Nagasaki's Atomic Bomb Memory and Politics

Home , Big Stink (aircraft), Chugoku Shimbun, Glossary of Shinto, Hitorigoto, Nagasaki Peace Park, Naoto Kan

GOD AND THE ATOMIC BOMB: NAGASAKI’S ATOMIC BOMB MEMORY AND POLITICS OF SACRIFICE, FORGIVENESS AND RECONCILIATION

Tomoe Otsuki

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements For the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Graduate Department of Social Justice Education Ontario Institute for Studies in Education University of Toronto

GOD AND THE ATOMIC BOMB: NAGASAKI’S ATOMIC BOMB MEMORY AND POLITICS OF SACRIFICE, FORGIVENESS AND RECONCILIATION

Doctor of Philosophy (2016) Tomoe Otsuki Department of Social Justice Education University of Toronto

Abstract

There is very little doubt that Hiroshima has become a testament to the destructive capacity of mankind over the last seven decades. Many influential world leaders have visited

Hiroshima, pledging themselves to the project of eternal peace. However, very few of them have ever extended their trip to the second atomic bomb city Nagasaki. Likewise, the existing literature and media representations of the atomic bombing of Japan invariably views Japan’s atomic experience through a “Hiroshima first” optic. Studies devoted to the experience of

Nagasaki are scarce even within Japan. If Nagasaki is considered at all within the context of these studies, its trauma and its historical significance are assumed to be identical to, or contained within that of Hiroshima. As Greg Mitchell, an American journalist and writer, observed: “no one ever wrote a bestselling novel called Nagasaki or directed a film entitled

Nagasaki, Mon Amour.” Nagasaki has been the “forgotten atomic bomb city” (Mitchell,

August 9, 2011).

My dissertation critically inquires the conception of “forgotten atomic bomb city,” and explores what can account for Nagasaki’s self-effacing attitude from the remembrance of the atomic bomb memory and history and how Nagasaki has become overshadowed by

Hiroshima’s powerful symbolism of the nuclear age over the last decades. Put another way, this dissertation examines what have normalized the absence of Nagasaki in the

ii remembrance of the atomic bombing both in Japan and abroad. My dissertation demonstrates that Nagasaki has never been forgotten by American and Japanese policymakers. Rather, I argue that the second atomic bomb city has been firmly incorporated within the U.S-Japan

Security Alliance since the end of the war. My work shows how Nagasaki’s remembrance and postwar history has been shaped by the politics of sacrifice, forgiveness and reconciliation between the United States and Japan over the last seventy years, and illuminates how the legacy of Japanese imperialism continues to rule contemporary Nagasaki,

Hiroshima and Japan.

iii Acknowledgment

There are many individuals who significantly contributed to my doctoral project over the last years. They provided invaluable resource support, inspirational and constructive suggestions and continuously encouraged me to pursue my studies on Nagasaki’s remembrance of the atomic bombing and its postwar history. Some of them had passed away before I have completed my work. This dissertation is dedicated to all these people.

I would like to express sincere thanks to Takahara Itaru for providing his photographs of Nagasaki during the 1950s, especially the evocative images of the ruins of Urakami

Cathedral, and for sharing his memories and stories on postwar Nagasaki with me, and

Takase Tsuyoshi, the second generation of Nagasaki hibakusha and the author of Nagasaki—

Another Atomic Dome Lost (Nagasaki—Kieta Mou hitotsuno genbaku doum) (2009) for sharing his insights and invaluable information on the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral and

Nagasaki’s particular history and social culture for my research. I also wish to acknowledge the help provided by Sekigushi Tatsuo, a NBC (Nagasaki Broadcasting Company) journalist for introducing me to the NBC documentary crew that produced “God and the Atomic Bomb:

Urakami Catholic hibakusha’s last fifty-five years” (2000), and Yokote Kazuhiko, a

Nagasaki-based scholar for his important advices concerning Nagasaki’s remembrance of the atomic bombing. I am also particularly grateful for the assistance given by Abe Hirotaka, a

Mainichi Shinbun journalist for helping me to connect with Nagasaki’s local memory community and those individuals noted above.

My heartfelt thanks to Tasaki Noboru, the former civil servant at Nagasaki’s peace administration as well as a second generation of hibakusha for providing otherwise inaccessible documents on Nagasaki’s administrative policy. I am also indebted to

iv Nagasaki’s hibakusha peace guides/storytellers who walked through Nagasaki’s ground zero with me over and over again, and shared their personal memory of the war period, the atomic bombing and postwar years with me. I would also like to offer my special thanks to

Shimohira Sakue, a Nagasaki hibakusha. I learnt the impossibility of the healing of hibakusha’s trauma and the presence of unspoken memory of the atomic bombing by attending her oral testimony. Shimohira’s memory of the atomic bombing has often come to my mind and stayed in my consciousness in the process of writing.

My appreciation is extended to Kamata Nobuko, the former director of the Nagasaki

Peace Institute (Nagasaki Heiwa Kenkyusho), and Anan Shigeyuki, the director of Nagasaki

Human Rights Institute (Nagasaki Jinken Kenkyusho). Mrs. Kamata is the widow of Kamata

Sadao, who was one of the crucial actors in Nagasaki’s testimonial movement, and antiwar and antinuclear movements from the late 1960s to 1997. When I visited the Nagasaki Peace

Institute in June 2009, Mrs. Kamata introduced me to Anan, who is as one of the most important scholars on the history and human rights issue of the Buraku community in Japan.

Without the general assist of Anan and the staff at the Nagasaki Human Rights Institute, I would have never been able to write the forgotten history of the Buraku people in my dissertation. Mrs. Kamata also gave me dozens of texts and materials, including a number of

Kamata’s articles, published from the Nagasaki Peace Institute, saying that “we are closing the institute since nobody would take over our work.” The materials she handed in to me are invaluable resource for this doctoral research project. The Nagasaki Peace Institute was closed in June 2010. Mrs. Kamata passed away in January 2013.

Thank you to Takazane Yasunori, the chief curator of Oka Masaharu Nagasaki Peace

Memorial Museum for providing important archives collected by Masaharu Oka, who

v pursued the historical, moral and legal justice for the Korean atomic bomb victims. My sincere thanks to librarians in Nagasaki Prefecture Library, Nagasaki City Library and

Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum for their great assist to find important local archives for my research.

Lastly but not least, I would like to acknowledge Roger I. Simon and Mario Di

Paolantonio for their continued support, intellectual inspiration and thoughtful comments through my doctoral studies period. I am privileged to work with the two scholars on memory studies and pedagogical philosophy, and without their supervision I could have never encountered the memory of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing in the way my dissertation unfolds. In particular, I would like to express my very great appreciation to Professor Di

Paolantonio for always encouraging me to believe the importance and significance of my work, and having kindly taken over Professor Simon’s position as my supervisor after he passed away in September 2012. While I was overwhelmed by the great sense of loss after the death of Professor Simon, Professor Di Paolantonio gently pushed me to keep up my work, and helped me to think how my work could incorporate and translate Professor

Simon’s notion of ethical, pedagogical remembrance into the context of Nagasaki and postwar Japan. Without the persistent commitment of both Professor Simon and Professor Di

Paolantonio to my study, this dissertation could not have been completed.

December 15, 2015

vi List of Photographs & Figures Photograph 1: Nagasaki’s Peace Keeper ...... 29 Photograph 2: Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Hypocentre Monument ...... 30 Photograph 3: A burnt wall of the Urakami Cathedral ...... 31 Photograph 4: Statue of the Mother and Child ...... 32 Photograph 5: Mothers and Children ...... 35 Photograph 6: Memorial Dedicated for Korean Atomic Bomb Victims ...... 38 Photograph 7: Monument for All the Foreign Victims of WWII ...... 39 Photograph 8: Monument Dedicated for 33 Chinese Hibakusha ...... 40 Photograph 9: Hirohito greeting to bedridden Nagai ...... 86 Photograph 10: Urakami’s outdoor mass ...... 97 Photograph 11: Nishizaka Hill, where 26 Catholics were executed and became martyrs in 1596 ...... 98 Photograph 12: Urakami Catholic parade through the old city center in Nagasaki ...... 99 Photograph 13: Kitamura’s Statue of Terauchi ...... 132 Photograph 14: Kikuchi Kazuo’s “Statue for Peace” (Heiwa zo) ...... 133 Photograph 15: Kikuchi’s statue “Youth” (Seinen) ...... 134 Photograph 16: Peace Memorial Statue ...... 138 Photograph 17: Remnants of the Southern Wall and Statue of the Saints ...... 147 Photograph 18: Children play in remnants of belfry of Urakami Cathedral ...... 148 Photograph 19: Remnants of Urakami Cathedral and Peace Statue in 1958 ...... 181 Photograph 20: Dismantling of remnants of the cathedral ...... 185 Photograph 21: Dismantling of remnants of the cathedral ...... 186 Photograph 22: Nagasaki Korean Atomic Bomb Victims Memorial ...... 225 Photograph 23: Foreign War Victims Memorial for Elimination of Nuclear Weapons And Establishment of World Peace ...... 231

Photograph 24: Statue of Mothers and Children for Peace ...... 232

Photograph 25: Hashima/Gunkanjima ...... 238

Photograph 26: Protesters against the New Security Law ...... 257 Figure 1: a Tourist Map of Contemporary Nagasaki ...... 45 Figure 2: Hiroshima Panel XIV “Crows” Painted by Maruki in 1972 ...... 236

vii Table of Contents Abstract ...... ii Acknowledgements ...... iv List of Photographs & Figures ...... vii Introduction ...... 1 1. Methodology ...... 22 1.1. The Field Research in Nagasaki ...... 22 1.2. Thinkers informing my ethics of historiography: Walter Benjamin and Roger I. Simon 25 2. Standing at Ground-Zero—the Memory Space of Nagasaki’s Historical Materialism ...... 28 Chapter 1: The Kaleidoscopic City of Nagasaki ...... 45 1. The Spatial Separation of Nagasaki’s Communities ...... 48 1.1. Configuration of Urakami into the Land of Catholics and Buraku ...... 48 1.2. Urakami’ Fourth Kuzure ...... 55 1.3. The Catholics and Kawaya during Meiji Japan ...... 56 2. Nagasaki and Mitsubishi during the Asia and Pacific War ...... 60 2.1. Transformation of Nagasaki into the “Castle Town of Mitsubishi” ...... 60 2.2. “ATOMIC FIELD” Urakami ...... 64 3. Conclusion ...... 68 Chapter 2: The GHQ, Nagai Takashi, and the Atomic Bomb as Divine Providence ..... 71 1. U.S Occupation of Japan: August 1945 to September 1952 ...... 73 2. Origin of Nagai’s Idea of “God’s Providence” ...... 74 3. The GHQ and the Publication of The Bells of Nagasaki ...... 77 4. Sacrifices to the Nuclear Sciences ...... 90 4.1. The Atomic Bomb and its Legacy: “Atoms for Dreams” (yumeno genshiryoku) ...... 92 5. Nagai’s influence over Nagasaki hibakusha ...... 96 6. God and the Atomic Bomb ...... 100 7. Conclusion ...... 104 Chapter 3: Reconstruction of ‘Christian City Nagasaki’ in Postwar Years— Remembering Christian Martyrdom, Obliterating the Buraku Community and Reviving Imperial Legacy ...... 110 1. MacArthur’s Christianization Policy of Occupied Japan ...... 111 2. The Re-Creation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki into the Respective Cities of ‘Peace’ and ‘Culture’ ...... 116 3. A Battle over the Popular Symbolism of the Atomic Bombing ...... 120 4. The Dismantling of the Buraku Community ...... 121 5. Revival of Imperial Dream in Postwar Nagasaki ...... 127 5.1. Revival of Mitsubishi ...... 127 5.2. The Construction of the Peace Statue ...... 122 5.3. A Nagasaki female hibakusha Sumako Fukuda’s “Talking to Myself” ……………….139 6. Consequences of the Post-War Social Reconstruction ...... 141 7. Conclusion ...... 144

viii Chapter 4: The Politics of Reconstruction and Reconciliation in U.S-Japan Relations— Dismantling the Atomic Bomb Ruins of Nagasaki’s Urakami Cathedral ...... 147 1. Debating the Fate of the Cathedral Ruins (1949-1956) ...... 152 2. U.S-Japan Relations (1953-1957) ...... 161 3. Sister City Program and Eisenhower’s Global Expansion Policy ...... 169 4. Politics of Healing, Forgiveness, Restoration and Reconciliation ...... 171 5. Dismantling the Ruins ...... 180 6. Remembrance of Absent Ruins in Photographs ...... 187 7. Conclusion ...... 192 Chapter 5: Remembering the Colonial Memory: Korean Hibakusha in Nagasaki .... 197 1. Historical Background of Japan’s Colonial Rule over the Korean Peninsula ...... 201 2. Emergence of Korean Hibakusha in the Japanese Discourse in the mid-1960s ...... 209 3. Encountering the Silent Korean Atomic Bomb Victims in Nagasaki ...... 212 4. Commemoration of Korean Atomic Bomb Victims in Nagasaki ...... 218 5. Sadao Kamata, Nagasaki Testimony Circle, and Catholic Nagasaki Mayor Hitoshi Motoshima ...... 227 6. Inheritance of the Trace of Korean Colonial Atomic Bomb Memory ...... 235 7. Conclusion ...... 242 Conclusion—70TH Anniversary of Atomic Bombing in Hiroshima and Nagasaki ..... 247 Bibliography ...... 269

ix Introduction

I visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 2010. On August 6th of that year, Hiroshima held a memorial ceremony marking the sixty-fifth year since its atomic bombing. The first atomic bomb city received a great deal of international media attention given the attendance of

Ban Ki-Moon, the United Nations Secretary General. It was the first time the chief of the United

Nations took part in the annual event in the atomic bomb city. Moreover, the American government decided to send its ambassador to Japan to Hiroshima for the first time. One day before the memorial ceremony, Hiroshima’s Peace Park was already saturated with domestic and foreign journalists, international antinuclear civil groups, peace activists, and visitors from all over the world. I felt a sense of mounting excitement from the people I saw and talked with in

Hiroshima that the abolition of nuclear weapons was going to happen; they all cited U.S

President Barack Obama’s speech for a nuclear free world in Prague in April 2009, which won

Obama the Nobel Peace Prize that year. Akiba Tadatoshi, Hiroshima’s mayor at the time, launched an antinuclear campaign named “Obamajority” to disseminate Obama’s vision of nuclear-free world. Many residents in Hiroshima gleefully shouted “Obamajority!” to peace activists and journalists from all over the world. There seemed to be an almost festival in the city.

Hiroshima’s Atomic Dome was surrounded by a number of domestic and foreign visitors taking photographs to archive his or her cultural experience of witnessing the ruins of the first nuclear catastrophe in human history. Nearly all of the visitors smiled into the camera. While staring at those tourists, a young peace activist from Australia approached and told me that he had been filming Hiroshima for an antinuclear peace campaign he was involved with. Then, he asked if I would contribute a statement on camera for that campaign. He suggested the simple

1 2 statement, “Obamajority!” When I asked him whether he would be including any material from

Nagasaki, he paused for a moment somewhat bewildered and said, “No. It might get complicated.”

I continued my walk heading towards the cenotaph. Upon the cenotaph one can read,

“Please rest in peace, for we shall not repeat the error.” Next to the epitaph, a plaque read in both

English and Japanese:

The inscription on the front panel offers a prayer for the peaceful repose of the victims and a pledge on behalf of all humanity never to repeat the evil of war. It expresses the spirit of Hiroshima — enduring grief, transcending hatred, pursuing harmony and prosperity for all, and yearning for genuine, lasting world peace.

The plaque was intended to end the controversy over who the “we” referred to, and which “error” the epitaph was indicating. The question of who the “we,” and which “error” the plague referred to was first raised in 1952 by Radhabinod Pal, an Indian jurist for the International Military

Tribunal for the Far East. At the tribunal in 1949, Pal argued that if the atrocities committed by

Imperial Japan against the Allied Powers (the Tribunal did not deal with Japan’s inhuman acts and war crimes against Asian peoples) were to be judged by the existing international law of combat, the fire-bombing of Japanese cities and the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki must be judged by the same rule (Saito 2003). While visiting the cenotaph, Pal reiterated his judgment in the form of criticism on the inscription, saying: “It was not the Japanese that dropped the atomic bomb.” Saika Tadayoshi, the English literature professor at the Hiroshima

University who had authored the original plaque, responded that the “we” refers to “all humanity,” not specifically the Japanese or Americans; and, the “error” is the “evil of war,” not a particular event. The plaque is displayed to confirm and stabilize the status of Hiroshima as the symbol of universal will for nuclear abolition and peace.

On the day of Hiroshima’s sixty-fifth atomic bomb memorial ceremony, almost all the local, national, and English newspapers in Japan commented on that Obama’s decision to send the American representative to Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial ceremony reflected a shift in U.S’s nuclear policy. On the local TV news in Hiroshima, one Japanese female peace activist condemned the Japanese Premier, Naoto Kan’s speech in the memorial ceremony for supporting

U.S’s nuclear détente policy against Obama’s noble vision. Few of us in Hiroshima on that day probably ever expected that the Obama administration would instead revitalize its aging nuclear arsenal four years later. Just as the Japanese government continues to depend on U.S’s military power for the national security issue, Hiroshima Mayor and his antinuclear followers relied on the American leadership for the nuclear abolition, instead of looking for a new paradigm to achieve the abolition of nuclear weapons.

I arrived at the Nagasaki Central Train Station on August 7th, one day after Hiroshima’s commemoration ceremony. It was my third visit to the city of Nagasaki. Only a handful of the journalists and antinuclear activists travelled from Hiroshima to Nagasaki. One American journalist apologetically offered the explanation that neither the UN secretary general nor the

American ambassador would be there. Instead, I saw many Japanese tourists in Nagasaki.

Tourism in Nagasaki had seen a great increase as a result of the popularity of the NHK’s

(Japan Broadcasting Corporation) historical TV drama, “Ryoma-den” (the biography of Ryoma) in 2010. Ryoma refers to Sakamoto Ryoma, a key figure of the Meiji Restoration and the reformist movement in 1867. The movement ended the Japanese feudal system by overthrowing the last Shogunate Tokugawa clan, and promoting the modernization and militarization of Japan.

Because Nagasaki was the site where the Kaientai – a private navy and trading company founded

4 by Sakamoto in 1865– was built, the city became one of the most popular destinations for those struck with Ryoma fever.

However, the historical connection between Sakamoto and Nagasaki is much more complicated than what most of the Ryoma fans might imagine. According to the official website of Mitsubishi Corporation, Sakamoto and Iwasaki Yataro, the founder of Mitsubishi, first met with each other in the Kaientai, and “shared a similar awareness of a larger world and a focus on the Japan of tomorrow” (Mitsubishi Corporation “Our Roots—A history of rising to challenge”).1 After Sakamoto was assassinated in Kyoto by members of a pro-Shogunate group in December 1867, Iwasaki took over the Kaientai and developed it into one of the largest naval shipping industries in the world through the Sino-Japanese War, the Rosso-Japanese War, and the Asia-Pacific War. Iwasaki’s Mitsubishi was also evolved into one of the Japanese conglomerates called “Zaibatsu” through Japan’s colonization of the Korean Peninsula from

1910 to 1945. As Mitsubishi expanded its business and industries, Nagasaki was evolved into the imperial naval city, and eventually became one of the target cities of U.S’s atomic bombing.

However, Ryoma fans only know the glorified story of Sakamoto as the man who dreamt of building new, strong and modern Japan. Very few of them may have realized a historical thread between Ryoma’s ambition, Japan’s militarization, imperial and colonial past, Mitsubishi’s prosperity and the second atomic bombing. While the Nagasaki central train station and souvenir shops were littered with gigantic posters of the Ryoma-den’s star actor and Ryoma goods, very few things in the station marked that the city is also the site of the second atomic bomb explosion.

The two most popular travel magazines in Japan introduced Nagasaki’s Buddhist lantern festival in August and the Shinto Festival called “Kunchi” in October as the city’s major attractions. The Glover Garden, renown as the theatrical site of the famous opera Madame

1See http://www.mitsubishicorp.com/jp/en/mclibrary/roots/vol06.

Butterfly, was also cited as a primary destination. The remainder of the magazines were filled with everything Ryoma. Only the last page entitled “Urakami and Peace Park” presented

Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum and Urakami Cathedral to remind the visitors that Nagasaki is also the atomic bomb city.

The tragedy of the atomic bomb in Nagasaki is something all the visitors know. There has been the popular discourse of the two atomic bomb cities, “Hiroshima rages, Nagasaki prays”

(Ikaru Hiroshima, Inoru Nagasaki), which captures both Hiroshima’s powerful symbolism of the horror of nuclear war and global antinuclear peace movement, and Nagasaki’s perceived passive attitude towards the antinuclear movement. Unlike Hiroshima, Nagasaki’s history of the atomic bombing has never been actively promoted by the Nagasaki city administration to attract tourists or media attention. Instead, Nagasaki has postured as an ‘exotic’ and ‘traditional’ (though also

‘modern’) city and this popular image of the city as ‘exotic’ is buttressed by its large Catholic community that has anchored the persona of Nagasaki as the “Christian city” that prays (inoru) for peace. Nonetheless, Nagasaki’s atomic bomb history and Catholic community seem to have been self-effacing from the city’s landscape.

Leaving the Nagasaki Central train station, a taxi driver kindly noted the most popular spots for Ryoma’s fans he thought might interest me. I told him that I was going to Nagasaki’s

Peace Park once I had checked into my youth hostel. He seemed disappointed. Glancing at me through his rear-view mirror, he told me in a now much clearer Nagasaki dialect, “Ah…the atomic bomb…you know, Nagasaki has more to it than the atomic bomb. We have many other things to show tourists.” “Yes, I see that,” I replied.

My dissertation explores what can account for Nagasaki’s self-effacing attitude from the remembrance of the atomic bomb memory and history, and how Nagasaki has become

6 overshadowed by Hiroshima’s powerful symbolism of the atomic bomb memory and historiography over the last seventy years. There is very little doubt that Hiroshima has become a testament to the destructive capacity of mankind over the last seven decades. Many influential world leaders have visited Hiroshima, pledging themselves to the project of eternal peace.

However, very few of them have ever extended their trip to the second atomic bomb city

Nagasaki. Likewise, the existing literature and media representations of the atomic bombing of

Japan invariably views Japan’s atomic experience through a “Hiroshima first” optic. Studies devoted to the experience of Nagasaki are scarce even within Japan. If Nagasaki is considered at all within the context of these studies, its trauma and its historical significance are assumed to be identical to, or contained within that of Hiroshima. As Greg Mitchell, an American journalist and writer, observed: “no one ever wrote a bestselling novel called Nagasaki or directed a film entitled Nagasaki, Mon Amour.” Nagasaki has been the “forgotten atomic bomb city” (Mitchell,

The Nation, August 9, 2011).

However, the conception of Nagasaki as “forgotten atomic bomb city” needs a critical inquiry. John W. Treat (1995) argues that the second atomic bomb city is forgotten precisely because “the destruction of Nagasaki is so crucial in history” (302). Treat maintains that:

[Nagasaki’s atomic bombing was] A redundant act within the logic of the Second World War, it represents the exercise of a technological and scientific capacity for curiosity’s sake, and the exercise of a postwar military capacity for power’s sake… This makes the event of Nagasaki perhaps more terrible, despite its lesser carnage: its annihilation converted what might have been a unique aberration in the history of warfare, had the atomic bomb been retired once its effects were known, into a pattern. It turned a strategy into a tactic, one more precisely applied to our own cities today wherever they are. (Treat 1995, 301-302)

Similarly, Martin J. Sherwin (1975) and Barton Bernstein (1995) argued that the bombing of

Nagasaki was militarily unnecessary to defeat Japan. They suggested that it was little more than a test of a new type of bomb made from plutonium. Back to September 1945, one month after the explosion of the two different types of the nuclear weapons in Japan, Vern Haugland, one of the

7 first American journalists to have arrived in the post-atomic bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki, reported that Hiroshima’s uranium-type bomb became passé just three days after the opening of the nuclear age. His article reads:

Now it is clear what the War Department meant when it said that the second atomic bomb that hit Nagasaki made the first one dropped on Hiroshima obsolete, for the havoc wrought is far greater than that we saw at Hiroshima a few days ago.... It has been a month since that day of destruction, yet smoke still rises from some of the ruins and the smells of death is heavy over part of the city. (V. Haugland, “Nagasaki Damage Exceeds Reports –18,000 Buildings Vanished in Bombing; Devastation Greater than at Hiroshima” The Washington Post, 10 September 1945)

Furthermore, Telford Taylor, the chief prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials, observed that he had never heard any “plausible justification of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing” (Ring and

Watson 1996, 615), and that while the ethics of bombing Hiroshima may be debatable, the bombing of Nagasaki properly constitutes a “war crime” (ibid). As well, Kurt Vonnegut Jr., a fourth generation German-American writer, described the second atomic bomb as nothing more than “blowing away yellow men, women, and children…” and as the most racist act committed by the United States since human slavery (cited from Mitchell, 2011).

It also should be reminded that just as Nagasaki has been overshadowed by Hiroshima, the second atomic bomb mission operated by B-29 bomber named ‘Bockscar’ seems to have been forgotten in U.S’s military historiography, which spotlights almost exclusively the ‘Enola

Gay,’ another B-29 bomber that dropped the first atomic bomb over Hiroshima. The second atomic bomb mission was originally scheduled on August 11th, 1945. However, it was abruptly advanced to August 9th. The official reason for rescheduling was due to weather concerns: the storm was forming. The announcement of the second atomic bomb mission surprised the Enola

Gay crew because they had believed that their mission made the second atomic bomb mission unnecessary (Marx 1971). The abrupt rescheduling of the second mission brought about the

8 change of an aircraft, and this switch of aircraft created a great deal of confusion. Major Charles

W. Sweeny, the chief pilot of the bomber for the second atomic bomb mission and his crew were initially going to operate their regular plane ‘the Great Artiste,’ which had been used as an instrument plane for the Hiroshima mission, to command the task. However, Sweeney was all of sudden told that his Great Artiste could not be made ready to carry the heavy bomb in time; consequently Sweeny and his crew had to switch their operation plane to another bomber

‘Bockscar’ at the very last minute.

