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'I don't want to remember': Why a Hiroshima man orphaned by the bombing stayed silent
MAINICHI
| Desember 6, 2024
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"I don't want to remember Hiroshima."
Having spent nearly 25 years covering issues related to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, listening to survivors and relatives, these are the words that I will never -- and must never -- forget.
It was around a dozen or more years ago that I heard them. I had been searching for an A-bomb orphan, the son of a shopkeeper in central Hiroshima, who had been evacuated from the city along with other children at the time of the bombing. The shop had stood on a street near the hypocenter with few traces remaining after the bombing. I found out that he was the only survivor in his family and that he was alive and well in eastern Japan.
After obtaining his contact info, I phoned him to ask for an interview. He seemed surprised by the sudden request, but listened to me explain what I intended to convey. "You did well to find me," he remarked. While his nervousness was revealed through the way he spoke, I recall that he somewhat sounded thankful at the same time.
He continued, "I don't want to be interviewed," followed by the words above.
I noticed that I had made a mistake I could never take back. This man had lost his family, his home, everything, and after that, went on to live years of untold struggles. Considering that, there should have been a gentler way for me to go about it, such as asking those around him to mediate. After feeling elated for successfully finding him, I had done something quite careless. I apologized for my impoliteness and set the phone down.
The Japan Confederation of A- and H-Bomb Sufferers Organizations (Nihon Hidankyo) won the 2024 Nobel Peace Prize. Ahead of the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombings, I am deeply moved by how the long years of hard work and effort by the hibakusha in their testimonial activities has paid off. However, I am also reminded that behind the many voices heard lie many more sacrifices and worries that were never spoken.
Each hibakusha has their own reasons for silence. In many cases, I've interviewed people who began to share their stories late in life. It's something like peeling off the scabs from their soul, and cannot be forced. My failure resulted in a testimonial that the former orphan could have given being sealed away.
As of this summer, 543,091 names have been added to the registry of those killed by the atomic bombs -- 344,306 in Hiroshima and 198,785 in Nagasaki. In statistics from the Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare, there were 106,825 holders of Atomic Bomb Survivor's Certificates, as of the end of March 2024. The hibakusha are not just statistics. Yet at the same time, these astounding figures can help elucidate the inhumanity of atomic weaponry.
Among their number, how many of the testimonials are recorded? The average age of the certificate holders has surpassed 85. We are approaching an era when these living relics of history will no longer be with us, but rather than distressing over that fact, we must hurry to record as many of their experiences as possible to share with future generations.
My own father and grandmother were in Hiroshima on the day of the bombing. My grandmother was 22, and my father was just a 9-month-old baby. Both are now listed in the registry of victims. They had no connection with hibakusha activities or protests for peace, yet they lived out their lives in the city that had been turned to ash.
My grandmother reflected that "war is no good." I interviewed her for her testimony in great detail. She recalled carrying my father as a young child on her back and no doubt walked through the ruins that smoldered with smoke from burning bodies. I retraced the 10 kilometers or so that she had walked. After they died, I registered their images and testimonies at the Hiroshima National Peace Memorial Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.
As both a reporter and a person passing on my relatives' experiences, I wonder if I am doing my part, even in a small way. Whenever I question myself in that way, I recall the quiet tone of voice of the former orphan from Hiroshima.
(Japanese original by Noboru Ujo, Osaka City News Department)
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