Atomic Bomb Survivors: ‘May the World Never See This Hell Again!

It was early in the day, and already hot. Chieko Kiriake, then 15 years old, wiped the sweat from her forehead as she searched for shade. Suddenly, a blinding light illuminated everything around her – an experience she had never encountered before. It was 08:15 on August 6, 1945. “It felt like the sun had fallen – and I grew dizzy,” Chieko recalls.

At that moment, the United States dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Chieko’s hometown, marking the first time a nuclear weapon was used in warfare. Although Germany had surrendered in Europe, the Allies were still fighting a fierce war against Japan in World War II.

Like many older students, Chieko had been sent to work in factories during the war. She managed to reach her school, carrying an injured friend on her back. Many students were severely burned. In the home economics classroom, Chieko found old oil and applied it to their wounds. “It was the only treatment we could offer. They died one after another,” she says.

“The older students who survived were instructed by our teachers to dig a hole in the playground, and I cremated [my classmates] with my own hands. It was terrible,” Chieko recalls, now 94 years old. Almost 80 years have passed since the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and time is running out for the surviving victims, known as hibakusha, to tell their stories.

Many of these survivors have dealt with health issues, lost loved ones, and faced discrimination due to the nuclear attack. Now, they are sharing their experiences in a BBC Two documentary, hoping that their memories will serve as a warning for the future.

After the tragedy, life began to reemerge in the city, says Chieko. “People said grass wouldn’t grow for 75 years, but by the spring of the following year, the sparrows returned.”

Chieko believes she survived so many times because of a greater power. Most of the hibakusha alive today were children at the time of the bombings. As they age, global conflicts intensify, and the risk of a new nuclear escalation seems more real than ever to them.

“My body trembles and tears overflow,” says 86-year-old Michiko Kodama, thinking about today’s conflicts, such as the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the Israel-Gaza war. “We must not allow the hell of the atomic bombing to be recreated. I feel a sense of crisis.”

Michiko, a fervent advocate for nuclear disarmament, believes it is crucial to hear firsthand accounts from hibakusha who experienced the bombing. “I think it is important to hear the direct testimonies of hibakusha,” she states.

Michiko was seven years old when the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. “Through the windows of my classroom, there was an intense light speeding towards us. It was yellow, orange, silver.” She describes how the window shards pierced walls, desks, and chairs. “The ceiling came crashing down, so I hid under the desk.”

After the blast, Michiko saw hands and legs trapped among the debris. “I crawled from the classroom to the corridor, where my friends were crying for help.” Her father rescued her, carrying her on his back as black rain, mixed with radioactive material, fell from the sky.

She never forgot the journey home. “It was a scene from hell,” says Michiko. “People escaping towards us had their clothes burned away, and their flesh was melting.” One image that remains vivid is that of a girl her age, alone and severely burned, with wide-open eyes.

Michiko wouldn’t be alive today if her family hadn’t moved weeks before the bombing from their house, which was just 350 meters from the epicenter. It’s estimated that 140,000 lives were lost in Hiroshima by the end of 1945, and in Nagasaki, bombed three days later, at least 74,000 people died.

Sueichi Kido, five years old at the time and living 2 km from the epicenter in Nagasaki, suffered facial burns. His mother, who sustained severe injuries, protected him from the full impact. Sueichi, now 83, recently spoke at the United Nations about the dangers of nuclear weapons.

When he woke up from fainting due to the blast, the first thing he saw was a red oil can. For years, he believed this can caused the explosion. His parents never corrected him, shielding him from the fact that it was a nuclear attack.

Besides burns, many people began showing symptoms of radiation poisoning weeks and months after the blast, with increased cases of leukemia and cancer. Hibakusha faced discrimination, especially when seeking partners. “I was told, ‘We don’t want hibakusha blood in our family,'” Michiko recalls. Despite this, she married and had two children.

She lost her parents and brothers to cancer, and her daughter died from the disease in 2011. “I feel lonely, angry, and scared, and wonder if my turn is next,” she says. Since then, Kiyomi, another interviewed survivor, passed away, but until the age of 98, she visited the Peace Park in Nagasaki, ringing the bell at 11:02 to wish for peace.

Sueichi, who taught Japanese history at university, felt that being hibakusha cast a shadow over his identity. But he realized he had a special duty to speak out to save humanity. “I felt that I was a special person,” says Sueichi. All hibakusha share this determination to ensure the past never becomes the present.