“Passing On the Spirit of Hiroshima

Hiroshima – a city in which 8,200 seventh- and eighth-grade students were mobilized as laborers, of which 6,300 passed away on the morning of August 6.

As a legacy successor, I pass on the stories of those who survived, those who have carried guilt for their entire lives because they did not share the same fate.

My father lived on an island off the Seto Inland Sea and entered Hiroshima for three days immediately after the bombing as part of the relief effort. I was not able to hear his story.

I hope to continue telling the story of how  広島 (author’s note: ‘Hiroshima’ in kanji, as it is traditionally written) became ヒロシマ (author’s note: ‘Hiroshima’ in katakana, an alphabet system reserved for foreign words. This indicates the rising ubiquity of Hiroshima among non-Japanese speakers as it has become synonymous with the atomic bomb), the many individuals that lost their lives in an instant and the many more individuals that suffer, to this day, due to radiation sickness. I hope to relay the messages of the hibakusha who have provided their testimonials in hopes that no one ever has to experience what they went through.”

“Japan – a country that has been in a constant state of turmoil since the Meiji era – has not engaged in war for the past 72 years, since the end of World War II. At present, the majority of Japanese have never experienced war. I am one of them. Still, war and conflict persist to this day in various corners of the world, victimizing many people. This is not a foreign topic for any of us – at any point, we may easily become victims or perpetuators. During the war, Japanese soldiers brutally murdered many innocent people from other countries. The leaders of the Imperial Japanese Army led many of their own officers to die in vain. The atomic bomb detonated above a region that housed regular people living day by day, and implicated a large number of them. The victims are always regular people – people with families whom they loved dearly. War drives humans to commit horrific acts. It martyrizes individuals who kill the most people. I do not believe that killing – under any circumstances – is the correct course of action. Nor do I believe that there is any way to justify war. My hope is that one day, every individual in this world is able to say that they have never experienced war.

Seino Kumiko Kumiko Seino”

(Transcribed from a speech that Ms. Seino prepared in English for a presentation at Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. Here, she describes her mother’s account of the atomic bomb.)

“On August 6th, 1945, my mother left home early in the morning, as usual. She worried about her two-year-old brother because he was crying. Her mother said, “It’s nothing. Your younger brother just spilled some soup and burned himself a little bit. You had better be on your way.” So, although not wanting to leave the house, she headed for work. This was the last conversation that [my mother] had with her family.

After the morning meeting at work, my mother and her friend were walking towards a nearby elementary school. They were carrying big containers filled with boxed lunches. Just after 8 o’clock, she heard the noise of an American plane, the B-29. She looked up saying, “The enemy plane,” then the entire area turned orange with a loud noise. She thought a bomb must have fallen nearby. She forgot what she was carrying and jumped into a rice paddy. Nothing happened, so they went back into the office. Wondering where the bomb hit, they started talking about it. Then they heard something that sounded like lightening and large black raindrops began to fall.

After a while, injured people started coming from downtown. Each one of them was badly burnt or injured. My mother and her friend gave first-aid at an elementary school. They applied medicine to the wounded. They treated burns with grated cucumber because of the lack of medicine. The burned people all said, “Water, water, water.” […] A person nearby with a burnt face said, “I want to drink water,” but my mother didn’t give him water. At the time, people thought that giving water would make them die. When she told him that it was bad to drink water, he said, “I want water to wash my face.” Then my mother filled a helmet with water and gave it to him. At once he drank down all of the water and died the next morning. To this day, my mother regrets that episode, thinking that she killed him with the water.

During the rescue, she didn’t see anyone from her neighborhood in the rescue center. She thought her family was safe. Then she heard someone say, “All of Hiroshima is flattened. I could see the port clearly from the center of the city.” She couldn’t believe it.

Nobody could enter Hiroshima that day, so she spent the night in a classroom in the elementary school. Worried about her family and not able to sleep, she looked out the window in the direction of Hiroshima. It was burning red. She said it was very strange.

The next morning my mother and her friend each got a rice ball and headed into the city. Along the road, injured people wearing ragged clothes were walking slowly. When they got into the city, my mother looked into a burnt streetcar and saw the driver, dead. The passengers were also dead. Everything was spread around everywhere. She couldn’t see the roads anymore, so she followed the streetcar tracks. Half-naked dead bodies were on the streets. There was a large water tank. Someone in the tank suddenly stood up and said, “Hey girl, water please.” She screamed and ran. She had been walking by dead bodies, and was surprised to see someone alive. Even today she can’t forget.

