Never forget what happened in Hiroshima
I grew up learning about the indescribable terror inflicted on Hiroshima and Nagasaki through the atomic bombings of 1945, which ended World War II.
I found it chilling to be standing on the site of such savagery inflicted on innocent civilians, which tragically, in all likelihood, could have been avoided, had Japan surrendered earlier. The magnitude of the terror rained down on this vibrant city was impossible for my mind to grasp (as it had also been a year prior, when I walked the blood-stained earth of Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland).
Now, as we approach the 80th anniversary of those notorious days – August 6 when the United States detonated the atomic bomb over Hiroshima and August 9, over Nagasaki – it remains for me an impossibility to comprehend such brutality. More than 100,000 lives were lost in the blink of an eye, and another 100,000 in the devastating aftermath, from gruesome burns and injuries, or radiation poisoning. Such numbers can become just statistics: but each is a husband, wife, father, mother, son, daughter, young and old alike subjected to hell on Earth, as they went about their daily routine.
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The Hiroshima Peace Memorial offers excruciatingly distressing, graphic evidence of the cruelty and annihilation of the cataclysmic event that occurred on this meticulously restored site. Foremost in my mind have remained the heart-wrenching testimonies of the few survivors still able to share their harrowing tales these decades later, as they sit on the tortured ground of Hiroshima surrounding the memorial – supported by passionate descendants and anti-nuclear activists, many of whom have made it their life's work to preach the futility of violence and war.
But, as I sit and stare, motionless and aching at the never-ending coverage of the barbarism around our world today, I ask myself if humanity is actually capable of change. Could there ever be a day when the world can be at peace, in which megalomaniacs aren't able to wield such power, in which people of different religions, race and ethnicity can live side by side in harmony?
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History teaches that such a day will likely never come, but we here who enjoy the relative calm of life, geographically distanced from the horrors across the world, must not look away. Rather, we share the responsibility to make our world a better place.
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ABC News
5 hours ago
- ABC News
Japan's last World War II survivors are still fighting for recognition and an apology
With the might of the United States military bearing down on the Japanese island of Okinawa, Kohsei Kyan's mum fled deep into the jungle for safety. It was April 1945 and the Japanese empire was in its dying months, as the Americans secured victory after victory. Rather than surrender, Japan's armed forces were ordered to fight to the very last man. Mr Kyan's mother and her four children sought refuge in one of the island's many caves, where soldiers and civilians alike were sheltering. But instead of protection, she was offered a cruel choice: a Japanese soldier, pointing his gun at the family, ordered the two youngest children outside, fearing they would cry and attract attention. Mr Kyan, then aged six, and his younger brother, aged four, were left inside the cave as his mum took his younger brother and baby sister outside. "The three-year-old realised what had happened," Mr Kyan recalls. "He cried and chased after her, calling, 'Mummy, mummy.' My mother carried my younger brother again and took him to a distant place." Mr Kyan never saw his siblings again. To this day he wonders if they were left to perish from the elements, be killed by artillery fire, or if they were thrown off a cliff like many others. "Even after the war ended, I couldn't bring myself to ask her," he says. "Ten years after the war, my mother died at the age of 39. She cried every night: 'I am sorry, Yoko. Yukio-chan, I am sorry.'" The Battle for Okinawa is infamously one of the most brutal of World War II with up to 150,000 civilians killed, almost a third of the population. Japan, at this stage, had lost the war, it was just a matter of when. But the imperial government and military dug in their heels, hoping to exhaust the Americans and secure more favourable peace terms. Civilians, it seems, were expendable. Suffering reached hellish levels. Tokyo was firebombed and central Hiroshima and Nagasaki were obliterated with the world's first nuclear weapons. Many survivors old enough to remember the final year of the war believe Japan should have surrendered sooner. If it had, much pain and anguish would have been spared. "American soldiers were an angel, Japanese soldiers were the demon," says Mr Kyan. Now, 80 years since the end of World War II, some of Japan's last survivors have told Foreign Correspondent they are demanding recognition, an apology and even compensation. It's a desperate plea. There's not much time left. 159 days until surrender By early 1945, the US had destroyed Japan's Pacific holdings and could