hapcheon, South Gyeongsang, shows Lee Bu-yul, 87, a survivor of the US atomic bombing of Hiroshima during World War II, posing in front of a traditional structure holding 1,172 wooden plaques bearing the names of deceased victims behind the Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Welfare Center. Lee was seven at the time of the Hiroshima atomic bombing and his mother died within one year of it. — AFP pic A burning city She knew why she was getting sick, but did not tell her own family. 'We all hushed it up,' she said. Some 740,000 people were killed or injured in the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. More than 10 per cent of the victims were Korean, data suggests, the result of huge flows of people to Japan while it colonised the Korean peninsula. Survivors who stayed in Japan found they had to endure discrimination both as hibakusha, or atomic bomb survivors, and as Koreans. Many Koreans also had to choose between pro-Pyongyang and pro-Seoul groups in Japan, after the peninsula was left divided by the 1950-53 Korean War. Kwon Joon-oh's mother and father both survived the attack on Hiroshima. Bae Kyung-mi was five years old when the Americans dropped 'Little Boy', the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Some 740,000 people were killed or injured in the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nakasaki which ended World War II — and more than 10 per cent of the victims were Korean, data suggests, the result of huge flows of people to Japan while it colonised the Korean peninsula. — AFP pic The 76-year-old's parents, like others of their generation, could only work by taking on 'filthy and dangerous jobs' that the Japanese considered beneath them, he said. Korean victims were also denied an official memorial for decades, with a cenotaph for them put up in the Hiroshima Peace Park only in the late 1990s. Kim Hwa-ja was four on August 6, 1945 and remembers being put on a makeshift horse-drawn trap as her family tried to flee Hiroshima after the bomb. Smoke filled the air and the city was burning, she said, recalling how she peeped out from under a blanket covering her, and her mother screaming at her not to look. Korean groups estimate that up to 50,000 Koreans may have been in the city that day, including tens of thousands working as forced labourers at military sites. This photo shows residents preparing to have their portraits taken for use at their funerals at the Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Welfare Center. — AFP pic Stigma But records are sketchy. 'The city office was devastated so completely that it wasn't possible to track down clear records,' a Hiroshima official told AFP. Japan's colonial policy banned the use of Korean names, further complicating record-keeping. After the attacks, tens of thousands of Korean survivors moved back to their newly-independent country. But many have struggled with health issues and stigma ever since. 'In those days, there were unfounded rumours that radiation exposure could be contagious,' said Jeong Soo-won, director of the country's Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Center. This photo shows Korean Red Cross secretary-general Kang Soohan opening the doors to a traditional structure holding wooden plaques bearing the names of deceased victims behind the Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Welfare Center. — AFP pic Nationwide, there are believed to be some 1,600 South Korean survivors still alive, Jeong said. Eighty-two live at the centre. Seoul enacted a special law in 2016 to help the survivors — including a monthly stipend of around US$72 — but it provides no assistance to their offspring or extended families. 'There are many second- and third-generation descendants affected by the bombings and suffering from congenital illnesses,' said Jeong. A provision to support them 'must be included' in future, he said. A Japanese hibakusha group won the Nobel Peace Prize last year in recognition of their efforts to show the world the horrors of nuclear war. But 80 years after the attacks, many survivors in Japan and Korea say the world has not learned. This photo shows Hiroshima atomic bomb survivor Bae Kyung-mi reaching out while visiting a traditional structure holding wooden plaques bearing the names of deceased victims behind the Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Welfare Center. — AFP pic 'Only talk' US President Donald Trump recently compared his strikes on Iran's nuclear facilities to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 'Would he understand the tragedy of what the Hiroshima bombing has caused? Would he understand that of Nagasaki?' survivor Kim Gin-ho said. In Korea, the Hapcheon centre will hold a commemoration on August 6 — with survivors hoping that this year the event will attract more attention. From politicians, 'there has been only talk... but no interest', she said. — AFP
Free Malaysia Today
15 hours ago
- Free Malaysia Today
My classmate became a fountain of blood, Hiroshima atomic bomb survivor recounts
Atomic bomb survivor Katsuko Kuwamoto shares her testimony with visitors at the Hiroshima Peace Hall. HIROSHIMA : Katsuko Kuwamoto was born in 1939, into a country already Katsuko Kuwamoto was born in 1939, into a country already at war with the world. By the time she entered elementary school in April 1945, her father had already been sent to the battlefield, swallowed by a war that devoured men as quickly as it starved women and children. Families were left with only mothers, children, grandparents and little else. 'We didn't have food. I was always hungry,' she recalled. One month into her first school year, the children were ordered to evacuate from central Hiroshima. Firebombing had already reduced other cities, including Tokyo, to cinders. Katsuko and her older sister were sent to their aunt's farm on the edge of the city. 'There were already four other families packed into the house. One family lived in the barn. Another in the tool shed. Everyone was hungry. Everyone was angry. 