Peace Museum in Brazil to Rise from Ashes, Convey Survivor Stories Again
The 'Museu da Paz' (Peace Museum) in the city of Frei Rogerio is seen as a poignant testament to the enduring hopes for peace carried by Japanese immigrants who survived the atomic bombing before making new lives in South America.
The reconstruction of the facility that chronicles the tragedy of the atomic bombing clearly shows how the deep-seated desire for peace among survivors has taken root in Brazil.
The work is a collaborative effort between Japanese-Brazilian immigrants and the local government with a completion target by the end of this year, which coincides with the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II.
The museum was built in 2010 with support from the Brazilian government and an association founded by three atomic bomb survivors and their families living in Frei Rogerio, including the now 96-year-old Wataru Ogawa.
Ogawa's brother-in-law Kazumi Ogawa, who passed away in 2012 at 83, constructed a single-story building for the museum on unused land on the pear farm that he ran. He had moved to Brazil after surviving the bombing of Nagasaki and saw the museum as conveying the belief that 'we must never repeat the misfortune caused by war.'
The group acquired 80 panels from Nagasaki of photographs of children with burn scars from the atomic bomb and other items for display in the 420-square-meter structure. The area around the museum was dubbed 'Peace Bell Park.'
Wataru Ogawa shared his wartime experiences with about 5,000 visitors annually at the museum, with his third son Naoki, 54, serving as his Portuguese interpreter.
In the summer of 1945, Ogawa was a student at the naval engineering school in Otake, Hiroshima Prefecture, where he witnessed the devastation caused by the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. At war's end, he returned to his hometown of Nagasaki, which had suffered a similar fate.
Shortly after, his hair began to fall out in clumps.
Elementary and junior high school students would listen intently to Ogawa's emotional account of the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, bringing some to tears. He vividly described the procession of bloated bodies floating down the river, and a childhood friend, reduced to little more than a skeleton, saying with his last breath, 'I can't go on anymore.'Following the fire that destroyed the museum in 2016, the local community quickly banded together to start planning the reconstruction. After a series of meetings with Frei Rogerio municipal officials and other parties, Naoki Ogawa and other second-generation Japanese-Brazilians finalized a project plan in 2020.
The plan included financial support from the city and others for rebuilding the museum and constructing an adjoining international exchange facility.
Construction was started in April with the goal of completing and reopening the museum by the end of this year. Efforts are currently underway to gather exhibits for display and to prepare materials with cooperation from local universities.
'At a time when there are ongoing wars [around the world], I hope that this will once again become a place where the plea for peace can be spread,' Wataru Ogawa said.
Naoki Ogawa's oldest son, now 23, was born on Aug. 9 — the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki — and named Hirakazu using the kanji characters for 'peace,' most often read as 'heiwa.' 'It was my destiny to inherit the desire for peace from the atomic bomb survivors,' Hirakazu said.
According to the Health, Labor and Welfare Ministry, there were 66 survivors from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings residing in Brazil as of the end of March.
