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Japan's aging atomic bomb survivors speak out against nuclear weapons

Japan's aging atomic bomb survivors speak out against nuclear weapons

Independent9 hours ago
Eighty years after the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, a dwindling number of the aging Japanese survivors are increasingly frustrated by growing nuclear threats and the acceptance of nuclear weapons by global leaders.
The U.S. attack on Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945, and three days later on Nagasaki killed more than 200,000 people by the end of that year. Others survived but with radiation illness.
About 100,000 survivors are still alive. Many hid their experiences to protect themselves and their families from discrimination that still exists. Others couldn't talk about what happened because of the trauma they suffered.
Some survivors have begun to speak out late in their lives, hoping to encourage others to push for the end of nuclear weapons.
An English-speaking guide at Hiroshima's peace park
Despite numerous health issues, survivor Kunihiko Iida, 83, has devoted his retirement years to telling his story as a way to advocate for nuclear disarmament.
He volunteers as a guide at Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park. He wants to raise awareness among foreigners because he feels their understanding of the bombings is lacking.
It took him 60 years to be able to talk about his ordeal in public.
When the U.S. dropped a uranium bomb on Hiroshima, Iida was 900 meters (yards) away from the hypocenter, at a house where his mother grew up.
He was 3 years old. He remembers the intensity of the blast. It was as if he was thrown out of a building. He found himself alone underneath the debris, bleeding from shards of broken glass all over his body.
'Mommy, help!' he tried to scream, but his voice didn't come out. Eventually he was rescued by his grandfather.
Within a month, his 25-year-old mother and 4-year-old sister died after developing nosebleeds, skin problems and fatigue. Iida had similar radiation effects through elementary school, though he gradually regained his health.
He was almost 60 when he finally visited the peace park at the hypocenter, the first time since the bombing, asked by his aging aunt to keep her company.
After he decided to start telling his story, it wasn't easy. Overwhelmed by emotion, it took him a few years before he could speak in public.
In June, he met with students in Paris, London and Warsaw on a government-commissioned peace program. Despite his worries about how his calls for nuclear abolishment would be perceived in nuclear-armed states like Britain and France, he received applause and handshakes.
Iida says he tries to get students to imagine the aftermath of a nuclear attack, how it would destroy both sides and leave behind highly radioactive contamination.
'The only path to peace is nuclear weapons' abolishment. There is no other way,' Iida said.
A regular at anti-war protests
Fumiko Doi, 86, would not have survived the atomic bombing on Nagasaki if a train she was on had been on time. The train was scheduled to arrive at Urakami station around 11 a.m., just when the bomb was dropped above a nearby cathedral.
With the delay, the train was 5 kilometers (3 miles) away. Through the windows, Doi, then 6, saw the flash. She covered her eyes and bent over as shards of broken windows rained down. Nearby passengers covered her for protection.
People on the street had their hair burnt. Their faces were charcoal black and their clothes were in pieces, she said.
Doi told her children of the experience in writing, but long hid her status as a survivor because of fear of discrimination.
Doi married another survivor. She worried their four children would suffer from radiation effects. Her mother and two of her three brothers died of cancer, and two sisters have struggled with their health.
Her father, a local official, was mobilized to collect bodies and soon developed radiation symptoms. He later became a teacher and described what he'd seen, his sorrow and pain in poetry, a teary Doi explained.
Doi began speaking out after seeing the 2011 Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster following a strong earthquake and tsunami, which caused radioactive contamination.
She travels from her home in Fukuoka to join anti-war rallies, and speaks out against atomic weapons.
'Some people have forgotten about the atomic bombings ... That's sad," she said, noting that some countries still possess and develop nuclear weapons more powerful than those used 80 years ago.
'If one hits Japan, we will be destroyed. If more are used around the world, that's the end of the Earth,' she said. 'That's why I grab every chance to speak out.'
At Hiroshima, learning from survivors
After the 2023 Hiroshima G7 meeting of global leaders and the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to the grassroots survivors' group Nihon Hidankyo last year, visitors to Hiroshima and Nagasaki peace museums have soared, with about one third of them coming from abroad.
On a recent day, most of the visitors at the Hiroshima peace park were non-Japanese. Samantha Anne, an American, said she wanted her children to understand the bombing.
'It's a reminder of how much devastation one decision can make,' Anne said.
Katsumi Takahashi, a 74-year-old volunteer specializing in guided walks of the area, welcomes foreign visitors but worries about Japanese youth ignoring their own history.
On his way home, Iida, the survivor and guide, stopped by a monument dedicated to the children killed. Millions of colorful paper cranes, known as the symbol of peace, hung nearby, sent from around the world.
Even a brief encounter with a survivor made the tragedy more real, Melanie Gringoire, a French visitor, said after Iida's visit. 'It's like sharing a little piece of history.'
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Wetin hapun for Hiroshima 80 years ago? Survivors speak of disfigurement, shame and pain
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Wetin hapun for Hiroshima 80 years ago? Survivors speak of disfigurement, shame and pain

