Thousands of people gathered on the morning of August 6th, 2024 in Hiroshima’s Peace Park facing the eternal flame, reflecting pool, and A-Bomb Dome, the iconic ruined building.
Thousands of people are buried ten feet below us, dead in an instant.
Delegates from countries around the world, Japanese citizens, and international tourists and peace activists filled the seats. The mayor of Hiroshima spoke forcefully, proudly stating the success of the Mayors for Peace Program, and urging Japan to sign the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. History must never repeat this way. Innocent people, women, children, suffered so greatly here.
The delegation from Israel, in spite of public outcry, is present. But not listening.
The Children’s representatives, a boy and girl, speak an impassioned, rehearsed call for peace. At times in tandem, and at times all together. The translation device in my ear tells me what they say, but I prefer to hear it from them. They’re always kids. They’re always innocent. It’s not their kids or our kids, they’re always all our children. This is why we fold cranes and don’t forget.
There’s an image I can’t get out of my head of a child in Gaza dying of ocular cancer, unable to leave.
The prefectural governor of Hiroshima speaks, and sounds much the same as the mayor, with a bit less vigor. 79 years later, we have to learn from this and do better. Then I start to hear the crowd outside the ceremony. I’m not sure what they’re chanting.
100 members of the Japanese Diet were forced to resign this year. A few years before, the world was stunned by the assassination of Shinzo Abe, with his killer claiming a complex ring of corruption around a South Korean church. Turns out he was right. The Japanese stock market plummets while we’re there.
A statement is read on behalf of UN Secretary General Antonio Guttierez. I’m as disappointed with his words as I am his absence. It sounds the same as the prefectural governor with less vigor.
Priminister Kishida speaks. His words are empty and nonprescriptive. Remembering Hiroshima might as well be for trivia. The chants outside get louder. We see more police. They’re telling him to sign the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons.
The biggest nuclear weapons memorial event in the world has a dystopian flavor.
The August 6th that is most meaningful is one people make themselves. I think of the Hiroshima to Hope event at Seattle’s Green Lake, or the hand-made lanterns people float in the rivers of Hiroshima.
We were given time to wander the peace park to see what this means. We heard the Peace Choir singing in the park. We came across an orchestra of elderly Japanese men playing traditional woodwind instruments. We came across a group from Mexico City practicing their traditional Azteca dance, the very subject of one of our team member’s presentations. Some activists rallied still against Kishida’s failure to sign the TPNW. Koreans gathered in front of the monument to Korean A-bomb victims. Some enterprising filmmakers were recording talks from the last Hibakusha. A group gathered in front of the A-bomb dome, as they do every night, protesting Israel’s war on Palestine, and projected a video call from Palestine’s Ambassador to Japan, pleading for continued solidarity.
We gathered for a time in front of the monument for Barbara Reynolds, the founder of the World Friendship Center and sailor on the Phoenix of Hiroshima. People sang, read poetry, and made speeches.
This is what August 6th should be. Many hands, many cultures, and many faces making peace in as many ways as life flourishes under the sun.