Hiroshima: The City that Sighs

Situated in a beautiful river delta, flanked by mountains on one side and a stunning bay full of islands on the other, where a cool sea breeze always blows, is the famed city of Hiroshima. Something that amazed me even from getting on the bullet train there, was just how beautiful even the characters for Hiroshima are: 広島. I feel like rarely am I amazed by beauty in the characters, as I know the pattern and logic behind them, but something about these really speaks to me. The first character is so simple, so geometric for a kanji, not quite symmetric but still pleasing on the eyes, whereas the second character resembles that of Bird, 鳥, with the four dots in the bird character replaced with a mountain, 山. It’s perfect, truly. It’s a sight of a bird taking flight into the mountains. A beautiful set of characters to give this city an air of specialness in my mind from the get-go.

From: US National Archives

After arriving at Hiroshima station, we took the streetcar to the A Bomb Dome. My first minutes in Hiroshima, on this streetcar, were heavy. A lump formed in my throat as I looked deeply, solemnly out the window. I looked around at every building around me, seeing they’re all new, all tall. The streets are wide and car-centric. A Costco and a baseball stadium are visible from the train. The city, at least around the station, felt unfriendly. We passed the beautiful rivers branching out through the city, each bank built up with pathways, stairs, and stone just as the banks of the Seine in Paris or Guadalquivir in Seville. I would soon learn that these banks carry dark, dark secrets, but at this point, I was innocent to what had happened in these very spots I passed by. But despite this beauty, I couldn’t help but feel like this city was ugly. I convinced myself, though, that this is just the area by the train station, and that the rest would be fine.

It’s funny. The US burned Tokyo to the ground in a series of fire bombings. Most of Tokyo is new because of that, in the same way Germany is new. These places are shiny, new hubs of business that have moved on from their darker days with the helping hand of the West. But nobody tours Germany or Tokyo because of the fire bombings, rather, for all the other attractions those places have to offer. But Hiroshima is different. Hiroshima has one thing that put it on the map. Or should I say, took it off the map.

Now I also have to balance, because I mention Germany, that Japan did some unspeakably awful things in the first half of the 1900s in pursuit of empire and alliance to tradition. In no way during this post do I wish to condone the Japanese actions during the imperial era, nor do I wish for my strong emotions in this post to come off as apologetic for the Japanese after all they did. But rather, this is my experience seeing one of the most depressing exhibits I’ve ever seen.

Back to my experience, though.

The streetcar system in Hiroshima is traditional. Photos from before the bombing confirm that the streetcar system was well-established and connected much of the city. I’d guess that a ground transportation system is needed in Hiroshima due to the delta it sits on, as any underground train lines would require digging through soft terrain and crossing several rivers. But I find it very strong of the city to rebuild their streetcar system, to hold onto that iconic aspect of the city that makes it unique, at least in my Japan experience.

So, we arrived at the atomic bomb dome. A site mere feet from the hypocenter, the spot directly below the bomb’s detonation. The building was more chilling than even I’d imagine. I’d seen plenty of pictures of it, and seen people I respect circle the building, notable, Derek Muller in Uranium: Twisting the Dragon’s Tail upon my dozens of views of that documentary.

It was more chilling because it felt less impressive, less tall, and not accessible. Unlike other abandoned buildings I’ve seen, this one wasn’t abandoned. It’s taken care of, there’s a fence with security cameras, and the rubble inside is meticulously placed for artistic effect. I couldn’t explore it as I have other abandoned buildings. I could simply watch from afar, imagining what cruel thing had happened there.

I looked into the sky. Crystal blue. That’s how it was on August 6, 1945 at 8:14 AM. I was standing basically under where the blast was, looking up at the same skies that any unlucky person in the wrong place at the wrong time would have seen. Any person awaiting instant evaporation. The thought of one silver bomber passing above was terrifying to me. That someone standing right here had seen that plane. They weren’t worried… many planes mean danger. This may indicate danger coming later, but for now, it’s okay. And okay it was certainly not. The novelty of the atomic bomb is part of the spookiest part about this place. That those who went through it had no clue what it is that had happened to them. Letters written to family and friends describe that “a few enemy planes did more than a little damage to the city.” People described the agony caused by only a single plane. They didn’t know what uranium was capable of, what power had just been unleashed on them. The survivors had no idea what would happen to their bodies in the coming decades as a result of this singular day. With a single moment, war was changed forever.

August 6 was an odd day to bomb Hiroshima. An unusually large number of people, and in particular, students, were out and about that day, working on building demolition. The city of Hiroshima commissioned several building demolition works with the purpose of stopping the spread of fire from fire bombings, if that were to ever hit the city. Now, of course, little did they know that the demolition would do itself soon, and the fires would be so rampant that any fire breaks would be simply encircled and avoided. Little did they know that being out in the open was the worst thing one could do for their health on that fateful day.