The second atomic bomb “Fat Man” was not only technologically a more complex bomb than “Little Boy,” but also more powerful and 500 kilograms heavier than the first bomb, causing the Bockscar to be overloaded. Another problem was found when the Bockscar was about to take-off from Tinian island, an American military base for the 509th Composite Group which flew the atomic bombing raids on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. An engineer discovered that one of the fuel pumps was not working and subsequently, cut the fuel supply for the Bockscar by

640 gallons (Sweeney 1999). As a result, the Bockscar crew were obliged to command the mission with a limited fuel by the unfamiliar and overloaded bomber. Furthermore, sometime after three assistant planes had already taken off, Dr. Robert Serber, a Manhattan project physicist, who was assigned as a photographer with the high-speed camera and supposed to get on Major James T. Hopkins's support plane “The Big Stink,” was abruptly dismissed from the mission as he forgot to carry his parachute. Consequently, the radio silence was destroyed in order to instruct Maj. Hopkins how to operate the high-speed camera. Despite all the accidents, the mission was preceded. Just before its take-off, Admiral William R. Purnell asked Sweeney,

“Young man, do you know how much that bomb cost?” (Groves 1962, 344). “About $25 million”

(ibid), Sweeney answered. Then, Purnell told him, “See that we get our money’s worth” (ibid).

The second atomic bomb mission team left Tinian at 01: 56 A.M. on August 9, 1945.

The primary target of the second atomic bomb mission was not Nagasaki, but Kokura city in Fukuoka Prefecture. Prior to August 9th, some U.S generals had questioned the selection of

Nagasaki as one of the target cities because they were concerned that Nagasaki’s peculiar topography would limit the effect of the atomic bomb with the hills (Knebel and Bailey 1983).

The U.S generals also pointed out that Nagasaki had already gotten Allies’ intensive air-raids five times, so that the city would not be a ‘good’ test ground of the bomb. For these reasons,

Kokura city was selected for the target of the second atomic bomb (ibid).

At 09: 45 A.M., the Bockscar reached over Kokura city. However, their observation plane

“Big Stick” did not appear. Since the radio system was silenced, Sweeney was not able to communicate with Big Stick’s crew. Sweeney was commanded that if the instrument or photograph plane did not show up, he should wait for them no longer than 15 minutes and must proceed to its mission. However, Sweeney circled the area for 40 minutes, consuming so much fuel that was already scarce. The Bockscar crew was able to see rivers, roads and parks, but not the Yahata ammunition arsenal—the target point— due to the heavy haze and smoke in Kokura.

Sweeny attempted to get closer to the target point three times. However, Japanese jetfighters began to attack the Bockscar. “At this point,” Tibbets, the chief pilot of the Enola Gay, later claimed, “the mission should have been scrubbed” (Correll 2005, 63). Sweeney instead headed for the secondary target city, Nagasaki.

At 10:58 A.M. the Bockscar reached over Nagasaki. Unlike Hiroshima, Nagasaki did not have a concentration area of military personal. It had Mitsubishi’s light and heavy industries in two separate complexes—one was the Mitsubishi shipyards close to the Nagasaki Bay and the

10 other housed arms factories in Urakami Valley. None of the factories in Nagasaki was, however, virtually functional as a result of the scarcity of materials and manpower. The visibility in

Nagasaki on August 9th was still poor due to the clouds. The Bocakscar crew were forbidden to rely on radar to bomb, so that the mission had to be commanded only visually. At this point, the crew considered returning to the American base in Okinawa because of the invisibility and the risk of running out of the fuel. However, if they did not use the bomb, they would have to ditch it at sea or bring it back to Okinawa. Moreover, if they brought it back to Okinawa, the bomb might get detonated on landing. Above all, according to Sweeney, they knew that ditching or bringing back the bomb would mean of wasting a tremendous amount of money and work of thousands of people involved in the Manhattan Project (Sweeney 1999). Commander Frederick

Ashworth, who was in charge of the second atomic bomb, made up his mind. He commanded the crew to drop it by radar.

Three minutes later, at 11:02 A.M., however, there was a slight break in the clouds. It was already too late to drop the bomb on the original target point in Nagasaki, the Tokiwa Bridge, which was located in the heart of Nagasaki’s commercial centre. Captain Kermit Beahan,

Bockscar’s Bombardier, had to quickly pick up a new aiming point in industrial Urakami valley.

He spoke up, “I’ve got it. I’ll take it now” (Marx 1971, 76). The second atomic bomb was released over Urakami. In his autobiography, Captain Sweeney recalled that as he turned his plane to escape the shock waves, he saw a multicolor cloud “rising faster than at Hiroshima” and it “seemed more intense, more angry” (The New York Times “Charles Sweeney, 84, Pilot in

Bombing of Nagasaki, Dies” July 19, 2004). Sweeney, the son of an Irish Catholic immigrant family, described the moment of his mission completed as the “greatest thrill” of his life

(Kogawa 2005).

While Tibbets’ flight with the Enola Gay has been recognized as a ‘textbook’ for U.S airmen and military historians since August 1945, Sweeney’s operation with the Bockscar has been severely criticized by his colleagues as a ‘failed’ operation over the last decades. Tibbets, who selected Sweeney for the chief pilot of the Bockscar back in 1945, was the harshest among them, condemning that Sweeney had jeopardized the possibility of a safe-return to Tinian with the bomb in case the mission had to be aborted because Sweeny waited at the rendezvous point too long. Tibbets said in an interview, “I didn’t have that much to do with Sweeney after

Nagasaki because he was the only bad mark on the whole 509th all the time it existed” (Coster-

Mullen, 2005). It seems that Bockscar’s mission was something American military personnel and experts would never be proud of, and would not want to remember, or be remembered.

Another disturbing but not well-known historical fact about the atomic bomb mission is that U.S President Harry S. Truman did not issue any specific order for the second atomic bombing (Ring and Watson 1996). After the bombing of Nagasaki, Truman ordered that no more atomic bombs were to be dropped without his express permission (ibid).

Immediately after the second atomic bombing, the American Christian church was divided in their response. While some church leaders accepted U.S President Harry S. Truman’s justification of the use of the bomb as the punishment for Japan’s surprise attack on Pearl

Harbour and the brutal treatment of Allied POWs and aggression in Asia, others were outraged that their government had annihilated the oldest and largest Catholic community in the Far East

(Grey 2002). George Zabelka, a Catholic Chaplain to the Atomic Bomb Mission Group on

Tinian Island in 1945, maintained his critical view towards U.S’s use of the atomic bombs, especially the second bomb, as follows:

The bombing of Nagasaki means even more to me than the bombing of Hiroshima. By August 9th, we knew what that bomb would do, but we still dropped it… We also knew – at least our leaders knew – that it was not necessary. The Japanese were already defeated. They were

already pursuing for peace. But we insisted on unconditional surrender, and this is even against the Just War Theory. Once the enemy is defeated, once the enemy is not able to hurt you, you must make peace. (Zabelka’s Speech on 40th anniversary of the atomic bombing in 1985)2

A historiographical analysis of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki reveals another glaring omission: the Soviet Union’s entry into the Asia and Pacific War. Several historians have contended that the Soviet’s declaration of war against Japan on August 8th was most decisive in the surrender of Imperial Japan (Alperovitz 1994; Kaneko 2007; Hasegawa 2007; Kimura 2010;

Stone and et al., 2014). According to the noted historians’ archival research in both Japan and the United States, the bombing of Hiroshima, while heightening the sense of urgency that the war come to an end, did not prompt Imperial Japan to take any immediate action. The Soviet

Union’s declaration of the war against Japan on August 8th, on the other hand, did.

Tsuyoshi Hasegawa (2007), a U.S.-based Japanese historian, asserts that the news of the second atomic bombing had no effect on Japan’s decision to surrender because the Japanese leadership had already shifted its discussion from whether or not they should surrender to how they ought to surrender by the time the second atomic bomb was released. U.S’s announcement on the use of the second atomic bomb over Japan dispelled the news and impact of the Soviet’s entry into the Asia and Pacific War (Hasegawa 2007; Stone and et al 2014). Moreover, the

Soviet’s entry into the Asia and Pacific War on August 9th has been almost completely ignored and excluded from most of American history textbooks to this day (Stone and et al 2014). In other words, what happened on August 8th and 9th of 1945 has been omitted from the dominant

American historiography. As a result, the Soviet’s entry into the Asia and Pacific War and

Nagasaki’s atomic bombing are almost absent in the collective memory of how the war was

2 Zabelka also criticized the response of a large segment of American Christian churches for teaching “something that Christ never taught or even hinted at, namely the Just War Theory, a theory that to me has been completely discredited theologically, historically and psychologically…. War for the Christian is always sacrilege. There is no such absurdity as a Christian ethic of justified sacrilege” (“Military Chaplain Repents,” Emmanuel Charles McCarthy, Lew Rockwell, April 13, 2007).

13 ended in the United States. As well, the assumption of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb history and

Bockscar’s mission as identical with or contained within Hiroshima-Enola Gay’s also obscures the fact that the second atomic bomb was dropped in the different historical moment of the Asia and Pacific War (Yoneyama 1999).

These historiographical lacunae suggest that the atomic bombing of Nagasaki was more than a repetition of the bombing of Hiroshima. The second atomic bomb was the new type of the nuclear weapon. It was a controversial political and military decision construed by many as a war crime. It was an act at the very least that was incompatible with the theory of just war. Finally, it was an act rendered meaningless by the Soviet Union’s declaration of war against Japan. Okuda

Hiroko (2010) points out that these contextualizing features of that military decision over the use of the second atomic bomb have been suppressed for the last decades because the decision to bomb Nagasaki was ethically, militarily, and politically indefensible.

Nagasaki’s low profile in the atomic bomb historiography, however, should not be reduced to serving exclusively an American political agenda. It has also helped shift our gaze away from the lingering legacy of Imperial Japan in contemporary Nagasaki. While it is known that Nagasaki was one of the pivotal cities in the Japanese war effort, it is largely ignored that

Nagasaki still remains as one of the largest manufacturing sites for military materials under the

Mitsubishi Heavy Industrial Corporation in contemporary Japan. Though Mitsubishi’s production of warships was briefly interrupted during the post-war period of American occupation and demilitarization policy of Japan, it resumed those operations as the Korean War broke out in 1950. As well, Nagasaki continues to monopolize the production of torpedoes at a factory in Urakami—the epicenter— in the contemporary period (Okuda 2010).

Nagasaki prefecture has also been firmly embedded within the U.S-Japan Security Treaty since the end of the war. The Mitsubishi Nagasaki Shipping Company built the first Japanese- made Aegis warship for the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force in 1991. It was equipped with an integrated naval weapons system developed by the Missile and Surface Rader technology that identifies and targets enemy installations, a technology originally built and used by the U.S.

Navy.3 The Aegis Combat System also allows the sharing of military-strategic information between the United States and Japan (U.S Defense Security Cooperation Agency, December 10,

2012).

Furthermore, Nagasaki has not ratified the Kobe Formula, a prohibition on the entrance of ships armed with nuclear weapons from entering the ratified Japanese port cities.4 Nagasaki’s absence in the list of the ratified Japanese cities means that the second atomic bomb city would allow nuclear missiles to freely enter its harbour. Nagasaki’s nonparticipation in the Kobe

Formula, the culmination of a concerted effort by Japanese civil groups and municipal governments to achieve a nuclear free world, may be accounted for by the presence of the third largest U.S. military base in Japan just 68 kilometers away from the epicenter. This U.S military base is located in Sasebo city within Nagasaki prefecture. The Nagasaki Airport also serves that

U.S military base as a point of entry into, and exit from Japan (Okuda 2010). Thus, writing

Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory means how one can illuminate the negative legacy of the past that continues to be practiced and ruled in contemporary Nagasaki and Japan. My dissertation takes on this issue—how Japan’s imperial and colonial legacy continues to be practiced as a way

3 Japan’s Maritime Self-Defense Force currently operates six Aegis equipped-destroyers. The Japanese government are now going to build other two by 2020. Each construction costs 150 million yen (approximately $1.5 billion). 4 The Kobe Municipal Assembly passed a resolution that would never allow any ships that carries nuclear weaponry to enter the Kobe harbour on March 18, 1975. This act taken by the Kobe citizens and municipal assembly was the demonstration of their defiance against U.S.-Japan military policy. This resolution is called the “Kobe Formula.” French, Indian and Italian naval vessels agreed to cooperate, but the U.S. Navy refused.

15 of legitimizing and maintaining the status quo and the postwar U.S-Japan relations, and how the remembrance of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory has been shaped by the rhetoric of sacrifice, forgiveness and reconciliation— by investigating the politics of memory surrounding the second atomic bombing. My dissertation is, therefore, a cultural memory study of Nagasaki’s atomic trauma and remembrance.

The cultural memory work refers to the cultural recall of particular past or narrative, which has been socially and psychically repressed and tabooed; “nonetheless impinge, sometimes fatally, on the present” (Bal 1999, vii). It is individual or/and collective performance through which the difficult moments of a past is mediated, reworked, reinterpreted and re- described by breaking the taboo that have long veiled the difficult past, and transporting the pastness of the memory to the part of the present. In his discussion on the cultural memory,

Mieke Bal (1999) opens up important questions as follows:

This presentness [of memory] raises the question of agency, of the active involvement of subjects—individual and collective, always situated in the cultural domain—who “do” the remembering; it also solicits reflection on the value of memory for the culture in which remembering “happens” and on the dangers of escapist nostalgia, self-aggrandizing monumentalism, or historical manipulation (Bal 1999, xv).

Therefore, the cultural memory work is not merely about the remembrance of the past. It is a mnemonic practice through which the memory is recollected, reworked, renewed and interacted with the present (Olick 2007). To understand the cultural memory work, one needs to ponder what part or issue of the present is emphasized, visualized or/and illuminated through their act of cultural recall because the cultural memory work is the product of the agency’s desire to let the past shape the present and future. It requires the one to examine what part of the past is remembered and represented, and what is obliterated or/and erased in the process of

16 remembering because, as Theodor Adorno (1986) posits, the practice of remembrance is always associated with the continuous oblivion and loss.

The atomic bombing of Nagasaki has never been, properly speaking, forgotten. The memory of the trauma, anchored in the phrase “Nagasaki prays,” has been cemented into the conception of Nagasaki as a “Christian city.” This is the point of leverage for the dominant discourse that has framed the majority of historical, cultural or political analyses of the event.

The idea of “Christian city Nagasaki” that “prays” still continued to be the primary reference of the representation and knowledge-production of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory and historical consciousness in the domestic and international media practice and academic literatures, which often frame the Christian aspect of the city as the only distinctive feature of Nagasaki from that of Hiroshima. However, as my dissertation unfolds, Nagasaki has a way more distinctive history, culture, society and political economy from Hiroshima, generating very different conditions of remembering their atomic trauma and postwar city reconstruction process between the two cities.

My dissertation traces the genealogy of the dominant discourses of “Nagasaki prays” and

“Christian city Nagasaki” by investigating how these discourses were produced and maintained through a process of exclusion of other atomic bomb discourses and erasure of the remnants of the bomb in order to understand what necessitated and naturalized Nagasaki’s self-effacing attitude in the historiography, media representation and popular imagination of the nuclear age.

By genealogy, I refer to Michel Foucault’s genealogical praxis, which is a form of historical analysis that looks at the past to investigate and uncover the complex relationship between knowledge, power, discourse and the human subject in modern society to understand the present

(Foucault 1979; Crowley 2009). Foucault therefore characterizes his genealogical project as writing “the history of the present” (Foucault 1979, 31). To practice genealogy, Foucault

17 proposes a critical examination of “local, discontinuous, disqualified, illegitimate knowledge against the claims of a unitary body of theory which would filter, hierarchies and order them in the name of some true knowledge and some arbitrary idea of what constitutes science and its objects” (ibid, 83). I demonstrate that the phrase “Nagasaki prays,” and the characterization of

Nagasaki as a “Christian city” were produced not to integrate their atomic trauma into the city’s identity and historical consciousness, but to construe Nagasaki’s atomic bomb victimization as a

‘redemptive sacrifice’ that has disciplined Nagasaki’s atomic bomb survivors into a silent player, while concealing certain features of the city’s past and present.

My dissertation, “God and the Atomic Bomb – Nagasaki’s Atomic Bomb Memory and

Politics of Sacrifice, Forgiveness and Reconciliation” does not intend to forward a religious or theological interpretation of the memory of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. Rather, it is meant to manifest my critical view and engagement with the dominant scholarly works around

Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory that are almost entirely within the realm of religious and theological interpretations (see Kogawa 2005; Miyamoto 2012; Wetmore 2002). Their scholarship on Nagasaki’s atomic bomb is legitimized by the large presence of Catholics in the city, which lost the significant number of their community members by the second atomic bombing, and by the influential book The Bells of Nagasaki (Nagasaki no kane) written by

Takashi Nagai, a Nagasaki Catholic doctor. Published in 1949, The Bells of Nagasaki produced a sanctified discourse on the use of the atomic bomb by interpreting the bombing as “God’s

Providence,” and calling its victims “God’s sacrificial lambs” (Nagai 1949). Nagai concluded that Nagasaki’s atomic bomb victims and destruction constituted the “redemptive sacrifice” made to God to end the war and atone for the sin of war, a sin for which all mankind was guilty.

This interpretation had a profound effect on the historical consciousness of both Nagasaki’s

Catholic community and the broader Japanese population. This interpretation has come to be referred to as “Nagai’s holocaust theory” (Nagai no Hansai setsu).

Nagai’s holocaust theory and so-called ‘sanctified’ discourse of the second atomic bombing have remained a nearly unchallenged for many years, and continues to be cited in

English-language scholarly works as the reference to account for Nagasaki residence and survivors’ seemingly self-effacing attitude. Some scholars even call Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse the guiding ethical principle for the atomic bomb survivors, referred as “hibakusha”

(atomic bomb-affected people). Yuki Miyamoto, a U.S-based religious scholar, argues that

Nagai’s theological interpretation of the atomic bombing is consistent with “fundamental

Christian, and specifically Catholic teaching, in its emphasis on the redemptive potentials of suffering and the call to critical self-reflection” (Miyamoto 2012, 134-135). She also claims that

Nagai’s understanding of himself as a ‘sinner’ is suggestive that he sought an “inclusive community embodying the ethics of reconciliation rather than retaliation” (ibid, 134) and concludes that Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse resonates with the ethics of the hibakusha, who consider themselves as sinners, too and seek only reconciliation to achieve the realization of a nuclear free world (Miyamoto 2012).

Similarly, Joy Kogawa, one of the most renowned Japanese-Canadian writers, advocates

Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing as universal ethics. She writes:

Dr. Nagai’s life was his question. Who had done this? Who had brought this catastrophe to Nagasaki? His answer was, that we had done it ourselves. We humans had created hell. We were responsible. These were not words of hatred, nor were they cries of despair. His message to the world was simple. “Love your neighbour as yourself.” This was the commandment contained in his faith. (Kogawa 2005, 133)

Indeed, Kogawa’s observation of Nagai’s discourse “there were not words of hatred, nor were they cries of despair” captures the characteristics of hiakusha’s testimony in general, of Nagasaki

Catholic hibakusha’s in particular. However, this universalized idea of ‘shared guilt,’ which can only be redeemed “through God in the cross of Jesus” (Metz 1980, 127), depoliticizes and dehistoricizes the specificity of each injustice and criminality of mass-slaughters and violence

(Hewitt 1994; Metz 1980). Japan’s war crimes and U.S’s use of the atomic bombing cannot be totalized into the ontological concept of “the sin of mankind.” As well, the universalization of the notion of guilt, sin(ners), and sacrifice in the context of the war and conflict only obscures the fact that there was (and is) absolutely no justification for the suffering of the victims of such violence (Hewitt 1994). Nagai’s so-called ‘sanctified’ atomic bomb discourse renders a justification to absolutely the unjustifiable victimization by calling it “redemptive sacrifice.”

My dissertation is an attempt to deconstruct the existing literature and privileged knowledge on Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory constructed through Nagai’s “holocaust theory” and associated discourses by tracing the memory, voice and subjectivities that have been silenced, marginalized, and obliterated by the dominant atomic bomb discourse, and excluded from the knowledge production of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory and historical consciousness. By deconstruction, I refer to analysis that inquires what is deemphasized, overlooked, or suppressed in a particular way of thinking or in a particular process of knowledge production. My work historicizes the transformation process of Nagasaki from the land of the Christian persecution into a “Christian city” in postwar years. It also explores how Nagasaki’s hibakusha and local actors had struggled with the culture of silence and taboo imposed by the dominant discourse

“Nagasaki prays,” popular image of the city as “Christian city” and Nagasaki’s particular political economic structure that has been ruled by Mitsubishi’s shipping and military industries.

In so doing, I illuminate that the self-effacing attitude of Nagasaki hibakusha and the low-profile of Nagasaki in the atomic bomb historiography are the product of not Nagasaki’s “Christian

20 culture,” but multiple political and economic interests within Nagasaki and between the United

States and Japan.

The title of my dissertation also calls the reader’s attention to the politics of the rhetoric of “sacrifice” that justifies the victimization as the necessary course of history for the betterment of future to obliterate the brutality, criminality, unspeakable memory and irredeemable injustice of the war, conflict and violence (Takahashi 2005). Nagai’s apologists assert that his interpretation of the atomic bombing, including the idea of “redemptive sacrifice,” is apolitical and has to be read, understood and appreciated within the Christian teaching (Kataoka 1996;

Motojima 2000; Miyamoto 2012). However, they ignore the fact that Nagai’s so-called theological interpretation of the atomic bombing coincides with U.S-Japan sanctioned master narrative of the Asia and Pacific War, which proposes that it was ended by U.S’s atomic bombing to save millions of lives. As my dissertation will explore, the rhetoric of sacrifice has been constantly mobilized by multiple actors in Japan and the United States to justify the victimization as the necessary course of history in order to pursue particular interests, such as the justification of U.S’s use of the atomic bombing, postwar U.S-Japan relations, and of Japan’s development of nuclear energy.

The title of my dissertation was the product of the inspiration I received from the

Nagasaki Broadcasting Company (NBC)’s documentary “God and the Atomic Bomb—Urakami

Catholic hibakusha’s last fifty-five years” (Kami to Genbaku—Urakami Katoric hibakusha no

55 nen) broadcasted in Nagasaki in 2000, and my observation of the struggle of Nagasaki hibakusha and local actors with Nagai’s influence and keeping the faith. The NBC’s documentary depicts how Nagai’s theological interpretation of the atomic bombing has shaped the historical consciousness of Urakami Catholic hibakusha. In one of the scenes within the

21 documentary, one female Urakami Catholic hibakusha is quietly watching the local TV news about U.S’s nuclear test. The viewer sees only her face and her gaze turning towards the TV screen, in which an anchorperson is speaking of the U.S’s announcement that the purpose of the nuclear test was to examine the “safety” and “reliability” of U.S’s nuclear weapons. Her face, a half of which is covered by the keloid, seems impassive. But, she bites her lip as if holding back her cry. After the news, she offers a prayer to God. Then, she utters:

I did have anger inside of me directed at America. But, all what I could do was to seek the support of God and pray to him to keep me alive another day and give me the strength to survive tomorrow. I am still angry, but there is nothing I can do. I can’t join a movement or cry out in protest. All we can do as part of our [Catholic] teaching is to pray for peace. That is all we can do in our position, no matter how angry we may be. (Quoted from the documentary “God and the Atomic Bomb” Kami to Genbaku 2000)

Her voice provokes multiple questions. What has prevented her Catholic community from joining and crying out in the antinuclear protest? Why have the Urakami/Nagasaki Catholic leaders taught their fellow hibakusha only to pray for peace, while Catholic leaders in other parts of the world have been fighting along with the survivors and victims’ families of the state- authorized violence to search for truth and justice? Nagasaki hibakusha, including those from the

Catholic community, have begun to leave the trace of what they have never fully expressed, with a hope that future generation will discover in their own way what they could not say. How could we respond to their call? What language would be available for us to fill their silence without mastering their trauma? What practice of remembrance of the atomic bombing can help us to articulate the problem in our time and act against the multiple forms of violence and injustices in our contemporary moment? These questions are what I contemplate throughout my dissertation.

My project does not offer a comparative study of the two atomic bomb cities in Japan.

Yet, Hiroshima will unavoidably stands as the crucial point of reference for the study of

Nagasaki as it enables an articulation of the concerned issues that underscore the distinctive

22 nature of Nagasaki’s remembrance and oblivion, and commemoration and representation practices of the atomic bombing. The large volume of the existing studies on Hiroshima’s atomic memory practice and experience has explored multiple issues regarding U.S’s continued effort to maintain its superior power of nuclear détente, the Japanese collective memory of their atomic victimhood as well as the collective amnesia of their colonial, imperial past and aggression. The academic literature on Hiroshima also serves as an inspirational point de depart for my research on Nagasaki. For instance, given the keenness with which the citizens of Hiroshima began mobilizing a movement against nuclear weaponry following the end of the Asia and Pacific War, what accounts for the long delay for an antinuclear movement to be mobilized in Nagasaki?

While Hiroshima’s Atomic Dome has been preserved as the icon of the nuclear destruction and become the UNESCO World Heritage Site, why is there almost no single ruin that marks

Nagasaki as the atomic bomb city? And perhaps most importantly, the very existence of

Hiroshima as the powerful symbol of Japan’s atomic victimhood and the opening of the nuclear age provokes an examination of what have normalized the absence of Nagasaki in the remembrance of the atomic bombing both in Japan and abroad.

1. Methodology

1.1. The Field Research in Nagasaki

My research is comprised primarily of archival research of local, national, and American print media, declassified governmental documents, documentaries, personal essays, and the collection of testimonies of the hibakusha. The crucial primary sources for my research were those obtained in Nagasaki. Many of those materials were only locally circulated and are no longer in print. I was also given materials by the family members of the deceased Nagasaki

23 hibakusha and human rights lawyers who had learned about my research from local newspapers, acquaintances, friends, and Nagasaki-based journalists.5 Some of the essays and diaries were left incomplete by the authors. Those silent materials constantly remind me that the history is radically fragmented; and the task of tracing the memory always remains incomplete.

I also attended workshops and hibakusha public testimonials organized by local human rights groups and a public historian during my stay in Nagasaki.6 I also met with Nagasaki-based journalists who came to the workshop to cover the event. In turn, they learnt about my research, and suggested that I meet with other journalists, hibakusha and local activist groups. In this way,

I was granted access to expanding local network of hibakusha’s groups, activists and public historians that spoke to Nagasaki’s history, culture and atomic bomb memory.