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Japan Times
7 hours ago
- Japan Times
Last soldiers of Imperial Japanese Army have a warning for younger generations
Kunshiro Kiyozumi is a small man with gray hair and a stooped back who lives alone and still pedals his bicycle to the supermarket. At 97, he cuts an unprepossessing figure to the younger shoppers busy texting while filling their carts, unaware that his life contains a dramatic story shaped by history's deadliest war. At age 15, Kiyozumi became the youngest sailor aboard the I-58, an attack submarine of the Imperial Japanese navy. In the closing days of World War II, it prowled the Pacific Ocean, torpedoing six Allied ships, including the heavy cruiser USS Indianapolis, which it sank. He served in a military that committed atrocities in a march across Asia, as Japan fought in a brutal global conflict that was brought to an end with the atomic bombings of two of its cities. All told, World War II killed at least 60 million people worldwide. But the living veterans such as Kiyozumi were not the admirals or generals who directed Japan's imperial plans. They were young sailors and foot soldiers in a war that was not of their making. Most were still in their midteens when they were sent to far-flung battlefields from India to the South Pacific, where some were abandoned in jungles to starve or left bearing dark secrets when the empire fell. A photograph of Kenichi Ozaki when he enlisted in the Imperial Japanese Army at age 15 during World War II, at his home in Kyoto, on April 27. | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times After Japan surrendered on Aug. 15, 1945, they returned to a defeated nation that showed little interest in their sacrifices, eager to put aside both painful memories and uncomfortable questions about its wartime aggression. Kiyozumi lived a quiet life, working at a utility company installing the electrical wires that helped power Japan's reconstruction. Over time, his former crewmates died, but he rarely spoke about his wartime experiences. "I am the last one left,' Kiyozumi said in his home, showing fading photographs of the sub and himself as a young sailor. As the 80th anniversary of the war's end approaches, the number of veterans still alive is rapidly dwindling. There were only 792 Japanese war veterans still collecting government pensions as of March, half the number of a year earlier. Now in their upper 90s and 100s, they will take with them the last living memories of horrors and ordeals, but also of bravery and sacrifice — powerful accounts that hold extra meaning now, as Japan builds up its military after decades of pacifism. Here are some of their stories. Starved in the jungle Kenichi Ozaki was 15 when he enlisted in 1943, as most young men were expected to do as the tide of war turned against Japan. Told that it was a righteous cause, he joined the Imperial Japanese Army out of middle school in rural western Japan over his parents' objections. Less than halfway through his training to become a radio operator, Ozaki was rushed to the Philippines, where the Americans had arrived to try to reclaim their former colony from the Japanese. Poorly equipped and ill-prepared, the Japanese force was quickly routed. Ozaki, 97, who, after joining the Imperial Japanese Army out of middle school, was deployed to the Philippines, where he stayed until the end of World War II, at his home computer, on which he now does day trading, in Kyoto on April 27. | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times The demoralized survivors fled into the jungle, where they wandered for months. Ozaki watched those around him fall from attacks by Philippine guerrillas or starvation. While he survived on leaves and stolen crops, Ozaki saw soldiers eat what appeared to be the bodies of dead comrades. After the war, he returned to Japan, where he made a career at a company making electrical parts, rising to executive. For a half-century, he didn't speak of the war. He broke his silence when he realized how few people knew what his fallen comrades had endured. Now 97, Ozaki still dreams of those left behind, told they were dying for the glory of the empire, but sent into combat with no hope of victory. "In their last breaths, no one shouted for the long life of the emperor,' said Ozaki, who lives in Kyoto with his son, also retired. "They called out for their mothers, whom they would never see again.' Kept a dark secret For more than 70 years, Hideo Shimizu kept silent about the horrors that he experienced. Born in the village of Miyata in mountainous central Japan, he didn't know much about the war when he was forced to enlist in a youth brigade in 1945 at the age of 14. Because he was dexterous, a teacher recommended him for a special assignment. Hideo Shimizu, 95, who was part of the secretive Unit 731 developing new weapons for the Imperial Japanese Army, which he was told never to speak about after World War II, at his home in Miyata, Japan, May 15 | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times After days of travel by ship and