'When food went missing, the blame always came to us. We had no parents with us. No one to defend us.' Still, every Saturday, Katsuko and her sister made the long walk home to see their mother in the city. They would stay one night and return to their aunt's on Sunday evening. 'We cried. We begged her to let us stay. We said: 'Even if a bomb drops on us and we die, we want to die here with you.'' But fate, disguised as well-meaning neighbours, intervened. 'Our neighbours told us: 'If a bomb falls, your mother won't be able to escape with two children.' So we went back to the farm. That was the afternoon of Aug 5, 1945.' The next morning, Katsuko got up like it was any other school day. She made her way to class, unaware that a US bomber had already crossed the sky. By then, the city had grown used to the sound of American bombers. When the air raid sirens blared, people took cover. But that day, there were no sirens or warnings. Just the low thrum of a B-29 heavy bomber. That morning, with the adult male population sent to the front, children were mobilised to labour outside, tasked with demolition work, dismantling homes and making firebreaks. As the school bell rang, Katsuko stepped into her classroom. One of her classmates was playing by the window. Above their heads, something shimmered. A metallic glint against the morning sky, tumbling and spinning while the children outside stared. Many children were working outdoors to fill the wartime labour shortage when the bomb dropped, as shown in this survivor's drawing. At 8.15am, the atomic bomb detonated. Ten seconds later, a deafening boom split the city apart. The shockwave shattered the windows of the school, 3.5km from the hypocentre. 'My classmate who was playing by the window was shredded by shards of glass. Her blood sprayed like a fountain. 'The teacher picked her up in his arms and ran around the schoolyard in a panic. His face was pale, distorted with suffering.' The children didn't understand what had happened. They clung onto their teacher's clothes and followed. Katsuko's aunt arrived soon after and took them home. The students working outside that morning weren't as lucky. They were incinerated instantly. All that remained were their shadows, scorched into the ground as memorials to lives cut short. The search for mother That same morning, Katsuko's mother stayed home, 1.3km from ground zero, feeling slightly unwell. She was eating a late breakfast when the bomb fell. In an instant, the blast crushed the house around her. Trapped under splintered beams, she screamed until a neighbour clawed through the debris to rescue her. Worried about their mother, Katsuko's cousin offered to go look for her, armed only with a rucksack and a water bottle. But he was back in under ten minutes. The firestorms and the terrain made it impossible to reach the city. Three days passed before the flames quieted. Katsuko, her sister, and their aunt finally entered the city. When the smoke finally lifted, what lay beneath was nothing short of a hell made of bone and ash. 'We saw dead bodies everywhere. We couldn't even make out where the houses and fields had been. We found nothing but charred corpses,' Katsuko said. Eyewitnesses recalled seeing victims with their skin peeling from their fingertips, trailing like rags. 'Even the ones who were still alive, you couldn't tell if they were men or women. Their faces were swollen one and a half times the normal size. Their clothes had burned off.' After hours of searching, they turned back defeated. Nearly a week after the bomb fell, Katsuko's mother came to them on foot, through the radioactive rain and ruins. 'She looked okay at first, but her face was pale. So pale it was blue. I've never seen such colour on a person's face before. She tried to talk but just vomited blood.' Residents of Hiroshima called the bomb 'Pikadon' — 'pika' for the flash, 'don' for the boom. No one yet understood the bomb's true radioactive nature. 'She was dying. But then our father came home from the war, and they had the same blood type. There was a rumour that blood transfusion might help. So he gave his blood to her, every day.' Months later, in early winter, Katsuko and her sister were playing outside when they saw a figure on a bicycle. It was their father. On the back, their mother was alive, smiling. 'They told us every day that she would die the next day, but she lived. The rumour that blood transfusion helped was true.' But in the years that followed, her mother's body began to fail. She developed breast cancer, then lung cancer, and eventually tumours in her brain, to which she later succumbed. The long war The war officially ended on Aug 15, 1945, but the aftermath lasted decades. Food shortages continued, forcing families to sell their prized kimonos for rice. School resumed outdoors as there were no buildings. When it rained, classes were cancelled. Around 80,000 people were incinerated in an instant by the bomb. Estimates say nearly 200,000 had died later from its lingering effects. Even after witnessing the destruction of her city and the loss of friends, neighbours, and family, Katsuko, like so many survivors, chose not to hold hatred toward the Americans. 'None of my family members were seriously injured by the bomb itself, but we never received any compensation from the US. 'I didn't feel any resentment. Later on, I went to a missionary school. My teachers were American. They were kind people and good teachers. There's no use in hating them.' At 86, Katsuko believes the key to a long life isn't holding on to anger, but rising early, walking her dog and continuing to speak. What drives her is the hope that through awareness and testimony, others might finally understand the human toll of war. 'We've had more visitors from the US lately. It seems the belief that the bomb was a necessary evil is fading, even in the US. 'We should never have war again. There's nothing more stupid than war.'