Instead of employing an interview with a recording device, I engaged a dialogue as one- on-one affair with dozens of individuals in Nagasaki. At the end of the day, or right after a meeting, I took notes as a way of documenting and reflecting the conversation I exchanged with each individual. I opted this methodology after I had realized that some individuals, especially

(former) Nagasaki city officials, tended to speak more freely without a recording device.7

Several of those individuals I met and talked with were city-registered kataribe (storytellers) of

Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory, called “peace-guides” (heiwa-annainin). I walked through

Nagasaki’s ground zero with the kataribe over and over again during my stay in Nagasaki. The

5 In June 2008, I was interviewed by a journalist from the Nagasaki-branch Mainichi Shinbun. My interview was published in Mainichi Shibun’s Nagasaki local section on August 9th, 2008. 6 I conducted a field research in Nagasaki and Hiroshima in 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2014 through the University of Toronto Graduate Studies Travel Fund, the Ontario Graduate Scholarship and Doctoral Fellowship from the Canada Social Science and Humanities Research Council. It accumulated 86 days in total. 7 In 2009 and 2010, I created a consent letter approved by Dr. Roger I. Simon, my previous supervisor, both in English and Japanese. I asked each interviewee to sign a consent letter after submitting the transcription of their statements to each interviewee. Some Nagasaki officials signed the letter with a condition of deleting some comments they made. Some other officials began to speak about Nagasaki’s commemoration practice only after I turned off the recording device. Through these experiences, I decided not to use a recording device, but take journal notes.

24 peace guides were stationed at the entrance of the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum. Most of them were Nagasaki hibakusha. Many of them were former school teachers.

Typically, the kataribe guide groups of schoolchildren and teachers through the Peace

Park. The duration of these tours are strictly regulated. Moreover, the katribe are directed by the city administration to limit their accounts to the atomic bombing because, according to the city administration’s policy, their testimony ought to remain politically neutral. I asked the peace- guides to walk through the park at their own pace. Some of them even offered to walk with me through Urakami, the former atomic wasteland, which extends outside the park area. They explained to me what used to be in Urakami prior to the bombing, how it was destroyed, and how its remnants were discarded during the postwar reconstruction. I also learnt from them that about one in four of the atomic bomb survivors, including orphans, committed suicide in the first few decades after the bombing.8 One female hibakusha, who became an atomic orphan at the age of 10, told her audience that many of them had jumped in front of a train, including her younger sister.9

This tour also often incited my peace-guides to disclose their own personal accounts of the atomic bomb memory. Some described how they had actively repressed the desire to give voice to their bitterness and hatred, though without revealing to whom or to what those feelings were directed. Others said that they had never described in detail what they had actually witnessed in ground zero. They all described their efforts to ensure that anyone with whom they spoke were comfortable being exposed to their testimony. They often restrain the scope of their testimony in an effort not to undermine their primary goal, advocating for the abolition of

8 This story about those who killed themselves seems to be commonly shared among Nagasaki hibakusha (see, for instance, Yokote 2010). However, the exact number is still, and will never be, known. 9 Mrs. Shimohira Sakue’s public oral testimony on August 8, 2010 in Nagasaki.

25 nuclear weaponry. To achieve this goal, their witness accounts have to be heard and comprehensible.

One Nagasaki male kataraibe once offered to guide me to the Nagasaki National

Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims, where a great number of photographs of deceased victims and testimonies were archived. He stopped at the archival collection section and showed me one testimony in particular that reads, “I have nothing to say other than that I wished I had died on that day” (an anonymous male hibakusha). Nagasaki’s kataribe constantly reminded me of the silence of their fellow hibakusha and the impossibility of mastering the atomic bomb memory. They pose a question of how I could remember and represent the silence and remnants left by those who are no longer there. This question becomes even more acute when we encounter the memory of Koreans, Chinese and other non-Japanese national victims, many of whom were not even able to speak Japanese, and died without being heard.

1.2 Thinkers informing my ethics of historiography: Walter Benjamin and Roger I. Simon

There are two thinkers who have constantly pressed upon me the question of my own responsibility in excavating, writing and representing the memory of absent others: Walter

Benjamin and Roger I. Simon. Both thinkers call out to us to place ourselves in the service of the dead, and to contemplate our pedagogical response to past sufferings and irredeemable deaths to capture the residual impact of the past on the present. Benjamin’s texts offer me the means of excavating the past, particularly in the passage below:

Modest methodological proposal for the cultural-historical dialectic…The very contours of the positive element will appear distinctly only in so far as this element is set off against the negative. On the other hand, every negation has its value solely as background for the delineation of the lively, the positive. It is therefore of decisive importance that a new partition be applied to this initially excluded, negative components so that, by a displacement of the angle of vision (but not of the criteria!), a positive element emerges anew in it too—something different from what was

previously signified. And so on, ad infinitum, until the entire past is brought into the present in a historical apocatastasis. (Benjamin, The Arcades Project, Nla 2002)

Benjamin used this distinctive methodology for historical dialectic in his other texts, using different allegories and images, such as “constellations.” But, the passage above probably most articulates his key notions of “historical materialism” and “redemption” of the past and present.

According to Benjamin, any positive, lively component of a historical event or the memory of such an event can become visible and tangible only through the invisible, negative, and intangible elements of the same past that delineates the background against which those positive elements shine. All the negative or forgotten elements of our past have significance because they can provide for the possibility of an alternative interpretation of that past and an alternative course for history. They are forgotten, but not disappeared, waiting for their being reawaken and recovered from oblivion. Benjamin calls out to us to resurrect those abandoned, forgotten fragments of our past into the “constellations” of meanings in the present. He enjoins us to repeat this work until “the entire past is brought into the present.” Benjamin designates this memory work as the task of the “historical materialism” (Benjamin 1968, 253).

For historical materialism, the past is not finished, but always remains open to the present and to the praxis of politics as a disruption of the status quo that continuously reproduces violence and injustice. The task of the historical materialist is to rescue what has been obliterated and subjugated by “history within the self-serving perspective of the victors” (Hewitt 1994, 81) and bring the recovered memory and voice into the present to reconfigure an alternative history to create new possibilities for the contemporary moment. This is what Benjamin calls the

“redemption” of the past and present.

To redeem the past and present, the historical materialist inevitably elicits the barbaric features of the culture and society. As Benjamin wrote: “There is no cultural document that is not

27 at the same time a record of barbarism” (Benjamin 1968, 257). Marsha Hewitt elaborates

Benjamin’s notion of redemption and task of historical materialism as follows:

The “fullness of past” is not recovered by trying to integrate it into the flow of historical continuity, where it becomes absorbed by the totalizing power of master narratives (the narrative of the masters and victors) and thus falsified; rather redemption becomes possible in arresting the historical continuum by blasting “a specific era out of the homogenous course of history—blasting a specific life out of the era or a specific work out of the lifework.”10 The “reawakening” of the past occurs through a cognitive shock that results when the horrors of past brutality and exploitation are made visible. (Hewitt 1994, 78)

Therefore, Benjamin’s notion of redemption starkly differs from its theological instantiation as the former can be achieved only through our encounter and solidarity with the obliterated past and forgotten victims, not with an external or material ‘redeemer,’ or in the name of God. In other words, there is no redemption and hope for present and future in the absence of the memory of anonymous oppressed ancestors (Hewitt 1994).

Simon extends Benjamin’s reflection, describing the remnants of a traumatic past as a

“terrible gift” (Simon 2000; 2005). Profoundly influenced by Benjamin’s thought on the remnants of memory and Emanuel Levinas’ notion of the ethics for the Other,11 Simon prods us towards an ethical encounter with the other, and towards a translation of the remnants of the past into our time. Simon’s construal of an ethical engagement with the past proved invaluable to me when confronted with the partial or incomplete records of the deceased, and unexpected, intimate disclosures of Nagasaki hibakusha. Those fragmented materials require my self-conscious voice, reflection and thoughts to be gathered and translated into the present. In this way, my practice of remembrance introduces the discontinuity between the past and the present to articulate my own

10 Benjamin, Illuminations 1968a, p. 263. 11 Mario Di Paolantocnio (2014) engages in Simon’s works and his pedagogical philosophy, and how Benjamin and Levinas influenced and shaped Simon’s thought on the historical memory, more precisely afterlife of memory. Di Paolantonio cites a passage from Levinas’s “Meaning and Sense” as it echoes with Simon’s call for remembering the past as a way of engaging the present: “To be for a time that would be without me, for a time after my time, over and beyond the famous ‘being for death,’ is not an ordinary thought which is extrapolating my own duration; it is the passage to the time of the other” (Levinas 1996, p. 50 cited from Di Paolantonio 2014).

28 relationship with the history of the atomic bombing in this particular time-space, but still pursues the “point of connection” (Simon 2000, 12) with the historical memory through the practice of remembrance, and a sense of solidarity with the marginalized and forgotten past. Through this act, I also try to fulfil the promise of its afterlife by bringing them into the present. The works of

Benjamin and Simon were constant reminders not to erase the alterity of what I held in hand, and that which I sought to share and understand with my readers. The works of these two thinkers encouraged me to produce not a new dominant discourse, but a discourse that recognizes the multiplicity, intersubjectivity, and incompleteness of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb history and memory, and to renew meaning and significance of the past and present.

However, it is not my reading of Benjamin and Simon that endowed me with the opportunity to write Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory in the present time. Rather, it is my encounter with Nagasaki’s commemoration space, with the people of Nagasaki who have practiced in their own way what I will here describe as Benjamin’s and Simon’s ethics of historiography and remembrance. The following visits the site of Nagasaki’s contested memory space.

2. Standing at Ground-Zero—the Memory Space of Nagasaki’s Historical Materialism

Ground zero of the Nagasaki atomic bombing is located approximately 2.5 kilometers north of Nagasaki Central Station. The space is now called “Nagasaki Peace Park,” and is divided into the zone of hope, the zone of study and the zone of prayer. The zone of hope, located 100 meters north of the hypocenter, houses Nagasaki’s largest atomic memorial monument built on August 8th, 1955. Officially named “Statue for Peace Memorial,” it is

29 typically referred to as the “Prayer for Peace” (‘Heiwa Kinen-zo’ photograph 1). This immense

9.7 meter-high bronze statue is built at the far end of the Peace Park.

Photograph 1: Nagasaki’s Prayer for Peace (Photographed by Otsuki)

The sculptor of the “Prayer for Peace” was a Nagasaki-native artist, Kitamura Seibou.

According to the Nagasaki City Tourism Guide published by Nagasaki city, the statue was created to serve as a symbol of Nagasaki’s desire for peace, as well as the divine love and mercy of the Buddha. Kitamura called this immense figure a “silent prayer for the souls of the atomic bomb victims” (Nishi Nihon Shinbun, August 9, 2002) and described that the statue’s raised right hand points to the heavens to signify the threat of atomic weapons, while the horizontally raised left arm represents the wish for peace. However, few viewers could identify any features of the statue reminiscent of typical representations of the Buddha. It looks a great deal more like a

Western warrior triumphantly showing his muscular body with little sign of damage inflicted by the atomic bombing.

Since its construction in August 1955, Nagasaki’s annual atomic bomb memorial ceremony has been held in front of this giant peace statue to which local, national, and international officials and attendants offer prayers in memory of the victims. However, many of

Nagasaki hibakusha, local residents, and Christian and Buddhist religious leaders have refused to acknowledge this statue as the symbol of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory or ‘peace.’ They describe it as an ‘idol,’ and offer instead a prayer at the monument located in the zone of prayer on August 9th of every year.

The zone of prayer is located at the center of Peace Park, the epicenter of the explosion.

Nagasaki locals call the site “Hypocenter Park” (Bakushin-Koen). The northernmost section of the zone of prayer hosts a 6.6-meter-high black pillar called the “Nagasaki Atomic Bomb

Hypocentre Monument” (Nagasaki Genbaku Rakka Chushin-Hi). It was built in 1956, and marks ground zero of the atomic bomb blast. This triangular-shape-hypocenter monument (photograph

2) is enclosed with a white-concentric circle line. Every day, locals stop and offer a prayer at the monument. It is also common to see school children sit down on the ground around the hypocentre monument and listen to peace-guides recite their witness accounts. When I visited

Nagasaki in August 2010, thousands of paper cranes and fresh flowers were placed around the monument.

Photograph 2: Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Hypocentre Monument (Photographed by Otsuki)

10 meters east of the hypocenter monument, a burnt brick wall stands alone (photograph 3).

Photograph 3: A burnt wall of the Urakami Cathedral (Photographed by Otsuki)

The wall is the last remnant of the Urakami Cathedral, which was struck by the atomic bomb on

August 9th, 1945, and dismantled in March 1958. However, few tourists will fully understand what this burnt wall signifies as it is detached from the ruins and historical context.

Opposite the hypocentre monument and the partial ruin of the Urakami Cathedral is a statue of a 9 meter-high female-figure (photograph 4). The figure depicted by the statue wears a pleated dress decorated with gold leaf roses and holds an injured infant in her arms. Her eyes are

32 closed; her cheeks are plump; her hair is wavy. It also seems as though she has a faint smile, which may remind some viewers of the Christian icon of the Madonna and Child.

Photograph 4: Statue of the Mother and Child (Photographed by Otsuki)

Officially, the statue is named “Mother and Child: Monument of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Atomic Bombing of Nagasaki” (commonly called ‘Boshi-zo’ in Nagasaki). It was built in

July 1997 by Tominaga Naoki, another Nagasaki native sculptor. Tominaga was the student of

Kitamura and helped his professor sculpt “Prayer for Peace” in the 1950s. Just as Kitamura’s statue, Tominaga’s Mother and Child was commissioned and financed by the city administration.

Tominaga described the statue representing not only the women and children who survived the atomic blast, but also “the various kinds of Gods embracing Japan” (Nagasaki Shinbun, July 17,

1997). He also stated that, “Japan has recovered from the devastation and become a prosperous country thanks to international aid” (ibid).

Initially, the Nagasaki city administration intended to remove the hypocenter monument and replace it with Tominaga’s Mother and Child statue. However, this plan was met with a fierce opposition from local civil groups and hibakusha associations. They criticized the statue as representing nothing of their memory of the atomic bombing or lives of hibakusha, and demanded the cancelation of the city’s plan. They cried out, “This is the place for the deceased hibakusha!” (Nagasaki Shinbun, July 17th, 1997). When these citizen groups discovered that the administration had no intention of changing its plan, they sued the city, claiming that the construction of the statue was an illegal use of tax revenue on the basis that it was contrary to the will of Nagasaki citizens. Though the court dismissed their claim, the city decided that it would not remove the hypocenter statue. Instead, they erected Tominaga’s statue in the periphery of the zone of prayer. The unveiling ceremony was surrounded by hibakusha armed with microphones crying out for the removal of the statue.

I once witnessed a peace-guide telling the group of schoolchildren about the bombing with his back turned to the statue. Only after he had finished telling the story did he point to the statue as the city administration obliged. His posture and behaviour seemed to reject even the sight of the statue. On August 9th, 2010, few of the locals stopped at the statue to offer a prayer, and not a single flower or paper crane was placed at the Mother and Child statue.

While Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park effectively distributes the symbols of world peace, Nagasaki’s Peace Park may evoke the sense of absence or void. The statues of Kitamura and Tominga seem to have been dropped arbitrarily. The brawny two arms of Kitamura’s statue in the zone of hope point nowhere; and, though its face points towards ground zero, its eyes are

34 closed. The Atomic Bomb Hypocentre Monument, the burnt wall of the Urakami Cathedral and

Tominaga’s statue in the zone of prayer are placed at its periphery and away from one another.

The result is that the center of ground zero itself is vastly empty. This emptiness evoked in me some Nagasaki hibakusha accounts of the countless charred bodies, including those of women holding infants and young children, were scattered at ground-zero; most of the bodies were no longer identifiable as human; and after the war, the American occupying force buried these remnants of people, of thousands of people, with a bulldozer. One female hibakusha account resonated most, “Remember, you are walking over the remnants of thousands of victims,” who perpetually remain buried in anonymity.12

Standing by Nagasaki’s ground zero, I recalled the testimony of a former municipal civil servant who had been involved in the renewal of Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum in 1996.13 He recounted that many hibakusha had described ground zero as a “world as void” (Mu no sekai).

The attempt to create such a mise-en-scene was one of the most difficult tasks the curators faced.

They eventually chose to project a faint metallic sound through the first part of the museum. The absence of any monument in the center of Nagasaki’s ground zero is not accidental. It signifies the hibakusha and civil resistance to any attempt to settle or master the remembrance and representation of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory by monumentalizing their suffering, thousands of death, as a ‘redemptive sacrifice’ for peace and Japan’s postwar prosperity.

The zone of study houses the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum and the Nagasaki

National Peace Memorial Hall for the Victims of the Atomic Bomb. From the zone of study, visitors can walk down towards the zone of prayer. On the path to the zone of prayer, lay several

12 This statement was made by Shimohira Sakue, a Nagasaki atomic bomb survivor. I had a chance to attend her public testimony in Nagasaki on August 8, 2010. 13 I would like to express my gratitude to Tasaki Noboru, the retired civil servant of Nagasaki city’s peace administration department. Tasaki also provided me with invaluable accounts on the renewal of Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum, and Nagasaki’s history and politics.

35 monuments. One of them is called “Peace Statue: Mothers and Children” (Heiwa no Boshi-zo)

(Photographs 5).

Photograph 5: Mothers and Children (Photographed by Otsuki)

A group of Nagasaki women, largely comprised of female hibakusha, commissioned the monument on August 1st, 1987. The monument was created by an Okinawan sculptor, Kinjyo

Minoru. This group of Nagasaki women consigned the Okinawan sculpture as a way to manifest their distinctive remembrance of the atomic bombing and the Asia and Pacific War. Kinjyo has been renowned for his relief that depicts the scene of a mass suicide that took place during the

Battle of Okinawa (April to June 1945). During the battle, a number of Okinawan residents rushed to their deaths, many of them were holding the bodies of the dead infants and children, while American soldiers called on them to surrender. The Japanese Army forced these

Okinawans to commit suicide because they refused them the right of surrender.

This female citizen group called “Nagasaki Peace Association of the Monument of

Mothers and Children (Nagasaki Heiwa no Boshi-zo o taterukai)” made a formal declaration, engraved into two small black stones next to the monument, in both Japanese and English:14

The women at home prayed for victory as their men departed for the battlefields. But, then, the blood of countless peoples was shed on the vast continents and the far away islands. Finally, in 1945 as the war escalated, it brought the tragedies of the Okinawa islands followed by the inhuman atomic bomb attacks over Hiroshima on the 6th and Nagasaki on the 9th of August.

Ah! On that unforgettable day, in an instantaneous blast of indescribable heat, the bodies of tens of thousands of men and women, mothers and children were hideously torn and burnt to death.

After more than forty years, the agony continues even yet. Danger signs of a second nuclear war permeate our very existence. The earth stands at the brink of total oblivion.

We must not allow any more war! Nor the use of atomic weapons! Let us guard our precious green earth and preserve all life of every kind.

We erect this relief, still hearing the bursting cries on that day of each of those women long silenced in death. Bringing together all the turmoil from the depths of their tortured hearts and minds, we pledge ourselves never to repeat that disaster.

Unlike the most of the memorial monuments for the war victims elsewhere, “Mothers and

Children” was not built to comfort the souls of the deceased, or to evoke sympathy or empathy from the viewers. It was erected to remind the viewers of the Japanese military aggressions throughout Asia and the forced mass suicide of Okinawans, all of which have been marginalized, ignored, suppressed and obliterated from the dominant representation of Japanese history in textbooks and from the nation’s collective memory. The statue was erected to historicize the atomic bombing as the result of the horrid culmination of war crimes and atrocities, instead of detaching the atomic bomb history from the context of the Asia and Pacific War.

The Mothers and Children statue reminded me of the Angel of history described in

Walter Benjamin’s Theses on the Philosophy of History, in which Benjamin wrote: “his eyes are

14 Nagasaki Peace Association of the Monument of Mothers and Children was dissolved in August 2007 as many of the members had passed way, and the rest are also aged. Nagasaki YMCA is now responsible for the maintenance of the monument today.

37 staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread…and his face is turned towards the past”

(Benjamin 1968, 257). What transfixed the Angel’s eyes is the debris of the catastrophes of human history. The Angel wants to dwell in the ruins of the past to “awaken the dead” (ibid), who are waiting for their resurrection by, and into the present. The Angel wants to gather the debris to illuminate the past as a possibility for changing the course of history, and reveal the route from the past to the present. The Angel, however, cannot remain amidst the ruins because:

…a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress. (Benjamin, Theses on the Philosophy of History IX, 1968, 257)

For Benjamin, “progress” means the production of further catastrophes. It is the justification and normalization of those catastrophes, posited as the necessary conditions of a better future. Like the notion of sacrifice, the idea of “progress” is an attempt to mend the ruptures of history and redeem an irredeemable past for the sake of an empty future. The women in Kinjyo’s statue, who are tightly holding the children in their arms in flame, overlapped the image of the Angel of history within my consciousness.

At the same time, though this statue takes up the challenge and task that Benjamin believes history sets before us, the women and children in the statue seem to refuse any rescue or redemption. They seem rather determined to remain in the midst of the horror not to be totalized into the notion of necessary sacrifice, or absorbed into another dominant narrative and eventually forgotten. By exposing to the viewer their continual suffering, the group of Nagasaki female hibakusha demonstrate their refusal to be labelled merely as the victims. Rather, they emphasize the agency and their active struggle to fight against the patriarchal status quo along those

38 deceased anonymous women and children by evoking the imminent threat of another human catastrophe.

There is another monument on the same slope. This monument is dedicated to the Korean victims of the atomic bombing who had been forced by Japan to labour in Mitsubishi’s military industries, mines and on construction projects in Nagasaki (photograph 6). In the early 1970s, a group of Nagasaki citizens raised funds to build a monument in recognition of the still nameless

Korean colonial subjects who were killed by the atomic bombing in Nagasaki. The monument was erected on August 9th, 1979.

Photograph 6: Memorial Dedicated for Korean Atomic Bomb Victims (Courtesy of Oka Masaharu Nagasaki Peace Memorial Museum)

There is also a monument dedicated to all of those killed during WWII (Photograph 7).

The monument is dedicated to one such victim, Father Maximilian Kolbe, who built the first

39 monastery in Nagasaki. He died in the concentration camp at Auschwitz in 1941.15 It was built on December 8th, 1980.

Photograph 7: Monument for All the Foreign Victims of WWII (Photographed by Otsuki)

The most recent monument placed in the park is dedicated to thirty-three Chinese atomic bomb victims who had been forced to work in Mitsubishi factories as a disposable labour while imprisoned in the Uramaki prison (Photograph 8). This 1.9 meter high and 1.2 meter wide monument was built in July 2008 by a Nagasaki civil group in defiance of the ruling of the

Nagasaki District Court that had dismissed the demand of the families of those Chinese victims of Imperial Japan and U.S’s atomic bombing for an official apology and reparation from the government of Japan and Mitsubishi Corporation in March 2007. The monument was also built to respond to the families’ will of the construction of a monument for their deceased ancestors in

15 During WWII, Kolbe provided shelter to refugees from Poland, including 2 000 Jewish people whom he hid from Nazi persecution in his friary in Niepokalanów. On February 17th, 1941, he was arrested by the German Gestapo and imprisoned in the Pawiak prison. He was then transferred to Auschwitz on May 25th. In July 1941, a man from Kolbe’s barracks disappeared, provoking an SS-officer to pick 10 men from the same barracks to be starved as a means of discouraging any further escape attempts. Kolbe volunteered to take the place of one of those ten. While in his cell, Kolbe encouraged the other 9 men to sing and pray. After three weeks, only Kolbe and three others remained alive. Kolbe was eventually killed by an injection of carbolic acid.

Nagasaki. This memorial monument for the Chinese victims is not to symbolize the abstract, universal notion of peace or war, but to remind the visitors of the specific crimes committed by

Imperial Japan and Mitsubishi upon the particular nationality as well as the indiscriminate mass, total slaughter committed by the United States at this site.

Photograph 8: Monument Dedicated for 33 Chinese Hibakusha (Photographed by Otsuki)

These four monuments – Mothers and Children, Monument for Korean Victims,

Monument for all Foreign National Victims, and Monument for the Chinese Victims – were erected by groups of Nagasaki citizens in order to ensure that the specific aggressions and atrocities committed by both Japan and the United States are not forgotten. The cost of all the four statues were paid by private donations collected from local, national, and international supporters. This disposition towards the memory of the war, however, remains an anomaly in

Nagasaki. Despite the efforts of these groups of citizens, the memory of Japan’s colonial subjects remains largely confined to a few areas of Peace Park. This dissertation brings the historical materials Nagasaki’s memory communities gathered into constellation to explore what

Nagasaki’s historical materialists have been trying to recover from the oblivion, and calling out to us to receive, translate and transmit to the present.

****

Chapter 1, “The Kaleidoscopic City of Nagasaki” aims at deconstructing the dominant representation of Urakami—ground-zero of the second atomic bomb explosion—as the “home of

Catholics” by delineating the highly fragmented configuration of Urakami and Nagasaki city prior to and immediately after August 9, 1945. I map out the multiple identities and subjectivities in Nagasaki in order to draw out the disparate elements that together constituted the space of

Urakami/Nagasaki and shaped its peculiar history, culture and social stratification. Revealing these groups as constituent features of Urakami serves to problematize the privileged knowledge of Urakami as the “home of Catholics,” and, consequently, the dominant discourses of “Nagasaki prays” and “Christian city Nagasaki.”

Chapter 2, “The GHQ, Takashi Nagai, and the Atomic Bomb as God’s Providence,” explores the political climate that framed the publication and distribution Nagai’s book, The

Bells of Nagasaki (1949). I explore how Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing contributed to the consolidation of the American sanctioned dominant atomic bomb discourse that depicted nuclear weaponry as the moral agent that ended the war and saved the lives of millions of Americans, Japanese and other Asian nationals. I also examine how Nagai’s redemptive narrative served to legitimize the maintenance of the emperor and stabilize the

Japanese moral identity in postwar years. I argue that Nagai’s discourse of redemptive sacrifice dissolved the sense of the responsibility in both the United States and Japan for their war crimes, and served to the disintegration of the notion of justice from the historical consciousness and historical discourse of the atomic bombing and Asia and Pacific War among the both nations. In

42 this chapter, I also engage the theological notion of sacrifice to critically inquire Nagai’s holocaust theory and Nagai’s apologists’ justification of it.

Chapter 3, “The Reconstruction of Nagasaki into an ‘International Cultural City’ from the

1950s to 1970s,” explores the political background that shaped Nagasaki’s 1949 self-designation of its postwar identity as an “International Cultural City” vis-à-vis Hiroshima, which identified itself as a “Peace Memorial City.” I then proceed to expose the violent features of the postwar reconfiguration process of Nagasaki from the land of Christian persecution to a Christian city by documenting the forceful demolition of the Buraku community, a lower caste comprised of descendants of Japan’s feudal era, who had resided in Urakami since the nineteenth century. The liquidation of the Buraku community in postwar Nagasaki signifies the lingering legacy of

Japanese feudalism in the city. I also demonstrate how the resurgence of the Mitsubishi and construction of Kitamura’s statue of “Peace Prayer” embodied the revival of the Japanese imperial dreams by effectively renaming themselves ‘peace’ in the post-U.S occupation period.

