The Japan Saga, Part II: Hiroshima

Tahara, seen from the top of Mt. Zou

On Monday morning I awoke to beautiful clear weather.  Micah and I spent the morning traveling by train to the seaside town of Tahara where we met up with one of Micah’s students – an adult cabbage farmer named Shinobu Hirota who greatly enjoys showing foreigners around.  He took us to an observatory at the top of a small mountain where we could view the surrounding area, taking in a view of everything from ocean to mountains to wind turbines to a Toyota plant.  Afterwards we went to lunch at one of those conveyor belt sushi places where you grab whatever you want off the line as it passes your table.  We proceeded to stuff ourselves – Shinobu kept insisting that I try different things.  To my own surprise, I think my favorite was some kind of eel that was melt-in-your-mouth soft and a little bit grainy.  That afternoon, Micah had to go to work, so I packed an overnight bag and caught a train – the world famous Shinkansen bullet train – bound for Hiroshima. 

The Shinkansen bullet train

I was a little nervous about navigating the train stations on my own.  Japan has many different kinds of trains and lines, which doesn’t make things easy for a non-Japanese speaking newbie like me.  However, I was able to take advantage of the website hyperdia.com, which simplifies things by telling you the name of the train you want, what time it leaves, and which platform it departs from.  I managed to get on the right train and successfully make my transfer in Osaka. 

I had arranged to stay with a couch surfing host in Hiroshima via the website couchsurfing.org.  She was a Scottish single mother named Suzi who was working in Hiroshima as a teacher.  I arrived late in the evening, so there wasn’t any daylight left for sightseeing by the time I reached her flat.  Instead, we just hung out at her place drinking tea while pouring over a map of the city.  She showed me how to get to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and recommended a few other sights I might find interesting.  Eventually, I called it an early night and woke up early the next morning to begin my day.  My first stop would be the main attraction of my Hiroshima itinerary:  The Peace Memorial Museum.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park

As a long time pacifist, I considered a trip to Hiroshima to be a sort of pilgrimage that I needed to take.  This is, after all, where the nuclear age began, where the single most devastating war-time act in the history of mankind occurred, where thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children were blasted into oblivion by a new technology that to this day remains a very real and potent threat to the future of human civilization.  Since that historic day 67 years ago, Hiroshima has become a global symbol for the horrific consequences of nuclear war.  What many people may not realize is that it is also, and has been since that day, a focal point for the disarmament movement.  Since 1945 every Hiroshima mayor has written a letter of protest to every leader whose country has engaged in some sort of nuclear test – totaling 600 letters and counting (They’re all on display at the museum).  For me, this city embodies so much more than can be put into words.  In the way it has rebuilt itself from the ashes, moved on to become a thriving modern city, and humbly reflected upon itself in a way that has led it to acknowledge its nation’s history while committing itself to an unwavering anti-war stance – these things also make the city a symbol of the desire for peace and of everlasting hope for the future of humanity.  The deepest wish of Hiroshima is for a world free of nuclear weapons and the realization of a genuinely peaceful international community – and no place on Earth has a better reason to wish it.  The Peace Memorial Park, with all its monuments and museums, exists to memorialize the victims of the bombing, to ensure we never forget the horrors of nuclear war, and to advocate world peace.  These are the reasons I wanted to go there.

Don’t worry – I’m not about to get all political on you.  In this blog post, I will seek neither to ethically justify nor condemn the decision to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.  The fact is, it happened.  Whether or not it was the right call is irrelevant.  What I aim to do here is to examine the objective facts of that day, based on my newfound deeper knowledge on the subject thanks to the Peace Memorial Museum, and to share with you my humbling experience of standing in the place where the world’s first nuclear holocaust occurred.  I learned details of the event that were previously unknown to me, and I suspect they may be unknown to many of you as well.  Therefore, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to share some of them with you. 

The US began looking into the possibility of harnessing atomic power to create a mega-weapon as early as 1939.  It wasn’t until 1942 that Roosevelt got serious enough about it to initiate the Manhattan Project;  he did so after receiving a letter from, of all people, Albert Einstein, who suggested that not only was the goal obtainable, but that the Germans were already making headway in the development of such a weapon.  By the time the bomb was successfully tested on July 16, 1945, Germany had already surrendered, which resulted in Japan being put in the crosshairs. 

The US wanted to end the war as quickly as possible.  Japan was already in an extremely weakened position, but they were refusing to surrender unconditionally.  The US had a few options:  invade the Japanese mainland, which it has been estimated would have resulted in millions of casualties to both Americans and Japanese in addition to being costly; enlist the help of the Soviets, who the Americans were already growing wary of; enforce an international blockade and embargo to weaken the Japanese further, a slow and uncertain tactic; or drop the A-bomb on Japan in hopes that it would psychologically cripple the Japanese, leaving them no choice but to submit to the US’s terms for surrender.  It has been said that the US dropped the bomb to spare the lives of American soldiers that would have been lost in an invasion of the mainland.  It has also been said that an even bigger motive was to demonstrate our power to the Soviets and to end the war decisively without their help, thereby restricting their influence during peace negotiations after the war.  In all reality, these were probably all factors in the decision.  At any rate, the development of the bomb had cost billions of dollars, and domestically if the American government wanted to justify the cost, they needed to prove that it was worth it – which they felt they could do if they could use it to end the war with a single catastrophic blow.