freely bomb its home islands. Until then, bombing raids had strictly targeted military structures, but it was expensive and had failed to get results. So, late one Friday in March 1945, the US launched the most destructive firebombing campaign in human history, targeting Tokyo suburbs where factory workers lived. The idea was to demoralise the industrial base. The result was so much more. "The Great Tokyo Air Raid was the largest and most intense firebombing raid in history," says American academic turned-Tokyo-local, Mordecai Sheftall. Nobuaki Muraoka was just 13 when swathes of his city was turned to ash. Within moments of the bombs dropping, he realised this strike was unlike all the others. "A man was walking [in front of our house] and he was hit by a bomb," he recalls. "It was a phosphorus incendiary bomb, so magnesium sprayed out. He couldn't run away." The man flailed as he burned alive. "This is called a 'death dance,'" Mr Muraoka says. "It was the beginning of hell." The young boy and his family ran to a nearby park that was miraculously spared from the bombing. Scores of his neighbours who were stuck outside burned. By daybreak, the carnage was clear. "There was no more human dignity, no more pride, no more anything," he says. "All I saw were blackened charred corpses." 136 days until surrender The firebombing was designed to weaken the Japanese war machine, but it was not enough to secure a surrender. For months, the Americans had been planning a massive D-Day type operation against mainland Japan. But to do that it needed a launching base closer to the target. On a calm Sunday morning, the Battle of Okinawa began. Kamikaze pilots flew their aircraft into American warships, throwing away their lives in a desperate bid to push back the invaders. "They were the 1945 Japanese equivalent of rock stars," says Professor Sheftall. "The kamikaze tactic of simply pointing your airplane at your target and flying it into it was something that even a student pilot with only a few hours of stick time could do." When the Americans landed on the beaches, the Japanese weren't there. Instead, they were hiding in the jungles and complex cave systems, using whatever cover they could to launch surprise attacks, forcing the Americans to use flamethrowers and grenades to flush them out. Surrender wasn't an options, even for Okinawan civilians. "I believe that the Japanese military wanted to remove from the civilian imagination the hope and the possibility of surviving the war," says Professor Sheftall. "Once that was gone, the only option left would be, if you're going to die, are you going to die well? Or are you going to die poorly?" Japan also wanted the Americans to believe that no matter the odds, every inch of Japanese territory would result in a bloodbath. It hoped the Americans would realise a ground invasion of the mainland would be too costly and seek an easy peace. Up to 150,000 Okinawan civilians were killed by the time the fighting stopped. Many have never been formally identified. Mr Kyan says he's still furious that the Japanese government not only failed to protect Okinawan civilians, but actively killed them. To date, there has been no apology or compensation. "It makes me so angry," he says. "I think, 'What the hell were you doing? Why did you kill Okinawans instead of doing your duty? You did not help them, you killed them!'" Nine days until surrender In late July 1945, the US gave Japan an ultimatum: surrender or face utter destruction. "The full application of our military power, backed by our resolve, will mean the inevitable and complete destruction of the Japanese armed forces, and just as inevitably, the utter devastation of the Japanese homeland," the statement read. Japan ignored the request. It had no idea what was to come next. On Monday morning, August 6, 1945, the port city of Hiroshima suffered the world's first nuclear attack. Keiko Ogura had just celebrated her eighth birthday. "There was a flash," she remembers. "Everything I was seeing turned to white. No colour at all." Everything within a 1.5-kilometre radius was annihilated. Bodies were turned to ash. For those further out, the suffering was immense, with burns so severe the skin draped off their bodies. "Everywhere, people were dying," Ms Ogura recalls. "I saw a long line of people coming, like ghost or zombie. Skin was peeling off, and swollen faces. They said only 'water', no other words." Then came the effects of radiation. Over the following weeks and months, seemingly healthy people would turn ill and die in slow, agonising fashion. "Spots appeared all over the body," Ms Ogura recalls. "Pink, purple. Then they died all of a sudden. That made us horrified." By the end of the year, some 140,000 people were dead. "The person has to endure rotting like a corpse while they're still alive," says Professor Sheftall. "Unimaginable suffering not only for them, but for their loved ones, who are having to care for them and watch for them slowly dying under those circumstances. It's the worst thing imaginable." Despite the carnage, Japan was still not prepared to surrender. On August 8, the Soviet Union declared war and within hours swept through