Chapter 4, “The Politics of Reconstruction and Reconciliation in U.S-Japan Relations—

Dismantling the Atomic Bomb Ruins of Nagasaki’s Urakami Cathedral” traces the historical process of the debate over the fate of the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral and investigates the politics surrounding the dismantlement of the ruins in 1958. Nagasaki’s debate over the fate of the ruins of the cathedral took place exactly during the period where the remembrance of the atomic bombing as the human catastrophe and the discourse of the nuclear energy as “Atoms for

Peace” got entangled with each other within the Japanese public discourse and consciousness. I demonstrate how the United States worked to suppress the Japanese antinuclear sentiment erupted by the Lucky Dragon #5 Incident in March 1954 by vigorously promoting the notion of the peaceful use of nuclear energy, while disseminating the narrative of “healing, reconstruction,

43 reconciliation and mutual forgiveness” between the two countries through various kinds of cultural exchanges between American and Japanese citizens. The ruins of the Urakami Cathedral were dismantled to symbolize this narrative of “reconciliation, reconstruction and forgiveness” between the United States and Japan. It then proceeds to discuss Nagasaki’s memory work activated by the photographic images of the ruins of the cathedral over the last decade. This chapter appeared with the same title “The Politics of Reconstruction and Reconciliation in U.S-

Japan Relations—Dismantling the Atomic Bomb Ruins of Nagasaki’s Urakami Cathedral in The

Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus (Vol. 13, Issue 32, No. 2) in August 2015.

The final chapter, “Remembering the Colonial Memory—Korean Atomic Bomb Victims in Nagasaki,” sheds light on local memory communities’ remembrance of the colonial memory in Nagasaki from the 1960s. In particular, I look into how Oka Masaharu, a pastor as well as

Nagasaki city councilman, sought the atonement for his sin— sin of betraying God by worshipping Emperor and supporting Japan’s imperialism and colonialism that enslaved and killed a significant number of Asians—by fighting against the Japanese government and

Japanese collective amnesia in order to restore the dignity and human rights of the Korean victims. The chapter then proceeds to discuss how Oka’s commitment to recover the forgotten

Korean atomic bomb victims from the oblivion has been taken over by Han Susan, a South

Korean novelist, who retells, represents and translates the fragmented memory of the Korean atomic bomb victims Oka had gathered, collected and documented into the public historical memory in the form of the first Korean atomic bomb literature entitled Crows. Through closely reading Han’s Crows, I contemplate the possibility of intercultural and intergenerational inheritance, translation and transmission of the memory of the colonial victims between us and the memory of the Other.

Throughout my dissertation, Japanese and Korean names appear in the Japanese and

Korean order—family name first—except those who have primarily or extensively published in

English, and those who have been well-known internationally (e.g., Kenzaburo Ōe).

Chapter 1: The Kaleidoscopic City of Nagasaki

A tourist map of the city of Nagasaki (figure 1) shows that the city is geographically divided into two parts by Mt. Kompira. The centre-South of the city is referred to as the “old city” where Shinto shrines, Buddhist temples, administrative offices and public institutions are concentrated. On the other hand, the centre-north is called “Urakami” that houses the Peace Park,

Atomic Bomb Museum and Nagasaki National Memorial Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims today. However, Urakami was blank space on a city map for several years after the atomic bomb explosion. A map published in 1946 labeled that empty space in English “THE ATOMIC

FIELD.”

Figure 1: a tourist map of contemporary Nagasaki

The atomic bombing of Nagasaki occurred three kilometers northwest of the original U.S. target. Because of Nagasaki’s geographical division by two steep hills, of some 200-360 meters high, the destruction caused by the atomic heat and blast was highly concentrated in the Urakami valley. The damage extended 4.7 km from the epicentre of the explosion. Most of the victims located within a radius of 4 km were killed instantly. Though the atomic blast and some ancillary disasters significantly disrupted the infrastructure of the old city, much of what remained had been shielded by the intervening hills and escaped the brunt of the destruction.

In Hiroshima, ninety percent of which was annihilated by the first atomic bombing, the survivors cried out, “Hiroshima got bombed!” In contrast, the Shinto/Buddhist residents in

Nagasaki cried, “Not Nagasaki, but Urakami was bombed [because] the Kuroshu live there”

(Treat 1995). The literal translation of “Kuroshu” is “the people of the cross,” which refers to the

Catholic community in Urakami. However, “Kuroshu” has a derogatory connotation. Nagasaki’s non-Catholic population claimed that the Kuroshu had been punished for worshipping a foreign god in the land of kami (Japanese deities), and that the rest of the city had been saved because they were Shinto/Buddhists and followed the ritual practice of their Suwa Shinto Shrine located at the foot of Mt. Kompira (Nishimura 2008). The city of Nagasaki was deeply divided between

Urakami and the rest of the city; and the division was not only a religious stratification, but also sociocultural and political.

Prior to the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, approximately 120,000 Catholics lived in

Urakami. The bombing killed about 8,500 Urakami Catholics instantly. Despite the scale of the devastation, Nagasaki’s Shinto/Buddhist community showed no sympathy for the Urakami

Catholic population. A number of local public historians, journalists, and scholars have tried to explain this phenomenon by pointing to the geographical, religious, and socio-cultural divisions 47 between the Catholic community in Urakami and the Shinto/Buddhist community residing in the rest of the city. For instance, Akira Nishimura, a religious studies scholar, calls these chasms

“native-foreign dichotomies” (Nishimura 2008, 175). He argues that feudal Japan, which had prohibited the practice of Christianity for centuries, enforcing its closed-door policy, constructed and disseminated a negative notion of Christianity as a ‘foreign’ religion vis-à-vis Shinto-

Buddhism, and did so to exclude the Christians from Japanese mainstream society. Similarly,

Yuki Miyamoto (2012), a U.S.-based religious studies scholar, views the Shinto/Buddhist’s response to the atomic bombing as the lingering legacy of the feudal era. She describes Urakami as the home of a distinctive Catholic community, possessing a distinctive body of memories of

Christian persecution and martyrdom. This, Miyamoto claims, had isolated them from the

Shinto/Buddhist community.

On the other hand, some Nagasaki-based Japanese researchers from literary studies and sociology have illustrated that the social stratification of Nagasaki was far more complex than the Catholic-Shinto/Buddhist divide. Nagano Hideki (1997) and Suehiro Mayumi (2008) point out another outcast group that resided in Urakami called the Buraku. Buraku people were also contemptuously referred to as the “Eta,” which means ‘taint’ or ‘impure.’ They were also marginalized from the mainstream Shinto/Buddhist community in Nagasaki. Nagano and

Suehiro claim that the presence of the Buraku community in Urakami also contributed to that area’s isolation from the rest of Nagasaki. With the exception of the above-cited sources, the presence of Buraku people in Urakami has been largely ignored in most major scholarly works over the last decades. This oversight is particularly noticeable in academic journals dedicated to religious studies. 48

This chapter will present the heterogeneous demographic configuration of Nagasaki before and after August 9, 1945 in order to account for the callous response to the atomic bombing of Nagasaki’s Shinto/Buddhist community and disrupt the dominant knowledge of

Urakami as the land of Catholics. Specifically, it will detail the historical development of

Nagasaki as a cosmopolitan port city and Urakami as the home of Catholics,16 as well as the settlement and socio-political evolution of the dynamic between the Buraku and Catholics in

Urakami. It will also describe the transformation of Nagasaki from a cosmopolitan port city into one of Japan’s primary wartime naval shipbuilding centers. By mapping out the history and evolution of the interrelations among these multiple subjectivities and identities in Nagasaki before and immediately after the atomic bombing, this chapter will deconstruct the dominant representation of Urakami as the “home of Catholics,” as well as the popular representation of

Nagasaki as an “exotic, international Christian city” in order to resurrect the memories and voices that have been supressed by this dominant representation.

1. The Spatial Separation of Nagasaki’s Communities

1.1 Configuration of Urakami into the Land of Catholics and Buraku

Prior to the rise of Nagasaki as Japan’s primary port town in the late sixteenth century, St.

Francis Xavier, one of the members of the Society of Jesus, arrived in Kagoshima. He arrived at

Kyushu Island in 1549 as the first European missionary to Japan. Omura Sumitada (1533-1587), who ruled the Omura region (today’s Nagasaki), welcomed the European missionaries in his ruling territory and became the first feudal lord to be baptized in 1563. During this period, the

16The Japanese National Census published 2000 shows that the total number of Japanese Catholics in Japan is 445,240 (0.353 percent of the total Japanese population). Nagasaki comprises the second largest Catholic population after Tokyo. At that time, 84,733 Catholics live in Tokyo and 68,801 in Nagasaki. 49

European missionaries maintained contact with Portuguese and Spanish merchants. Omura urged his subjects to convert to Catholicism and permitted the Society of Jesus to base its trade and missionary activities in Nagasaki in the late sixteenth century. In 1584, the Society of Jesus was also given hamlet of Urakami, which became the site of the first encounter between the Japanese villagers and European missionaries. It marked the beginning of Urakami’s history as the religious centre of the Catholic population in Japan for over five hundred years.

The European missionaries were able to establish good relationships with the local lords who provided them with political protection and financial support. Many of them even converted to Christianity. In turn, these local lords had access to European trading opportunities, foreign goods, and advanced technology. It is estimated that during the first fifty years of their missionary activities, the Europeans missionaries were able to convert approximately 760,000

Japanese people to Catholicism, including some high-ranking warriors and Buddhist monks

(Miyamoto 2012). By the end of the sixteenth century, Nagasaki had become both an important site for the Japanese Christian population and an international port city, which attracted a number of new industries and opportunities for the study of European medicine, art, science, and culture.

Nagasaki became an intersecting point for Japanese and foreign cultures (Nishimura 2008).

However, Shogun Toyotomi Hideyoshi began to believe that the increasing number of his subjects and lords converting to Christianity constituted a threat to his power. In 1587, Toyotomi declared Nagasaki a ‘national territory,’ and he banned missionary activities in Kyushu island, including Nagasaki. On February 5, 1597, the first instance of Catholic persecution took place in the Nishizaka-district of Nagasaki.17 Six European missionaries and eighteen Japanese Christians,

17 This persecution was triggered by a threat made against Shogun Toyotomi by Spanish merchants. In December 1596, a Spanish ship, called the San Felipe, became shipwrecked on the coast of Tosa Province (today’s Shikoku). Toyotomi guaranteed the safety of the crew, but dismantled the ship and confiscated the merchandise on the ship. Angered by the loss of their ship and cargoes to Toyotomi, the crew claimed that European missionaries would 50 including a twelve year-old boy, were arrested in Kyoto and forced to march to Osaka and

Nagasaki. On the way to Nagasaki, two more Christians were added to the march. All twenty-six were crucified in front of a crowd in the Nishizaka on the outskirts of Urakami. By this means,

Shogunate Toyotomi sent a powerful message of his anti-Christian policy to his subjects in general, and to Japanese Christians in particular.18

Toyotomi’s successor, Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu, unified Japan in 1603, administering it as a network of decentralized feudal lords who were each responsible for one city. Kyoto and

Nagasaki, however, were exceptions to this rule. Nagasaki remained under the direct control of the Tokugawa Shogunate in Edo (today’s Tokyo) to prevent any further influence of foreign cultures in Japan, most notably the spread of Christianity (Kamata and Salaff, 1993). As a result of this administrative policy, Nagasaki, as a ‘window onto the outside world,’ was transformed within a few decades into the westernmost frontier of Japan now closed to foreign influence

(Nishimura 2008). In 1612, Tokugawa outlawed Christianity; subsequently most Japanese

Catholics apostatized. However, this was not the case for the Catholics in Urakami.19

As part of the prohibition of Christianity, all European missionaries were expelled from

Japan.20 To escape persecution, torture and death, thousands of Japanese Catholics hid their beliefs. They became known as “kakure kirishitan” (hidden Christians).21 In order to practice their religion in safety, kakure kirishitan eliminated the use of any external symbols and books in

come to convert more Japanese people and colonize the land (Miyamoto 2012).Toyotomi responded to their claim by mounting an even harsher campaign against the Japanese Catholics. 18 The incident has been remembered and called “Nishizaka’s Twenty-six Martyrs” to this day. In June 1962, the Twenty-Six Martyrs Museum and Monument were built on Nishizaka Hill to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the canonization of the Christians executed on the site in 1597. 19 As the Tokugawa Shogunate intensified the Christian persecution and extended its operation to everywhere in Nagasaki’s city-centre, many Christians, including high-ranking warriors, refuged into Urakami and lived as a hidden Christian. 20 However, some of European missionaries still secretly continued to proselytize in the Nagasaki region. When the Tokugawa found it out, he ordered the local authorities to find and execute them all. In 1617, several European missionaries along with their Japanese followers became martyrdoms (Kataoka, 2010). 21 It was once estimated about 15,000 hidden Christians existed in Japan (Downes 2000). 51 their practice. They disguised themselves by publicly practicing Shinto-Buddhism, while memorializing prayers to pass on to their descendants orally (Downes 2000).

The feudal authorities remained suspicious. To uncover kakure kirishitan, the authorities forced their subjects to step on an image of a Christian icon as proof of their renunciation (this practice is called ‘fumie’). If a person refused to comply, that person would face torture or execution. In addition to prohibiting the practice of Christianity, the Toyotomi and Tokugawa

Shogunates undertook the ‘Shintonization’ of the population and the commercial area near the port in Nagasaki. Christian facilities, such as Urakami’s Roman Catholic Church of Santa Clara, were destroyed and replaced by new temples and local administrative bodies. Additionally,

Buddhist and Shinto priests were sent to Nagasaki and large temples were erected in the city’s centre – which is now referred to as the ‘old city.’22

This Shintonization of Nagasaki climaxed in 1625 when the Suwa Shinto shrine was revived and redefined as a “spiritual and social refuge for the people of the city” (Yokote 2010,

67). In 1643, the first Shinto festival called ‘Kunchi’ was held at the Suwa Shrine as commanded by the Nagasaki Magistrate, who also decree that the people of Nagasaki “respect and devote

[themselves] henceforth to divine virtue” (cited from Nishimura 2008, 174). Nishimura (2008) notes that the primary objective of the Kunchi festival was to manifest the Shogunate’s policy of expelling Christianity as a ‘foreign set of beliefs’ from the both the space of Nagasaki and the consciousness of its residents.23 This Shitonization of Nagasaki and its people generated the spiritual and spatial alienation of its ‘native’ Shinto/Buddhists who lived in the old city and the

22 Between 1598 and 1642, thirty-seven Buddhist temples were built in Nagasaki (Miyamoto 2012). 23 During Japan’s closed-door policy, only Dutch and Chinese merchants were allowed to come to Nagasaki. Kunchi was organized to display a kind of Japanese nationalism to the Dutch, who were the only foreigners allowed to stay in Nagasaki by the Tokugawa Shogunate (Suehiro 2008, Nishimura 2008). 52

‘foreign’ Catholics who lived in Urakami (Nishimura 2008).24 During this period of religious prohibition, Nagasaki’s city-space was transformed from the Christian mecca of the Far East into centre for Buddhism and Shintoism (Yokote 2010).

Urakami was officially called “Urakami Yamazato.” It was divided into five districts during the Tokugawa Shogunate period. Four of these districts were inhabited by of the hidden

Christians. The inhabitants in Umagome-go, a fifth district, was inhabited by another outcast community called the “Kawaya” or “Eta.”

Tokugawa Japan was socially categorized into four hierarchical groups. The highest status was given to high-ranking warriors, called samurai. Peasants, artisans, and merchants followed this group in that hierarchy. The Kawaya were not included in any of these four groups.

They were not recognized as a part of the mainstream society. Ian J. Neary (1997) describes that the Kawaya people were “subject to particularly severe regulations that were intended to keep them outside society” (61). While they preferred being referred to as ‘Kawaya,’ which referred to the leather (kawa) industry in which many of them worked, most of the Japanese population called them “Eta.” The connotations of ‘Eta’ are ‘coarse’ and ‘tainted.’

European missionaries of the Society of Jesus documented their knowledge of the

Kawaya (they spelled it “Cauaya”) in 1603. They accurately identified the origin of the Kawaya people and the treatment of this community by the Japanese feudal society. According to the

European missionaries, the dominant Japanese Shinto/Buddhist community regarded the Kawaya as ‘kegare’ (tainted) or ‘yogore’ (impure), since their job required them to handle death and

24 The Japanese term “Shinbutsu-Shugo Siso” (syncretistic fusion of Shintoism and Buddhism) refers to the reconciliation and co-existence between Shinto and Buddhism. Most Japanese people have traditionally practiced both religions simultaneously. Shintoism is native to Japan. Buddhism was introduced by China in the 6th century. Japanese authorities had decided to integrate Buddhism into Shintoism, rather than prohibiting it. As a result, for centuries, the Japanese people did not distinguish between Buddhism and Shintoism. It was common that Japanese Buddhists would participate in Shinto festivals, and that funerals were held according to Buddhist tradition. Until the Meiji, all the emperors of Japan were Buddhists. 53 blood.25 The Kawaya striped the skins of dead animals to make leather baskets. They also served as the executioners of prisoners. According to the missionaries, the Kawaya also looked after those suffering from Hansen disease (Anan 2009). The European missionaries had built about twenty hospitals and refuges for Hansen disease patients all over Japan in the late sixteenth century (Himeno 1992). For this reason, it is believed that the European missionaries had close contacts with the Kawaya, and subsequently many Kawaya people and Hansen patients had converted to Christianity.26

The relationship of Catholicism and the Kawaya community has not been studied in any depth. However, some European missionaries documented that Kawaya people had persistently refused to execute any of the hidden Christians from 1619 to 1622.

Though they put the captured Christians in the jail, Kawaya people refused to be their executioners. This was not the first time that refused to obey this order. When they were ordered to bring pieces of wood to torture a hidden Christian with fire, they all refused. The Christians in this land rather choose to be executed than committing a sin (a letter from the priest Morejon to Joan Baptista de Baeca on March 16, 1621 cited from Himeno, 1992, 4).

This letter shows that the Kawaya sympathized with the hidden Christians despite Japan’s anti-

Christian policy. Another archive also documents the Kawaya smuggling European missionaries into Nagasaki from Manila after Christianity had been outlawed (Yūki 2000).27 These historical records suggest that the Kawaya and the hidden Christians were sympathetic to one another as a

25 It is said that the etymological root Japanese of ‘kegare’ (impurity or stain) is Hindi. Japanese anthropologists define kegare as “a foreign element that disturbs the social order,” and a “dangerous element that destroys the existing cultural system.” Traditionally, as a way of preventing such a social disturbances and disorders, Japanese society established various taboos, regarding those who violated said taboo as kegare, which would justify the exclusion of those social groups. The notion of kegare was strongly connected with death, blood, and birth. The majority of Kawaya people worked with dead animals and as executioners. Consequently, they were categorized as kegare. Disabled people were also perceived as kegare in ancient and early modern Japan (Kato). Although Meiji Japan abolished the Japanese caste system, the notion of kegare still remains a prominent feature of Japanese, making the full-integration of minority groups, such as Buraku people, difficult. 26 The1688 census shows that 902 of about 2,000 Kawaya people in Osaka had converted to Catholicism (Uesugi 1998). 27 See “Kirisuto-kyo to Buraku Mondai Iezusu-kai” 『キリスト教と部落問題イエズス会』 http://www.jesuitsocialcenter- tokyo.com/bulletin/no098/bu_ja982.html 54 result of having been both marginalized by the feudal authorities during the first period of

Japan’s Christian persecution. As well, several historical documents indicate that a number of

Kawaya people converted to Catholicism and many of them became a martyr as a result of their refusal of the renunciation of their faith (Yūki 2000). Probably because of the Kawaya’s compassion for Japanese Catholics and the increasing number of Kawaya people’s conversion, the feudal authorities decided to force the Kawaya to act as the agent of the hidden Christian hunting.

The Nagasaki Magistrate suspected that the hidden Christians were hiding in the

Nishizaka-area, where twenty-six Christians were executed in 1597. From 1644 to 1683, the

Nagasaki Magistrate forcefully removed the Kawaya to Nishizaka area, commanding them to spy on the underground Christians. In 1718, the Kawaya were further relocated in Umagome-go within the Urakami Yamazato district, which housed a concentration of underground Christian villages. Umagome-go was located on the borderline between the underground Christians in

Urakami and the Shinto/Buddhist districts in the rest of Nagasaki.

The authorities tactically used the carrot-and-stick approach to mobilize the Kawaya against the underground Christians. In exchange for spying on the hidden Christians, the

Nagasaki Magistrate allowed the Kawaya people to practice Buddhism, which was a symbolic act of inclusion into the dominant Japanese community. By the end of the prohibition of

Christianity, it is believed that eighty percent of the Kawaya had converted to Jyôdo-Shinshu, one of the Buddhist sects, which promised them the purification (kiyome) of their impunity

(kegare/yogore). As a result of this attempt to co-opt the Kawaya, the Kawaya people, whose ancestors had been the only group to sympathize with the Christian community, turned into an agent of official persecution of the Christians, which is called the kuzure (collapse) that lasted 55 over two hundred-fifty years. Reciprocally, the Urakami Catholics grew hostile towards the

Kawaya. Their hostility intensified after the Urakami’s forth persecution (Urakami yoban kuzure) of 1867.

1.2. Urakami’ Fourth Kuzure The term ‘Kuzure’ has a religious connotation among Urakami Catholics. Its literal translation is ‘collapse,’ which refers to the exposure of the underground Christian cells, the arrest of the Christian leaders and their followers, and the subsequent disintegration and collapse of the underground Christian communities (Kataoka 2010). To the Urakami Catholics, ‘Kuzure’ also means ‘God’s trial.’ It is the requirement that the hidden Catholic communities embrace those ordeals as a proof of faith. The Urakaim Catholic villagers experienced four such persecutions and collapses, kuzure: 1790, 1839, 1856, and 1867. The kuzure of 1867 was the largest and bloodiest of the four. It was called and is still remembered as the yonban kuzure (the forth collapse) among the Urakami Catholic community in the contemporary period.

The forth kuzure began when the Kawaya people surrounded the houses of sixty-eight

Urakami Catholic leaders, capturing them under the command of the Nagasaki Magistrate. They were tortured and forced to renounce their faith and denounce other hidden Catholics. Though more than 600 were able to resist, including woman and children, about 1,000 hidden Christians renounced their faith and denounced other Catholics. The latter group became known as korobi

(the Fallen) (Kataoka 2010, Yokote 2010). A total 3, 394 villagers in the Yamazato district of

Urakami were arrested and exiled to different parts of Japan. Though the Kawaya had never voluntarily agreed to act as agents of the Shogunate’s anti-Catholic policy, the fourth Kuzure represents an instance of religious martyrdom and Kawaya’s cruelty to the Urakami Catholic community. The Urakami Catholics felt humiliated by what they considered to be the corrupted 56 and impure Kawaya invasion of their holy space and community. The Shinto/Buddhist community, on the other hand, interpreted the Kawaya-led kuzure as an extension of their traditional social function of dealing in death, blood and something impure.

These dynamic relationships among the various socio-political and religious groups in feudal Nagasaki was the product of the feudal authority’s closed-door and anti-Christian policies.

The Japanese Shogunates divided and ruled their subjects to perpetuate the stigmatization of these marginalized groups in order to construct and maintain the notion that foreign religion was

‘impure’ just like the Kawaya. In so doing, they kept the Japanese subjects from foreign influence, legitimized their closed door policy, and created and ruled the imagined homogenous society. This stigmatization of the Urakami by the Shinto/Buddhists in Nagasaki became exacerbated when the Urakami were formally integrated into Nagasaki as a part of its modernization.

1.3. The Catholics and Kawaya during Meiji Japan In September 1868, after the overthrow of the Tokugawa Shogunate, the first modern nation-state of Japan was established (the Meiji government). In 1871, Meiji Japan enacted the

Emancipation Law (kaiho-rei), which abolished the institutionalized social stratification of the feudal social hierarchy. According to the Emancipation Law, the Kawaya were renamed the

Tokushu-Buraku (distinctive entity). Referring to them as the ‘Kawaya’ or ‘Eta’ was considered as an act of discrimination. However, calling them the ‘distinctive entity’ did not resolve their stigmatized and marginalized social status. In fact, the Meiji government registered the Buraku as “new” citizen in their new family registration called ‘Koseki(-tohon)’ (which is equivalent to a birth certificate in North America). Consequently, though they were formally accepted into

Japanese society, the stigma associated to the group lived on. 57

The Meiji government modelled itself on those of the United State, Great Britain, and

Prussia. However, it took six years for the Meiji government to lift the Japanese prohibition of

Christianity and constitutionally guarantee religious freedom. In December 1871, sixty-seven hidden Christians in Nagasaki were arrested and persecuted. The news of the persecution reached the British Council in Nagasaki and provoked a number of Western countries to pressure the

Meiji government to lift the ban on Christianity. At that time, the Meiji government was seeking the renegotiation of some existing unfavourable treaties with the United States, Great Britain, and other European countries. To facilitate this renegotiation process, the Meiji government lifted the ban against Christianity in 1873 and allowed all the exiled Urakami Catholic villagers to return home. Only 1,900 villagers – half of the original village population – had survived and been able to return from the exile (Yokote 2010). Their lands had been devastated and their houses looted and destroyed. The Urakami survivors of the religious persecution had to rebuild their village.

As noted above, the Emancipation Law did not eliminate the social stigma of the Bukaru and Catholics. They were still typically believed to be impure and a stain on society. Nagasaki exemplified the feudal legacy of Modern Japan. From 1898 to 1920, the Yamazato village in

Urakami was dissolved and gradually integrated into Nagasaki city. In 1913, only a small part of

Umagome-go, the district inhabited by the Buraku, retained the name ‘Urakami.’ The rest was divided and renamed. Hence, on the map, the actual name of Urakami occupies only a small portion of the former Urakami Yamazato village. In practice, however, Nagasaki residents kept calling the former Urakami Yamazato area ‘Urakami,’ and in so doing sustaining the marginalization of the Catholics and Buraku communities. 58

The chasm between the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community and the marginalized communities in Urakami further grew after Urakami was incorporated into Nagasaki city. One

Nagasaki’s public historians described the geographical and social landscape in the city of

Nagasaki around this period as follows:

There were many sharp contrasts between Urakami and the old city centre in Nagasaki. One reason was their geographical location. The old city centre was south facing. It flourished through trade. Large and wide roads ran all over the old city centre in which there was always a bright and cheerful bustle. In contrast, Urakami was a hamlet formed in the intricate valley of the North. The villagers’ lives were tough. The area always looked gloomy. Another feature was the presence of the Christians in Urakami. The integration of Urakami into the city seems to have carved a more visible line between the Catholics and non-Catholics… It was around this time when the former group began to call Urakami Catholics “Kuro-Shu”…. There was no direct communication between the two groups, nor any mention of intermarriage. [Shinto/Buddhist community] constructed an image of Urakami as cursed (Etchu Testuya, cited from Shirabe 1972, 11).