Electric poles had fallen over. Roof tiles had burnt off. Water tanks were lying around, but she finally made it to the T-shaped Aioi Bridge. The whole area was burnt out and very quiet. […]

On the bridge, a dead mounted soldier looked like he was still riding his horse. His horse was lying, dead near him. An American POW (Prisoner of War) was tied up with wires. He was still alive. Some people had seen others throwing bricks and tiles at him. After Japan was occupied by the United States, people were afraid of being punished by the US, and kept this a secret for about ten years after the end of the war but my mother didn’t tell me for 65 years. There were 12 American POW’s in Hiroshima at that time. These American POW’s are now memorialized in the cenotaph along with the other victims of the Atomic Bomb.

My mother parted with her friend at Aioi Bridge and went alone, into the city center. The only buildings left were the present Rest House, a bank, and the public toilet near the movie theater. People who had entered the area wrote messages in charcoal on the wall of the public toilet, for their families. My mother also picked up a piece of charcoal from the burnt ruins and wrote, “Kyoko is safe and in Nagatsuka.” She prayed that her mother would see this and come to find her.

The city center was badly damaged and still burning. She walked over the burnt ruins. She didn’t have leather shoes, so she was wearing flat shoes. She said her feet became very hot. When she got close to the house, she recognized a water tank so she knew where she was. The faces of the corpses lying on the ground were burnt and couldn’t be recognized. She wondered if one of them was her mother. Their clothes were burnt and she didn’t have the courage to pick the heads up to make sure. She continued crying while walking through the sea of dead bodies and the burnt remains. When she passed the side of the A-bomb Dome, she saw the corpses of a mother and two children. The mother’s hair was burnt and frizzled. She was lying face down. Two small boys were lying by her, one on either side. Blood was dripping from the older boy’s nose. They looked like her family, but she couldn’t be sure. Their faces were burnt. There was a rumor that when you see the corpse of your family, they shed blood. She thought that those people must have been her family. She felt bad that she didn’t try to turn their bodies over or check their faces and clothes carefully. She still regrets this now.

Starting the next day, she went to her relatives’ houses and walked around to a number of shelters in Hiroshima City asking about her family. She couldn’t find them. She wondered if there were some bones in the remains of her burnt house. She dug around to look for them. All she could find was a lens from her mother’s glasses. It had melted like candy. She took it with her as a keepsake.

My mother’s family was never found. To this day, there hasn’t been a funeral. The family grave is empty because her mother, father, and her two brothers’ ashes are not there. Because of that, my mother considers the cenotaph and the atomic bomb memorial mound in the Peace Memorial Park to be her family grave. The Peace Memorial Park was built by covering the area with dirt. When I think that the bones might still be resting somewhere, I also feel that this is our family grave. For two weeks, my mother searched for her family. Her house burned down, with her family photos. There is no picture anywhere of her younger brother, who died at two years old.”

“A Message to Future Generations: For A Brighter Future
Morikawa Seishi

A definitive trait of nuclear disaster is that it causes pain and suffering across multiple generations. As a second generation hibakusha (my father was exposed to the bomb in Hiroshima), I have felt this time and time again. Sickly from a young age, I spent my days in and out of the hospital due to bouts of high fever and gastrointestinal diseases. In addition, minor scratches and cuts took a long time to heal and often became infected – one of many symptoms that left doctors perplexed and were marked down as “cause unknown.”

At the age of 33 I was graced with a life partner and blessed with a child two years after marriage. Still, no matter how much time went by, the child never developed inside of the womb. I held back tears when I learned that my child was unable to enter this world as a solid life form. On the one hand, there are healthy second generation hibakusha who never experience complications – however, there are a substantial number of us who are sickly like me, those that pass away from diseases such as cancer, leukemia, and cardiovascular diseases, and unborn second and third generation hibakusha who never even enter to see this world.

In modern day Japan, there is a pronounced tendency – deeply rooted in our custom, culture, and value system – to censor, manipulate, and look away from these realities. This can not only be observed within the government or corrupt politicians, but also within advocacy groups that allegedly call for peace and nuclear abolition.