Japanese positions on the Asian mainland. Suddenly Japan's entire northern half was exposed to invasion. On August 9, the United States dropped the second atomic bomb, destroying the city centre of Nagasaki. Extraordinarily, Japan's war council was still split on whether to surrender, with the army, in particular, egging for a fight on home soil. Its primary concern was to avoid occupation and maintain the position of the emperor; the suffering of its own troops or civilian population was not part of the calculation. "The army were the ones that were really resisting the surrender to the bitter end," Professor Sheftall says. "Believing this bloodletting would finally be enough to get the allies to agree to a conditional surrender where the Japan could avoid occupation." The vote in Japan's war council was a tie, so Emperor Hirohito got the final say. On August 15, his message of surrender was broadcast across Japan. The war was finally over. Japan is a vastly different country to what it once was, with pacifism written into the constitution. But how Japan has grappled with its own past differs greatly from its old Axis ally, Germany. Professor Sheftall says true reflection of the war only began after Emperor Hirohito's death. "I've been here since 1987. People talked about the war, but on a very strictly personal basis," he says. "People didn't ask the big 'why' questions. Why were we in that war? Why did that happen to us? Who was responsible?" When the US occupied Japan, it quickly disbanded the military, but much of the civilian bureaucracy was allowed to continue. Most importantly, the emperor got to stay. Keeping Japan stable — and anti-communist — was the US's top priority, as the Cold War ignited and China fell to Maoist forces. This stability, Professor Sheftall says, dampened scrutiny about the war for decades. To this day, no Japanese government has ever apologised to its own people for the suffering its decisions caused the Japanese people. "If the Japanese were to admit or to declare that that war had been at fault on some moral level, that would impugn the person of the emperor and the institution of the imperial throne," he says. "Even a Japanese politician in 2025, is not quite ready to go there." Soon after the war, Japan moved to compensate the families of deceased soldiers, but civilians received nothing. Those who survived the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, known as hibakusha, led a campaign to change that. In the late 50s, the government agreed to cover some of their medical costs. Over the years, the scheme broadened to cover more medical expenses. But financial compensation proved a thorny issue. The argument against was that all people in Japan suffered for the war effort, and no one special group deserved compensation. "So many people died because of decisions by the Japanese government," Hiroshima survivor Keiko says. "People's agony and desperation shouldn't be ignored." In 1968 and 1981, the hibakusha finally won local and then national financial compensation, becoming eligible for a special pension. However, the government ensured its agreement was strictly due to radiation exposure. Those who endured the hardships of firebombing campaigns or the Battle for Okinawa were left out. All legal action from these survivors failed. Eighty years since World War II ended, the few survivors left know their time is running out. Every Thursday, outside the national parliament, about a dozen survivors and their supporters gather. They hand out leaflets demanding compensation for survivors of the firebombings and Okinawa. Activist Yoshikazu Hamada was seven at the time of the Tokyo firebombing. "War was the most important thing," he recalls. "The emperor was the most important thing. No individuality. It was all about the war." At the protest, Mr Hamada approaches a group of school children and desperately tries to hand them a flyer. Many students in Japan do a field excursion to Hiroshima to learn about the atomic bombing, but the Tokyo firebombing barely gets a mention in the curriculum. The students and their teacher decline his flyer. "I feel that there is a very big problem there," he says. "I really wanted those children to learn that kind of thing. I am worried about what kind of society it will be when those children become adults now. People have become complacent." He wants an apology, but holds out little hope of getting one. "What we want is an apology from the leaders of the government that governs our country," he says. Japan has stated regret for the past war actions, but the last civilian survivors feel their suffering has been ignored. Mr Muraoka is too frail to join the protest. He can only paint his memories hoping the horrors he endured are never forgotten. "I would ask for (an apology) but the government doesn't seem to care," he says. "They have never accepted responsibility." He fears stories like his will be lost once the last survivors are no longer alive. "There is no interest in reflecting on the war. The Japanese government is waiting for all of us to die." Watch Japan's Last WWII Survivors on Foreign Correspondent tonight at 8pm on ABC TV and iview.