The Buraku fared no better than the Catholics, despite their adherence to Shinto-Buddhism.

Although they practiced Shinto/Buddhism, the Buraku people were not allowed to participate in

Nagasaki Shinto’s most symbolic festival, the Kunchi (Suehiro 2008). Nonetheless, as the document above illustrates, few local historians had recorded the presence of the Buraku community in Urakami. During the feudal era, they were not recognized as human beings, but as equal to domestic animals.28 Thus, they were perceived as not being worth of documenting or giving a history (Harada 1973), and such a perception probably continued to remain within the

Japanese consciousness.

The employment opportunities available to the Catholics and Buraku remained limited.

For instance, Urakami Catholics and the Buraku were not allowed to enrol in teachers’ colleges, or work as civil servants (Shirabe 1972). Some may have succeeded at concealing their background, but this was difficult given that the employers of both the public and private sectors

28 In Japanese grammar, words to count the numbers of objectives change depending on types of objects. The words to count people and animals are different. The Kawaya people were counted in the word for animals (hiki 匹), instead of peoples (nin 人), illustrating that they were treated as equal to animals. 59 required that job applicants submit koseki-tohon, their family registration (this practice of requiring the submission of koseki-tohon was, in principle, illegalized in 1999). Therefore, while the Emancipation Law and the modernization of Nagasaki did formally emancipate the marginalized Catholics and Buraku, it did not effectively break down the social, cultural, and religious barriers between Urakami and the rest of the city. Rather it couched the discrimination and stigmatization in an official document – Koseki-tohon.

Though the Shinto/Buddhist community contemptuously referred to both groups as

Urakami people (Urakami no ningen), the Catholics and Buraku communities never formed a homogenous group within Urakami. They never accepted each other as members of each other’s community. The Catholics remembered the brutality of the Kawaya, and the Buraku remembered the revenge of the Catholics, who had vandalized their ancestors’ houses and killed some members of their community. That reciprocal hostility was transmitted generationally. Thus, although they shared a long history of victimization vis-à-vis the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community resided in the old city center, they perpetuated, rather than overcome, the history of violence towards one another. The dynamic between Urakami and Nagasaki instantiated the

Japanese concept of kegare that had legitimized the various forms of discrimination and stigmatization perpetuated against the marginalized groups, and it did so as a way of constructing and maintaining an imagined ‘homogenous’ and ‘harmonious’ society of Japan, while keeping these marginalized groups apart from each other. The demographic complexity of Urakami, and the pejorative conception of that space became even more prominent during the Asia and Pacific

War given the influx of Japanese colonial subjects in Nagasaki. 60

2. Nagasaki and Mitsubishi during the Asia and Pacific War

2.1. Transformation of Nagasaki into the “Castle Town of Mitsubishi”

During the Meiji period, Nagasaki lost its status as Japan’s primary port to Kobe and

Yokohama. Statistics show that Nagasaki’s share of Japanese trade declined from 57 % in 1856 to 1 % in 1924 (Nishimura 2008). The Mitsubishi shipping company began to fill that economic vacuum, transitioning Nagasaki from a trade to a military economy. The economic well-being of

Nagasaki was so tied to the success of Mitsubishi that its residents began to believe that

Mitsubishi was its saviour (Shirabe 1972). During the war, high-ranking Mitsubishi employees came to be addressed as “Mitsubushi-sama sama.” ‘Sama’ is a prestigious, honorific title. The repetition of sama implies that not only were those high-ranking employees endowed with a notable authority and power, but that Nagasaki’s inhabitants were completely subordinate to them.

Mitsubishi, originally called Tsukumo-shokai, was founded as a shipping company in

Tosa Province (today’s Kōchi prefecture) in 1870. It was renamed Mikawa-shokai, and then renamed Mitsubishi in 1873. Under the direction of founder Iwasaki Yataro, and as a result of

Meiji government’s militarization and war policies, Mitsubishi evolved into one of the four giant conglomerations of modern Japan. In 1884, the Mitsubishi shipping industry built a dockyard in

Nagasaki. In the following years, Mitsubishi built a number of medium-sized and small companies under the umbrella of its shipping business. From 1884 to 1924, about 350 naval vessels were built in Nagasaki. In 1910, the city became the third largest shipbuilding site in the 61 world (Nishimura 2008b). It expanded its ship-building business as a result of the Manchuria

Incident in 1931.29

In 1935, Japan withdrew from the Treaty for the Limitation and Reduction of Naval

Armament (also known as the London Naval Treaty). Signed on April 22nd, 1930, the Treaty was an agreement between the United Kingdom, Japan, France, Italy, and the United States that sought to regulate submarine warfare and limit the production of the naval ships. After Japan’s withdrawal, Mitsubishi increased its naval and military production, and strengthened its grip on

Nagasaki’s economy. Nagasaki residents were mobilized as a Mitsubishi labour force to help expand the Japanese empire. Consequently, Nagasaki became Imperial Japan’s fortress city during the Asia-Pacific War. It was forbidden to sketch or photograph the port area. Train windows were covered to keep its passengers from seeing the port. When the Musashi, the largest battle ship of its time, was being constructed in the Nagasaki Bay, Nagasaki residents were ordered by city authorities: “Don’t watch. Don’t listen. Don’t talk” (Kamata and Salaff

1993, 90). By the end of the war, Nagasaki locals had called Nagasaki the “castle town of

Mitsubishi,” implying Mitsubishi’s overwhelming power, influence and authority over the daily life of Nagasaki people.

Urakami was not overlooked by imperial Japan’s war policies and the penetration of

Mitsubishi into Nagasaki’s economy. In 1926, Nagasaki’s urban planning defined the old-central city near the port as the commercial centre, and Urakami turned into its new industrial area. In the following years, the Mitsubishi’s munitions factories, shipyard plants, and medium-and-small

29 On September 18, 1931, an explosion occurred and destroyed a section of railway track near the city of Mukden. The Japanese, who owned the railway, blamed Chinese nationalists for the incident and used the opportunity to invade Manchuria, the resource-rich area. However, it was speculated that the bomb may have been planted by mid- level officers in the Japanese army to provide a pretext for the subsequent military action. In the following months, the Japanese army invaded the region and consolidated its control on Manchuria. The Japanese declared the area to be the new autonomous state of Manchukuo, a puppet state of the Japanese Imperial Army (U.S Department of State, Peace and War: United States Foreign Policy, 1931-1941 published in 1983). 62 sized subcontracting factories were built in the Urakami valley. Urakami also housed

Mitsubishi’s tornado factory that monopolized its manufacture in Japan. Consequently, even members of the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community started moving into Urakami. As a result,

Urakami was transformed from the dreary district of outcasts into new factory village and residential area. It is estimated that more than 40,000 people had been employed by Mitsubishi and its factories in Urakami (Kamata and Salaff, 1993). Both the Catholic and Buraku communities were able to access employment at Mitsubishi factories. However, the stigmatization of the Catholics and Buraku and the discrimination against them continued. Their

Shinto/Buddhist colleagues harassed them and addressed them “Kuro” and “Eta” (Nishimura

1970).

As Japan expanded its empire, the demographics of Urakami grew ever more complex.

Japanese colonialism and imperialism led to the mobilization of a considerable number of foreign nationals and their colonial subjects as disposable, salve labour (largely Chinese and

Koreans). Japanese colonial subjects were drafted into the Japanese army or sent to work in

Japanese military factories. Mitsubishi’s labour needs made Nagasaki one of principle destinations for those sent to work in Japan. Nagasaki took in over 20,000 Koreans, 7,000 of which worked in Mitsubishi factories in the Urakami valley (Kamata and Salaff, 1993). Such colonial and foreign subjects suffered from severe malnutrition and cruel labour and living conditions, conditions far worse than those to which the Japanese Christian and Buraku faced.

According to one of the city archives – Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Report (1988) – there were 650 Chinese people in Nagasaki at the time of the atomic bomb explosion. The report noted that prior to Japan’s militarization, Nagasaki welcomed the settlement of Chinese people in the city. Many of these Chinese nationals managed trading businesses and restaurants, and “were 63 well-integrated into the community” (381). However, when Japan declared war against China

(Second Sino-Japanese 1937-1945), they were labeled enemies of the state. The report also states that after the Sino-Japanese war, Nagasaki residents began to “distance themselves from the

Chinese residents” (ibid). Many of them went back to China as a result of this persecution, which included being harassed by the Japanese military police. In 1938, the Chinese Consulate in

Nagasaki was closed. Only those 650 Chinese residents remained in Nagasaki after the war. Of the 1,200 Chinese labourers forcibly brought from China, 33 of them were imprisoned in the

Urakami prison after they rebelled against their hideous labour and living conditions (ibid).

By 1944, the Japanese industrial production of munitions had considerably declined for a number of reasons. There was a lack of raw materials. The efficiency of that production had dramatically declined as most of its previously skilled workers had been drafted into the army.

American air-raids over Japanese cities, which began in 1944, interrupted industrial operation; destroyed a number of factories and homes, and killed a large number of civilian workers.30

Nagasaki’s shipping industries had reached their peak between 1941 and 1942. However,

As Japanese naval ships were sunk by the Allied forces in the midst of a scarcity of resources,

Mitsubishi had to shift its production of naval ships and submarines to that of simple and small munitions. By the end of 1944, students, women, young children, and colonial and foreign slave labours had replaced the workforce of these factories. By August 1945, Nagasaki’s military industries had been no longer functional. Just as other cities in Japan, Nagasaki was already destroyed by the Allies’ intensive air-raids, whereas Hiroshima remained out of the target of the

Allies’ conventional bombing strategy to assess the physical impact and consequence of the nuclear weapon.

30 Allies’ air-raids attacked more than 200 cities all over Japan. It is estimated that about 330,000 civilians were killed and 430,000 severely injured. 64

There were also three POW camps in Urakami. The exact number of prisoners they contained is unclear. According to the city’s archive published in 1979, about 400 POWs (338 out of them were Dutch nationals, including Indonesians, Dutch’s colonial soldiers) had been imprisoned in the 14th branch office in Urakami. About 100 out of them had died by 1944 as a result of pneumonia, malaria, malnutrition, and cruel labour conditions. There were about 200

Allied soldiers imprisoned at the time of the nuclear bombing (British, Australian, American,

Dutch, and Indonesian Dutch colonial soldiers).31 One Australian survivor of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing testified that at least one Dutch prisoner was killed by the intense Allied air-raids over

Nagasaki on August 1st, 1945, and that several prisoners had been severely injured (Nagasaki

Atomic Bomb Report 1988). Some archives indicate that U.S. Intelligence was aware of the presence of these Allied POWs in Nagasaki. On July 10th, 1945 – a month before the second atomic bombing over Nagasaki – the U.S. Army Strategic Air Force in Guam reported to the

War Department in Washington that the camps of Allied POWs were located one mile north of the central area of Nagasaki. It asked Washington whether or not Nagasaki remained as one of the target cities. Washington replied: “Targets previously assigned for Centerboard remain unchanged.”32

2.2.“ATOMIC FIELD” Urakami On August 8, 1945, one day before the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, the Japanese national newspapers, including the Nagasaki Shinbun, reported that a “B-29 had dropped a new type of bomb over Hiroshima,” causing significant damage. It condemned the U.S. for having perpetrated an “inhuman atrocity.” The official response of the Imperial government of Japan was that its enemies had forever branded themselves as the “foes of humanity” (Yomiuri Shinbun,

31 About 100 of them died from the malnutrition or/and coldness prior to the atomic bombing. 32 ‘Centerboard’ refers to the mission of delivering atomic bombs on Japan. The response was made by General Carl Spaatz, Commander of the Strategic Air Force on 31 July 1945 (Kamata and Salaff, 1993). 65

August 8, 1945). The Japanese newspaper reports on the first atomic bomb claimed that

Hiroshima suffered from such an extensive damage because “they had no knowledge about this new kind of weapon, so that it hadn’t known how to take the proper countermeasures”

(Kawaguchi 2006). This implied that Japan could now prepare for such an attack. As an example of proper countermeasures, one national newspaper advised its readers to run into air-raid shelters wearing something white, thick, and long-sleeved if they ever witnessed a white flash

(ibid). These news reports suggested that by August 9th, the residents of Nagasaki and Japan in general were aware of the new type of the bomb, but understood neither its nature nor its power.

In the morning of August 9th, 1945, Nagasaki residents sought cover in their bomb shelters when the air-raid siren was signaled. The alarm was lifted at 10:30 A.M. Meanwhile, the

U.S. bomber ‘Bockscar’ deviated from its primary target, Kokura, and made its way towards its secondary target, Nagasaki. When the bomb struck Urakami Cathedral, twenty-four Catholics were preparing for the cerebration of the Ascension of the Virgin Mary, which was to be held on

August 15. About 8,500 of the 12,000 Urakami Catholics were killed by the bombing. One kilometer north of the Cathedral, approximately 435 of the 1,300 Buraku people living in the area were killed (Himeno 1992). Also, about 10,000 Korean labourers and all 54 employees and political prisoners (32 Chinese, 13 Koreans) held in Urakami prison were killed. About 200

Allied POWs were exposed to the radiation and 50 of them were killed. In total, more than

70,000 people burned to death.

On August 10th, the Nagasaki Shinbun reported that “a new type of bomb had been used against Nagasaki,” though it claimed that the damage caused by the explosion estimated as

“little.” Likewise, Japanese national newspapers grossly underreported the damage in order to 66 foster the belief that adequate countermeasures to the new weapon were available to Japan

(Kawaguchi 2006).

By mid-September of 1945, Nagasaki residents learnt that the primary target had been the old city-centre, specifically the Tokiwa Bridge located in the heart of the commercial centre in the old city. Because the weather conditions led the U.S. bomber to strike Urakami by mistake,

Nagasaki’s Shinto/Buddhist residents began to believe that the people in the city-centre had been saved by the Suwa Shrine at the foot of Mount Kompira, which separates the Urakami valley and the rest of the city. These circumstances, taken together with the physical and psychological separation of the Shinto/Buddhist community and Urakami, contributed to the myth that the atomic bomb was the divine punishment of Kami, the Shinto God, meted out to the ‘impure’ inhabitants of Urakami, and a divine reward bestowed upon those who inhabited the city-centre.

The religious and social divisions of Nagasaki also seem to have affected the rescue activities and reconstruction process immediately following the bombing. One Urakami resident recalled that relief aid came only once three days after the bombing (Nagasaki city archive I,

2006, 648). Other testimonies also described that even three months after the bombing, about

2,000 decomposing corpses still remained unidentified and unburied in Urakami (Suehiro 2008,

Nishimura 2007). Some Urakami residents asked the local administration and the police department to dispose of the corpses, but the archive recorded that nobody was sent (Nagasaki city archives 1977, 81).

In mid-September of 1945, while most of the Urakami survivors were living in barracks and suffering from the heavy rain that had begun at the beginning of September, the Urakami residents received a notice from the Nagasaki prefecture administration.

All living organisms in Urakami were exterminated by the atomic bomb. There will be no tree or grass next seventy-five years. Thus, the lives of Urakami residents are in danger. Be advised to move out of Urakami (Nagasaki City Archive 2006, 651). 67

This notice did not provide any indication as to where the former Urakami residents were to go.

It only served to put additional strain on the survivors already suffering from severe injuries, starvation, anxiety, uncertainty, despair, and poverty. The Nagasaki municipal authority did not provide any medical or financial aid. The notice implied that the Nagasaki authority had no plan or intention to reconstruct the Urakami area. Though the Nagasaki prefecture administration began to distribute rationed food and daily necessities in October, those services were always provided far from Urakami so that little if anything was left when the Urakami residents reached the distribution stations (Nishimura 1970). If the administration had prioritized the needs of those who were the most desperate, they would have directed their efforts towards Urakami.

In contrast, the infrastructure in the old city was rebuilt quite quickly, so quickly in fact that Nagasaki was able to hold its famous Shinto festival, Kunchi, in October 1945. On October

8th, 1945, the starting date of the Kunchi festival, the Nagasaki Shinbun described the expressions of gratitude of the Shinto population for having been saved from the bombing by the

Suwa Shrine. It then described Kunchi as “gorgeous,” and noted that “the city’s recovery from the war devastation begins with the Suwa Shrine.” There was no mention of the devastation suffered by Urakami where a number of decomposing corpses still remained unburied. Two months after the Kunchi festival, one Nagasaki resident contributed a critique of the reconstruction process to a reader’s column of the Nagasaki local press, describing the disparity of the efforts in the various parts of the city.

Not a single light can be seen in Urakami at night. No voice can be heard. It is as if it has become a town for the dead. In contrast, the rest of Nagasaki shines brightly, and its people are enjoying listening to the radio every evening – it is as if they live in a different world. (“Cry Out/The Face of A War Victim” contributed by Matsumoto Ikiru, Nagasaki Nichi-Nichi Shinbun, December 7, 1945) 68

Urakami was deserted, abandoned, and re-named the “ATOMIC FIELD” on maps and in the consciousness of the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community. Urakami became the space for the living dead.

The Nagasaki response to the atomic bombing revealed that despite having annihilated millions of people, entire communities, and innumerable buildings, it could not even shake the stigmatization of those resided in Urakami. Rather, it expressed the physical, social, and psychological demarcation of the old city-centre and Urakami, and exposed the deep antipathy against Urakami that the Nagasaki Shinto/Buddhists community had nurtured for centuries. In fact, the atomic bomb explosion simply provided for an even more cruel expression of that divide.

3. Conclusion

Over the last seven decades, Nagasaki has been represented and recognized as an ‘exotic, international, and Christian city’ in Japan, and Urakami has been known as ‘the home of the

Catholics.’ These popular images are consistent with the dominant memory of the atomic bombing, so well captured by the phrase while Hiroshima ‘rages,’ Nagasaki ‘prays.’ This chapter questioned and analyzed these dominant images, discourses, and representations of Nagasaki to shed a light on the suppressed and forgotten histories surrounding those events. It investigated the source and implications of Nagasaki Buddhist/Shinto’s initial response to the atomic bombing in light of the history of Nagasaki, specifically its spatial, religious, social segregation up until 1945.

In point of fact, Nagasaki was not a Christian-friendly city. Rather, it was the historical site of centuries of brutal persecution and discrimination against Catholics and the Buraku people. 69

The response of Nagasaki in the face of the atomic bombing is not an expression of religious or much less Catholic piety; it is an expression of the geographical, religious, social, and psychological chasms between its Catholic, Shinto/Buddhist, and Buraku communities.

This chapter also briefly described that Nagasaki had lost its identity as a cosmopolitan port city by the nineteenth century, and transformed into Imperial Japan’s fortress city – or, the

“castle town of the Mitsubishi.” Nagasaki under the Mitsubishi influence benefited immensely from Japan’s imperial ambition. For instance, its withdrawal from the London Naval Treaty in

1930 facilitated Mitsubishi’s naval production in the city. It was this prominence and strategic importance which made it an attractive target to the American military.

Japan’s war policies contributed to Nagasaki’s complex configuration of ethnic, social, and religious groups. It fostered the influx of the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community into

Urakami. At the same time, Japan’s war efforts also forcibly relocated a number of colonial subjects, Chinese and POWs to the area, which helped consolidate the idea of Urakami as abject and impure. The separation of Urakami from the rest of the city embodied Japan’s problematic traditional notion of kegare (stain, or impurity), which had legitimized and normalized the various forms of exclusion, isolation, discrimination and stigmatization, while helping construct and maintain the image of Japan as a ‘homogeneous’ society. So much so, that even following the devastation of the atomic bombing, the Urakami communities were still subjected to particularly harsh discrimination.

While several scholars and journalists have noted the dynamic between Nagasaki’s

Urakami Catholic and Shinto/Buddhist communities, very few of them have noted the presence and historical role of the Buraku community in the city. It is largely attributed to the fact that neither Urakami Catholics nor Buddhist/Shinto residents in the rest of the city recognized the 70

Buraku people as a part of their community. In other words, both groups saw the Buraku belonging to the other community. Nobody spoke on behalf of the Buraku community in

Urakami for many years after the end of the war; and few public historians have recorded the presence of this group. As a result, even though those existing studies attempted to draw out the complexity and distinctive features of Nagasaki, their works have over-simplified the city’s cultural and social dynamics, and consequently reinforced the dominant conception of Urakami as the ‘home of Catholics.’

The next chapter draws the shift of the dominant interpretation of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing from Buddhist/Shinotonist’s idea of “divine punishment” to the Christian notion of

“divine providence” and of the Nagasaki atomic bomb victims, “sacrificial lambs” by investing the rise of an Urakami Catholic scientist, Takashi Nagai’s biblical atomic bomb discourse during

U.S. occupation period. Chapter 2: The GHQ, Nagai Takashi, and the Atomic Bomb as Divine Providence

Immediately after the atomic bombing, both the Nagasaki Shinto/Buddhists and the

Urakami Catholics believed the bombing to have been an act of divine retribution. The former believed that the cause of that retribution was the worshipping of a foreign deity. On the other hand, the latter believed it was the failure of the Urakami Catholics to adhere to the principles of self-sacrifice to stay faithful to God exemplified by that community’s ancestors, while some other Urakami Catholics wondered why God had allowed the Americans to drop the bomb over their fellow Christians. They also asked God within themselves, “Where were you, the Lord?

Why you left us?” Urakami Catholics were losing faith and seeking a means to resolve their suffering within the tenets of their religious beliefs.

On November 23rd, 1945, atop the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral, about 600 Catholic survivors gathered to pray for the souls of the atomic bomb victims. It was the first mass held in

Urakami after the bombing. A native Urakami priest, Urakawa Wasaburo, recited the names of the victims of his community and offered a memorial sermon. He stated:

When our forebears returned from their ‘journey’ in 1873, they found their homes ramshackle but still standing. Today, not a single house remains. However, we have risen from that devastation. We were even able to build a marvellous church right here in Urakami. Unfortunately, the atomic bomb smashed our seventy-year-old accomplishment into pieces once again. Those victims were all righteously devoted believers. (cited from Yokote 2010, 72)

Following Father Urakawa, the Dean of the radiology department in the Nagasaki

Medical University and member of a nuclear physics research group, Nagai Takashi spoke. It is worth reading his speech at length:

On August 9th, 1945, at 10:30 am, a meeting of the Supreme Council of War was held at the Imperial Headquarters to decide whether Japan should capitulate or continue to wage war… at

two minutes past eleven in the morning, an atomic bomb exploded over our district of Urakami in Nagasaki… At midnight on that same night, the cathedral suddenly burst into flames and was burned to the ground. At exactly that moment, the Imperial Palace, His Majesty the Emperor made known his sacred decision to bring the war to an end.

On August 15, the Imperial Rescript was formally promulgated, and the whole world welcomed the day of peace. This day was also the great feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, to whom the Urakami Cathedral was dedicated. We must ask if this convergence of events—the ending of the war and the celebration of her feast—was merely coincidental or if there was some mysterious providence of God.

I have heard that the second atomic bomb… was originally destined for another city. But since the sky over that city was covered with clouds, the American pilots found it impossible to aim at their target; consequently, they changed their plans and decided to drop the bomb on Nagasaki… However… as the bomb fell, cloud and wind carried it slightly north of its primary target, the munitions factories, and onto our cathedral… If this is true, the American pilots did not aim at Urakami.

It was the providence of God that carried the bomb to that destination... Was Nagasaki, the only holy place in all Japan, not chosen as a victim, a pure lamb, to be slaughtered and burned on the altar of sacrifice to expiate the sins committed by humanity in the Second World War? Only when Nagasaki was destroyed did God accept the sacrifice. Hearing the cry of the human family, He inspired the emperor to issue the sacred decree by which the war was brought to an end. (The Bells of Nagasaki 1984; Translation by Johnston, 107-108; emphasis is added)

Nagai then urged his fellow Urakami Catholics to “give thanks that Nagasaki had been chosen for the sacrifice” (ibid). After the mass, the Urakami Catholic hibakusha began to call their ordeal “Urakami Goban-Kuzure” (Nishimura 1970; Nishimura 2002; Takahashi 1985), which means ‘Urakami’s fifth collapse.’ The use of this phrase suggests that the Urakami Catholics had accepted the Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing as a divine trial to be integrated into the Urakami narrative of martyrdom. This redemptive narrative of sacrifice has come to be known as Nagai’s hansai-setsu or “holocaust theory” (Takahashi 1985), which became the dominant reference for the interpretation and representation of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki within Japan through the publication and distribution of his books published from 1948 to 1949, especially The Bells of Nagasaki in 1949.

This chapter draws out the historically peculiar political, cultural and social conditions that enabled Nagai’s so-called ‘sanctified’ atomic bomb discourse to enter the space of public

72 73 discourse that had been strictly censored and controlled by the U.S. occupying forces. The Bells of Nagasaki became a bestseller in occupied Japan, and Nagai became a national celebrity and a

‘Saint’ in the media. Nagai’s popularity cast him in the role of spokesperson for the Nagasaki hibakusha, a role that is also said to have silenced Nagasaki hibakusha. In this chapter, I examine the question of why Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse became so popular and well-received by not only Urakami Catholics, but also the Japanese population in the postwar years. I also critically engage with Nagai’s notion of ‘redemptive sacrifice’ to discuss what constitutes the ‘politics of sacrifice’ in the remembrance of the atomic bombing and the Asia and Pacific War.

1. U.S Occupation of Japan: August 1945 to September 1952

U.S. General Douglas MacArthur, the Supreme Commander for Allied Powers (SCAP), arrived in Tokyo on August 30, 1945. His arrival marked the beginning of a six year U.S. occupation of postwar Japan. Under his authority, the General Headquarters of U.S occupation

(GHQ) decreed several laws, among them the “Press Code” that took effect on September 19,

1945, and was repealed by the United States in September 1952 when Japan regained its sovereignty. During the occupation, reporting crimes committed by American soldiers was taboo and even mentioning GHQ censorship was forbidden (Hirano 1996).33 The GHQ censored all newspaper articles, reports, journals, and literature in occupied Japan. Though it is generally acknowledged that the objective of the Press Code was the suppression of any anti-American sentiment and the eradication of any communist influence in occupied Japan, Monica Braw

(1991) and Kyoko Hirano (1996) have suggested that it may also be explained as an attempt to

33 The Japanese print media typically made use euphemisms to refer to Americans, such as “[t]he criminals were unusually tall and hairy men” (Hirano 1996, p. 106); however, it was often the case that crimes committed by American occupation soldiers, such as murder, burglary and rapes were suppressed for decades (Hokkaido Press, Dec 14, 2013).