Indeed, Japan is not the only country that has ever experienced nuclear disaster. Hiroshima is not the first ever atomic bomb site, and Nagasaki is no longer the world’s last atomic bomb site. On July 1945, the first atomic bomb test was conducted in Alamogordo in the US, implicating local soldiers taking part in the experiment. Even in regards to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, approximately 10 percent of the victims were of Korean, Chinese descent or from other parts of Asia and western countries. In addition, the nuclear testing at Bikini Atoll also implicated many local inhabitants of the Marshall Islands, many who have died or suffered from radiation sickness ever since. Despite all of this, over 2000 nuclear tests have been conducted so far around the world, and the effects can be seen globally.

Similarly, nuclear arms production necessitates nuclear reactor facilities and nuclear fission processes, of which plutonium is a byproduct. This is why nuclear power plants exist. Nuclear accidents including Three Mile Island, Chernobyl and Fukushima have afflicted or even killed many people through radiation sickness. Indeed, nuclear arms production and uranium extraction is heavily reliant on human labor (which has been largely filled by locals) and cannot be sustained without inflicting more harm on laborers and local communities. Nuclear arms and humanity simply cannot coexist.

Dear young readers – I hope that you do not limit yourselves to the narrow-mindedness or one dimensional, victim-driven narratives that many Japanese are inclined to. Instead, I hope that you seek out the realities of nuclear disaster from a global, multilateral perspective and are able to join forces to achieve nuclear abolition.”

“I first learned of the term hibaku nisei (second generation hibakusha) when I was in middle school, I believe. From a young age, I had a weak digestive system and was quite sickly. Whenever I got a puncture wound, it took a while to heal and easily got infected. During summer breaks, the heat would get to me, and I spent most of my days at home in bed, from what I recall. As I transitioned from a student to a working adult, I was exposed to more news coverage, articles, and books relating to the hibaku nisei, and was granted more opportunities to connect with other second generation hibakusha. While there was a fair share of healthy second generation hibakusha, there were those like myself who suffered various health complications. It was painfully apparent that we needed healthcare programs catering specifically to hibaku nisei.

When the average age of second generation hibakusha was younger, there was some media coverage on the topic of employment and marriage discrimination against second generation hibakusha. I, for one, have experienced both. Since then, however, I was blessed with a life partner and got married at the age of 33. In the following year, we were blessed with a child. But no matter how many days went by, the baby never developed inside of the womb. I held back tears when I discovered that my child could not be brought into this world as a solid life form. I cannot accept the notion that this has no correlation with the fact that I am a second generation hibakusha.

On the one hand, because my domicile was close to the hypocenter in Hiroshima, I was heavily interrogated during job interviews about my ties with those affected by the atomic bomb. I was never hired after these interviews, and as a result, I took up a job position at the local post office, where such discrimination did not exist. Still, my placement back then required me to work many night shifts, which was not sustainable for a sickly individual like me. Ten years after I took up the job, the company finally granted my request to be transferred to a field underwriter position selling insurance policies, with no night shifts.

This position allowed me to go home in the evenings to rest – to me, this was a prized placement that I needed to keep at any cost. I dove headfirst into the job and worked with all my might, fearing that if I failed at this job, I would have no other prospects. Thankfully, 21 years later, I now serve as the Deputy Director of the organization.

In retrospect, I believe that I was able to excel at my job because of an impending fear that I had nowhere else to go, but also because of my unique perspective and value system as a hibaku nisei. Perhaps I was able to share with my clients my heightened awareness and respect for life and health as a result of my experiences.

From early on its inception, the post office has supported subsidized healthcare for hibaku nisei, like free physical exams, due to the mobilization of various union and advocacy groups. However, substantial healthcare/prevention programs and insurance policies should not be limited to a handful of companies or municipalities – it should be carried out as a nationwide government-led initiative.

The nuclear disasters in Fukushima and consequent radiation poisoning… Along with the social stigma that follows signify that the nuclear problem is not limited to specific groups like the hibakusha and second generation hibakusha, but is quickly becoming a national problem.