The Advertiser
16 hours ago
- The Advertiser
A friendship preserved: unopened WWII beer honours soldiers' pact
A humble bottle of beer now stands in the nation's war memorial, more than 80 years after it was bought as a promise of enduring friendship. Aussie WWII soldiers, Stan Lewis and Fred Hume, were shipping off with the 2/30th Infantry Battalion in early 1941 when they bought a longneck beer, pledging to share it after returning from the war. The bottle of Tooth's Draught Ale, one of Australia's oldest unopened beers, was bought from the Wingham Hotel on NSW's Mid North Coast by the young soldiers. They entrusted Stan's mother, Rubie Lewis, to look after the bottle while they were deployed, Australian War Memorial Director Matt Anderson said. "But sadly, [Stan] didn't make it back," the memorial director said. The duo was captured with around 130,000 Allied troops, including 15,000 Australians, after the surrender of Singapore to the Japanese. Both soldiers were imprisoned at Changi and Mr Lewis was sent to work on the Thai-Burma railway that claimed the lives of around 13,000 prisoners of war and more than 100,000 civilians. READ MORE: Historical weapons donated to RSL after raid on underworld figure's house Mr Lewis did not survive his imprisonment and died from disease in horrendous conditions at the age of 23 on August 25, 1943. He was buried at Kanchanaburi War Cemetery in Thailand. Two years later, in August 1945, Mr Hume was released as a prisoner of war and returned to Australia. He lived for another forty years, until 1986, when he died aged of 65. The Tooth's Draught Ale stayed in the Lewis family for decades as a tribute to the pair's friendship. It was passed down from Stan's mother to his sister and then his niece before it found a place in the Australian War Memorial. "We are grateful it has now been donated to the Australian War Memorial so we can share their story forged in mateship, with future generations," Assistant Curator Andrew Muir said. A humble bottle of beer now stands in the nation's war memorial, more than 80 years after it was bought as a promise of enduring friendship. Aussie WWII soldiers, Stan Lewis and Fred Hume, were shipping off with the 2/30th Infantry Battalion in early 1941 when they bought a longneck beer, pledging to share it after returning from the war. The bottle of Tooth's Draught Ale, one of Australia's oldest unopened beers, was bought from the Wingham Hotel on NSW's Mid North Coast by the young soldiers. They entrusted Stan's mother, Rubie Lewis, to look after the bottle while they were deployed, Australian War Memorial Director Matt Anderson said. "But sadly, [Stan] didn't make it back," the memorial director said. The duo was captured with around 130,000 Allied troops, including 15,000 Australians, after the surrender of Singapore to the Japanese. Both soldiers were imprisoned at Changi and Mr Lewis was sent to work on the Thai-Burma railway that claimed the lives of around 13,000 prisoners of war and more than 100,000 civilians. READ MORE: Historical weapons donated to RSL after raid on underworld figure's house Mr Lewis did not survive his imprisonment and died from disease in horrendous conditions at the age of 23 on August 25, 1943. He was buried at Kanchanaburi War Cemetery in Thailand. Two years later, in August 1945, Mr Hume was released as a prisoner of war and returned to Australia. He lived for another forty years, until 1986, when he died aged of 65. The Tooth's Draught Ale stayed in the Lewis family for decades as a tribute to the pair's friendship. It was passed down from Stan's mother to his sister and then his niece before it found a place in the Australian War Memorial. "We are grateful it has now been donated to the Australian War Memorial so we can share their story forged in mateship, with future generations," Assistant Curator Andrew Muir said. A humble bottle of beer now stands in the nation's war memorial, more than 80 years after it was bought as a promise of enduring friendship. Aussie WWII soldiers, Stan Lewis and Fred Hume, were shipping off with the 2/30th Infantry Battalion in early 1941 when they bought a longneck beer, pledging to share it after returning from the war. The bottle of Tooth's Draught Ale, one of Australia's oldest unopened beers, was bought from the Wingham Hotel on NSW's Mid North Coast by the young soldiers. They entrusted Stan's mother, Rubie Lewis, to look after the bottle while they were deployed, Australian War Memorial Director Matt Anderson said. "But sadly, [Stan] didn't make it back," the memorial director said. The duo was captured with around 130,000 Allied troops, including 15,000 Australians, after the surrender of Singapore to the Japanese. Both soldiers were imprisoned at Changi and Mr Lewis was sent to work on the Thai-Burma railway that claimed the lives of around 13,000 prisoners of war and more than 100,000 civilians. READ MORE: Historical weapons donated to RSL after raid on underworld figure's house Mr Lewis did not survive his imprisonment and died from disease in horrendous conditions at the age of 23 on August 25, 1943. He was buried at Kanchanaburi War Cemetery in Thailand. Two years later, in August 1945, Mr Hume was released as a prisoner of war and returned to Australia. He lived for another forty years, until 1986, when he died aged of 65. The Tooth's Draught Ale stayed in the Lewis family for decades as a tribute to the pair's friendship. It was passed down from Stan's mother to his sister and then his niece before it found a place in the Australian War Memorial. "We are grateful it has now been donated to the Australian War Memorial so we can share their story forged in mateship, with future generations," Assistant Curator Andrew Muir said. A humble bottle of beer now stands in the nation's war memorial, more than 80 years after it was bought as a promise of enduring friendship. Aussie WWII soldiers, Stan Lewis and Fred Hume, were shipping off with the 2/30th Infantry Battalion in early 1941 when they bought a longneck beer, pledging to share it after returning from the war. The bottle of Tooth's Draught Ale, one of Australia's oldest unopened beers, was bought from the Wingham Hotel on NSW's Mid North Coast by the young soldiers. They entrusted Stan's mother, Rubie Lewis, to look after the bottle while they were deployed, Australian War Memorial Director Matt Anderson said. "But sadly, [Stan] didn't make it back," the memorial director said. The duo was captured with around 130,000 Allied troops, including 15,000 Australians, after the surrender of Singapore to the Japanese. Both soldiers were imprisoned at Changi and Mr Lewis was sent to work on the Thai-Burma railway that claimed the lives of around 13,000 prisoners of war and more than 100,000 civilians. READ MORE: Historical weapons donated to RSL after raid on underworld figure's house Mr Lewis did not survive his imprisonment and died from disease in horrendous conditions at the age of 23 on August 25, 1943. He was buried at Kanchanaburi War Cemetery in Thailand. Two years later, in August 1945, Mr Hume was released as a prisoner of war and returned to Australia. He lived for another forty years, until 1986, when he died aged of 65. The Tooth's Draught Ale stayed in the Lewis family for decades as a tribute to the pair's friendship. It was passed down from Stan's mother to his sister and then his niece before it found a place in the Australian War Memorial. "We are grateful it has now been donated to the Australian War Memorial so we can share their story forged in mateship, with future generations," Assistant Curator Andrew Muir said.
Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘People are crying out for something different': Brisbane's shrinking public primary schools
While home-education surged, the Brisbane School of Distance Education – where learning is delivered through online lessons – had one of the biggest drops, with Prep to Year 6 enrolments declining 26 per cent. English, a researcher at QUT, said families were increasingly looking for choices that better met their young person's needs rather than automatically choosing the local state school. She said the pandemic gave parents a 'window' into their child's classroom that exposed bullying and other concerns, and also gave some professionals greater work flexibility. 'They look at the local state school, and they think, you're so constrained by overarching forces of what you can and can't do,' she said. 'They think their child is a square peg in a round hole, and they don't want their child to lose those edges.' Green said her daughter Pixie, 11, had ADHD and autism and dreaded going to school. But home-schooling meant the 'quirky, sweet kid' who loved reading, writing and music was finally able to be herself. 'There was nothing more you want than for your child's wellbeing to be good,' she said. 'It was heartbreaking what we went through. 'There's not a lot of other options for kids who are struggling in mainstream unless you've got money to maybe go to an independent school.' Griffith University Professor Beryl Exley said families were making conscious decisions to align education to their students' needs, considering teaching philosophies, logistics, and where their child would thrive academically and socially, with some seeking specialised subjects, inquiry-based learning, or a focus on the International Baccalaureate. 'Many parents and carers are strategically enrolling their children in recognised feeder primary schools to improve their chances of gaining admission to certain state or independent secondary schools,' she said. Changing demographics, including housing affordability in certain catchments, also had an impact on school trends, English said. Brisbane families are also having fewer children – there were 416 babies fewer born in 2019 compared to 2016 – but this is offset by increasing migration to the city. Loading Some shrinking schools did have smaller Prep cohorts. For example, Aspley State School had 114 Prep students in 2021 and only 84 last year, as it shrunk by 6 per cent overall. While some state schools shrunk, there were hundreds more students enrolled in private primary schools in 2024 compared with 2021. Some, such as Brigidine College, have recently introduced year 5 and 6 to their high school offerings. Meanwhile, state schools in the affluent suburbs of Graceville and Ascot had noticeably fewer students enrolled in Year 5 last year compared to Year 4 the year before – suggesting some had left for Year 5 entry at private schools. The biggest shrink at a state primary school was at Hendra State School – already Brisbane's smallest state primary school – where enrolments halved. It was not just tiny schools that became smaller, with larger schools shrinking, like Jindalee (down 20 per cent to 587 students), Bulimba (down 18 per cent to 660 students), and Grand Avenue in Forest Lake (down 16 per cent to 983 students). Enrolment management plans kept a lid on some schools, with strict rules that did not allow children living out of the local catchment area to enrol. For example, Ironside State School had 1080 students in 2021, and dropped 13 per cent to 937 last year. Some state primary schools bucked the trend, including Pallara State School, which surged by 48 per cent to 1283 students, while Stafford Heights, Hamilton, Petrie Terrace, Moorooka, Kenmore, Newmarket and Mayfield state schools all increased by more than 20 per cent. Among the top 20 primary schools for growth, six were over-capacity last year – Kenmore, Enoggera, Sunnybank Hills, Mackenzie, Wishart and Brisbane Central state schools. An education department spokesman said they were committed to ensuring all students had access to a world-class education, and pointed out demand for state schools remained strong, with almost two-thirds of Queensland students attending a state school. 'Many schools are subject to fluctuations in enrolments as a result of demographic factors in the communities they serve,' he said. 'Changes in the school-aged population as well as local population movements affect individual school enrolments.' The spokesman said the department prioritised relief for schools experiencing catchment pressures by expanding existing schools or building new ones.