train, Shimizu arrived in Harbin in Japanese-controlled Manchuria, where he learned he would be joining Unit 731, a secretive group developing new weapons. At first, Shimizu dissected rats. Then, he was taken to see the unit's real experiments. He never forgot the sight: Chinese civilians and captured Allied soldiers preserved in formaldehyde, their bodies flayed open or cut into pieces. They had been infected with bacteria and dissected alive to see the effects on living tissue. When the war ended, his unit escaped the advancing Soviets by rushing back to Japan, where he was told never to speak again about their work. Despite constant nightmares, Shimizu obeyed as he started a new life running a small construction company. In 2015, he accompanied a relative to a museum where a photograph of Unit 731's base was displayed. When he started explaining the buildings in detail, the museum's curator happened to overhear and persuaded him to speak in public. Now 95, Shimizu tries to combat the denials proliferating online about atrocities committed by Unit 731. "Only the very youngest of us are left,' Shimizu said. "When we are gone, will people forget the terrible things that happened?' Marched into a trap Sitting in the living room of his wooden home in the rice-growing village of Osonogo in mountainous Niigata Prefecture, Tetsuo Sato, 105, still seethes with anger over a battle fought long ago. After growing up as one of 12 children who didn't always have enough to eat, Sato left this village in 1940 to join the army. He ended up in Japanese-occupied Burma (now Myanmar) just as Japan was planning an offensive against the city of Imphal, across a mountain range in British-ruled India. Tetsuo Sato, 105, who belonged to the 58th Infantry Regiment of the 31st Division of the Imperial Japanese Army in World War II, outside his home with his daughter-in-law, Kuniko Sato, and his dog in Osonogo, a village in Niigata Prefecture, on June 10. | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times Proclaiming that their soldiers' fighting spirit would prevail, the Japanese generals sent them without adequate weapons or supply lines, ordering them never to retreat. At first, the enemy troops appeared to flee, but it was a trap. When the British surrounded them, Sato escaped only because his commander disobeyed the orders and pulled back. Even then, many died from starvation and disease as they fled back to Burma. "They wasted our lives like pieces of scrap paper,' Sato said. "Never die for emperor or country.' Enlisted at 14 Tadanori Suzuki was also keen to help his country when he enlisted in the Imperial Japanese Navy at age 14. He regretted it right away when the officers regularly struck the new recruits. The beatings stopped only when he was sent to the tropical island of Sulawesi, now in Indonesia, which the Japanese had seized from the Dutch. Tadanori Suzuki, 96, who enlisted in the Imperial Japanese Navy at age 14 during World War II and was deployed to what is now Indonesia, holds a photograph of himself at age 16 before his deployment, at his home in Tokyo on April 17. | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times There, he trained on a small torpedo boat, spending sleepy weeks in the heat and tasting bananas for the first time. The idyll ended when a U.S. destroyer was spotted. His boat was one of eight sent to intercept it. As they sped toward the gray enemy vessel, Suzuki heard the "bam-bam-bam' of its guns. When he pulled a lever to launch a torpedo, he saw a pillar of flame rise from the U.S. ship. "A hit! A hit!' he yelled. But three of the Japanese boats never returned. Lacking fuel and ammunition, his squadron never forayed out again. Captured at the war's end, it took him six months to get home. When he knocked on his door, his mother burst into tears. "I thought you were dead,' she said, then prepared him a bath. After retiring from his job as a carpenter, he started speaking to elementary schools near his home in Tokyo, warning them that there is no romanticism in war. "I tell the younger generations, 'A long time ago, we did something really stupid,'' says Suzuki, 96. "Don't go to war. Stay home with your parents and families.' Fought for the empire One sunny April day, Masao Go, 97, was at a Buddhist temple near his home in Yokohama to watch the placement of a stone with calligraphy etched into its face: "Taiwan our fatherland, Japan our motherland.' Go was born in Taiwan when it was a Japanese colony. His parents sent him to school in Tokyo, where he learned to be a proud citizen of the Japanese empire. In 1944, he joined the Imperial Japanese Army, eager to fight for a cause that he embraced as his own. Trained as a radio operator on a bomber, he was assigned to an air base in Japanese-occupied Korea. His unit was told to prepare for a final attack against U.S. forces on Okinawa, but Japan surrendered before the order came. Captured by Soviet troops, he was sent to a prison camp in Kazakhstan. By the time of his release two years later, Taiwan was part of China. Go went instead to Japan, where he became a