As a hibaku nisei, I urge the government to provide healthcare subsidies not only for hibakusha and second generation hibakusha but for all victims of nuclear radiation, to create programs targeted to eliminate social discrimination against these groups, and to shut down existing nuclear power plants and allocate more resources to fund natural and sustainable energy programs.”

(Translated from a biographical piece written by Mr. Morikawa on April 22, 2012.)

“March 1, 1951 is my birthday.
I am also a second generation hibakusha. I have never experienced war. I learned about the atomic bomb attack through hibakusha testimonies, video interviews, and photographs/artifacts from that time period.
That is my current situation.
My mother is 92 years old. She was exposed to the atomic bomb when she was 20, and lost both of her parents and three sisters in an instant.
Even to this day, she does not speak about the bombing.”

“Nuclear weapons destroy humans indiscriminately, regardless of nationality or race.

You are not pardoned if you are a good person.

Nuclear weapons drag everybody into its realm of destruction.

A country is not necessarily safer if it deters foreign attacks by possessing nuclear arsenals.

Possessing nuclear weapons is a threat, in and of itself.

The survival of mankind is contingent on the abolishment of nuclear weapons.”

“My father was exposed to the atomic bomb, 4.1km from the hypocenter. The distance put him outside of hibaku range – meaning, he was considered a hibakukeikensha (atomic bomb witness), not a hibakusha (atomic bomb victim). Still, three out of the four siblings he was with during the bombing eventually died from cancer. I cannot help but suspect that it was due to nuclear radiation. People tell me that I am overanalyzing – that it was due to age, or perhaps excess drinking. I do not think this is the case.

I was born and raised in Hiroshima, so the atomic bomb was always a part of my class curriculum. Every summer, on August 6, we would listen to hibakusha stories, interview people at the Peace Memorial, write essays about world peace. But it was always handed to me. I never felt compelled to learn on my own or ask my father about what had happened that day.

I currently work at a nursing home. Naturally, many of the residents are hibakusha. Though some have opened up to me about their experiences regarding the atomic bomb, most do not speak of it. Those that do often suffer from various stages of dementia, and are no longer able to recount their memories. Through working with the residents, I realized for the first time that this is a rapidly aging community, that soon we will no longer be able to hear first hand accounts of hibakusha.

In recent years I have dedicated my time to become a legacy successor to honor my father, who has since passed away.”

“Please learn the history. To keep us from creating any more hibakusha, to preserve this green earth.

Saito Sumito
2017.6.24″

“My mother passed away last December. She lived for 101 years and 27 days. At the funeral, her seven grandchildren crowded around her. “Grammy, you can finally see them again. They’ve been waiting for you.”

My mother had three children prior to the atomic bomb: a 10 year old, a six year old, and a three year old. She was working at a coal distribution company near Nagasaki Station when the bomb was dropped. She was crushed underneath the dilapidated building but miraculously found by her younger sister, who pulled her out of the rubble. My mother’s left ear had been torn off and she had to hold it up against the side of her head. “How are the kids?” she asked incessantly as the two of them headed back toward her house in Urakami.

Sure enough, her house was in smithereens. However, my mother later found her entire family safe and sound in a nearby air raid shelter. This was extremely rare for someone living in this area. “Don’t you go around telling your neighbors that everyone survived the bomb,” my dad warned his children.

Within a week, however, all three children began to develop dark spots on their skin and vomited massive amounts of blood. They died shortly after. My father’s health also deteriorated and he passed away on September 17.

For the 68 years between the bombing and her funeral, my mother never once forgot about her previous family. She was never openly critical of the atomic bomb or war, but she was a strong-willed woman who despised any act of discrimination.”

“Love & Peace

I pray that every human spirit
Is able to thrive without being bound by
feelings of hate, envy or sorrow
I pray that we can all live
in an abundance of love and happiness…

Ota Itsuyo”

“Every year, on August 9, my grandmother used to hang up a boy’s school uniform instead of a lantern for the Bon Festival (a Japanese tradition to honor the spirits of ancestors). She bought a brand new one every year, and neatly tucked up the sleeves. I have come to find that she did this to honor her eldest son – my uncle – who was killed by the atomic bomb attack at age 16. Back then, parents bought their kids’ school uniforms a couple sizes too big so that they wouldn’t outgrow them, and folded up the sleeves so that they wouldn’t drape over their hands. Although she rarely talked about her eldest, my grandmother did this every year until the day that she died.

