
Hiroshima teens describe World War II atomic bombing horror through art
It's one of many scenes from 80 years ago in August still etched in the octogenarian's memory — and now depicted vividly by Japanese teenagers on canvas.
For almost 20 years, Motomachi High School in Hiroshima has tasked its art students with interviewing hibakusha — atomic bomb survivors — and turning their harrowing testimonies into paintings.
Showcased recently by the school ahead of the Aug. 6 anniversary were 15 new artworks, including of scorched soldiers writhing in pain and a horror-stricken girl surrounded by an inferno.
"I think the painting very accurately captures my feelings at the time," Hironaka said, nodding with satisfaction at one such piece that immortalized an "unforgettable page of my life."
"It's authentic, and very well drawn."
Student Hana Takasago's evocative art shows a young Hironaka looking up at his mother as they plod through what remains of Hiroshima on Aug. 10, 1945, with fires still lingering.
A few days before, his father had come home heavily burned by the blast and asked Hironaka to yank out a glass shard stuck deep into his flesh.
He died soon afterward.
The widowed mother, clasping Hironaka's tiny hand and with his younger sister strapped on her back, is depicted gazing down and mumbling to him about her fears.
"In that moment, I was gripped by the strong determination to help and support her, young as I was. That's the feeling captured here," said Hironaka.
The "Little Boy" bomb dropped on Hiroshima killed around 140,000 people, including many who died from radiation.
Motomachi High is now an integral part of what was originally the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum's initiative, which has over the years birthed more than 200 artworks.
The idea is to keep memories of the bombing relevant for younger generations.
In the last eight months or so, witnesses including Hironaka sat down with students every few weeks to review their works in progress, sometimes requesting a drastic re-do.
"I originally had Mr. Hironaka and his mother face straight ahead, but he told me that their looking ahead doesn't really convey her inner struggle at the time," Takasago, 17, said.
"Since I've seen none of these described scenes myself, I was never confident that my depictions were accurate," she said in the school's cluttered art room.
Atomic bomb survivor Masaki Hironaka (right) speaks about a painting (top center) created by student Hana Takasago (left) showing him with his mother in the aftermath of the devastation in 1945, during a press preview of paintings created by students through survivors' testimonies to keep the memories of the bombing relevant for younger generations, at Motomachi High School in the city of Hiroshima on June 27. |
AFP-Jiji
The same went for Yumeko Onoue, 16, whose art depicts pumpkins that Hironaka remembers were covered in soot from radioactive "black rain."
Having initially drawn the fruit's leaves to face upward with vitality, she "completely re-drew them to wilt," to match Hironaka's memory.
"While photos from that era were mostly black and white, paintings can add color and emphasize key elements, making them, I think, ideal for expressing intended messages," Onoue said.
Many of these teens relied on their imagination and perused historical documents.
Immersing themselves in the carnage took a toll on some, such as Mei Honda, 18, who described the "emotionally draining" task of depicting charred skin and flesh dangling from people's arms.
Based on what one hibakusha witnessed, her painting showed one such woman gulping water.
"I initially depicted her arms pressed against her torso, but skin contact would have hurt her badly because of the burns," Honda said.
Recent data showed that the number of survivors from the bombings is now below 100,000, with the average age 86 years old.
"We are probably the last generation to have the opportunity to listen face-to-face to the experiences of hibakusha," Aoi Fukumoto, a 19-year-old Motomachi High alumna, said.
This sense of crisis was instilled by the project in other participants this year — including Takasago.
"Before I embarked on this project, what the atomic bomb did had always felt distant to me even as a Hiroshima native," she said.
But that changed after she lived vicariously through Hironaka's story.
"I can no longer remain a bystander," she said.
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Japan Times
6 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. 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Japan Times
8 hours ago
- Japan Times
'Absolute madness': Thailand's pet lion problem
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"It's terrifying to imagine, if the laws aren't changed, what the situation is going to be in 10 years." The boom is fueled by social media, through which owners such as Tharnuwarht post lighthearted content and glamor shots with lions. "I wanted to show people ... that lions can actually bond well with humans," he said, insisting he plays regularly with his pets. He entered Big George's enclosure tentatively though, spending just a few minutes being batted by the tawny striped liger's hefty paws before retreating behind a fence. Since 2022, Thai law has required owners to register and microchip lions, and inform authorities before moving them. Mechanic shop owner and avid TikToker Tharnuwarht Plengkemratch plays with his pet lion-tiger hybrid 'Big George' in Chiang Mai, Thailand, on July 11. | AFP-JIJI But there are no breeding caps, few enclosure or welfare requirements, and no controls on liger or tigon hybrids. Births of protected native species such as tigers must be reported within 24 hours. Lion owners have 60 days. "That is a huge window," said Taylor. "What could be done with a litter of cubs in those 60 days? Anything." Illicit trade Taylor and his colleagues have tracked the rise in lion ownership with on-site visits and by trawling social media. They recorded around 130 in 2018, and nearly 450 by 2024. But nearly 350 more lions they encountered were "lost to follow-up" after their whereabouts could not be confirmed for a year. That could indicate unreported deaths, an animal removed from display or "worst-case scenarios," said Taylor. "We have interviewed traders (in the region) who have given us prices for live and dead lions and have told us they can take them over the border." As a vulnerable species, lions and their parts can only be sold internationally with what are known as CITES permits. But there is circumstantial