banker in Yokohama's vibrant Chinatown. After hiding his military service for years, he now talks about it, concerned that Japan and Taiwan face a new threat, this time from China seeking to expand its dominance in Asia. He erected the stone, which honors the 30,000 Taiwanese who died fighting for Japan in World War II, to remind Japan of its connection to Taiwan, now a self-governing island that China vows to reclaim by force. "A threat to Taiwan is a threat to Japan,' Go said. "We are bound by history.' Forgotten by his nation Kiyozumi, the youngest sailor aboard the I-58, still vividly remembers the day in July 1945 when the I-58's lookouts spotted an approaching U.S. warship. The submarine dived to fire its torpedoes. The captain watched through the periscope as the enemy vessel capsized and sank. Kiyozumi at a restaurant in Matsuyama, Japan, on April 29 | Ko Sasaki / The New York Times Years later, Kiyozumi learned that their target had been the USS Indianapolis, which had just delivered parts of the atomic bombs to the island of Tinian for use against Japanese cities to end the war. Of the U.S. ship's 1,200 sailors, only 300 survived. "It was war,' Kiyozumi said, expressing sorrow but not regret. "We killed hundreds of theirs, but they had just transported the atomic bomb.' Although Kiyozumi once corresponded with a survivor of the U.S. warship, he feels forgotten and alone. His wife died three decades ago; his best friend on the I-58 died in 2020. No one in his town asks about the war. "Young people don't know what we went through,' he said. "They are more interested in their smartphones.' This article originally appeared in The New York Times © 2025 The New York Times Company
9 hours ago
Americans Split over Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima, Nagasaki
News from Japan Culture Jul 29, 2025 16:32 (JST) Washington, July 28 (Jiji Press)--U.S. citizens are split over the August 1945 atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the closing days of World War II, an opinion poll conducted by the Pew Research Center of the United States showed Monday. Respondents who said the bombings were "justified" accounted for 35 pct while 31 said they were "not justified." Those who are "not sure" made up 33 pct. The survey was conducted on more than 5,000 U.S. adults between June 2 and 8, ahead of the 80th anniversary of the U.S. atomic bombings of the western Japan city of Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945, and the city of Nagasaki, southwestern Japan, three days later. The share of respondents who answered that the attacks were justified fell sharply from 56 pct in the previous survey in 2015, and that of those who said they were not also dropped, from 34 pct. The decreases in both answers were apparently due to there not being the "not sure" option in the 2015 survey. By sex, 51 pct of the male respondents think the bombings were justified while the proportion stood at only 20 pct for female respondents. [Copyright The Jiji Press, Ltd.] Jiji Press
Tokyo Weekender
11 hours ago
- Tokyo Weekender
Weird Legends About the Posthumous Lives of Famous Japanese Figures
For most people, death is the end of their story. It doesn't have to be, but there's a limited audience wanting updates about a body's state of decay. However, three famous Japanese figures proved that you can go on grand adventures or accomplish unbelievable things long after your demise. At least, that's what their legends say. None of them are true, but the world would be a more interesting place if they were. So let's silence our inner skeptic, close our eyes and, for a few fun minutes, imagine that … List of Contents: Minamoto no Yoshitsune Became Genghis Khan Oda Nobunaga Became Giordano Bruno Saigo Takamori Became Mars Related Posts Minamoto no Yoshitsune Became Genghis Khan Minamoto no Yoshitsune (1159–1189) is one of the most famous warriors in Japanese history. A key figure in the Genpei War that helped samurai gain control of the country, he was the half-brother of Minamoto no Yoritomo, the first shogun, and the brother-in-law of Hojo Masako, the Nun Shogun . The Yo Bros sadly became enemies after the war, and Yoshitsune was ultimately betrayed, surrounded and forced to commit seppuku, all while the warrior monk Benkei gave his life to give him some privacy. Yoshitsune's suicide is still considered one of the most tragic — but also one of the most poignant — deaths in Japanese history. Nevertheless, some people decided to ruin it by inventing legends that Yoshitsune actually survived, escaped to Hokkaido and sailed from there to mainland Asia, where he became THE Genghis Khan (1162–1227 — or maybe that's what they want you to believe.) Interestingly, we know exactly who these 'some people' were. It was just one guy, Kencho Suematsu, who came up with the story to raise Japan's status after the Meiji Restoration. In 1868, Japan abolished the feudal system and entered a new age of modernity, but technologically, the country was way behind most of the world. Suematsu may have just wanted to exalt Japan by bringing up its past