My father was also exposed to the atomic bomb, but he has no recollection of it since he was born in February of that year. Thus my brother and I grew up never really confronting the fact that we were second generation hibakusha. It was always a thing of our parents’ and grandparents’ generation.

Until I had my first child, that is. I had trouble conceiving, and when I was finally pregnant, I was in and out of the hospital due to multiple miscarriage scares. Inevitably, I started to think about my status as a second generation hibakusha. My parents didn’t even prepare ubugi (baby clothes), for fear that I would lose the child. “Kao wo mise ni kuru dake (the baby may just come to show us its face),” they said. Thankfully, that was not the case.

A month after my daughter was born, however, the doctor found a tumor in her stomach. We were told to wait one month for an MRI. My brother, who happened to be a pediatrician, was able to pull some strings and get us an earlier appointment. The MRI results revealed that the tumor had detached from the stomach and was moving around. The doctors couldn’t figure out why. We went straight in for an operation and removed the tumor, which was large and decaying. ‘This could have exploded in your child’s gut, causing her to go into shock,’ the doctor told us. ‘If you had been waiting a month for the MRI, she would have been dead.’ I will always remember the fear I felt of losing her, and the guilt.”

“Everybody knows that war is bad. And yet, war continues to occur due to religious, economical, and political conflict.

I am a kindergarten teacher. I teach my kids to get into as many fights as possible.

After each fight, I encourage them to think about how the other person might be feeling, about why they got into an argument in the first place. This, indeed, is the process of resolution. I wish for my students to form stronger bonds with others through conflict resolution.

Kawamoto Sadame”

“Thank you for taking the time to read my message.
My mother is a hibakusha from Nagasaki.
As a second generation hibakusha, I have had both positive and negative experiences.
The negative is, I’ve been diagnosed with a disease likely caused by my mother’s exposure to the atomic bomb.
That being said, there have been many positive experiences.
Due to my disease, I have been able to share the pain of others. I have felt compelled to learn more about the atomic bomb and my mother’s history.
I have aspired to become a kazokushougensha (family member successor) and denshousha (legacy successor), and fulfilled my dreams.
I have been blessed with many opportunities to think critically about war and peace.
I am glad to have been born a second generation hibakusha.

Below is a lesson conceived from my past experiences.
“Peace and life are two precious things that can never be replaced.”

2017, June

Hiroshima Hibakusha Legacy Successor
Nagasaki Family Member Successor
Keiko Okinishi
Okinishi Keiko”

“I grew up in Nagasaki until the fifth grade, and later moved to Hiroshima. In both cities, it was a class requirement to visit the peace memorial. I remember being very fearful of the exhibits – they weren’t as subdued back then. There was a particular exhibit featuring a preserved hand that I was very afraid of. Things are different nowadays. Even the wax figurines in the Hiroshima exhibit don’t stand a chance.

As I was constantly surrounded by other hibakusha, I was not cognizant of my status as a second generation hibakusha until 2008, when I was diagnosed with a thyroid disease. My mother inquired if it had anything to do with her being a hibakusha. The doctor replied that there was a very strong possibility. My mother was distraught.

In an effort to console my mother, I started attending classes to study the effects of nuclear radiation. I wanted to learn the science behind the atrocity and reassure my mother that it wasn’t her fault. While I was hospitalized, I saw a television program about a photographer named Keizo Yoshida who was working on a long-term project photographing second generation hibakusha like myself. I reached out to him, and we met two years later. He revealed to me that 9 out of 10 second generation hibakusha refuse to get their portrait taken, fearing that they would be stigmatized by their coworkers, their loved ones. These statistics shocked me. Although I had never experienced prejudice due to my unique upbringing, I realized that many hibakusha descendants felt inclined to mask their identities. I also realized that if things continue on like this, the hibakushas’ stories will wear thin with time.

In 2013, I began to attend training sessions at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial to become a legacy successor for my mother. I heard my mother’s full story at the age of 48, when she mentioned “brother Chuzo” for the first time. Chuzo was a cousin of hers that she lost to the atomic bomb attack. My mother had never spoken to me about other family members that fell victim to the bombing up until this day.”