At 08:15 on August 6, 1945, Lee Jung-soon bin dey on her way to elementary school, wen nuclear bomb bin fall like stone through di skies ova Hiroshima. Ms Lee wey be 88-year-old now wave her hands as if she dey try erase di memory. "My father bin dey on im way to work, but suddenly e run back to wia we dey and tell us to evacuate immediately," she recall. "Dead body full di road – but I bin dey so shocked all I remember na say I dey cry. I just dey cry and cry." Di body of victims "melt na only dia eyes bin", Ms Lee tok, as blast wey equal to 15,000 tons of TNT cover di city of 420,000 pipo. Wetin remain after na dead bodies wey scata beyond identification. "Di atomic bomb… na terrifying weapon." E don reach 80 years since di United States bin detonate 'Little Boy', humanity first-ever atomic bomb, ova di centre of Hiroshima, wey instantly kill some 70,000 pipo. Tens of thousands die in di coming months from radiation sickness, burns and dehydration. Di devastation wey di bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki – cause na im bring about di decision to end both World War Two and Japanese imperial rule across large areas of Asia. One fact wey pipo no too sabi na say about 20% of di immediate victims na Koreans. Korea bin dey part of Japanese colony for 35 years wen di bomb drop. Estimated 140,000 Koreans bin dey live for Hiroshima at di time - many pipo bin move go dia sake of forced labour mobilisation, or to survive under colonial exploitation. Those wey survive di atom bomb, plus dia descendants, still dey live for di long shadow of dat day – dem dey deal wit disfigurement, pain, and years of fight for justice wey dem still neva solve. "Nobody take responsibility," Shim Jin-tae, one 83-year-old survivor tok. "Not di kontri wey drop di bomb. Not di kontri wey fail to protect us. America no eva apologise. Japan pretend like say dem no know. Korea no beta. Dem just pass di blame - and we dey left alone." Mr Shim now dey live for Hapcheon, South Korea: one small county wey as e become home to dozens of survivors like im and Ms Lee, dem nickname am "Korea Hiroshima". For Ms Lee, di shock of dat day neva fade – e dey inside her body as sickness. Now she dey live wit skin cancer, Parkinson disease, and angina, one condition wey poor blood flow to di heart dey cause, e dey typically manifest as chest pain. But wetin dey painful pass na say di pain no stop wit her. Her son Ho-chang, wey dey support her, dey diagnosed wit kidney failure and e dey undergo dialysis as e dey wait for transplant. "I believe say na sake of di radiation exposure, but who fit prove am?" Ho-chang Lee tok. "E dey hard to verify scientifically – you go need genetic testing, wey dey exhausting and expensive." Di Ministry of Health and Welfare (MOHW) tell BBC say dem don gada genetic data between 2020 and 2024 and go continue further studies until 2029. Dem go "consider expanding di definition of victims" to second- and- third-generation survivors only "if di results dey statistically significant", dem tok. Di Korean angle Out of di 140,000 Koreans wey bin dey live for Hiroshima at di time of di bombing, many of dem bin come from Hapcheon. Surrounded by mountains wit little farmland, na difficult place to live. Japanese occupiers bin seize dia crops, drought destroy di land, and thousands of pipo comot di rural kontri go Japan during di war. Dem force some to join di military; dem deceive odas wit promise say "dem fit chop three square meals a day and send dia children to school." But for Japan, Koreans na second-class citizens – dem dey often give dem di hardest, dirtiest and most dangerous jobs. Oga Shim tok say im father bin work for one factory as forced labourer, while im mother dey hammer nails into wooden ammunition crates. After di bomb, dis distribution of labour bin turn into dangerous and often deadly work for Koreans for Hiroshima. Outcasts for house "Korean workers get to clean up body of dead pipo," Oga Shim, wey be di director of di Hapcheon branch of di Korean Atomic Bomb Victims Association, tell BBC Korean. "At first, dem dey use stretchers, but di bodies too many. Dem later come dey use dustpans to gada corpses and dey burn dem for schoolyards. "Na mostly Koreans do dis work. Na us do most of di post-war clean-up and munitions work." According to one study wey Gyeonggi Welfare Foundation carry out, dem force some survivors to clear di remains and recover bodies. While Japanese evacuees run go wia dia relatives dey, Koreans wey no get local ties remain for di city, exposed to di radioactive fallout – and wit limited access to medical care. A combination of dis conditions - poor treatment, hazardous work and structural discrimination - all contribute to di extremely high death toll among Koreans. According to di Korean Atomic Bomb Victims Association, Korean fatality rate na 57.1%, compared to di overall rate of about 33.7%. About 70,000 Koreans bin dey exposed to di bomb. By di end of dat year, about 40,000 pipo die.

Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivors' memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship
Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivors' memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship

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timean hour ago

  • The Guardian

Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivors' memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship

The fires were still burning, and the dead lay where they had fallen, when a 10-year-old Yoshiko Niiyama entered Hiroshima, two days after it was destroyed by an American atomic bomb. 'I remember that the air was filled with smoke and there were bodies everywhere … and it was so hot,' Niiyama says in an interview at her home in the Hiroshima suburbs. 'The faces of the survivors were so badly disfigured that I didn't want to look at them. But I had to.' Niiyama and her eldest sister had rushed to the city to search for their father, Mitsugi, who worked in a bank located just 1km from the hypocentre. They had been evacuated to a neighbourhood just outside the city, but knew something dreadful had happened in Hiroshima when they saw trucks passing their temporary home carrying badly burned victims. As Hiroshima prepares to mark 80 years since the city was destroyed in the world's first nuclear attack, the 90-year-old is one of a small number of hibakusha – survivors of the atomic bombings – still able to recall the horrors they witnessed after their home was reduced to rubble in an instant. At 8:15am on 6 August, the Enola Gay, a US B-29 bomber, dropped a nuclear bomb on the city. 'Little Boy' detonated about 600 metres from the ground, with a force equivalent to 15,000 tonnes of TNT. Between 60,000 and 80,000 people were killed instantly, with the death toll rising to 140,000 by the end of the year as victims succumbed to burns and illnesses caused by acute exposure to radiation. Three days later, the Americans dropped a plutonium bomb on Nagasaki, killing 74,000. And on 15 August, a demoralised Japan surrendered, bringing an end to the second world war. Niiyama, one of four sisters, never found her father or his remains, which were likely incinerated along with those of his colleagues. 'My father was tall, so for a long time whenever I saw a tall man from behind, I would run up to him thinking it might be him,' she says. 'But it never was.' With the number of people who survived the bombing and witnessed its immediate aftermath dwindling by the year, it is being left to younger people to continue to communicate the horrors inflicted on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. For decades Niiyama, who is a registered hibakusha, said nothing of the trauma she had suffered as a schoolgirl, not even to members of her own family. 'I didn't want to remember what had happened,' she says. 'And many hibakusha stayed quiet as they knew they might face discrimination, like not being able to marry or find a job. There were rumours that children born to hibakusha would be deformed.' It was only when her granddaughter, Kyoko Niiyama, then a high school student, asked her about her wartime experiences that Niiyama broke her silence. 'When my children are older, they'll naturally ask about what happened to their grandmother,' says the younger Niiyama, 35, a reporter for a local newspaper and the mother of two young children. 