73 74 create and maintain a humanitarian image of the United States in the minds of both the Japanese and Americans. U.S. policymakers were especially concerned about any possible moral criticism of the atomic bombings. Invariably, any Japanese accounts of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were “handled with the utmost care by the American censors” (Hirano 1996, 103).

The publication of data on the atomic bombing, especially its after-effects on the human body, was banned. Expressions of anger towards the U.S. or the bombings were also forbidden, as was any public display of mourning for their victims. Only the image of the mushroom cloud taken by the American bombers, and the images of destroyed infrastructure were made available.

Images of the severely injured hibakusha were fully concealed from public view until the end of

U.S. occupation. The GHQ would only approve representations of the bombings if they portrayed the bombings as a result of the Japanese militarists’ refusal to surrender, or as a necessary evil that saved millions of lives. In other words, all accusations were to be directed towards the Japanese military leaders, not the Americans. This policy ensured that neither word nor image would remind the Japanese public that the nuclear bombs had killed civilians and children indiscriminately. American censorship was not intended to suppress the fact of the bombing, but to entrench the view that it was militarily, politically and morally justifiable. The publication of The Bells of Nagasaki stands perhaps as the most effective instance of the Press

Code, at least when its effect is measured against the primary objective of U.S censorship.

2. Origin of Nagai’s Idea of “God’s Providence”

Nagai Takashi was born in the Shimane Prefecture in 1908. His father and grandfather were medical doctors, and his mother was a member of a samurai family. She reared Nagai as a

Japanese Confucian. Nagai studied medicine at the Nagasaki Medical University. During his studies, Nagai discovered that Nagasaki had two main features (Nagai 1971). The first was the

74 75 city’s commercial district, a diverse and exotic area; the second was its Catholicism. Later, Nagai referred to the old city centre as the “City of Eros” and Urakami as the “City of Maria” (Diehl

2011, 120). The history of Nagasaki’s Catholic community increasingly attracted Nagai after his mother had passed away in 1931, an event which profoundly shook Nagai’s belief in the natural sciences as a privileged paradigm. Before his mother’s death, Nagai had renounced the existence of the soul. However, when he saw his mother dying, Nagai recalled that he had spiritually recognized her soul in her eyes, “knowing that it would not perish, even if her body did” (Nagai

1949, 17). It prompted him to search for truth beyond the horizon of scientific materialism

(Nishimura 2002). His interest in Catholicism led him to move from the City of Eros to the City of Maria, Urakami.

From 1933 to 1934 and from 1937 to 1940, Nagai served as a surgeon in the Japanese imperial army (Takase 2009; Kataoka 1961). In April 1934, after his return from Manchuria, he converted to Catholicism; two months after that, he married Midori Moriyama, an Urakami

Catholic. In 1937, Nagai was sent to the city of Nanjing in China. After the Imperial Japanese

Army occupied Nanjing and committed hideous war crimes, including mass rapes, upon the local civilians, women and children in December 1937, Nagai sent a letter to his Catholic community.

He wrote: “We have greeted this year along with grave current events, but especially this year

Japan will soar. This is the perfect opportunity for Japanese Christians to display that essence. As

I pray for the activities of everyone on the home front, I, too, will render the duty of a warrior of

Japan, and repay the kindness of the emperor” (Diehl 2011, 117).34 Nagai acknowledged years later that he had witnessed “all kinds of crimes being calmly performed on the battlefield”

(Nagai “Shi ni chokumen shite” (Facing Death) in Shincho, January 15, 1951, 20) in China. He also wrote in 1951 that during his time in China, he realized that “death is never coincidence. It

34 The letter was delivered to Urakami on 15 January 1938.

75 76 is according to the Providence of God” (Nagai 1996, 188). Nagai did not clarify whose death he referred to, implying that he meant all the death of soldiers and civilians he witnessed in China regardless of one’s nationality. According to Nagai, the idea of God’s Providence was the product of what he had learnt from his experience in China, and he evoked this particular view of the death to render meaning to the mass-killing committed by U.S’s atomic bombing over

Nagasaki (Diehl 2011).

In 1940, Nagai returned from China as a decorated soldier with the Order of the Rising

Sun for his bravery in China. Nagai, however, never mentioned what kind of ‘brave’ act in China brought him such an Order. During the war period, even after he went back to work in the hospital as a radiologist, Nagai continued to wear a military uniform to show his loyalty to

Imperial Japan and discipline his Catholic community (Saito 2015). He played a role model as a

Japanese imperial subject during the war. In June 1945, he was diagnosed with leukemia as a result of his work as a radiologist. Nagai knew that he only had a few years to live, and was concerned about how his wife and two young children could survive after his death. Ironically, his wife was killed in the atomic bombing two months after his diagnosis, leaving him and two children behind.

On August 9, 1945, the day of the bombing, Nagai was at the Nagasaki Medical School

Hospital preparing a lecture, approximately a half-mile away from the hypocenter of the explosion. Despite being injured, Nagai treated the victims of the bombing for three straight days.

Nagai recalled that it took him about five hours to realize that Urakami must have been completely destroyed (Nagai 1971). He also sensed that his wife must have been killed in the blast because he knew that, if she had survived, she would have come to the hospital to find him

76 77

(ibid).35 When Nagai finally returned to his home, he found nothing but ash, bone fragments, and a piece of his wife’s rosary.

3. The GHQ and the Publication of The Bells of Nagasaki

In October 1945, a local newspaper asked Nagai to write about the destruction caused by the bombing. In August 1946, Nagai completed a draft of The Curtain Rises on the Age of Atom, which contained the whole speech he had given at the Requiem Mass ten months earlier.

However, the local press was dissolved and Nagai’s manuscript remained unpublished. Nagai contacted several publishers in Kyushu and Tokyo, one of which was Hibiya Publishing in

Tokyo. He sent dozens of letters to Shikiba Ryuzaburo, the proprietor of Hibiya Publishing and founder of The Tokyo Times. In his first letter, Nagai wrote that because “the situation immediately following the explosion was unknown, [his] draft will stand as an invaluable historical document” (Takase 2009, 96).

Nagai had already been a well-known figure as a Christian doctor in A-bombed Urakami as well as a spiritual leader of the Urakami Catholic hibakusha in Japan by February 1946. In

February 1946, Nagai spoke of his particular interpretation of the atomic bombing as “God’s

Providence” in the local newspaper, Nagasaki Shinbun (Diehl 2011). In the same article, Nagai described that he had already been leukemia as a result of his work as a radiologist and continued to note that his leukemia had been improved after the atomic bombing. The article then concluded that Nagai had made a noble self-sacrifice for the scientific development of radiology

(ibid). As well, national newspapers depicted Nagai as “pious” and reported Nagai’s speech in the Requiem Mass, including his idea of the bombing as God’s will. Thus, Shikiba had already

35 Both of Nagai’s two children survived the atomic bombing because they were evacuated from Nagasaki to the countryside.

77 78 known about this Urakami’s Catholic doctor when he received the letter from Nagai. In March

1947, Hibiya sought permission from the GHQ to publish Nagai’s manuscript. Along with the application, Shikiba sent a letter to the GHQ that contained a statement by Nagai acknowledging the legitimacy of the bombing that ended the war (Takahashi 2004). Shikiba and Nagai had to wait three years to receive the approval of the GHQ.

In the meantime, Nagai published two other books: Leaving My Beloved Children Behind

(Konoko o nokosite) and The Rosary Chain (Rozario no kusari). The drafts of both books were completed in 1948, and their publication was relatively quick. In them, Nagai described his experience of the bombing.36 Nagai’s essentially positive characterization of the bombing is a common thread running through his essays. For instance, in The Rosary Chain – a title meant to reference the fragment of his wife’s rosary chain left on the atomic field – he wrote that the

Urakami were happy for the opportunity to help each other overcome the hardship caused by the bombing. In the chapter entitled “Providence” in Leaving My Beloved Children Behind, Nagai recounted two events that informed his portrayal of the bombing as God’s will rather than wrath.

The first occurred several days after the bombing when Nagai had overheard nurses saying that they had seen twenty-seven nuns from the Josei convent burned to death the day after having heard them signing Latin hymns. The second was the death of some female students in Junshin

Catholic School who had been singing the same Latin hymn as the nuns. Nagai originally professed the idea of the atomic bombing as the Divine Providence exclusively for the Urakami

Catholics and spoke for the entire Urakami Catholic community. However, Chad R. Diehl (2011) points out that in Leaving My Beloved Children Behind, Nagai began to represent himself as the spokesperson for the ‘we’ of Nagasaki. Both books were well received, especially Leaving My

36 Nagai published twelve books in total from 1948 to 1950.

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Beloved Children Behind, which sold 220,000 copies in the first year of the publication and was ranked as the ninth best-selling book of the year.

The major difference between these two works and The Curtain Rises on the Age of Atom, which was later renamed The Bells of Nagasaki to be published in 1949, was Nagai’s focus. The former focused on the author’s internal struggle following the bombing, while the latter focused on the physical destruction, horrific scenes, and death toll caused by the bombing. This focus is what the GHQ found problematic. Some of its members opposed the publication of Nagai’s text because they believed that it would provoke anti-American sentiment, while others claimed that

Nagai’s text was apolitical because it described the bombing as an act of divine providence, as something akin to a natural disaster (NBC 2000; Takase 2009). The GHQ was not able to come to any consensus, so it suspended the publication of Nagai’s text for six months. Such a long suspension never happened before in U.S occupied Japan.

While the GHQ debated the political ramifications of Nagai’s submission, it investigated

Nagai’s background. All his letters were read and all his visitors assessed. The GHQ also assessed the Japanese reactions to and influence of Nagai’s 1948 books (NBC 2000; Takase

2009). It was the U.S. Army in Washington that finally approved the publication of The Curtain

Rises on the Age of Atom, a decision that can be explained by Charles A. Willoughby, the head of American intelligence, in the following manner:

My impression is one of an account of the catastrophe as manifestation and effects of atomic explosion handed in the same manner as one catastrophes such as earthquake, tidal waves, volcanic eruption, etc… and not as a political issue. We cannot prevent the book from being published indefinitely and we are in a better position now to neutralize an adverse effect than we will be later on. (NBC “God and the Atomic Bomb” 2000)

Willoughby, however, continued to note that “we used the bomb to terminate a war, which we did not start… If and when American military acts are described (such as the bombing), then the

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Japanese military actions that provoked the bombing will also have to be shown” (Civil

Intelligence Section, GHQ/SCAP Records; emphasis is original).37 Willoughby and the GHQ were both certain that Nagai’s book would be a best-seller after having observed how his two books published in 1948 had been well-received by the Japanese populace. The approval was granted conditionally. Nagai’s text would have to be bound with another document titled “The

Sack of Manila,” a text authored by the GHQ intelligence service.

“The Sack of Manila” is a collection of testimonials describing the atrocities committed by the Japanese against a number of Christian missionaries and Filipinos in Manila in February

1945. The sources of these testimonials were European missionaries who resided in Manila and

Allied soldiers who arrived in the city after the massacre. They were collected under the order of

U.S. Air Strategic Force in order to offset international and domestic criticism of the American use of the atomic bomb (Shigesawa 2010).38

At first, Shikiba and Hibiya Publishing Company were reluctant to accept the condition because they did not see any causal relationship between the events. However, the GHQ pressured Hibiya to accept the order of binding Nagai’s manuscript with “The Sack of Manila.”

They even offered the publisher 30, 000 printing pages, an extremely valuable commodity at the time (NBC 2000, Takase 2009). Nagai immediately accepted the conditional offer. Nagai’s manuscript was published in January 1949, but with its title changed from The Curtain Rises on the Age of Atom to The Bells of Nagasaki.

37 While the document is archived at The National Diet Library, Tokyo, microfiche, CIS-03666, the original document is preserved in the U.S. National Archives and Records Admission at College Park, Maryland. 38 According to the Asahi Press, one of the Swiss newspapers condemned the U.S. for its use of the atomic bomb on August 9, 1945 (Asahi Press, August 9, 1945 cited from Sigesawa 158). To divert the international criticism towards the United States, Kiyoko Horiba (1995) observed that U.S had often juxtaposed the brutal acts committed by the Japanese army (mostly the violence against the Allied POWs by Japanese soldiers) and the brutality of the atomic bomb.

80 81

In its forward, Shikiba explained that Hibiya had changed the title as an expression of its hope that Nagasaki would be rebuilt. It is unclear whether or not this change was also or actually the result of a GHQ order (a common practice for other publications authored by a hibakusha), or whether it was an act self-censorship (also a common practice of the Japanese media under the

Press Code)39. Yuko Shibata (2011) contends that the change sought to render the bombing more abstract to distance the readers from the facts of the event and the realities of hibakusha.

The GHQ authored “The Sack of Manila” contains photographs of Philippine corpses that are meant to stand as evidence of the atrocities committed by the Japanese during the war. Its preface describes that it happens and actually is unavoidable that military pilots mistakenly dropped a bomb over a civilian area and ended in killing innocent people. On the other hand, the preface continues to assert that the Japanese destruction of churches and missionary schools in

Manila was a part of an attempted genocide of Philippine Christians. The preface furthers that the relative suffering of these Philippine Christian victims was greater than that of the Japanese

Christians during its feudal period of the Christian persecution. It then concluded that, just as the police would be obliged to stop a man from indiscriminately killing people, so too were the

Americans obliged to stop the atrocities of the Japanese military forces.

The juxtaposition was intended to frame the Japanese atrocities in Manila within the context of Japanese anti-Christian sentiment or war against the Christianity in order to justify the atomic bombings as the righteous, Christian act. Although the GHQ’s addition to Nagai’s publication merely amounted to an incongruent utilitarian-like justification of the atomic bombings to alleviate the international criticism, Stephanie H. Grey (2002) argues that the

United States sought to “manage its collective guilt and depict nuclear weapons as agents of

39 For example, Tamiki Hara’s Summer Flower (Natsu no Hana) was originally titled The Atomic Bomb (Genshi- bakudan).

81 82 moral regeneration” (4). In so doing, they attempted to stabilize the American moral identity and superiority.

This juxtaposition also naturalized the problematic notion of a ‘nation.’ As Benedict

Anderson posits, a nation is an “imagined community” (Anderson 1991) made up of groups of people that remains intangible and inaccessible as an entity. During the Asia and Pacific War, however, what constituted the Japanese imperial ‘nation’ was far more complex than what the

American public had imagined. The supposedly homogenous ‘Japanese nation’ was a construction of Japanese imperialism achieved by means of a violent history of conquest and colonialism of Korea, China and other Asian countries, and the assimilation of domestic minority communities (such as, the Buraku, Ainu and Okinawans). American policymakers continuously ignored the presence of these foreign and colonial subjects within the former ‘enemy nation’ to justify and legitimize their act of ‘retaliation.’

The Bells of Nagasaki followed “The Sack of Manila” which is translated into “Tragedy in Manila” (Manila no higeki) in Japanese. In his acknowledgment, Nagai described the relation of the two parts of his book in the following manner:

The purpose of this book is to describe the facts surrounding the atomic bombing to the world at large in order to evoke a will to peace in the hearts of its readers while revealing the true face of the war that framed it. Therefore, I am very grateful that the GHQ was able to contribute the documents contained herein that testify to the atrocities committed by the Japanese in Manila. It has been very helpful in achieving the goal I had set for myself with this work. (2009 [1949], 11; translation by Otsuki)

Nagai’s The Bells of Nagasaki documented the destructive consequences of the bombing in objective, factual terms. For instance, Nagai described in medical terms the diseases that result from the exposure to radiation. It demonstrates Nagai’s commitment to providing an accurate medical, technical and historical account of the consequences of the bombing, so that the international community could understand the full ramifications of the use of the atomic bomb.

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The concerned redemptive narrative appears in the scene within The Bells of Nagasaki when an Urakami Catholic, Yamada Ichitaro, visited Nagai. Yamada lost his entire family in the bombing, and being subjected to the Shinto/Buddhist interpretation of the bombing as a divine retribution against the Catholic community for its abandonment of the traditional Japanese gods.

Yamada asked if Nagai was actually willing to accept such the dominant view of the atomic bombing among the Shinto/Buddhist residents in Nagasaki. Specifically, if “the bombing was a punishment from heaven, then those who died must have been evil people, and those who survived must have been granted a special dispensation from God. If that’s true, then [Yamada’s] wife and children must have been deemed evil people by God” (The Bells of Nagasaki English edition translated by Johnson 1987, 106). Nagai refuted Yamada’s inference, and offered him a copy of the speech he prepared for the Requiem Mass, thereby repeating and reinforcing his argument that all human beings were sinners to the extent that they had all engaged, at least peripherally, in the war. Consequently, even the death of Yamada’s family could be construed as a part of God’s plan. He then talked to Yamada, “We had to obtain God’s pardon through the offering of a great sacrifice” (ibid). In sum, as Grey notes, The Bells of Nagasaki is constituted by both romanticism and realism—the vocabularies of biblical and “spiritual sacrifice, technical mastery and cultural authenticity” (Grey 2002, 9).

Hibiya Publishing Company had originally printed 40,000 copies of The Bells of

Nagasaki. In some bookstores, they sold-out in a day (Takase 2009). About 100,000 copies were sold in the first year of the publication. Meeting the market demand was only possible as a result of the GHQ’s paper supply. The Japanese media came to refer to Nagai as the “Urakami’s Saint,” and eventually the “Japanese Saint” as his celebrity grew. Inoue Yasushi, a Japanese Catholic playwright, described Nagai as “a cultural hero” (Inoue 1987, 365), so much so that one would

83 84 be praised simply for buying his book (ibid). Nagai eventually managed to publish nine books and numerous medical reports, essays, poems and editorials in newspapers and journals during the U.S occupation period. Although some Hiroshima hibakusha authors, such as Ōta Yoko and

Hara Tamiki, managed to publish a book based on their atomic bomb experience from a minor publisher after the large part of the original manuscript was deleted by the Press Code, none of them emerged as equally influential as Nagai. In 1950, The Bells of Nagasaki was made into an extraordinarily popular film, through which Nagai’s discourse was further penetrated into the

Japanese historical consciousness.

John W. Dower describes the political and cultural context in which Nagai met with such resounding success as follows:

Nagai’s emotional prose, his melodramatic martyr’s descent into death, and the belated emergence of such writings on the nuclear-bomb experience gave substance to a growing sense of victimization at the very moment the victor’s war-crime trials were bringing judgment against the Japanese for crimes against peace and humanity. In this milieu, war itself became the greatest ‘victimizer,’ while the Japanese—personified by the saintly father/doctor/scientist dying in a nuclear-bombed city—emerged as the most exemplary victim of modern war. (Dower 1999, 198)

Dower’s analysis above may explain why the Japanese readers ardently embraced Nagai’s biblical atomic bomb discourse. Nagai’s discourse provided the Japanese people with an opportunity to develop a national narrative that would redeem Japan, a guilt country, in the eyes of the Japanese.40 The Japanese were now endowed with the conceptual apparatus to imagine themselves as a distinctive set of victims who suffered a distinctive form of violence, and the suffering of Japan was one aspect of an act of divine providence. Through the appropriation of

Nagai’s text in this way, the Japanese population in the postwar society re-legitimized and re-

40 See Mario Di Paolantonio (2000). He deals with post-dictatorship Argentina and analyzes how the Argentinians interpreted the notion of coming to terms with the past and the ethical limits of legal institutions, namely truth commissions and trials as a pedagogical means of remembering the past violence in the present time. Interestingly, we can draw commonalities in the political, social, and psychological climate between postwar Tokyo, trial Japan, and post-dictatorship Argentina (see also Osiel 1997).

84 85 established their moral identity and imagined themselves as the ‘victimized’ nation that made the

‘noble sacrifice’ for world peace (Treat 1995; Igarashi 2000). And, the knowledge of the atomic bombing as the moral agent that ended the total war, which was formulated and shaped by the particular power relations and politics between United States and Japan in postwar years, symbolically settled the Japanese shared identity as the uniquely victimized, sacrificed and redeemed nation by the unprecedented weaponry in the human history (Igarashi 2000). In this manner, Nagai’s discourse blurs any critical distinction between the victims and the victimizers

(Takahashi 1985, Shibata 2011). Furthermore, just as the American discourse surrounding its use of the atomic bomb forcefully homogenized and totalized the multiple subjectivities into an undifferentiated subject to an American-led act of moral and military retribution, Nagai divested

Japan of any responsibility for its invasion and colonization of Asian countries by totalizing all the war crimes committed during WWII into the biblical idea of the ‘sins of mankind,’ the heavily abstracted and ambiguous culprit responsible for the appalling violence and genocidal act

(Takahashi 1985, Shibata 2011). As a result, Shibata (2011) contends that Nagai’s ‘sanctified’ discourse effectively absolved both Japan and the United States for their specific war crimes by shifting the “social, historical, political, and moral responsibility to an ahistorical realm” (9).

In the context of domestic Japanese politics, the rhetorical utility of The Bells of

Nagasaki was probably strongest as a justification and legitimization of pardon given to the emperor. On May 17th, 1949, four months after the publication of The Bells of Nagasaki, the

Emperor Hirohito took a twenty-four-day imperial tour of Kyushu Island,41 stopping in Nagasaki on the 27th of May. While there, Hirohito met with a dying Nagai, whose book he claimed to

41 Hirohito already launched the first imperial tour, which included Hiroshima, in 1947 to visualize his reconfigured image as the “emperor of love and peace” (Bix 2001, p. 646). Compared to the previous trip, the Kyushu trip was “less lavish in scale” (ibid, p. 637), but it ended as successful as before in the construction and distribution of the reinvented postwar image of the benevolent and merciful emperor.

85 86 have read (Photograph 9). Nagai recalled that Hirohito said to him that Nagasaki had suffered a great deal, and that his heart went out to its people. However, Hirohito believed that that sacrifice could “become the rock on which peace [would be] built” (Glynn 1990, 226-227).

Photograph 9: Hirohito greeting to bedridden Nagai (Mainichi Shinbun) In addition to providing a visual instantiation of Nagai’s narrative and reframing the postwar image of Hirohito as the benevolent and merciful emperor, Nagai’s discourse confined the crucial historical fact concerning the timing of Emperor’s so-called ‘sacred decision’ to taboo

(Takahashi 2005). Archives indicate that Hirohito could have terminated the war before the

Battle of Okinawa took place in April 1945. On February 14th, 1945, Prince Fukumaro Kounoe, the former premier of Imperial Japan from 1937 to 1941, sent a famous report called “Kounoe memorandum” (Kounoe jyôsôbun) to Hirohito. In the report, Kounoe told Hirohito that Japan’s defeat was inevitable and thus His Majesty should immediately surrender, without negotiation, in order to uphold the national polity. However, Hirohito replied, “we’re going to hit them [the

United States] hard one more time, then we’ll talk about it” (Bix 2015). Herbert P. Bix (2015) notes that “Hirohito’s fateful response… was the prelude to the Battle of Okinawa” (Feb. 23,

2015) in which 14,009 American servicemen, 110,071 Japanese soldiers and more than 140,000

86 87 civilians in Okinawa were killed (Mitchell, The Japan Times March 30, 2015). Hirohito’s irrational view of the war situation also led to the nuclear catastrophe in Hiroshima-Nagasaki that took more than 215,000 lives in total in an instant. Hirohito refused to take the most critical opportunity in the Asia and Pacific War that could have saved millions of those lives in Okinawa,

Hiroshima, Nagasaki and other battle fields in Asia and Pacific. However, Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse rather legitimized the master narrative that, without the atomic bombs, Emperor would not have been able to make his ‘sacred’ decision to terminate the war and subsequently, another millions of lives would have been lost (Igarashi 2000). As a result, Tetsuya Takahashi (2005) argues that Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse suppressed the feeling among the population in Japan, especially among hibakusha, that Emperor’s decision was too late to make. In the end, the meeting of Nagai and Hirohito worked to reconcile the radical contradiction of Nagai’s biblical interpretation of the atomic bombing as an act of ‘divine providence’ and the idea of the Emperor as the head of National Shintoism – the former strictly forbids the idolatry, whereas the latter embodies the fanatical worship of the idol as a living God.42

This reconciliation or legitimization was already in effect in Japanese Christian churches

(both Catholic and Protestant) during the war. Most Japanese churches adapted their religious practices to ensure a consistency with Japanese nationalistic policies and practices; for instance, congregations would worship at Shinto shrines and subscribe to the belief that the Emperor was a living God. It even cooperated with Imperial Japan’s expansion during the Asia and Pacific War

(Mullins 1994, Takahashi 2004). A number of theological arguments were used to justify the contradictions of Christian dogma and its practice in Japan. For example, some Christian leader claimed that the “divine nation of the emperor was none other than the kingdom of God, and the

42 See also Yoshikuni Igarashi’s Bodies of Memory: Narratives of War in Postwar Japanese Culture 1945-1979 (2000). Igarashi disentangles how the postwar master narrative and history was constructed through the narratives of the atomic bombing, Hirohito’s so-called ‘sacred decision’ and Japanese sacrifice.

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Japanese people were a chosen race destined to establish the kingdom of peace and prosperity throughout Asia” (Mullins 1994, 270). A prominent Japanese-Catholic journal claimed that the sacrifice of one’s life for the state is analogous to the sacrifice of one’s life for God; both are the acts of a martyr (ibid).

Nagai’s biblical interpretation of the bombing, therefore, can be read as an extension of the theological position that was already well established in the Japanese Catholic and Protestant

Churches. Though it may be argued that imperial Japan forced the Japanese Christian community to demonstrate their loyalty by forcing a choice between martyrdom and compromise, the fact is that most of the Japanese Christians chose the latter, and the Urakami Catholics were no exception. Urakami Bishop Urawaka Wasaburo, who gave a eulogy along with Nagai at the

Requiem Mass in November 1945, had taught during the war period that the Urakami Catholics must work together with Japanese spirit to “demonstrate the faithful spirit of sacrifice that shines with eternal hope” (cited from Diehl 2011, 32). The history of Urakami’s martyrdom, which was the core of the identity of the Urakami Catholic community, was interrupted during the war. The interpretation of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, or more properly Urakami, as the “fifth collapse of Urakami” only served to disguise, if not deny, the discontinuity and rupture between the Urakami Catholic community’s history of martyrdom in the face of persecution on one hand, and their own complicity in the Japanese war crimes, for instance, committed upon the

Philippian Christians, on the other.

