VOX POPULI: The sorrow in the voices of 3,564 Nagasaki atomic bomb survivors
I was in Nagasaki recently. In the scorching heat, I visited The Nagasaki Shimbun building where a 'No War' monument stands.
At the front desk, I was directed to a room in the editorial department on the sixth floor. There, three cardboard boxes sat on a desk. After wiping away dripping sweat, I opened one of them.
In this 80th anniversary year of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, The Nagasaki Shimbun collaborated with The Chugoku Shimbun and The Asahi Shimbun to jointly survey hibakusha A-bomb survivors and collected 3,564 responses.
I went to Nagasaki because I wanted to hold some of those responses in my hands as I read them.
They were filled with urgent calls for peace. 'There is no justice in war,' wrote one hibakusha. Another noted, 'Nuclear weapons and humans cannot co-exist,' and yet another, 'No city should become the next victim (of atomic bombing).'
My eyes followed every handwritten character with great care. And I traced each with a fingertip.
The average age of hibakusha exceeds 86 now. Some had trouble writing the responses by themselves, but they still tried their hardest to make their thoughts known.
A 91-year-old woman, who had suffered a stroke, wrote: 'I'm finally able to write this much with my left hand. Please forgive this scrawl.'
Imagining her struggling to grip a pen in her non-dominant hand, I was moved to tears.
Another person, afraid of being discriminated against, admitted, 'I still can't tell anyone that I'm a hibakusha.'
Some cannot get over their lingering health concerns.
Yoshiki Yamada, The Nagasaki Shimbun's managing editor, is a so-called second generation hibakusha.
'People are still scared, even after 80 years,' he said. 'How long will those weapons keep affecting people.'
I was so absorbed in the task, I didn't realize I must have overstayed my welcome.
After thanking everyone, I exited the building.
The 'No War' writing on the memorial looked bigger than before. I felt a gentle breeze from the sea.
--The Asahi Shimbun, Aug. 9
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Vox Populi, Vox Dei is a popular daily column that takes up a wide range of topics, including culture, arts and social trends and developments. Written by veteran Asahi Shimbun writers, the column provides useful perspectives on and insights into contemporary Japan and its culture.
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The Mainichi
a day ago
- The Mainichi
Her voice long-stifled in US-occupied Okinawa, Nagasaki A-bomb survivor speaks out
NAHA -- "I had no choice but to stay silent." In Tomoko Oshiro's calm words, the deep loneliness of the past was unmistakable. Oshiro, 84, who survived the atomic bombing of Nagasaki and now resides in Urasoe, Okinawa Prefecture, has lived in Okinawa since the year after World War II ended. Under U.S. rule until 1972, Okinawa lagged behind the Japanese mainland in providing support for hibakusha, or atomic bomb survivors. For many years, Oshiro did not speak about her experiences. What changed that was her connection with other hibakusha on the island. Oshiro was born in Osaka to her father Chiyu Bise (who died in 2004 at age 93) from the Okinawa prefectural capital Naha, and mother Sachiko (who died in 2006 at age 95). In the spring of 1945 Oshiro moved to the Motoharamachi district of Nagasaki to live with her paternal grandmother. She was 4 years old at the time. The family of five included her 1-year-old brother. At 11:02 a.m. on Aug. 9, while Oshiro was playing at home with her grandmother and brother, the ceiling collapsed onto her head. The A-bomb had exploded, and Oshiro was only about 1.3 kilometers from the hypocenter. "Tomo-chan, Tomo-chan." She heard her mother's voice as she returned from a friend's house, and Oshiro desperately shouted "Help me!" from under the rubble. Her mother, herself burned, rescued Oshiro and carried her to a first-aid station. According to her mother's memoir, her grandmother was blown off her feet by the blast and died despite efforts to save her life. Oshiro's baby brother, who was on his grandmother's back, was killed instantly, crushed against an earthen wall. In 1946, the family moved to Okinawa. Her parents made a living as geta sandal makers and welders. Many atomic bomb survivors in Okinawa worked on bases belonging to the U.S. military, which had dropped the bomb. The need to survive made hibakusha reluctant to speak. Taeko Kiriya, an associate professor of peace studies at Tama University in Tokyo who conducted interviews in Okinawa from 2019 to 2022, noted, "Many survivors said they hid their status because they feared losing their jobs if people found out." On the Japanese mainland, the 1957 atomic bomb medical law required the national government to pay for health checkups and medical expenses for hibakusha. But Okinawa was excluded. A survey of survivors in Okinawa