Hiroshima are once again stirring with the uneasy winds of memory. With the approach of August 6—the anniversary of the 1945 atomic bombing—voices that have long pleaded for disarmament are now echoing louder than ever. But this year, those voices carry a sharper urgency, fueled by remarks made recently by former U.S. President Donald Trump.
During a NATO summit in The Hague, Trump made a controversial comparison between the United States’ atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 and recent precision airstrikes carried out against Iran during his presidency. “I don’t want to use an example of Hiroshima, I don’t want to use an example of Nagasaki, but that was essentially the same thing,” Trump said. “That ended that war and this ended [this war].”
The statement—laden with historical simplification and nuclear bravado—prompted swift condemnation from across Japan, particularly in Hiroshima, where the pain of the world’s first atomic bombing still simmers below the surface, even eight decades later.
Kazumi Matsui, the mayor of Hiroshima and a lifelong advocate for nuclear disarmament, responded with characteristic clarity and concern.
“It seems to me that he does not fully understand the reality of the atomic bombings,” Matsui told reporters. “They take the lives of many innocent citizens, regardless of whether they were friend or foe, and threaten the survival of the human race.”
Matsui issued a public invitation to Trump to visit Hiroshima and “see the reality of the atomic bombing and feel the spirit of Hiroshima.”
His remarks were not just rhetorical flourishes; they were steeped in a moral philosophy that has guided Hiroshima’s post-war identity. Matsui himself is the son of hibakusha—a survivor of the atomic bomb. Like many in Hiroshima, he bears not only the political responsibility but the personal legacy of a city forged in unimaginable suffering.
On August 6, 1945, at 8:15 AM, the U.S. bomber Enola Gay released the uranium bomb codenamed “Little Boy” over Hiroshima. The explosion killed approximately 140,000 people by the end of the year, either instantly or from burns, radiation poisoning, and long-term illness.
Three days later, on August 9, the plutonium bomb “Fat Man” was dropped on Nagasaki, killing another 74,000.
These remain the only uses of nuclear weapons in warfare.
The bombings led to Japan’s surrender and the conclusion of World War II, but at an immense moral and human cost. Survivors of the attacks, known as hibakusha, lived with physical scars, emotional trauma, and decades of societal discrimination. Today, fewer than 100,000 hibakusha remain alive, with the average age reaching 86.
While politicians like Matsui continue diplomatic efforts, it is in the classrooms and art rooms of Hiroshima where the legacy of the atomic bombings is perhaps most poignantly preserved. At Motomachi High School, an extraordinary project is helping keep those memories alive.
For nearly two decades, students have been interviewing hibakusha and transforming their testimonies into striking paintings. These artworks have become part of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum’s initiative to educate future generations through visual storytelling.
This year, fifteen new pieces were revealed ahead of the bombing’s anniversary. Each one is a visual narrative etched with sorrow and survival, crafted by teenagers who never lived through war but now carry its echoes in their brushes.
One painting shows five-year-old Masaki Hironaka walking through the charred ruins of Hiroshima on August 10, 1945. Flames still flickered around him as he clutched his mother’s hand. His father had died days earlier, riddled with glass shards from the blast, which Hironaka had to pull out with his tiny fingers.
Today, Hironaka is 84. When he stood before the painting by 17-year-old student Hana Takasago, he nodded in solemn approval.
“I think the painting very accurately captures my feelings at the time,” he told AFP. “It’s authentic, and very well drawn.”
In the artwork, his mother gazes downward, burdened by fear, grief, and the weight of survival. “In that moment, I was gripped by the strong determination to help and support her, young as I was,” Hironaka said.
For students like Takasago and Yumeko Onoue, 16, the project is not simply an academic exercise. It’s a spiritual and emotional journey. Onoue’s painting, inspired by Hironaka’s memory of soot-covered pumpkins in the aftermath of radioactive “black rain,” initially showed vibrant, upright leaves. But Hironaka corrected her: the leaves should be wilting—lifeless and poisoned.
“It made me realize how careful I needed to be,” Onoue said. “While photos from that era were mostly black and white, paintings can add colour and emphasise key elements, making them, I think, ideal for expressing intended messages.”
Another student, 18-year-old Mei Honda, described the emotional toll of painting survivors with skin hanging from their arms—harrowing details reported by the hibakusha she worked with.
“Depicting charred skin and flesh was emotionally draining,” she admitted.
Trump’s statements drew not only rebukes from survivors but triggered a formal response from Hiroshima’s city assembly, which passed a motion condemning “remarks that justify the use of atomic bombs.”
Small protests broke out near the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, where demonstrators held signs reading “No More Hiroshima” and “Nuclear War Is Not Diplomacy.”
For survivors like Hironaka, the frustration is palpable. “It’s like our pain is being compared to some modern airstrike campaign,” he said. “It’s as if the horror we endured is being used to justify violence again.”
Hironaka’s sentiment is shared by international observers and peace activists, who worry that statements like Trump’s risk normalizing the idea of nuclear strikes as legitimate military tools.
“Equating conventional airstrikes to the use of atomic bombs is a dangerous false equivalence,” said Dr. Ayumi Sato, a historian at Kyoto University specializing in U.S.-Japan postwar relations. “It diminishes the unique horror and long-term suffering caused by nuclear warfare.”
Recent global tensions, including conflicts in Ukraine, the Middle East, and heightened rhetoric around Taiwan, have renewed fears of nuclear escalation.
Even among U.S. officials, Trump’s comparison stirred unease. A former Pentagon adviser, speaking anonymously, said: “The atomic bombings were a tragic necessity in 1945. But using that precedent to frame current precision strikes in the same light is not only historically inaccurate—it’s morally reckless.”
The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum now hosts over a million visitors a year, many of them foreign tourists. But Matsui believes visits from global leaders—especially those with nuclear arsenals—are more important than ever.
In 2016, then-President Barack Obama became the first sitting U.S. president to visit Hiroshima. Standing beside Matsui, he laid a wreath at the memorial, met with survivors, and said: “We must have the courage to escape the logic of fear and pursue a world without nuclear weapons.”
No such visit has occurred since. Trump did not visit Hiroshima during his presidency.
“We don’t ask for apologies,” said Mayor Matsui. “We ask for understanding.”
As the survivors age, a sense of urgency hangs over Hiroshima. “We are probably the last generation to have the opportunity to listen face-to-face to the experiences of hibakusha,” said Aoi Fukumoto, a 19-year-old Motomachi High alumna who participated in the painting project last year.
For Takasago, the project changed her worldview. “Before, the atomic bomb felt distant to me, even as a Hiroshima native,” she said. “But now, after walking through Mr. Hironaka’s memories, I can no longer remain a bystander.”