Free Malaysia Today
21 hours ago
- Free Malaysia Today
‘Unspeakable horror': the attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
A view of the devastated city of Hiroshima in 1948, three years after the first atomic bomb was dropped on the population. (AFP pic) TOKYO : Japan marks 80 years since the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in World War II. The first on Aug 6, 1945 killed around 140,000 people in Hiroshima, and three days later another 74,000 perished in Nagasaki. Here are some facts about the devastating attacks. The bombs The first atomic bomb was dropped on the western city of Hiroshima by the US bomber Enola Gay, nicknamed 'Little Boy'. It detonated about 600m from the ground, with a force equivalent to 15,000 tonnes of TNT. Tens of thousands died instantly, while others succumbed to injuries or illness in the weeks, months and years that followed. Three days later the US dropped a second bomb, dubbed 'Fat Man', on the southern city of Nagasaki. The attacks remain the only time atomic bombs have been used in wartime. The blasts In Hiroshima, the first thing people noticed was an 'intense ball of fire', according to the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). Temperatures near the blast reached an estimated 7,000°C, which incinerated everything within a radius of about 3km. 'I remember the charred bodies of little children lying around the hypocentre area like black rocks,' Koichi Wada, a witness who was 18 at the time of the Nagasaki attack, said of the bombing. ICRC experts say there were cases of temporary or permanent blindness due to the intense flash of light, and subsequent related damage such as cataracts. A whirlwind of heat generated also ignited thousands of fires that ravaged large parts of the mostly wooden city. A firestorm that consumed all available oxygen caused more deaths by suffocation. It has been estimated that burn- and fire-related casualties accounted for more than half of the immediate deaths in Hiroshima. The explosion generated an enormous shock wave that blew people through the air. Others were crushed to death inside collapsed buildings or injured or killed by flying debris. Radiation effects Radiation sickness was reported in the aftermath by many who survived the initial blasts and firestorms. Acute symptoms included vomiting, headaches, nausea, diarrhoea, haemorrhaging and hair loss, with radiation sickness fatal for many within a few weeks or months. Survivors, known as 'hibakusha', also experienced longer-term effects including elevated risks of thyroid cancer and leukaemia, and both Hiroshima and Nagasaki have seen elevated cancer rates. Of 50,000 radiation victims from both cities studied by the Japanese-US Radiation Effects Research Foundation, about 100 died of leukaemia and 850 suffered from radiation-induced cancers. The group found no evidence however of a 'significant increase' in serious birth defects among survivors' children. The aftermath The twin bombings dealt the final blow to imperial Japan, which surrendered on Aug 15, 1945, bringing an end to World War II. Historians have debated whether the bombings ultimately saved lives by bringing an end to the conflict and averting a ground invasion. But those calculations meant little to survivors, many of whom battled decades of physical and psychological trauma, as well as the stigma that sometimes came with being a hibakusha. Despite their suffering, many survivors were shunned – in particular for marriage – because of prejudice over radiation exposure. Survivors and their supporters have become some of the loudest and most powerful voices opposing nuclear weapons, including meeting world leaders to press their case. Last year, the Japanese anti-nuclear group Nihon Hidankyo, a grassroots movement of hibakusha, won the Nobel Peace Prize. In 2019, Pope Francis met several hibakusha in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, decrying the 'unspeakable horror' and calling for the abolition of nuclear weapons. In 2016, Barack Obama became the first sitting US president to visit Hiroshima. He offered no apology for the attack, but embraced survivors and called for a world free of nuclear weapons. Russia is one of around 100 countries expected to attend this year's memorial in Nagasaki, the first time Moscow has been invited to commemorations in the city since the start of the war with Ukraine.