began in 1963, and the Ryukyu government (as it was then) started issuing survivor health handbooks in 1967 -- 10 years later than on the mainland. It was only through these long-awaited checkups that they discovered glass fragments still embedded in Oshiro's mother's body. When Oshiro graduated from high school, relatives in east Japan's Kanto region warned her, "Never tell anyone you're a hibakusha. It will affect your chances of marriage." She obeyed, thinking, "If I'm going to be discriminated against, I have no choice but to stay silent." The first time she confided in someone outside her family was in her late 20s, to a man she had met at work, whom she would later marry. Worried about the effects of radiation, she told him, "I can't have children." Even so, she became pregnant at 25 and raised a daughter. In her 40s, she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and uterine fibroids. She never consulted colleagues or those close to her. "The atomic bomb was something that happened on the mainland. People in Okinawa wouldn't understand how survivors feel," she thought. She also felt guilty for not knowing or being able to talk about the suffering of the Okinawan people, a quarter of whom died in the Battle of Okinawa in 1945. A turning point came about 25 years ago. After reaching retirement age and settling into a quieter life, she joined the Okinawa Prefecture hibakusha association, the only such group in the prefecture. At general meetings and health checkups, survivors from across the Okinawan archipelago would gather. There, she could share feelings she had never spoken about, including her thoughts on the atomic bombing and the Battle of Okinawa. "I enjoyed talking with everyone," she said, recalling the encouragement she felt. Eight years ago, her only daughter was diagnosed with bile duct cancer and died at age 50. "Was my daughter's cancer my fault?" Oshiro wondered. It was her fellow association members who helped ease her deep sense of guilt. In the early 1980s, there were more than 350 hibakusha living in Okinawa. As of April 2025, only 68 remained. At the Peace Memorial Park in Itoman, Okinawa Prefecture, the Cornerstone of Peace bears the names of those who perished in the Battle of Okinawa and local atomic bomb survivors, including Oshiro's parents. When she visited the monument in June, she traced their names with her hand and said, "Dad, Mom, I'm doing well." Since 2020, Oshiro has served as president of the survivors' association. She says she is only able to speak out now thanks to the community built by earlier generations of hibakusha. "I hope people will not forget the journey of hibakusha on the (Okinawa) islands who lived far from the bombed cities," she said.
Japan Today
a day ago
- Japan Today
Restored Nagasaki bell rings in 80 years since A-bomb
Doves fly past the "Peace Statue" after being released into the air during the annual memorial ceremony at the Peace Park in Nagasaki on August 9, 2025 By Mathias CENA Twin cathedral bells rang in unison Saturday in Japan's Nagasaki for the first time since the atomic bombing of the city 80 years ago, commemorating the moment of horror. On August 9, 1945, at 11:02 am, three days after a nuclear attack on Hiroshima, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Nagasaki. After heavy downpours Saturday morning, the rain stopped shortly before a moment of silence and ceremony in which Nagasaki mayor Shiro Suzuki urged the world to "stop armed conflicts immediately". "Eighty years have passed, and who could have imagined that the world would become like this? A crisis that could threaten the survival of humanity, such as a nuclear war, is looming over each and every one of us living on this planet." About 74,000 people were killed in the southwestern port city, on top of the 140,000 killed in Hiroshima. Days later, on August 15, 1945, Japan surrendered, marking the end of 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 often came with being a hibakusha. Ninety-three-year-old survivor Hiroshi Nishioka, who was just three kilometers from the spot where the bomb exploded, told ceremony attendees of the horror he witnessed as a young teenager. "Even the lucky ones (who were not severely injured) gradually began to bleed from their gums and lose their hair, and one after another they died," he recalled. "Even though the war was over, the atomic bomb brought invisible terror." Nagasaki resident Atsuko Higuchi told AFP it "made her happy" that everyone would remember the city's victims. "Instead of thinking that these events belong to the past, we must remember that these are real events that took place," the 50-year-old said. On Saturday, 200-300 people attending mass at Nagasaki's Immaculate Conception Cathedral heard the two bells ring together for the first time since 1945. One of them, 61-year-old Akio Watanabe, said he had been waiting since he was a young man to hear the bells chime