Lessons from Hiroshima and Nagasaki for Gaza and Ukraine: Cities are Targets

When the United States attacked Japan with its newly developed atomic bombs 79 years ago this month, many of the residents of Hiroshima and Nagasaki thought their homes must have suffered a direct hit from a bomb. Otherwise, how could a bomb produce so much damage? Setsuko Hattori, at the time a 14-year-old, was at home in Hiroshima. The ceiling fell, she could hardly breathe under the debris, and she thought for sure she was going to die. But like some of the lucky ones, she managed to make it outside, where she saw, to her shock, that every house around her was flattened, numerous people had suffered serious injuries, and fires were spreading as survivors remained trapped under the debris of their homes and offices.

In recent months, the experiences of Hattori and other survivors of the atomic bombings who I interviewed during a career in journalism have echoed in my mind as I tracked news accounts of the bombings of cities in Gaza following Hamas’ brutal Oct. 7 attack on civilians in Israel. Destruction of homes and families are a human tragedy, no matter where or by what means..

The bombings in Gaza, like Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, have been on the mind of survivors and other residents of both Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The survivors of the atomic bombings are, to be sure, well aware of the nuclear threat hanging over any conflicts involving nuclear-armed nations like Russia and Israel. But they are also simply horrified by the resort to war and the suffering of civilians.

For the 79th anniversary commemorations earlier this month, neither city invited Russia to its ceremony, a continuation of decisions they made when Putin invaded Ukraine in early 2022. And Nagasaki didn’t invite Israel, although its mayor tried to soft-peddle the decision with vague talk of security concerns. (That still threw the U.S. and its friendlier European allies into a defensive tiff on Israel’s behalf.) Over the objections of some activists, Hiroshima welcomed Israeli representatives but pointedly called for an immediate cease-fire in Gaza. Hiroshima’s invitation captured the survivors’ dual concerns with atomic weapons and war itself, urging Israel to “engage with the wish for peace from atomic bomb survivors who believe no one should have to experience the horrors of war, and to take a step toward peace including by abolishing nuclear weapons.”

The cities’ advocacy for an end to both the Ukraine and Middle East conflicts is part and parcel with how both cities have looked at the world ever since the bombings. They oppose nuclear weapons and seek their abolition, but to a very strong degree, the survivors, their cities, and large portions of the Japanese public oppose all war. 

The cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are both fierce advocates of nuclear abolition. Through the international Mayors for Peace organization, the cities — as well as bombing survivors like Setsuko Thurlow — took important roles in pushing the United Nations to launch the Treaty of the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons, which has been ratified by some 70 countries. 

But the survivors also focus heavily on looking beyond arms control to creating peace. As DePaul University scholar Yuki Miyamoto has written, survivors have developed an ethic of “not retaliation, but reconciliation.” And they apply it broadly to their thinking about international affairs. Hiroshima has its own municipal office, the Hiroshima Peace Culture Foundation, dedicated to the “dissemination of thought promoting peace and international understanding/cooperation.” Illustrating the linking of peace and nuclear abolition among survivors, Hiroshima’s daily newspaper spent months before a 2023 visit by President Biden and other G7 leaders publishing a series of appeals for peace from local residents and leaders like former Mayor Tadatoshi Akiba, an inspirational thinker about reconciliation rather than retaliation, under the title of No Nukes, No War.

It’s easier to focus on just one aspect of the survivors’ thinking, and it seems like the focus is usually on the opposition to nuclear weapons. Perhaps that fits with more easily definable political objectives. The New York Times’ Opinion section editors and writers have spent months on an impressive project trying to alert readers to the increasing dangers of nuclear war, “At the Brink.” Several of the most recent pieces have been smart, empathetic looks at the survivors’ advocacy against nuclear weapons. But they have been remarkably free of any attention to the sincere pacifism in Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and much of the Japanese public.

In an address by Hiroshima’s mayor, Matsui Kazumi to the Hiroshima gathering on Aug. 6, he quoted a survivor who wrote: “Now is the time to turn the tide of history, to get beyond the hatreds of the past, uniting beyond differences of race and nationality to turn distrust into trust, hatred into reconciliation, and conflict into harmony.” Of course, that can easily be regarded as a pointlessly naïve sentiment, lacking realism. In fact, though, the writer was someone well acquainted with the reality of war. As Matsui noted, “This uplifting sentiment was written by a man who as a 14-year-old boy, saw scenes from a living hell — a baby with skin peeled down to red flesh next to its mother burned from head to toe, and a corpse with its guts strewn out on the dirt.”

Just as in World War II, cities are — declared or not — targets in the conflict in Gaza and Ukraine. But we know from the hindsight of history that in World War II, the distinction between civilian and military targets was hardly clear-cut early in the war and became meaningless as time went on. As Michael S. Sherry showed in a prize-winning book 35 years ago, The Rise of American Power: The Creation of Armageddon, all sides started the war with high-minded statements about avoiding the bombing of civilians. But, at somewhat different paces, they dropped most or all restraints, and with the development of new tactics and technology, Britain and then, more slowly, the U.S. air forces became increasingly successful in destroying urban areas across Germany. As Germany fell toward the defeat, the U.S. took its tactics to Asia.

The most brutal display — at least until Hiroshima five months later — occurred in Tokyo on March 10, 1945. Aided by windy weather, an attack designed to create a giant firestorm killed some 100,000 people. That’s undoubtedly more than died in Nagasaki — perhaps 70,000 over the first six months, including those who suffered radiation illness and blast injuries — and close to the likely death toll of up to 140,000 in Hiroshima.

When I interviewed the young Hiroshima survivor, Hattori, 15 years ago, she recalled scenes like the ones Mayor Matsui mentioned. She told me she was a big fan of the efforts of the Mayor for Peace for nuclear abolition. But, as our interview wound down, she said, in a way that wasn’t really directed against anyone, that she sometimes felt that politics seemed to get in the way of focusing on building peace.

That may be an almost impossible balance to achieve. But as the survivors of both WWII bombings, almost all in their 80s or 90s now, still try to tell the world, our survival may depend on both concrete political actions and building what survivors often call a “culture of peace.” In the meantime, they want to see an end to as much of the suffering of today’s wars as possible.