Nagai’s biblical interpretation of the atomic bombing should be also read as an incorporation and translation of the politics of Yasukuni Shrine into the biblical language in U.S occupied Japan. Yasukuni Shrine was established in 1869 in Tokyo “to commemorate and honor the achievement of those who dedicated their precious life for their country” (Yasukuni Shrine

88 89 website).43 The name “Yasukuni” was given by Meiji Emperor, the grandfather of Hirohito, to embody his wishes for “preserving peace of the nation” (ibid). The Meiji Emperor composed a poem at Yasukuni in 1874: “I assure those of you who fought and died for your country that your names will live forever at this shrine” (ibid). In reality, Yasukuni was the symbol of the establishment of National Shintoism and Japan’s wartime militarism. It was deeply associated with “every Japanese war from the Meiji era through the Asia Pacific War” (Selden, September

10, 2008). Imperial Japan demanded its subjects to willingly sacrifice themselves for the nation and Emperor. In exchange, the state promised the official recognition of personal sacrifice and honor by Emperor (Selden 2008, Takahashi 2005; 2006, Kal 2008). Today, more than 2,466,000 divinities are enshrined and honoured at Yasukuni Shrine, including 14 Class A war criminals, who were found guilty as the leading war criminals by the International Military Tribunal for the

Far East. Furthermore, 27,863 Taiwanese and 21,181 Koreans, the former colonial imperial subjects, are also ‘enshrined’ in Yasukuni. Tetsuya Takahashi (2005; 2006) argues that Yasukuni was the device to operate the politics of sacrifice that enshrined the war dead as ‘precious sacrifice’ and ‘deities’ to turn the grief of bereaved families into the sense of honour, respect and joy in order to interrupt their work of mourning and grieving, while effacing the brutality and the criminality of the state-led violence. Put another way, the rhetoric and politics of sacrifice assures that there is nothing to regret about the war, preventing the subjects from critically (self) interrogating one’s relation to the reality. Nagai’s so-called ‘sanctified’ atomic bomb discourse or ‘holocaust theory’ followed the same logic and rhetoric of sacrifice as that of Yasukuni by urging his fellow Urakami Catholics to “give thanks that Nagasaki had been chosen for the sacrifice” (Nagai 1949). As a result, instead of mourning and grieving for the profound sense of loss, the Urakami Catholics and Japanese nation accepted the atomic dead as ‘precious sacrifice’

43 Yasukuni Shrine website is available at http://www.yasukuni.or.jp/english/about/index.html.

89 90 upon which Japan would prosper in peace with Emperor. It could also account for why the

Urakami Catholics and the Japanese nation embraced Nagai’s discourse so smoothly; they were deeply embedded in the politics of sacrifice that invalidates any critical inquiry of why Emperor did not make the decision much earlier, why the United States dropped the atomic bomb twice over Japan, and who were the responsible for the millions of the dead all over Asia and Pacific.

Despite the American desire to offset the atrocities of the atomic bombing with those of the Japanese military by binding “Tragedy in Manila” and The Bells of Nagasaki together in a single book, no analysis has investigated the Japanese response to the two incompatible interpretations of the bombing (one describing it as a “retaliation,” the other as a “divine act”).

Thus, it is not possible to say with any certainty how the juxtaposition of the two war crimes were perceived by the Japanese, or whether any Japanese readers actually read “Tragedy in

Manila” along with The Bells of Nagasaki. What is known is that “Tragedy in Manila” was no longer included in The Bells of Nagasaki after the end of the American occupation of Japan in

1952 (Takase 2009). Today, a very few Japanese people know the atrocities committed by the

Japanese Imperial Army in Manila. Japanese war crimes against the Philippians have been forgotten and excluded from the Japanese war memory narratives.

4. Sacrifices to the Nuclear Sciences

Nagai’s interpretation of the bombing as divine providence, the victims of which were construed as lambs sacrificed to atone for the sins of mankind, remained popular for years in academic and journalistic circles both inside and outside of Japan. However, it has been largely ignored that Nagai’s idea of ‘sacrificial lambs’ was also dedicated for the scientific development of the nuclear energy—until the Fukushima nuclear disaster in March 2011. Nagai’s concerned nuclear energy discourse was explicitly depicted, for instance, in a conversation Nagai had with

90 91 his colleagues. Nagai recognized the terrific efforts that must have been made by the American scientists to produce the atomic bomb. He also acknowledged that the achievement must have come at a great expense. Consequently, he was able to state that it cannot be denied that it is “a tremendous scientific achievement, this atomic bomb!” (The Bells of Nagasaki Translation by

Johnston 1987, 60)

Japanese scientists had conducted research into atomic bombs after the attack on Pearl

Harbour in December 1941 (Dower 2007, Yamamoto 2012); however, it was concluded that an atomic bomb was only possible in theory, not in practice. Presumably then, the Japanese scientific community was astonished by the atomic bombs and admired the scientific success of the American nuclear fission program. Nagai’s depiction of the Japanese scientific community’s fascination with the atomic bomb, a fascination that endured even in the midst of the chaos that followed its use, served as a new trajectory for Nagai’s redemptive narrative, one according to which Nagasaki was sacrificed for not only the atonement of human sins, but also for the development of the nuclear sciences and technology.

This facet of Nagai’s work is perhaps best exemplified by a conversation he had with

Seiichi, his 10-year old son. When Seiichi asked if there were any uses for atomic energy other than the bomb, Nagai answered that if an atom could be split gradually under controlled conditions, the consequent atomic power could move ships, trains, and planes, replacing coal and oil (Nagai 1949). Nagai also claimed that humanity’s grasp of atomic energy was the key to its future, though whether that future were survival or destruction remained to be seen as Nagai noted: “I believe that the only proper use of this power is by means of authentic religion”

(Translation by Johnson 1984, 116). Nagai’s discussion of the socio-political potential of nuclear energy is consistent with his interpretation of the atomic bombing of Japan. Just as mankind’s

91 92 essentially fallen status was redeemed by the human sacrifice made to God, so too could nuclear energy redeem the destructive power of the atomic bomb.

Redirecting the technological potential of the atomic bomb towards the development of a nuclear energy program had already become a popular idea among Japanese scientists and intellectuals before Nagai’s book was published. The following describes how Nagai’s book was published and distributed within the discursive field of the nuclear energy that shaped Japan’s understanding of the atom and the atomic bombings.

4.1. The Atomic Bomb and its Legacy: “Atoms for Dreams” (Yume no Genshiryoku)

On August 20th, 1945, five days after Japan surrendered to the Allied Forces, Maeda

Tamon, the Minister of Education, sent a statement to The Asahi Shinbun saying that Hiroshima stood as a proof that the war had been lost to American science. Maeda’s statement became the official interpretation of the Japanese government. The Japanese educational policy of 1946-

1947 reflected this view. It claimed that Japan’s principle shortcoming was its lack of rational capacity. To solve the problem, the Japanese educational policy stated that fostering a “scientific spirit” was to become the foundation of a democratic and peaceful Japan (Yamamoto 2012).

In postwar Japan, the term ‘science’ became synonymous with ‘power,’ ‘triumph,’

‘prosperity,’ ‘democracy,’ and ‘peace.’ This belief in the power of science and rational thought was the motivation for Japan’s massive investment in the education and civic, technological development (Dower 2007). This investment in applied science and technology became the economic motor for the rebuilding and re-developing of Japan. The development of a nuclear energy program is one example of this new economic and social direction, a direction perfectly in line with Nagai’s redemptive narrative and the postwar ideology that the atomic bombing was

92 93 the necessary precursor to rebuilding a new, stronger, more powerful, peaceful, and prosperous

Japan.

The potential of nuclear power to provide a future source of energy was already circulated among the general populace in Japan by 1946. James J. Orr (2001) traced the emergence of this idea through Japanese print media archives. On June 17th, 1946, the Asahi

Shinbun characterized nuclear energy as dangerous, though nonetheless promising if it could be strictly controlled by a “global cooperation” (Orr 2001). Two weeks later, another Asahi Shinbun column claimed that the path of nuclear energy has been “carved into the history of world civilization” (Orr, 40).

Conducting a research on nuclear energy was banned in Japan during U.S occupation.

Yet, approximately 1,500 articles and reports contained the word “atomic bomb” and another

1,500 contained “nuclear energy” (Mainichi Shinbun, November 2, 2011). In many of these, the discussion revolved around the potential for the peaceful products of nuclear energy. It suggests that U.S’s Press Code sought not only to suppress the particular discourses, but also to produce the particular knowledge of nuclear energy through censorship. There was a marked increase in the number of such publications in 1948. Often, the terms “atomic bomb” and “atomic energy” were used interchangeably. In 1948, Yukawa Hideki, a prominent Japanese nuclear physicist who had been involved in the imperial Japanese atomic research group, claimed that nuclear power represented a boundless energy source, and that it constituted a great hope for humanity’s wellbeing (Yamamoto 2012). According to Yamamoto Akihiro (2012), Yukawa’s claims had a strong impact on the Japanese understanding of the atomic bomb as an important step in the development of atomic energy. It was a position that was becoming increasingly prominent among Japanese scientists and intellectuals in public lectures, journal and newspaper articles.

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In 1948 and 1949, this relationship between the atomic bomb and atomic energy was distilled into an easily consumable slogan “Atoms for Dreams” (yume no genshiyroku) through which the idea of nuclear energy was transformed from a source of fear into a source of hope, and received by the Japanese public as a symbol of progress, dreams and peace. While the atomic bomb discourse was constructed and distributed as the condition for peace, Japanese scientists also engendered a discourse anchored in concepts such as “hope,” “development,” and

“dreams” (Yamamoto 2012). They promoted the idea that Japan, now awash in idyllic representations of nuclear energy, was able to reconfigure the tragedy and devastation of the atomic bombings as a source for a new horizon of human potential.

In 1948 and 1949, Japanese scientists gradually distanced themselves from the American nuclear discourse with its emphasis on atomic weaponry and war deterrence to a staunch rejection of that weaponry. They began to favour instead the principle of energy. For instance, in

1946 and 1947 respectively, Nishina Yoshio, a leading Japanese scientist, advocated for the value of nuclear weapons as a war deterrent (Nishina, SEKAI, March 1946), and Takeya Mitsuo claimed that only the United States could effectively maintain international peace by means of its atomic arsenal (Takeya, Nihon Hyoron, October/November, 1947, 30). By 1948 and 1949, however, their positions had changed drastically. As Cold War tensions heightened, they renounced the military use of nuclear energy. Nishina began to address the scientific community’s responsibility for the devastation caused by the atomic weapon they had created, claiming that they would have to try and redeem themselves by preventing any further war. This position evolved alongside Japanese nationalism after Yukawa was awarded the Nobel Prize in

Physics in 1949 for his development of ‘meson theory,’ which purported to and later came to serve as an important part of nuclear and high-energy physics.

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The Japanese public not simply praised Yukawa’s personal success but connected his accomplishment to Japan’s national status as the top-nuclear scientific country. For example, an editorial in the Yomiuri Shinbun on November 5, 1949 emphasized the Japanese discovery of a theoretically peaceful use of nuclear energy, the first of any such discovery; and Yukawa’s success made the Japanese nuclear scientific community one of the best in the world (Yamamoto

2012).

From 1949 to 1952, that same scientific community made recurrent use of Japan’s memory of the atomic bombings, which was constructed within the strictly censored space of discourse, to legitimize the development of nuclear energy. They framed their position as unique given their experience of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They argued that they had a distinctive responsibility towards redeeming those misuses of nuclear energy and the sacrifice the atomic bomb victims made by contributing something practical and peaceful (Yamamoto 2012). The significance is that the nuclear energy discourse cannot be relegated to mere products of the

Press Code or the American occupation of postwar Japan. Rather, the idea of the redemption of the atomic bombing by its conversion to the nuclear energy was produced and disseminated by the Japanese scientists, who first appropriated and incorporated U.S’s justification of the atomic bombing to enter the censored public discourse, but gradually shifted their position from accommodating U.S’s idea of the bomb as détente to the exclusively peaceful and civilian use of the atoms. In so doing, they won the Japanese public supports to legitimize the future development of the nuclear science technology as the national project.

The Bells of Nagasaki was published and distributed within this discursive formation of the nuclear energy discourse. In Foucauldian terminology, the discursive formation refers to a group of statements that deal with the same topic; the statements are often associated with

95 96 particular institutions, and project similar effects on individuals for what they perceive ‘true’ or

‘real’ (Foucault 1971). Nagai’s redemptive discourse of the atomic bomb and nuclear energy followed the ‘unwritten general linguistic rules’ that defined “the limits and forms of the sayable”

(Foucault [1979] 1991, 59). His discourse was then distributed within the discursive formation that lay “between the general rules of linguistic structure on the one hand, and the particular epistemological formulations of science and philosophy on the other” (Shiner 1982, 388). This unwritten rules were set out by not only GHQ’s Press Code, but also shaped by the historically specific conditions and multiple factors, such as Japanese scientists’ ambition, policymakers’ interests, and population’s desire and consent for future betterment. All these political factors and emotions contributed to the knowledge production of the atomic bomb and nuclear energy within the narrative of redemptive sacrifice in postwar Japan.

5. Nagai’s influence over Nagasaki hibakusha

The influence of Nagai on the historical consciousness of the Nagasaki hibakusha was immense. Nagai achieved the status of a national saint. Japanese famous actors, artists and writers publicly expressed their admiration for Nagai. Some of them actually visited Nagai and called him a role model of the entire Japanese nation (Diehl 2011). Nagai was also awarded the first Honorary Citizen of Nagasaki from Nagasaki City Council in December 1949. As well, he was given the National Honorary Award (alongside the Nobel Prize winner Yukawa Hideki) from the Japanese National Diet in 1950.44 Whether or not it had ever been his intention, Nagai’s

44 However, note that the Communist Party and Socialist Party objected to Nagai’s nomination for the National Honorary Award by claiming that Nagai was not qualified for the award which was supposed to be given for an academic achievement. Shigeo Kamiyama, the leader of the Communist Party, asserted that Nagai’s Catholic ideas “anesthetize[d] the anger of the Japanese people against the true war criminals” (Diehl 2011, 154). He further argued that Nagai’s ‘sanctified discourse’ rather demonstrated how little Nagai understood the “nature of war” (ibid).

96 97 prestige cast him in the role of sole spokesperson and role model for the Nagasaki hibakusha. He spoke for them, and they felt obliged to align their feelings to his.

The phrase “Nagasaki prays” became increasingly prevalent in the Japanese media in

May 1949. That same month, Hirohito came to Nagasaki and visited Nagai. As well, the GHQ and American Catholic Church helped organize a celebration marking the 400th anniversary of the arrival of St. Francis Xavier to Japan in Nagasaki. This Catholic celebration of Saint Xavier was the first international event held in postwar Japan. 20,000 people, including the emissary of the Pope, representatives from over 20 different countries around the world, and more than 4,000

Urakami Catholics participated in an outdoor Mass in front of the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral

(photograph 10).

Photograph 10: Urakami’s outdoor mass. The center is the ruins of Urakami Cathedral and temporary church is also visible on the right (Photo courtesy of Takahara Itaru)

In the end, the Diet decided to award Nagai for his contributions to the Japanese society, not for ‘academic achievement.’

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The holy relic of Xavier’s right forearm was sent to Nagasaki from Rome along with the good wishes of 300 million Catholics worldwide (Yokote 2012). General MacArthur sent his congratulations. Cardinal Gilroy, the Pope’s emissary, visited Nagai. The scale of the event completely overshadowed the city’s Shinto festival, Kunchi. Urakami was no longer the atomic wasteland. Few Nagasaki residents had ever imagined that they would witness such a scene in

Urakam, the land of abject. In the same month, Nagasaki was also officially designated as

‘International Cultural City’ while Hiroshima became ‘Peace Memorial City.’ Taken in conjunction with the popularity of Nagai and his works, these events helped cement Nagasaki’s reputation as an ‘international Christian city,’ anchored by the phrase ‘Nagasaki prays.’

Photograph 11: Nishizaka Hill, where 26 Catholics were executed and became martyrs in 1596 (Photo courtesy of Takahara Itaru)

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Photograph 12: Urakami Catholic parade through the old city center in Nagasaki (Photo courtesy of Itaru Takahara)

After the events of May 1949, some locals recall that the Nagasaki hibakusha, including the Urakami Catholics, no longer spoke of the atomic bombing (Akizuki [1972] 2010, Okuyama

2013). Nagasaki hibakusha and residents recognized that Nagai and Urakami Catholics had become the defining figure of postwar Nagasaki, and it became taboo for them to express different views of the atomic bombing from Nagai’s. Meanwhile, the Urakami Catholic hibakusha used the term ‘atoms,’ rather than using the phrase ‘atomic bomb’ (Nishimura 1970).

By omitting the word ‘bomb,’ they seemed to have become a social instantiation of Nagai’s

99 100 redemptive interpretation of nuclear science as energy rather than weaponry. The distinctively

Catholic facet of that shift anchored in the terms of ‘Urakami’s fifth collapse,’ ‘divine providence,’ and ‘atoms’ indicate that Nagai’s redemptive narrative and notion of redemptive sacrifice eventually obliged them forsake any interpretation of the atomic bombing as cruel.

Akira Nishimura (2002), one of the very few religious studies scholars to critique Nagai’s discourse, argues that despite Nagai’s wish for perpetual peace, his sanctified discourse paradoxically generated “passive pacifism” among the Nagasaki hibakusha (Nishimura 2002,

56). Nishimura defines “passive pacifism” as an attitude and state of consciousness that uncritically accepts a ‘provisional’ peace, which is sustainable only by means of cementing a set of international power relations. Extending Nishimura’s critique, I would suggest that “passive pacifism” is the result of having absolved both Japan and the United States of their war crimes, attributing the whole to “God’s will.” So long as the hibakusha accept the interpretation of the atomic bomb as an instance of divine will and its victims as sacrificial lambs, no opportunity could ever arise for them to question their responsibility for and complicity in the war crimes committed by Japan during the war, nor could they problematize the American political rhetoric of a “just war” used to justify the indiscriminate killing of civilians. In other words, Nagai’s discourse served to efface the notion of justice and responsibility for the victims of the war crimes committed by Japan and the United States from the historical discourse of the atomic bombing and Asia and Pacific War, and the Japanese historical consciousness.

6. God and the Atomic Bomb

Finally, I consider the notion of ‘sacrifice’ as it is a primary concept in Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki and the foundation of Nagai’s so-called

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‘holocaust theory.’ Nagai’s apologists in Japan and abroad have claimed that Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse have to be evaluated and appreciated within the Catholic teaching (Kataoka

1996, 2000; Kogawa 2005; Motoshima 2000; Miyamato 2012). Nagai’s biblical discourse of the atomic bomb and his popular figure as a ‘Saint’ still dominate the representation of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb remembrance both in Japan and abroad. For instance, Yuki Miyamoto (2012), U.S- based religious scholar, argues that Nagai’s theological interpretation of the atomic bombing is consisted with “fundamental Christian, and specifically Catholic teaching, in its emphasis on the redemptive potentials of suffering and the call to critical self-reflection (134-135). She also claims that Nagai’s understanding of himself as a ‘sinner’ is suggestive that he sought an

“inclusive community embodying the ethics of reconciliation rather than retaliation” (134).

Similarly, Deb Sheffer and Walter Enloe, scholars based in St. Paul city, Minnesota, the sister city with Nagasaki, have recently co-authored Nagai’s biography The Saint of Nagasaki:

Takashi Nagai: Loving Others As Himself (2014), in which they depict Nagai as a Japanese Saint who preached the spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation over the hatred. In addition, Ian and

Dominic Higgins, British filmmakers, have made a movie All That Remains that depicts the life of Nagai as a great scientist, believer, husband/father, healer, truth seeker, and the hero of

Nagasaki survivors. The film is to be released in late 2015 or early 2016, and will be the first film to deal with the atomic bombing of Nagasaki outside of Japan. Both Sheffer and the Higgins express how The Bells of Nagasaki and Nagai’s first English biography A Song for Nagasaki

(1988) written by Paul Glynn, an Australian Marist missionary priest and writer, inspired them to reproduce and transmit Saint Nagai’s biblical discourse into the contemporary world.45

45 See the Higgins’ production blog: https://allthatremainsthemovie.wordpress.com/about-all-that-remains/about-the- film-makers, and Sheffer’s author’s note in The Saint of Nagasaki: Takashi Nagai: Loving Others As Himself. They also acknowledge each other’s work. In an interview, Ian Higgin tells that he has grown up in an Irish Catholic family, and went to a Catholic school (see: http://www.ignatius.com/promotions/the-13th-day/higgins-

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Nagai’s teaching and The Bells of Nagasaki have also been spotlighted once again by the

Japanese media after the Fukushima nuclear catastrophe in March 2011 as a spiritual guide for the Japanese to strive for the reconstruction and the rebirth of Fukushima. Immediately after the earthquake and Fukushima nuclear disaster, the media encouraged the Japanese people to stay calm, smile, greet and help with each other to normalize the daily lives. Kyo Maclear (2015) critically observes the discovery discourse prevailed in Japan in the wake of Fukushima and analyzes how the domestic media and Japanese officials promoted the notion of “composure” as the virtue of the Japanese nation.46 Nagai’s books have been appreciated once again in post-

Fukushima Japan to remind the people of his belief of recovery and progress, and of the redemptive end of the manufactured nuclear catastrophes.

Nagai addressed the status of the atomic bomb death as “lambs” that were sacrificed to redeem the sins of mankind as Christ was sacrificed. Nagai also claimed that the atomic bomb death was the sacrifice made to God for nuclear science development. However, Nagai’s logic of sacrifice is a form of economy, commerce between the mankind and God, which, I suppose, the believers of the Lord must renounce. John W. Treat (1995) rightly points out that, in Nagai’s biblical narrative, Nagasaki “becomes an Old Testament story of a wrathful God combined with a New Testament promise of deliverance by that same God” (313). To further the discussion on what constitutes sacrifice in the biblical context, I look into Jill Robbins’s critical view of the biblical references.47

interview.htm). Sheffer is teaching at Hamline University, St. Paul in Minnesota. St. Paul is known for the largest Catholic population in the United States. According to Nagasaki Tourist Department pamphlet, St. Paul’s uniquely large Catholic population was one of the reasons to become the sister city with Nagasaki. 46 I would like to offer my sincere thanks to Kyo Maclear for sharing with me her insightful view on Japanese cultural response to the Fukushima nuclear catastrophe. Maclear presented her paper “As if Nothing Happened, As if Everything is the Same: Composure in the Wake of Fukushima” in the symposium “Through Post-Atomic Eyes” held in Toronto from 23 to 25 October 2015. 47 Jill Robbins, “Sacrifice” in Critical Terms of Religious Studies ed. Mark C. Taylor [University of Chicago Press 1998].

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Robbins (1998) engages with the idea of sacrifice by reading the most known and poignant story in the Old Testament: the Sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham. Isaac was the only child

Abraham received when he was 100 years old. However, God commanded Abraham to sacrifice

Isaac to Him as a burnt offering, Holocaust, to prove his faith. Abraham decided to respond to this extraordinary task made by God. At the region of Moriah, Abraham bound Isaac with ropes and placed him on the stone altar. When Abraham finally raised the knife to slay his only son, the angel of God called out to Abraham to stop and not to kill his son. God told Abraham, “I exempt thee from the duty of honoring the parents, though I exempt no one else from this duty”

(Genesis 39:7) and returned Isaac to Abraham. Robbins argues that the story of the sacrifice of

Isaac is, therefore, the “story of an event that does not take place” (Robbins 1998, 296, emphasis is original). She continues to claim:

When Abraham is ready to put to death his one and only son, the unique, and to give the death to God, sacrifice can no longer be understood in terms of substitution, because it concerns precisely that which is unsubstitutable. Sacrifice, as an aneconomic phenomenon, necessarily takes place and becomes legible in a domain that we call the impossible. (Robbins 1998, 296; emphasis is added)

The New Testament then shows that only God could offer up his son, Jesus Christ, as an unblemished sacrifice to save the mankind, and Christ’s death puts an end to the Old Testament sacrificial system. In the New Testament, it is written as the words of Jesus Christ that “For I desire steadfast love rather than sacrifice, the knowledge of God, rather than burnt offerings” (the

Gospel of Matthew, cited from Robbins 1998, 287). Robbins argues that this “interiorization of the sense of sacrifice” (Robbins 1998, 287) is what the New Testament defines as Sacrifice. That is, sacrifice is the issue of one’s ethics, not the act of economy. Robbins then extends her critique for the terminology of the Nazi genocide of the Jewish people ‘Holocaust’ by saying that what happened in those concentration camps was not “sacrifice, but murder, which aims at, but always

103 104 misses, the alterity of the other” (296). Likewise, we can—or, we must—deduce that the atomic bomb death was not a holocaust, burnt offering to Him. God never asked for it.

7. Conclusion

I have critically engaged The Bells of Nagasaki and explored some of its political, social, cultural, and psychological implications. Nagai’s thesis was originally directed towards the

Urakami Catholic hibakusha. He evoked the community’s collective memory of its history of persecution and martyrdom, providing that community with a theoretical means to the atomic death and the survivor’s suffering. In turn, the Urakami Catholic community framed the atomic as a “fifth Urakami collapse,” as one more test of faith.

Nagai certainly filled the sense of void, emptiness among Urakami Catholic survivors by providing the powerful answer to their questions of “why God left us?” “Why the Lord allowed the Americans to drop the bomb over the land of Catholics?” and “Was it because we failed to maintain our faith?” Nagai said that it was not divine punishment, but “divine providence”; therefore there was nothing to regret or grieve. However, as Takahashi (2005) argues, honouring the dead and making war death the object of gratitude and respect are quite the opposite of the work of mourning. The former is the politics of sacrifice that effaces the brutality and the criminality of the state-led violence and justifies the war dead as precious sacrifice for the future betterment (Takahashi 2005). Nagai interrupted the work of morning among the Urakami

Catholics by offering the exactly same logic of sacrifice as that of Yasukuni.

Nagai was surgeon and decorated soldier during the war period. He was familiar with the rhetoric of sacrifice. One Nagasaki hibakusha doctor recalls that when his brother, a medical student at Nagasaki Medical University during the war, was drafted into army, all the professors in the medical department encouraged him to come back safely and resume his study. However,

104 105 only Nagai told his brother, “Sacrifice your life for Emperor” (cited from Saito 2015, 202). I contend that Nagai’s so-called ‘holocaust theory’ was the translation and the reproduction of the rhetoric of Yasukuni that necessitated and justified the sacrifice of Japanese imperial subjects into the biblical language in U.S occupied Japan. As a result, Nagai suppressed the work of mourning and grieving for the absolute loss of their beloved among the Urakami Catholic community by honouring the atomic death as precious sacrifice made to God, and calling them to express their sense of gratitude for being chosen by Lord as sacrifice.