together. The restoration is a "symbol of reconciliation", he said, tears streaming down his face. The imposing red-brick cathedral, with its twin bell towers atop a hill, was rebuilt in 1959 after it was almost completely destroyed in the monstrous explosion just a few hundred meters away. Only one of its two bells was recovered from the rubble, leaving the northern tower silent. With funds from U.S. churchgoers, a new bell was constructed and restored to the tower, and chimed Saturday at the exact moment the bomb was dropped. The cathedral's chief priest, Kenichi Yamamura, told AFP "it's not about forgetting the wounds of the past but recognizing them and taking action to repair and rebuild, and in doing so, working together for peace". He also sees the chimes as a message to the world, shaken by multiple conflicts and caught in a frantic new arms race. Nearly 100 countries were set to participate in this year's commemorations, including Russia, which has not been invited since its 2022 invasion of Ukraine. Israel, whose ambassador was not invited last year over the war in Gaza, was in attendance. An American university professor, whose grandfather participated in the Manhattan Project, which developed the first nuclear weapons, spearheaded the bell project. During his research in Nagasaki, a Japanese Christian told him he would like to hear the two bells of the cathedral ring together in his lifetime. Inspired by the idea, James Nolan, a sociology professor at Williams College in Massachusetts, embarked on a year-long series of lectures about the atomic bomb across the United States, primarily in churches. He managed to raise $125,000 from American Catholics to fund the new bell. When it was unveiled in Nagasaki in the spring, "the reactions were magnificent. There were people literally in tears", said Nolan. Many American Catholics he met were also unaware of the painful history of Nagasaki's Christians, who, converted in the 16th century by the first European missionaries and then persecuted by Japanese shoguns, kept their faith alive clandestinely for over 250 years. This story was told in the novel "Silence" by Shusaku Endo, and adapted into a film by Martin Scorsese in 2016. He explains that American Catholics also showed "compassion and sadness" upon hearing about the perseverance of Nagasaki's Christians after the atomic bomb, which killed 8,500 of the parish's 12,000 faithful. They were inspired by the "willingness to forgive and rebuild". © 2025 AFP
Asahi Shimbun
2 days ago
- Asahi Shimbun
From acceptance to anger: Path trod by Nagasaki bomb survivors
Pope John Paul II kisses a resident of Megumi no Oka Nagasaki Genbaku Home during a visit to Nagasaki in February 1981. (Provided by Megumi no Oka Nagasaki Genbaku Home) NAGASAKI--Many of the victims of this city's atomic bombing initially found solace in the thought their deaths would be a beautiful sacrifice. That way of thinking would later change. The catalyst was a visit by Pope John Paul II. Nagasaki on Aug. 9 marked the 80th anniversary of its destruction from atomic bombing. Early accounts of people who lost loved ones in the attack were collated by Nagasaki Junshin Educational Corp., which operates schools from kindergarten to university, and published in 1961. One father described his daughter as 'a truly happy child.' He finally found his daughter, a second-year student at the senior high school, five days after the attack. She had burns over much of her body. He took her to a hospital, but her condition did not improve. Seemingly realizing she was slipping away, the daughter began to sing a hymn. But as her voice weakened, she said, 'I can't sing anymore.' 'I can't see.' She mouthed 'Goodbye' as a prayer died on her lips. Friends and others told the father how lucky he was to have shared such precious last moments with his daughter. One person surmised the father and daughter's deep Catholic faith was the glue that bound them so closely at such an emotionally wrought time. Bereaved family members head to a memorial ceremony held in September 1945 for the victims of the Nagasaki atomic bombing. (Asahi Shimbun file photo) Records show that 214 students at Nagasaki Junshin Senior Girls' High School perished in the bombing. They were working as volunteers at a weapons factory when the bomb detonated over the port city. Chie Shijo, a native of Hiroshima city who relocated to Nagasaki in 2006, was among many who were deeply moved by the publication. She had worked as a curator at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, which gave her access to all sorts of documents left behind by schools in the western city. But she had never come across anything like the Junshin volume. In her view, describing victims of the atomic bombing in a beautiful and pure way served only to push the barbarity and wretchedness of atomic weapons into the background. But she was curious as to how such a narrative arose in the