There’s something to be said about the fact that all the surviving buildings were Western style. The building that now is the A-Bomb Dome was designed by a Czech architect, it’s made of brick and has The fact that we, the West, made our impact on the city in a cooperative way, only to be the only thing remaining after destroying it. Those Japanese style buildings—the vast majority of the city—that weren’t destroyed in the blast were burned in the endless fires that ravaged the remainder of the city. The site of the memorial and museum nowadays—an area mere feet from the hypocenter, an island formed by the split of one river into two—used to be a bustling shopping area. Now, it is but a park and a memorial for what used to be there.  And those fires I mention, and those rivers I mention, they’re related. In the hours and days after the blast, with the fires ravaging through what was left, burning those whose skin had already been burnt off by the intense heat of the blast, crawled to the banks of the rivers for water and to cool themselves. Many, many never made it out of those waters, with them taking the last of their strength remaining.

One of only two pictures taken near the Hypocenter on August 6, showing people congregating on a bridge

The rivers were filled with dead bodies, as we saw depicted in several art pieces in the museums. Bridges were spots of congregation, where loved ones reunited and shared news—good and terrible—with family and friends. Bridges were spots of life, offering access to the only things keeping these people alive in the hours following 8:15 am: water and hope. Bridges were also spots of death; spots where people lost strength and had the mental death of learning of the fate of a loved one.  Walking across these bridges, you hardly feel the weight they carry. But the secrets they hold are nearly heavy enough to bring them down.

Current location of the Peace Park before and after the bombing

Those who needed water and couldn’t risk coming to the river got their answer soon. Thick, black, heavy, large raindrops soon soaked the city. These were drops of soot and radiation, disguised as rain. These black rain poisoned many as it disguised the life taking with the life saving.

Wall stained with Black Rain

After a day, the city pulled itself together in an incredible display of camaraderie. People from nearby towns came in to help with the emergency medical care and rubble searching efforts. Loved ones identified their deceased relatives not by face, but by possessions and clothing, by location found and with some divine intervention. Nurses tended to the crippling wounds, blood spots, and severe burns experienced by too many, and makeshift hospitals were set up anywhere shelter remained. As a sign of hope, a Torii, the Japanese ritual gates, was built shortly after the destruction.

Many survived, carrying their loved ones into the mountains to be cremated, or burying them with their beloved possessions so they may have them in the afterlife. Many who survived died in the following days following complications from such extreme radiation exposure, and many of those who survived lived on only for a decade or two, before succumbing to leukemia or thyroid cancer.

Testimonials say that in the days following the blast, nobody was in a right state of mind. One man said that he could simply have not carried his dear friend to the mountain to cremate now. He was in a different state of mind… one of numbness and shock. Where the tragedy continued to rear its ugly head for months to follow, where each additional tragedy had no additional weight. Where his emotional capacity had been maxed out.

Going through the monument and museum, I couldn’t help but think two things. First, many, many of the events described and photos taken were known in the hours, let alone days following the attack. We know just how horrible of a thing we had done. We knew exactly the impact a second bomb would have. We knew the burns, the fires, the mysterious diseases that would be caused. And yet, we dropped another. We did it again, in a raw display of force. And yes, it won us the war. We stopped the Japanese empire from its evil tactics and brought Japan into the modern era. We made them a friend, and have seen them flourish in the world now. But still, we did it again with 100% knowledge of what it was that we were doing.

And the other thing was that I was standing right where this happened. The skies are the same, the rivers are the same, some of the bridges still remain. Structures remain, clothing and stone remain. But most importantly, memories remain. That there are people who went through immense pain and agony in these very spots I’m standing now with my sunscreen, silly sunglasses, and my American outfit and mindset. That my experience here is one of learning, while others would see this as purely a site to be erased from the mind. A site that can, in just a few footsteps, evoke pain unimaginable to anyone who hasn’t survived an atomic bomb. That as I walk around and spend my morning in this city, there are countless stories here that will never be known, never be shared. I’m walking over dead bodies, over crying parents, over screams of children whose soles of the feet have burned off.

Surely what we did was cruel, and undoubtably unusual, but was it worth it? It got Japan to relent, and it more than any other single action has brought Japan to the successful country it is today. But this is at the cost of one of the most tragic events I can imagine, one of the most resounding displays of dominance and power history has ever seen.

Hiroshima is a city that sighs deeply at every corner, only to breathe in fresh air, knowing that only that fresh air can keep it progressing, keep it moving. But it will sigh until its last breath.