Hiroshima appears much the same as any other large Japanese city. There are train stations, bright lights, closely packed buildings, karaoke places, temples and shrines. But head for the central part of Hiroshima, the sliver of land located between two of the rivers running through the city, and the ruins of a large building come into view.
Rubble is strewn about its empty shell, the steel framework of its dome exposed to the sky. It stands in stark contrast to the modern city surrounding it. It is ugly and out of place, but that is the point. The building has remained in its current state almost unchanged since Aug. 6, 1945, when the atomic bomb exploded almost directly above it, about 2,000 feet in the air. It is now called the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, or, colloquially, the A-Bomb Dome.
The goal of the preservation of the heavily damaged Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, as it was called in 1945, is to remind the people of Japan and the world of the sheer destructive power of nuclear weapons and the consequences of their use.
I recently visited the A-Bomb Dome and the Peace Memorial Park where it is located. While there, I heard an account of the bombing from a woman who was 12 years old when it occurred. She described how she shielded her eyes from the sun to look at the B-29 bomber when a huge fireball replaced the sun. She showed us the burns and radiation-induced keloid scars on her arms and legs. She told us how she was unable to recognize her friend because the skin on her face was too mangled and melted.
Since Japan is the only country ever to have had nuclear weapons used against it, the threat posed by them remains a very real concern. Despite possessing the technology and skills necessary to build nuclear weapons, Japan has chosen not to do so, held back both by public opinion and Article IX of its constitution, which essentially prohibits offensive war.
But the pacifism that characterized post-war Japan is waning. The necessity of Article IX has been called into question, and government officials have hinted that the development of nuclear weapons might be beneficial for Japan in the face of potentially hostile (and nuclear) neighbors China and North Korea.
Indeed, the same societal elements that drove Japan to war in the 1930s and 1940s remain today, but thankfully in a marginalized and relatively unimportant form. Several ultranationalist right-wing groups (or "uyoku") exist, most of which hold the emperor in great esteem, as did the major proponents of war.
A few days ago, Japan celebrated National Foundation Day, which marks the ascension of the legendary first emperor, Jimmu. This is a big day for the uyoku. They drive black vans and trucks around Tokyo, playing military anthems over loudspeakers attached to the roof and displaying banners with slogans like "Unite around the emperor" and "Respect the ancient Japanese way." At the train station near my dorm, a group parked a van with a platform on top and gave anti-American speeches. They had no audience.
The Hiroshima Peace Memorial and the uyoku represent opposite reactions to the war that shaped the future of Japan. The Peace Memorial emphasizes the horror of war for all participants. Many of the uyoku think the war was just, despite the suffering it caused so many people throughout Asia. As the leaders of Japan seek to increase Japan's political and military power relative to its economic power in the world, I hope the Peace Memorial is first in their minds and not the uyoku.