first place. Takashi Nagai, a Catholic physician who died in 1951 at the age of 43, is said to have played a pivotal role in providing spiritual comfort to Catholics living in the Urakami district of Nagasaki after the bombing. His wife was among the tens of thousands killed in the attack, and he himself suffered serious injuries. He devoted his efforts to helping other victims. Takashi Nagai in his shelter called Nyokodo (Provided by the Takashi Nagai Memorial Museum) Nagai wrote 17 books from his hospital bed even while suffering from the effects of radiation exposure. Many of his works described the sense of guilt felt by survivors. The Urakami district, home to a cathedral of the same name, was ground zero in the bombing, which Nagai called 'divine providence.' He likened the victims to live animals sacrificed in religious ceremonies, known as burnt offerings, and said they were a sacrifice to God. Junshin operated a Catholic school in Urakami. Other accounts published in the volume contained references to burnt offerings. Years later, Nagai came under heavy criticism for seemingly having taken little issue with the atomic bombing. But since his works were written during the U.S. Occupation, Nagai likely found it difficult to say anything that the authorities did not approve of. The 1951 peace declaration issued by the Nagasaki city government on the anniversary of the bombing said the atomic attack hastened the end of war. Shijo felt that the survivors in Urakami must have believed what Nagai said as they tried to make sense of the magnitude of the destruction and anguished over questions about faith, justice and evil. 'The narrative of accepting the good people who died as being a sacrifice to God helped with the reconstruction of Nagasaki,' Shijo said. When Junshin rebuilt its school, it set aside a grave for the remains of the students who died in the bombing. Because the students were symbols of filial piety, Junshin also decided to construct a retirement home for those who lost family members and were left by themselves. POPE'S HEALING WORDS Pope John Paul II visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1981. In a speech in Hiroshima, the pontiff did not mince words, saying, 'War is the work of man.' He added, 'to remember the past is to commit oneself to the future.' The Congregation of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the religious organization that established Junshin, also constructed Megumi no Oka Nagasaki Genbaku Home, a facility to provide care to senior citizens who survived the bombing. Visiting the facility, the pope told the residents, 'The very manner in which all of you continue to live is the most convincing appeal for opposing war and promoting peace.' From the following year, staff at the facility recorded and published the testimony of residents. The reminiscences were brutal in their hatred of war and atomic weapons. One man who lost his wife and whose daughter was sickened by radiation exposure wrote, 'I hate war.' Another wrote if those who died cannot be brought back to life, atomic bombs should never again be used. Another individual said that people must not give up just because war was unavoidable. Akira Shikayama, 59, works at the retirement home next to the main building. He was in junior high school when the pope visited the facility. Since working there, he has listened to and written down the accounts of about 300 hibakusha. While he has also read the Junshin volume given to him by a former superior, he realizes the facility where he now works has a special role to play. This year, a 91-year-old resident told him what she had endured and admitted she had not even told her family about her experiences. In 1949, the woman and her mother had moved to an outlying island, but the mother died from radiation exposure. Everyone in the community knew the cause of death and neighbors began shunning the family, the woman said. She had to walk a great distance to obtain milk for her younger brother. For decades, the woman never once talked about the discrimination she had faced. But in 2024 when Nihon Hidankyo (Japan Confederation of A- and H-Bomb Sufferers Organizations) was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, the woman had a change of heart after she folded paper cranes to be sent to Oslo. She asked Shikayama for more time so she could also give her testimony. This summer, a memorial hall at the facility named after John Paul II displayed the results of many years of passing down the experiences of the hibakusha. Their accounts and art works are available to staff, residents, their families and visitors. 'The mission of this retirement home is to spread the testimony of residents to the world. That will not change in the future,' Shikayama said. Junshin students sing at the Aug. 9, 1961, memorial ceremony commemorating the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. (Asahi Shimbun file photo)