'It would be such a shame if I wasn't able to tell them … that's why I decided to ask my grandmother about the bomb.' She is one of a growing number of people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki studying to become 'family successors' – a local government initiative that certifies the descendants of first-generation hibakusha to record and pass on the experiences of the only people on earth to have lived through nuclear warfare. 'Now that the anniversary is approaching, I can talk to her again,' Kyoko says. 'This is a really precious time for our family.' Last year, survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks won recognition for their campaign to rid the world of nuclear weapons when Nihon Hidankyo – a nationwide network of hibakusha – was awarded the Nobel peace prize. But survivors face a race against time to ensure that their message lives on in a world that is edging closer to a new age of nuclear brinkmanship. The world's nine nuclear states are spending billions of dollars on modernising, and in some cases expanding, their arsenals. The Russian president, Vladimir Putin, has refused to rule out the use of tactical nuclear weapons in his war against Ukraine, and last week a veiled nuclear threat by the country's former leader, Dmitry Medvedev, prompted Donald Trump – who had earlier compared US strikes on Iran's nuclear facilities to the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks – to claim that he had moved two nuclear submarines closer to the region. North Korea's development of nuclear weapons continues unchecked. 'The hibakusha have spent their lifetimes courageously telling their stories again and again, essentially reliving their childhood traumas – to make sure the world learns the reality of what nuclear weapons actually do to people and why they must be abolished, so that no one else goes through what they have suffered,' says Melissa Parke, executive director of the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons. 'These brave hibakusha deserve to have their decades of campaigning vindicated and to witness the elimination of nuclear weapons in their lifetimes. This would provide some nuclear justice.' The number of registered survivors of both attacks fell to just below 100,000 this year, according to the health ministry, compared with more than 372,000 in 1981. Their average age is 86. Just one of the 78 people confirmed to have been within 500 metres of the hypocentre of the blast in Hiroshima is still alive – an 89-year-old man. On the eve of the anniversary, the ministry said it would no longer conduct a survey every 10 years to assess the living conditions and health of hibakusha, saying it wanted to 'lessen the burden' on ageing survivors. Niiyama, who struggles to walk, will watch Wednesday's ceremony at home and pause to remember her father, whose memory is represented by a teacup he used that was retrieved from the devastation. 'I don't like the month of August,' she says. 'I have nightmares around the anniversary. I don't want to think about that day, but I can't forget it. But I'm glad I still remember that I'm a hibakusha.'

Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivor's memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship
Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivor's memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship

The Guardian

time7 hours ago

  • The Guardian

Hiroshima's fading legacy: the race to secure survivor's memories amid a new era of nuclear brinkmanship