and got carried away, claiming that the man who created a vast empire that, under subsequent rulers, stretched from eastern China to Poland was actually Japanese. He probably omitted the fact that Genghis' descendants invaded Japan twice . While Suematsu's reasons are MAYBE understandable, the way he went about proving the theory was just … bizarre. One of his arguments was that if you read Yoshitsune's name the Sino-Japanese way, it would be 'Gen Gi-kei,' which sounds a little like the Japanese pronunciation of Genghis Khan! Also, the title 'khan' could come from the Japanese word kami, meaning 'god'! To be fair, some of the 'evidence' that Suematsu presented came from outside sources who have been pushing a Japan-Mongol connection for centuries to get Japan more street cred. Next time, just brag about Japan's samurai gun assassins . That's both cool AND real. Oda Nobunaga (left) and Giordano Bruno (right) Oda Nobunaga Became Giordano Bruno Oda Nobunaga (1534–1582) was the first of Japan's great unifiers who tried to bring the country together after the collapse of the imperial and military governments in the mid-15th century. He's also known as the ' Demon King ,' a nickname that he gave himself to torment his devout Buddhist enemies. The feared warlord was ultimately betrayed by one of his generals, Akechi Mitsuhide, and forced to commit seppuku in the burning Honno-ji temple. But his body was never found, so going by comic book rules, he must have survived! That's really the entire basis of the MANY legends about Nobunaga living past 1582. The wildest one says he was smuggled out of the country by Jesuit monks — with whom he had a pretty good relationship — and brought to the Philippines. From there, he made his way to Europe and became none other than the 'Italian' astronomer Giordano Bruno! The Philippines escape story has actually been told for centuries, but the Bruno connection is a pretty recent invention. We don't know exactly when it started, but it seems to be based almost entirely on the fact that 'Giordano Bruno' in Japanese is Jorudano Buruno. J o ru dano Bu runo. Oda Nobu! The sly fox was hiding in plain sight the entire time! Some versions of the legend say that Akechi Mitsuhide was in on the plan and actually helped Nobunaga fake his death so he could take his philosophy of world conquest global. That … did not really work out, as Bruno was burned at the stake by the Catholic Church in 1600 for supporting Copernicus, claiming the universe is infinite and other 'heresy.' If that really WAS Oda Nobunaga, then you have to admit the weird cosmic coincidence of both his 'deaths' occurring while he was surrounded by fire (maybe that's another clue?!). Saigo Takamori and a woodblock print depicting him as the planet Mars by Utagawa Kunisada III (c. 1877) Saigo Takamori Became Mars Saigo Takamori (1828–1877) led the last samurai rebellion against the Japanese government, as grossly misrepresented in The Last Samurai , where, in typical Western fashion , his name was changed. The exact details of the Satsuma Rebellion are not important right now; what is important is that Saigo Takamori lost and chose to commit seppuku, exemplifying the samurai spirit to the very end. Or so the story goes. The truth is that Saigo was probably too riddled with bullets to actually open his stomach and was simply beheaded by his second to avoid capture and retain his honor. But being a samurai is about more than self-disembowelment, and Saigo was a samurai who fought for samurai. Maybe that's why the rumor that he faked his death and escaped to Russia (not very samurai-like) isn't as popular as the rumor that his spirit rose to Mars, where it sort of … fused with the planet. The belief may have been inspired by (unconfirmed) reports that the planet Mars was unusually bright after Saigo's death, pointing to his heavenly ascension. There is also a long Japanese tradition of deifying great warriors. Kusunoki Masashige (1294–1336) is today enshrined as a kami because of his fierce loyalty. Taira no Masakado is technically a god of wrath still cursing Tokyo from his head's grave in the center of the city . Saigo becoming Mars is an extreme example, but it's not that out of the ordinary. But that's not why the legend started. It's simply a case of contrarianism. Saigo fought the Meiji government, which was all about leaving the past behind and embracing modernity, science and rationality. So, Saigo's supporters came up with the most traditional, unscientific, irrational theory about the last samurai as a form of protest against the people who killed him. Who knows, though? Maybe if you believe something strongly and long enough, it becomes true, and Saigo Takamori IS looking at us through the eyes of Mars and still screaming about all the historic inaccuracies in The Last Samurai. Related Posts Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Star of Shogun: Rumors and Legends About the Powerful Ruler From Butt Eyes to Scrotum Houses: 5 Weird Japanese Yokai That Are Actually Harmless The Bizarre and Violent Tales of Japanese Mermaids, or Ningyo