evidence of illicit trade, several experts said on condition of anonymity to avoid angering authorities. Media reports and social media have documented lions, including cubs, in Cambodia multiple times in recent years, though the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES) shows no registered imports since 2003. Tharnuwarht looks at one of his pet lions, which underwent taxidermy after its death a few years ago, in Chiang Mai, on July 11. | AFP-JIJI There is also growing evidence that captive lion numbers in Laos exceed CITES import licenses. In Thailand, meanwhile, imports of lion parts such as bones, skins and teeth have dropped in recent years, though demand remains, raising questions about how parts are now being sourced. Thai trader Pathamawadee Janpithak started in the crocodile business, but pivoted to lions as prices for the reptiles declined. "It gradually became a full-fledged business that I couldn't step away from," the gregarious 32-year-old said in front of a row of caged cubs. She sells 1-month-olds for around 500,000 baht ($15,500), down from a peak of 800,000 baht as breeding operations such as hers increase supply. Captive lions are generally fed around two kilograms of chicken carcasses a day, and can produce litters of two to six cubs, once or twice a year. Pathamawadee's three facilities house around 80 lions, from a stately full-maned 9-year-old to a sickly pair of 8-day-olds being bottle-fed around the clock. They are white because of a genetic mutation, and the smaller pool of white lions means inbreeding and sickness are common. Sometimes wrongly considered a "threatened" subspecies, they are popular in Thailand, but a month-old white cub being reared alongside the newborns has been sick almost since birth. It has attracted no buyers so far and will be unbreedable, Pathamawadee said. She lamented the increasing difficulty of finding buyers willing to comply with ownership rules. "In the past, people could just put down money and walk away with a lion ... Everything has become more complicated." Legal review Pathamawadee sells around half of the 90 cubs she breeds each year, often to other breeders, who are increasingly opening "lion cafes" where customers pose with and pet young lions. Outside Chiang Mai, a handler roused a cub from a nap to play with a group of squealing Chinese tourists. Staff allowed the filming of the interaction, but like all lion cafes contacted, declined interviews. Pathamawadee no longer sells to cafes, which tend to offload cubs within weeks as they grow. She said several were returned to her traumatized and no longer suitable for breeding. A man plays with a lion cub at a cafe in Chiang Mai. Thailand's captive lion population has exploded in recent years, with nearly 500 registered individuals in zoos, breeding farms, petting cafes and homes. | AFP-JIJI The growing lion population is a problem for Thailand's Department of National Parks, Wildlife and Plant Conservation (DNP), admitted wildlife protection director Sadudee Punpugdee. "But private ownership has existed for a long time ... so we're taking a gradual approach," he said. That includes limiting lion imports so breeders are forced to rely on the domestic population. "With inbreeding on the rise, the quality of the lions is also declining and we believe that demand will decrease as a result," Sadudee said. Already-stretched authorities face difficult choices on enforcing regulations, as confiscated animals become their responsibility, said Penthai Siriwat, an illegal wildlife trade specialist at WWF Thailand. "There is a great deal of deliberation before intervening ... considering the substantial costs," she said. Owners such as Tharnuwarht often evoke conservation to justify their pets, but Thailand's captive lions will never live in the wild. Two-year-olds Khanom and Khanun live in a DNP sanctuary after being confiscated from a cafe and private owner over improper paperwork. They could survive another decade or more, and require specialized keepers, food and care. Sanctuary chief vet Natanon Panpeth treads carefully while discussing the lion trade, warning only that the "well-being of the animals should always come first." Big cat ownership has been banned in the United States and United Arab Emirates in recent years, and Thailand's wildlife rules are soon up for review. Sadudee is hopeful some provisions may be tightened, though a ban is unlikely for now. He has his own advice for would-be owners: "Wild animals belong in the wild. There are plenty of other animals we can keep as pets."


Japan Times
9 hours ago
- Japan Times
Details of Prince Hisahito's coming-of-age ceremony announced
The Imperial Household Agency on Tuesday announced the details of the coming-of-age ceremony for Prince Hisahito, son of Crown Prince Akishino and Crown Princess Kiko, on Sept. 6, his 19th birthday. It will be the first coming-of-age ceremony for a male imperial family member in 40 years, since that of Crown Prince Akishino. Prince Hisahito is second in line to the throne, after his father. During the ceremony, to be hosted by Crown Prince Akishino and Crown Princess Kiko, Prince Hisahito will receive a crown from Emperor Naruhito's messenger at the Crown Prince's residence at 8:45 a.m. on Sept. 6. Prince Hisahito will then attend the Kakan-no-Gi crown-wearing ritual at the Imperial Palace from 10 a.m., wearing traditional attire for a minor imperial family member. Prince Hisahito will then change into adult attire and move to the palace's three sanctuaries in a ceremonial carriage, where he will offer prayers. In the afternoon, he is scheduled to greet Emperor Naruhito and Empress Masako at the Matsu-no-Ma state room at the palace in a ritual known as Choken no Gi and then visit his grandparents, Emperor Emeritus Akihito and Empress Emerita Michiko, at their residence in Minato Ward. The Cabinet decided Tuesday to grant the Grand Cordon of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum to Prince Hisahito. He will be awarded the medal from Emperor Naruhito on the day of the coming-of-age ceremony. On Sept. 8, Prince Hisahito will visit Ise Jingu, a major Shinto shrine in the city of Ise in Mie Prefecture, and the mausoleum of Emperor Jinmu, the mythical first emperor, in the city of Kashihara in neighboring Nara Prefecture. Prince Hisahito will visit the mausoleum of Emperor Hirohito, his great-grandfather, in Hachioji, Tokyo, on Sept. 9. A celebratory luncheon will be held in Tokyo on Sept. 10, with participants including the prime minister and other dignitaries.