So, why Hiroshima?  Even before World War II, Hiroshima was a military city.  It was also rather renowned as a city of higher education.  Unfortunately for its citizens, it perfectly fit the criteria for an ideal target city (the other potential targets were Kokura, Niigata, Kyoto, and as we all know, Nagasaki).  They were looking for a city that had an urban area at least three miles in diameter which also contained significant strategic military targets.  Furthermore, it was believed that the topography of Hiroshima would have the effect of more intensely focusing the bomb’s impact.  Air raids were prohibited on the potential target cities so that the effects of the bomb could be sufficiently studied and assessed after the event.  So while the rest of industrialized Japan was being heavily bombarded, Hiroshima had been spared until the A-bomb was ready.  Hiroshima ended up being the primary target because it was believed to be the only one of the potential targets which did not contain Allied prisoner of war camps.  Its fate was effectively sealed. 

Models of Hiroshima before and after the atomic bombing

On the morning of August 6, 1945 three planes took off from an airbase on the island of Tinian headed for the Japanese mainland.  One carried scientific instrumentation; another carried photography equipment; the third, the now famous Enola Gay, carried the bomb dubbed “Little Boy.”  Skies over Hiroshima were clear – good visibility for the bombardiers –  and the morning commute was in full swing.  As Little Boy fell through the sky, a nuclear reaction of radioactive uranium was set in motion (the Nagasaki bomb used Plutonium, in case you wanted to know).  At 8:15 a.m. the bomb detonated 600 meters above the center of the city with the force of 16,000 tons of high-performance explosive (which was actually less than expected).  The initial shockwave travelled faster than the speed of sound, instantly leveling virtually everything within a mile of the hypocenter.  The shockwave was accompanied by a fireball 370 meters in diameter that exceeded a million degrees Celcius at its core and between 3500 and 5000 degrees Celcius on the surface (remember, the bomb detonated 600 meters in the air).  The heat rays ignited everything in the vicinity. 12 square kilometers (69% of the city’s buildings) were completely destroyed by the blast and the ensuing firestorm.   It is believed that 70,000-80,000 people (30% of Hiroshima’s population) were killed instantly, including over 90% of the city’s doctors and nurses.  In the following months, many thousands more died from burns and other injuries, bringing the death toll up to 140,000 by the end of December.  This number does not include the thousands who died in the years and decades that followed from leukemia and other cancers as a result of radiation poisoning (a black rain fell in Hiroshima 20-30 minutes after detonation, which was loaded with radioactive substances.  Many people who survived the initial blast were badly burned and in dire need of water – they unknowingly drank the black rain as it fell from the sky). 

The singed remnants of a school uniform

Hearing all these facts is horrible enough.  Seeing the effects on display at the Peace Memorial Museum was truly terrifying, bringing the whole thing into a new realm of palpable reality.  Knowing that each displayed article of singed clothing represented a precious human life (many of them children, innocent victims), embodying incalculable human pain and grief, was moving to say the least.  Seeing video footage of burn victims and cancer patients, before and after models of a city destroyed, first-hand accounts by material witnesses of searching for the remains of loved ones amid the wreckage, roofing tiles that had melted and fused together – all this forced upon me a deep appreciation for the terrible and awesome power of human technology.  It’s incredibly scary what we’re capable of. 

In the decades that followed WWII, extensively more powerful hydrogen bombs were developed, and they still exist by the thousands today – around 90% of them are either in the US or Russia.  We all hope that the world will never again come to a point when the use of these deadly weapons is called for – but if it happened once, it’s surely reasonable to believe it could happen again.  Just look how close we came in 1962 with the Cuban missile crisis.  At any rate, even though there is talk of disarmament, no country is really willing to completely give up its nuclear weapons.  What does this say about humanity?  I’m not sure.  But the fact that our species has enough intelligence to develop such complex and powerful weapons, but is still so primitive as to be incapable of overcoming the tendency to war with one another – it’s frightening and confounding.  We’ve become so technologically advanced that we can split atoms and harness their energy, yet when you get down to it, we’re no more advanced than Cain.  Again, I’m not seeking to either support or condemn the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki – I’m merely lamenting the fact that our world ever got to a point where such a thing was considered a necessary evil. If we want to call ourselves civilized, we should commit to the idea that such a tragedy can never be allowed to occur again.  But, alas, human nature is a strange and bewildering beast.  These were the humbling sentiments I took away from my experience at the museum. 

