Christopher Nolan’s film Oppenheimer, which is about the scientist who spearheaded the development of the atomic bomb, has brought the focus back on the impact of the bomb. On August 6 and 9, 1945, during the final stages of World War II, the US dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, respectively. The bombings, which caused unprecedented devastation, led to Japan’s surrender.
What do Hiroshima and Nagasaki teach us about the events that happened 78 years ago? Having visited both places during my first assignment in Japan in 1983 and later in 2019, I still get that intense feeling of how humanity was wronged.
The reactions of local people are different in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In Japan, they told me that there was the calm of Hiroshima and the anger of Nagasaki to what they endured. In Hiroshima in 1983, I asked the taxi driver to take me to the Genbaku Dome. He took me to the Mazda baseball stadium, where the local Toyo Carps were playing. Priorities had clearly changed. The Hiroshima Peace Memorial (Genbaku Dome) has now become a tourist attraction. It’s a symbol of the most destructive force ever created by humankind; it manifests hope for world peace and the unfulfilled elimination of nuclear weapons. At least one million people visit the park annually.
The same happens in Nagasaki’s Heiwa Koen or Peace Park, but fewer tourists reach there. The centrepiece of the Nagasaki Park is a giant statue of a muscular man made by Japanese artist Seibo Kitamura. The right hand pointing to the sky reminds us of the danger of nuclear weapons, while the extended left hand symbolises eternal peace.
Hiroshima was an industrial centre used as a base by imperial Japan to expand towards East Asia. Nagasaki was a naval base. There is a debate on why these cities were chosen; the main reason was that the impact should be noticeable and clearly felt.
Did the US ever apologise to Japan for the atomic bombings? There were murmurs of regret, starting with the pilot of Enola Gay, the B-29 that dropped the atomic bomb over Hiroshima, who said, “My God, what have we done?” Besides, various US leaders have visited Hiroshima; the G7 members laid wreaths at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park during the opening ceremony of the G7 summit in May. But there is no clear apology. There is no demand emanating from Japan, either.
Some elderly Japanese people asked my visiting mother in 1983, “Why Indians don’t hate the British who colonised India for two centuries?” They had no answer when my mother asked why the Japanese didn’t hate the Americans despite the atomic bombings. The Japanese absorbed the pain, used it as a springboard to redevelop powerfully, re-engaging with the US. Today, Japan is an equal partner of the US; perhaps that strategy succeeded.
Some believe that Japan itself is disinterested in an apology as that could reinforce the demand for apologies for Japanese actions in East Asia, which are a festering sore in its relations with China and South Korea. Thus, world leaders who come to Hiroshima do visit the memorial and promise a peaceful and better world, but don’t express regret at the US action.
The Hiroshima Park has three important bells of different sizes. One of them was built by gathering coins and medals from friendly countries, moulded into a big bell by Masahiko Katori. The bell carries inscriptions in three languages: Greek, Sanskrit and Japanese. The English translation of the Greek text is ‘Know Yourself’.
The Sanskrit text is a shloka from Sukhavativyuha Sutra in view of Hiroshima’s Buddhist connection. It was attested by the then Indian ambassador, Lalji Mehrotra.
This is different from Nagasaki, which is historically known for having one of the largest Christian populations in Japan. There are monuments that commemorate the persecution of Christians over the centuries. Martyrdom was not unknown to Nagasaki when the bomb fell.
The destruction in both cities was immense. The emotional and health consequences faced by the survivors of the atomic bombings were profound and long-lasting. The museums in both cities are evocative; the sheer barbarism of the bombings stuns you.
My Japanese teacher, Kimiko Kono, is a Hiroshima ‘hibakusha’ or an A-bomb survivor. She recalls that she was 11 when the bomb fell, and she and her parents had gone towards the railway station. When the cloud cleared, it rained. They moved out of the city, singed by what had happened but not understanding it. She suffered no health problems, and considered herself fortunate for having escaped the tragedy of the bomb, despite being in Hiroshima. She is 89 now; never in her voice have I sensed rancour for the US, anger at the bomb or what happened to her people. There is acceptance, a strong desire to repair through goodwill and outreach so that people live together peacefully.
My Japanese friends said that had she been from Nagasaki, the angst would have been expressed strongly. The guides in Hiroshima and Nagasaki mostly belong to affected families. While the Hiroshima guides are gentle and remorseful, even though not responsible for what happened, in Nagasaki, there is a greater surge of emotion and a tendency to ask: Why us?
Have Hiroshima and Nagasaki become fossilised symbols of reverence? The Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty has not succeeded, mainly because those who had Oppenheimer’s bomb were unwilling to give it up. It became a symbol of power which other countries then acquired. The truth of the science that Oppenheimer unlocked was unleashed on Japan in unacceptable terms.
The reactions in Japan to the juxtaposition of Barbie and Oppenheimer (‘Barbenheimer’) are predictably adverse. This is the ultimate trivialisation of the tragedy of the atomic bomb. Japanese critics rightly point out that Oppenheimer is a film which ignores the human suffering caused in Japan by Oppenheimer’s project. This manifests deep-rooted feelings in Japanese people, which emerge this time of the year.