The fires were still burning, and the dead lay where they had fallen, when a 10-year-old Yoshiko Niiyama entered Hiroshima, two days after it was destroyed by an American atomic bomb. 'I remember that the air was filled with smoke and there were bodies everywhere … and it was so hot,' Niiyama says in an interview at her home in the Hiroshima suburbs. 'The faces of the survivors were so badly disfigured that I didn't want to look at them. But I had to.' Niiyama and her eldest sister had rushed to the city to search for their father, Mitsugi, who worked in a bank located just 1km from the hypocentre. They had been evacuated to a neighbourhood just outside the city, but knew something dreadful had happened in Hiroshima when they saw trucks passing their temporary home carrying badly burned victims. As Hiroshima prepares to mark 80 years since the city was destroyed in the world's first nuclear attack, the 90-year-old is one of a small number of hibakusha – survivors of the atomic bombings – still able to recall the horrors they witnessed after their home was reduced to rubble in an instant. At 8:15am on 6 August, the Enola Gay, a US B-29 bomber, dropped a nuclear bomb on the city. 'Little Boy' detonated about 600 metres from the ground, with a force equivalent to 15,000 tonnes of TNT. Between 60,000 and 80,000 people were killed instantly, with the death toll rising to 140,000 by the end of the year as victims succumbed to burns and illnesses caused by acute exposure to radiation. Three days later, the Americans dropped a plutonium bomb on Nagasaki, killing 74,000. And on 15 August, a demoralised Japan surrendered, bringing an end to the second world war. Niiyama, one of four sisters, never found her father or his remains, which were likely incinerated along with those of his colleagues. 'My father was tall, so for a long time whenever I saw a tall man from behind, I would run up to him thinking it might be him,' she says. 'But it never was.' With the number of people who survived the bombing and witnessed its immediate aftermath dwindling by the year, it is being left to younger people to continue to communicate the horrors inflicted on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. For decades Niiyama, who is a registered hibakusha, said nothing of the trauma she had suffered as a schoolgirl, not even to members of her own family. 'I didn't want to remember what had happened,' she says. 'And many hibakusha stayed quiet as they knew they might face discrimination, like not being able to marry or find a job. There were rumours that children born to hibakusha would be deformed.' It was only when her granddaughter, Kyoko Niiyama, then a high school student, asked her about her wartime experiences that Niiyama broke her silence. 'When my children are older, they'll naturally ask about what happened to their grandmother,' says the younger Niiyama, 35, a reporter for a local newspaper and the mother of two young children. 'It would be such a shame if I wasn't able to tell them … that's why I decided to ask my grandmother about the bomb.' She is one of a growing number of people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki studying to become 'family successors' – a local government initiative that certifies the descendants of first-generation hibakusha to record and pass on the experiences of the only people on earth to have lived through nuclear warfare. 'Now that the anniversary is approaching, I can talk to her again,' Kyoko says. 'This is a really precious time for our family.' Last year, survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks won recognition for their campaign to rid the world of nuclear weapons when Nihon Hidankyo – a nationwide network of hibakusha – was awarded the Nobel peace prize. But survivors face a race against time to ensure that their message lives on in a world that is edging closer to a new age of nuclear brinkmanship. The world's nine nuclear states are spending billions of dollars on modernising, and in some cases expanding, their arsenals. The Russian president, Vladimir Putin, has refused to rule out the use of tactical nuclear weapons in his war against Ukraine, and last week a veiled nuclear threat by the country's former leader, Dmitry Medvedev, prompted Donald Trump – who had earlier compared US strikes on Iran's nuclear facilities to the Hiroshima and Nagasaki attacks – to claim that he had moved two nuclear submarines closer to the region. North Korea's development of nuclear weapons continues unchecked. 'The hibakusha have spent their lifetimes courageously telling their stories again and again, essentially reliving their childhood traumas – to make sure the world learns the reality of what nuclear weapons actually do to people and why they must be abolished, so that no one else goes through what they have suffered,' says Melissa Parke, executive director of the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons. 'These brave hibakusha deserve to have their decades of campaigning vindicated and to witness the elimination of nuclear weapons in their lifetimes. This would provide some nuclear justice.' The number of registered survivors of both attacks fell to just below 100,000 this year, according to the health ministry, compared with more than 372,000 in 1981. Their average age is 86. Just one of the 78 people confirmed to have been within 500 metres of the hypocentre of the blast in Hiroshima is still alive – an 89-year-old man. On the eve of the anniversary, the ministry said it would no longer conduct a survey every 10 years to assess the living conditions and health of hibakusha, saying it wanted to 'lessen the burden' on ageing survivors. Niiyama, who struggles to walk, will watch Wednesday's ceremony at home and pause to remember her father, whose memory is represented by a teacup he used that was retrieved from the devastation. 'I don't like the month of August,' she says. 'I have nightmares around the anniversary. I don't want to think about that day, but I can't forget it. But I'm glad I still remember that I'm a hibakusha.'

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