On my way out of the peace museum, I signed my name to a petition calling for an international nuclear weapons convention and nuclear weapon free world by 2020.  I then spent some time in the surrounding park, sitting in quiet reflection before the memorial cenotaph – a saddle shaped monument holding the names of the victims.  I also made a quick pass through the memorial hall, which contains information about the bomb’s victims.  The most impressive part of the memorial hall is the Hall of Remembrance, which features a 360 degree mosaic panorama of the destroyed Hiroshima recreated using 140,000 individual tiles – the estimated number of people who had died as a direct result of the bomb by the end of 1945.  I then strolled over to the iconic structure that was once known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, but which is now known as the A-bomb dome.  This was the building closest to the hypocenter that was left partially standing, and it has remained in that state to serve as a memorial in its own right.  Unfortunately, at this time it is covered in scaffolding due to its undergoing a routine check for soundness, but it was still cool to actually see this building that is so often featured in black and white photographs taken in the aftermath of the bombing, the lone standing structure adrift in a sea of rubble. 

The A-Bomb Dome

A statue depicting Sadako Sasaki at the Children's

Peace Monument

The last thing I did before leaving the peace park was to pay my respects at Children’s Peace Monument dedicated to the memory of the innocent children that were claimed by the bomb.  At the top of the monument is a statue of a girl with outstretched arms holding up a folded paper crane.  That girl is Sadako Sasaki, and hers is one of the more touching and heart-wrenching stories to come out this event.  There was an entire half-room back in the museum dedicated to her.  Sadako was two years old when the bombing occurred, and she was lucky enough to survive for another decade before radiation-related leukemia began to ravage her body.  She decided to put her faith in the old superstition that said her wishes would come true if she folded 1000 origami paper cranes.  Incredibly, she did this in a month, and when she hit the 1000 mark she kept going.  One of the most impressive things was the extraordinarily small size of many of the cranes on display at the museum – some were smaller than a fingernail.  She lacked paper in the hospital so she used whatever she could get her hands on – medicine wrappings, for example.  She apparently used a needle to fold the smallest ones.  This story, once spread, inspired people the world over, and it’s how the paper crane became a global symbol for hope and peace.  Despite her efforts, Sadako tragically died after an eight-month struggle.  She was 12 years old.  To this day people all over the world (mostly children) fold paper cranes and send them to Hiroshima in her memory. 

Folded paper cranes at the Children's Peace

Monument

At that point, I’d had enough misery for one day and decided to leave the peace park.  It was past lunch time, and I’d had a light breakfast.  There was no question in my mind what I would be having for lunch.  Like every other place in Japan, Hiroshima has a specialty, a certain dish it is known for – here, it’s Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki.  It’s hard to describe, because it’s basically just a jumble of ingredients layered on top of each other, grilled on a hot plate in front of you, pressed into a sort of pancake shape and slathered with okonomiyaki sauce.  After searching around for a bit, I found an okonomiyaki place that I’d read about online.  It was nothing more than a small kitchen with a counter, and when I got there the counter was full -- which is usually a good sign, since it’s typically the case that the quality of the food a place serves is directly proportional to number of people queuing up to eat it.  I squeezed in at the counter between a group of Japanese high school boys and a group of tourists from Hong Kong.  One of the boys spoke English reasonably well, and he really went out of his way to help me go over the options on the menu (I think he was just enjoying the opportunity to practice his language skills).  I told him I wanted the Hiroshima special, so he translated my order for the lady on the other side of the counter.  What I got was a massive pile of food: cabbage, pork, squid, soba noodles, bean sprouts, and egg, all prepared in the way described above.  The Hong Kong tourists also spoke a decent amount of English, so I was able to enjoy my lunch while having a very lively conversation – they even asked me to teach them some Korean phrases, which made me feel all cool and international.  This positive human interaction was a very welcome antidote to the rather heavy morning I’d had at the peace museum. 

Lunch!  Hiroshima-style Okonomiyaki

The reconstructed Hiroshima Castle

Speaking of heavy – I was undoubtedly a few pounds heavier myself by the time I finished that meal.  I had a couple more hours to kill before I was due back at the train station for my return to Toyohashi, so I spent the time doing what I typically do when I’m traveling in a new place – I wandered.  At one point I walked into a 100 yen store, which is like a Japanese version of the dollar store, only they sell stuff that you actually want to buy.  This one was enormous – 8 stories tall.  I bought myself a pair of gloves.  Before arriving at the train station I also chanced upon Hiroshima Castle.  This was a reconstruction – the original structure that had been built in the 1500s was destroyed in the 1945 bombing.  But it was still a nice place to walk around, being set in a large park and surrounded by a mote.

And that was Hiroshima.  Wow, and I’m just now realizing how long this entry is.  I know this blog post was a bit of a bummer, but I think it’s important to acknowledge and remember things like the destruction that occurred here.  I’ll make up for the depressing stuff by talking about nudity and monkeys in my next post.  Promise.