Some may ask why the work of mourning is more important than consoling the bereaved families. In their psychoanalytical studies on the postwar German society, Alexander and

Margarete Mitscherlich claim that the work of mourning is critical to “detach oneself from lost object relations—whether these to be other human beings or to ideals” (1975, 66) because

“without it [work of mourning] the old ideals, which in National Socialism led to the fatal turn taken by German history, will continue to operate within the unconscious” (ibid; emphasis is added). In the Japanese context, the worship of Emperor and sacrificing one’s life for Emperor were what the Japanese nation believed as an ‘ideal’ during the war period, and these old ideals were the driving force for Japan’s expansion policy and aggression, while governing the

Japanese thought and disciplining their behavior into the absolute obedience to the fascist state.

Nagai’s so-called ‘sanctified discourse’ substantially maintained the same old ideals—adding the

U.S. as divine power along with Emperor, and continued to discipline the Urakami Catholics and

Japanese nation into the faithful subjects to God, Emperor and new authorities.

In 2002, Nagasaki Shinbun ran a special issue to examine the debate over whether or not the atomic bomb was ‘divine providence.’ By that time, several scholars and writers in Japan had criticized Nagai’s discourse for justifying U.S’s use of the atomic bombing. In response, Nagai’s

105 106 apologists asserted that Nagai had never intended to justify U.S’s use of the atomic bombs; he genuinely tried to restore the faith of his fellow Urakami Catholics and console them by ensuring that the sacrifices of the Urakami Catholic victims would not be in vain. Thus, they argued that it was wrong to contextualize Nagai’s discourse into the political context (Kataoka 1996, 2001).

Motoshima Hitoshi, a Nagasaki Catholic and former mayor of Nagasaki, asked those who were critical about Nagai’s discourse, “What else [other than ‘divine providence’] could Nagai have said to the Urakami Catholics at that time?” Motoshima continued to claim that “To encourage them to move forward to the reconstruction, [the idea of divine providence] was the only discourse Nagai could offer them” (Nagasaki Shinbun, August 5, 2002). I believe that Urakami

Catholics should have continued to ask Him within themselves, “the Lord, Where were you?

Why you left us?”—until they have come to acknowledge that God never left them, but they might have left Him. I also believe that Nagai should have confessed his own responsibility for the Japanese war crimes as the former decorated imperial soldier before preaching ‘peace.’

The next chapter examines how GHQ’s pro-Christian policy during MacArthur’s period and American Christian Churches’ massive material aids to postwar Japan, especially Nagasaki, played a crucial role in shaping postwar Nagasaki’s city identity as ‘Christian’ and “International

Cultural City.” I also show how Nagai’s sanctified discourse was appropriated and further disseminated by non-Urakami Catholic actors, and how Nagasaki’s particular socioeconomic structure also contributed to silencing of Nagasaki hibakusha. To do so, my focus moves away from the implications of Nagai’s books and how his discourses influenced the Japanese historical consciousness to the analysis of the particular socioeconomic structure in postwar Nagasaki in order to demonstrate how the multiple factors structurally silenced Nagasaki hibakusha.

Furthermore, the next chapter reveals how the lingering legacies of the Japanese feudalism and

106 107 imperialism came to manifest themselves in the space of Urakami as Nagasaki city spaciously reconfigured itself into “International Cultural City.”

107 Chapter 3: Reconstruction of ‘Christian City Nagasaki’ in Postwar Years–Remembering Christian Martyrdom, Obliterating the Buraku Community and Reviving Imperial Legacy

This chapter explores the violent aspects of Nagasaki’s cultural history, postwar reconstruction process and knowledge production of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory by tracing the obliterated history and memory of the Buraku community, and eliciting the lingering legacy of Japan’s imperialism within postwar and contemporary Nagasaki. I argue that the oblivion of Urakami’s Buraku community has been the very condition of the production of

Nagasaki’s postwar identity ‘international Christian city’ and the dominant scholarship on

Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory over the last decades.

To achieve the agenda, the chapter inquires how postwar Nagasaki appropriated the GHQ

(General Headquarters of Allied Powers)’s Christianization policy of occupied Japan and became the foremost recipient of American Christian financial aid and initiatives after the end of the war. This work also reviews how Hiroshima and Nagasaki competed over the status of preeminent Atomic Bomb city from 1947 to 1949. Such an inquiry also accounts for why

Nagasaki self-designated itself as the ‘International Christian City,’ while Hiroshima identified itself as the ‘Peace Memorial City’ in 1949. Finally, it reveals that ‘Nagasaki’s Peace Memorial

Statue,’ which is allegedly the symbol of postwar Nagasaki identity and the citizens’ will for peace, was merely the embodiment of an imperial sculptor, Kitamura Seibou’s immense desire for fame. My work illustrates that neither the atomic bomb nor the subsequent GHQ’s demilitarization policy managed to destroy the influence of imperial Japan.

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1. MacArthur’s Christianization Policy of Occupied Japan

American policymakers in Washington in conjunction with the GHQ in Japan believed that the dismantlement of Japanese State Shintoism was necessary to the demilitarization and democratization of Japan. In November of 1945, the GHQ ordered the government of Japan to cease any support of National Shinto institutions. The Truman administration and the Joint

Chiefs of Staff gave General Douglas MacArthur, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers, a series of religious policies to ensure the separation of church and state, and to provide a guarantee of religious freedom for the Japanese. ‘Religious freedom,’ here meant that no religion must rule the country, and that no religious organizations should receive any privilege from the state.

However, MacArthur had a radically different interpretation of religious freedom. He believed that Japanese Shintoism had to be replaced with Christianity, because “democracy and

Christianity have much in common, as practice of the former is impossible without giving faithful service to the fundamental concepts underlying the latter” (Wittner 1971, 82). His logic was that since Japan was a recipient of the American model of democracy, the country would also have to be converted to Christianity. Moreover, MacArthur believed that Christianity would serve as an antidote against Communism, which he perceived to be ‘a godless concept of atheistic totalitarian enslavement’ (Whitney 1956, 304). MacArthur was convinced that Japan would have to come to know Christ to prevent Japan from falling into the Soviet orbit.

Christian Church leaders in the United States enthusiastically welcomed MacArthur’s pro-Christian policy. MacArthur urged American church leaders to send a thousand missionaries to Japan to extend the influence of Christianity, and hopefully replace Shintoism as the dominant national religion. Approximately 2, 500 Christian missionaries were working in Japan by 1951.

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An American Catholic magazine, Ave Maria, described the benefits they received from

MacArthur’s pro-Christian policy that the “church has never had such opportunity for converts as it now has in Japan” (Wittner 1971, 93). Similarly, another American Christian leader claimed that ‘the opportunity for Christianity in the new Japan… is almost unlimited’ (ibid).

American churches were not the only beneficiaries of MacArthur’s Christianization policy. It also helped the GHQ’s efforts to create and maintain its humanitarian image among the

Japanese population by financially contributing to the reconstruction of postwar Japan. The financial contributions made by American Christian groups were enormous. In October 1945, just two months after the end of the war, Protestant groups from Canada and the U.S. arrived in

Japan by U.S. military jets and provided the Japanese Christian Churches with one million U.S. dollars for the reconstruction of war-damaged Christian infrastructures (Hattori 2002). During the occupation period, one American missionary observed that Japanese Christians considered the Christianity of the occupying forces a very prestigious attribute (Kerr 1951).

The GHQ’s pro-Christian policy was especially notable in Nagasaki. American Catholic churches donated large sums of money to the reconstruction of Catholic churches, institutions, and schools that had been destroyed by the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. American forces quickly built a temporary church for Urakami Catholics. In February 1948, American Catholic churches and the GHQ co-financed the building of an orphanage—one of the most luxurious orphanages in Japan—in Nagasaki. These stunning social welfare programs, as well as the rapid reconstruction of Christian institutions, appeared to the Nagasaki population as a symbol of the wealth and power of the United States and American Catholic Churches. It did not take much time for the local residents to recognize that the Americans, who had destroyed their city, were

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now a vital resource in its reconstruction. Nagasaki people also clearly understood that the city’s

Catholic population was helping to gather massive amounts of American capital.

In Nagasaki, Catholics have always outnumbered Protestants. As a result of the popularity Nagai, and of the popular conception of Urakami as the “home of Catholics,” its

Protestant population is largely unrecognized outside of the city. However, their collaboration with the Americans in postwar Nagasaki should not be overlooked.

The history of the Nagasaki Protestant community dates back to the 1860s when Japan reopened its borders to foreign powers. British missionaries established the first Protestant church in Nagasaki in 1862. Since then, the Nagasaki Protestant community has built several women’s schools, including Kassui high school and college; and, until the outset of the Second

World War, it maintained strong ties with American churches. Many Protestants in Nagasaki have claimed that they had kept their view of the Americans as their fellow Christians during the war (Hattori 2002). After the end of the war, they partnered with the American occupation army and church workers along with Nagasaki Catholics.

Their postwar contribution to the reconstruction effort and to the implementation of the idea of ‘peace and reconciliation’ with the United States received strong support from American

Protestant communities. American Protestant missionaries helped in the reconstruction of

Nagasaki’s Protestant churches and schools, and provided its orphans with humanitarian aid.

They also built a YMCA and organized cultural exchanges between American missionaries and

Nagasaki residents.

In the service of peace and reconciliation, the American Protestant community and the

American government were able to successfully introduce some popular American personalities into Japan. For instance, Helen Keller was sent to visit Nagai Takashi as a symbol of American

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courage, hope, and humanity. According to the Nagasaki Shibun, Nagai told Keller that, “while my body has been destroyed, my spirit will continue to work for world peace” (Nagasaki

Shinbun, October 20, 1948). Keller repeatedly asked Nagai to work with her to that end (ibid).

The encounter between these two figures – Keller, the symbolic figure of American humanitarian spirit on one hand, and Nagai, a Japanese Saint and scientist on the other – stood as a symbol of the universal spirit of Christianity dedicated to world peace.

A second example is Chiyoko Tsuruda, who had received a fellowship from an American

Methodist church to study in the United States in 1924, and who had worked as a teacher in a

Protestant school in Philadelphia (Hattori 2002). Though she lost her parents and brother in the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, she continued to work as a teacher in Philadelphia until she returned to Nagasaki in December 1947 to teach at the Kassui Women Vocational School. It should be noted that while 120,000 Japanese Americans were placed into internment camps in the United States during the Asia and Pacific war,47 Tsuruda continued to receive the financial aid she needed to study in the United States, and was subsequently offered a job. During a public lecture in post-atomic Nagasaki, Tsuruda called out to the young women of Japan to contribute to the development of science and build, thereby, a foundation for healthy families and a society as efficient as the one she was introduced to in the United States (ibid). She argued that, “only women with a mind for science can correct the problems of Japan” (Nagasaki Shinbun,

December 25, 1947). Tsuruda’s unique experience symbolized the American philanthropy and the process of ‘peace’ and ‘reconciliation’ between Japan and the United States.

American Protestant Churches invited many of Japanese Protestants to study American history, culture, politics, and thought in the United States after the war. In April 1949, two

47 Similar evacuation orders were established in Canada during WWII. Nearly 23,000 Japanese were sent to camps in British Columbia. It was the greatest mass displacement in the history of Canada.

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female Protestant teachers from Kassui high school in Nagasaki were selected by a Methodist church and given an opportunity to study in America for one year. They became the first hibakusha to land in the United States after the end of the war, and who spoke to an American audience how the Nagasaki hibakusha viewed the atomic bombing. While there, the Des Moines

Tribune ran a front-page article titled “Victim Glad Atom-Bomb Ended War – The First Women from Nagasaki” (September 7, 1949). According to the Nagasaki Shinbun, that article described that these two Christian friends from Nagasaki had been warmly welcomed everywhere they visited, and developed friendships with the American audience. The article continued to report that their speech had been aired on the radio throughout the United States. The Nagasaki Shinbun did not report exactly what these two Nagasaki Protestant teachers had told the American audience; but, it cited a comment of Ohashi Hiroshi, the Nagasaki mayor of the time, from the article of Des Moines Tribune: “Nagasaki people call the atomic bomb a ‘baptism by fire’ because the bomb ended the war and served as an apostle of peace” (Nagasaki Shinbun, October

4, 1949). The article suggests that Nagai’s discourse of the atomic bombing was being disseminated and promoted throughout the United States by non-Catholic Nagasaki hibakusha as the general view of the atomic bombing among the Nagasaki hibakusha. Nagai’s interpretation had thus come to dominate, not only Japan, but the United States as well. It should be noted that on the heels of this speech, American churches further pledged financial support for the reconstruction of Japan, with a special emphasis on Nagasaki (Hattori 2002).

2. The Re-Creation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki into the Respective Cities of ‘Peace’ and ‘Culture’

After the end of the war, both Hiroshima and Nagasaki sought to dispel their imperial past to accommodate the GHQ’s demilitarization policy. As well, both municipal officials

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believed their cities were entitled to some additional funds given the distinctive nature of the devastation to which they had been subjected. On August 23, 1946, representatives from both

Hiroshima and Nagasaki submitted a joint petition for special reconstruction financing to the

Diet. However, the cooperative relationship of Hiroshima and Nagasaki lasted less than two years. They quickly began to compete with one another to gain status of the preeminent atomic bombed city.

Hiroshima city officials and city planners quickly transformed the city into the ‘city of peace.’ It proposed to transform the hypocentre of the atomic bombing into a memorial park in

September 1945. In November 1945, its municipal administration designed a peace memorial for the same location. At the same time, local politicians and media had begun to reiterate the idea of postwar Hiroshima as a ‘symbol of peace’ (Kawaguchi 2006). The Chūgoku Shimbun, a newspaper based in Hiroshima, published an opinion piece that stated:

Hiroshima, which expanded as a result of the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese wars, had been proud of its existence as a militaristic city until the end of the war…[However], the atomic bombing obliterated the militaristic city. It also eradicated the militarism of its citizens… and at the same time, it gave a golden opportunity to Hiroshima to revive itself as a peaceful city. (Chūgoku Shinbun 11 November 1945. Cited from Kawaguchi 2006, 234)

The article framed the atomic bombing as a redemptive opportunity for Hiroshima’s rebirth from a major military command centre to a city of peace. ‘Peace’ was defined as an antonym of

‘militarism.’

To mark August 6, 1945 as the beginning of Hiroshima’s rebirth, the city authorities organized a peace festival on the first atomic bomb commemoration day. On the next day, the

Chūgoku Shinbun reported that “citizens marched and danced on the streets to celebrate peace.”

The festival grew in scope the next year. On the same day, Hamai Shinzō, the mayor of

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Hiroshima, stated in the Peace Declaration that “all human beings must remember August 6th as the day that brought about world peace” (Kawaguchi 2006, 235). In the same year, Hiroshima announced that it would change the original name of the memorial park from “Nakajima Park” to

“Peace Memorial Park.”

The Chugoku Shimbun helped the branding of Hiroshima as a ‘mecca of peace.’ In

August 1946, one year after the atomic bombing, the Chugoku Shinbun called the explosion “the flash of peace” (Kawaguchi 2006, 234), an event that “cleansed its past both materially and spiritually” (ibid). The Chugoku Shinbun also organized a music contest for the festival. What follows are the lyrics of the winner of that contest:

Since that day, who said “the atomic desert”? Such a name for the city Is now a tearful story of the past. […] The trees along the streets grow together with the singing voice That encourages the restoration of the city Under the eaves of the increasing number of houses Is the clear water of the seven rivers. (cited from Kawaguchi 2006, 234-235)

Before the war, the “seven rivers” was a phrase used to describe Hiroshima’s topography.

The residents of Hiroshima were proud of the clear water of the city’s seven rivers. On the day of the bombing, however, Hiroshima’s seven rivers overflowed with blood and corpses. The lyrics of the winning entry closed off the abyss of the death in the survivors’ crude memory, transforming the abysmal image into a symbol of peace. By August 1947, the idea of the “city of peace” had evolved into the common, shared terms according to which Hiroshima made its suffering meaningful. As the Chugoku Shinbun stated, “[s]ince August 6, [1945,] Hiroshima has become world famous as the atomic city, and the eyes of the world focus on how the city of corpses will come back to life” (Takenori Saiki, Chugoku Shinbun, August 2, 1947).

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It was the year of 1947 that Hiroshima and Nagasaki began to diverge and compete for the position of the preeminent status of the atomic bomb city. While Hiroshima held its peace festival, Nagasaki officials organized a weeklong ‘foreign trade festival.’ The festival highlighted the international aspect of Nagasaki’s history, propagating the idea that Nagasaki had long embraced and integrated foreign cultures into its own through international trade (Diehl

2011). However, the decision of Nagasaki officials to hold a foreign trade festival angered the residents of Nagasaki. Some locals expressed a sense of inferiority to Hiroshima as the atomic bombed city. On 8 August 1947, the Nagasaki Minyū Shinbun, mentioned that General

MacArthur sent a message only to Hiroshima’s peace festival on 6 August 1947:

[…] What a shame! How miserable! Does Gen. MacArthur wish happiness only to Hiroshima’s residents?! Doesn’t he remember Nagasaki anymore?! Doesn’t he remember the second atomic bombing?! Nagasaki’s atomic bombing has been completely forgotten. […] How has such a great disparity come to be between these two A-bombed (Pikadon) cities? (K-O “Why There Is No Peace Festival? Nagasaki Minyū Shinbun, 9 August 1947)

Likewise, on the same day, another local reader contributed to the Nagasaki Minyū Shinbun, mentioning that General MacArthur sent a message only to Hiroshima’s peace festival on August

6, 1947:

Opinions similar to these were regularly published in Nagasaki local newspapers in 1947.

According to the residents of Nagasaki, Hiroshima’s peace festival was evidence of its superior status as the atomic bombed city.

Nagasaki officials had reasons to characterize Nagasaki using the term ‘culture,’ rather than ‘peace.’ They were aware that the characterization of Nagasaki as the historical and cultural gateway between Japan and West was exactly what American occupiers projected onto postwar

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Nagasaki. The GHQ told Nagasaki officials that the Americans had seen Nagasaki as the point of connection between Japan and West, and encouraged them to emphasize the importance of restoring that international cultural image (Shirabe 1971). In August 1947, U.S. Commander

Victor E. Delnore publicly expressed this view:

[Nagasaki residents] have grasped the significance of western countries in the past, and they should restore this distinctive characteristic… The exotic atmosphere and beauty of Nagasaki City have long been extolled by western poets and authors. More than any other city in Japan, [Nagasaki] embodies the honor, charm, and beauty of your country. (cited from Diehl 2011, 89)

If Nagasaki worked to make manifest this characterization, Delnore said that his troops “would do all in their power to support reconstruction efforts” (Diehl 2011, 89-90).

Nagasaki officials deliberately appropriated this image of Nagasaki crafted by the

American occupiers as a means of achieving their own agenda—to dispel its past as a military city and accommodate the GHQ’s demilitarization and Christianization policies. In August 1947, the prefectural governor of Nagasaki announced that “Nagasaki is the land of Christian martyrdom” (Nagasaki Minyu 9 August 1947) and that, as a result, the reconstruction of the city as an international cultural city was “all the more significant” (Diehl 2011, 20). Nagasaki authorities began to use the terms ‘Christianity’ and ‘international culture’ interchangeably, and

Urakami Catholics forwarded the city’s cultural representatives.

In 1948, in the midst of MacArthur’s effort to Christianize occupied Japan, the GHQ permitted the publication of Nagai Takashi’s two books Leaving My Beloved Children Behind

(Konoko o nokoshite) and The Rosary Chain (Rozario no kusari). Leaving My Beloved Children

Behind was ranked as the ninth best-selling book of the year. In 1949, the GHQ once again approved the publication of another book by Nagai, The Bells of Nagasaki, which became the

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best-seller in the unprecedented scale in occupied Japan and cemented the knowledge of

Urakami as the ‘home of Catholics,’ and popular image of Nagasaki as a ‘Christian city.’

3. A Battle over the Popular Symbolism of the Atomic Bombing

In November 1948, Ōhashi Hiroshi, the mayor of Nagasaki, received some surprising news. He learned that Hiroshima was developing a proposal for a special construction law that would require the central government to share two thirds of the cost of the reconstruction of

Hiroshima, and would officially designate it as ‘Peace Memorial City.’ This well-planned political initiative was a blow to the Nagasaki administration, which had just begun a preliminary reconstruction process without any clear direction. Nagasaki officials felt betrayed by Hiroshima, because, at least in the minds of Nagasaki officials, Hiroshima and Nagasaki had promised one another that they would work together to protect the special character of their cities, relative to the 113 other war-damaged Japanese cities (Diehl 2011).

On April 26, 1949, Nagasaki asked Hiroshima if it could join Hiroshima’s initiative and to submit a co-proposal to the Diet. Hiroshima refused. They told Nagasaki to prepare a proposal of their own. In late April 1949, delegates from Hiroshima traveled to Tokyo to propose the ratification of the ‘Hiroshima Peace Commemoration City Construction Law’ for the National

Diet Meeting on May 10th. In its proposal, Hiroshima sought recognition as the ‘Atomic Bomb city’ and the ‘cornerstone of world peace.’ It claimed that it was the first city in human history to experience the destructive power of the atomic bomb. In so doing, Hiroshima officials propagated the idea that Hiroshima marked the opening of the nuclear age. Conversely, Nagasaki officials believed that Nagasaki’s atomic bombing was more significant than Hiroshima’s because it was the last atomic bombing in human history, and that it deserved to be recognized as

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the mecca of world peace. Nagasaki’s argument was no longer compelling, given that Nagasaki had already positioned itself as a centre for trade, tourism and culture. Moreover, in the bid to better tap American Christian aid, Nagasaki never emphasized the human destruction caused by the atomic bombing (Diehl 2011). The result of these factors relegated Nagasaki to a secondary position as the atomic bombed city, both domestically and internationally.

May of 1949 was the defining moment for Nagasaki’s reconfiguration of its identity as an international cultural city. On 3 May 1949, representatives from both Nagasaki and Hiroshima held a joint meeting to discuss Nagasaki’s special construction law. Hiroshima objected to

Nagasaki using the word ‘peace’ in its official title. Furthermore, Hiroshima representatives asserted that the existence of two peace cities in Japan would “undoubtedly blur the focal point” and “dilute the essence of a ‘city of peace’ altogether” (Diehl 2011, 95). Hiroshima firmly maintained its stance that they would never share the designation of peace city with Nagasaki or any other Japanese city. Nagasaki accepted to designate itself instead as an international cultural city. On 11 May 1949, both Hiroshima and Nagasaki passed laws designating the former as the

Peace Memorial City and the latter as the International Cultural City. Nagasaki lost its bid for the superior status of the atomic bombed city.

4. The Dismantling of the Buraku Community

Soon after the special construction law of the International Cultural City was passed, the city authorities approved the physical dismantlement of the Buraku community in Urakami.

Traditionally, most of the Buraku people lived in Urakami-cho, which was the only area that retained the name of ‘Urakami’ after the 1926 absorption of Urakami Yamazoto village into the city of Nagasaki. Before the atomic bombing, about 1,300 Buraku people lived in 229 houses in

Urakami. Urakami-cho was located only one kilometer from the epicentre of the explosion.

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According to available documentation, the atomic bombing destroyed all the houses contained therein, and killed 430 Buraku people (Nagasaki city archive I, 2006). This number, however, is probably not accurate as many of Buraku people did not have a household registration. The actual number of the atomic bomb victims within this community is likely higher than what the city archives have recorded. After the end of the war, most of the Buraku people left Urakami seeking temporary refuge and employment in other cities, whereas the majority of the Urakami

Catholics remained in the land.48 The Buraku hibakusha and residents had intended to come back to their hometown once its living condition had been improved.

However, as soon as the Buraku residents left Urakami, the owners of the land, on which the Buraku people’s houses had been built, erected barbed-wire fences with signs saying that no one was allowed to enter. Seventy percent of the Buraku community, while owning their homes, had been leasing the lands because they were forced to sell their land to survive during the Great

Depression of the 1930s. The Buraku people had offered to sell their houses as well, but the prospective buyers refused given the stigma of living in the Buraku land of Urakami (Nagasaki

Buraku History Studies 1989). When the atomic bomb destroyed all the buildings in Urakami, the Buraku lost any legal right to living on that land.

The Nagasaki municipal authorities purchased this land from the non-Buraku landowners.

The city government authorized the dismantlement of the Buraku communal graveyard, which was one of the few remnants that had survived the atomic bombing. After the dismantlement of

48 Some public historians argue that the Buraku moved out of Urakami quickly because many of them were skilled leather artisans, and believed this skill would provide opportunities for employment elsewhere (Nagasaki Buraku History Studies 1989). On the other hand, Urakami Catholics had developed their own welfare system within their community (Miyamoto 2012). For instance, Urakami nuns ran orphanages even prior to the end of the Asia and Pacific War. For this reason, Urakami Catholic survivors had probably decided to remain in the atomic wasteland and relied on their own community’s assistance. In addition, the GHQ’s pro- Christian policy might have also explained their decision as Catholic Churches in Nagasaki had access to GHQ and American Churches’ financial and material aid.

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the graveyard, the city authorities approved the construction of a road five hundred meters long and fifteen meters wide through the middle of the former Buraku community. The road separated the neighbourhood into two parts. The city archive described the purpose of that construction initiative as an attempt to invigorate tourism, and commercial and light industries (Nagasaki

Buraku History Studies 1989). However, after the road was built, few such initiatives were seen in the Buraku community’s land.

Many of the Buraku community in Urakami were the members of the political organization “Levellers Association of Japan” (Suiheisha) that was originally formed in March

1922 in Kyoto to encourage the Buraku people to unite and fight against all the discriminations imposed over themselves and advance their rights.49 The Suiheisha also intended to transform the sense of shame for being an Eta/Buraku into pride by declaring their human rights and recognizing their ancestors as the ‘martyrs of [the leather] industry,’ because their ancestors were stigmatized and their dignity was denied due to their occupation. The Nagasaki branch of

Suiheisha existed only in Nagasaki city in the entire prefecture prior to the atomic bombing; they built a school for their children by collecting money within their community as they believed that the access to education was fundamental to obtain their full-citizenship and equal opportunities.

Therefore, the demolition of the Buraku community from the city meant the liquidation of the important political body that was trying to raise the social awareness of the human rights issues within Japan.

The Urakami Buraku believed that the municipal authorities intended to erase not only the Buraku community, but also the problematic history of its relationship with the non-Buraku

49 The Suiheisha was founded in Kyoto in 1922 to eradicate Buraku discrimination. The Suiheisha Declaration is recognized by the Japanese human rights community as Japan’s first declaration of human rights. It can also be considered as one of the earlier Asian documents on human rights issued by a social movement mobilized by the marginalized group’s own voice and acts (Asia-Pacific Human Rights Information Center 2002).

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community, including Urakami Catholics, in Nagasaki. Nagasaki’s aggressive reconstruction forced even the few Buraku who owned both their house and the land on which they had been built to relocate. Only thirty Buraku households remained in Urakami after the war. After they had been forced out, the non-Buraku began to move in. One Buraku resident in Urakami-cho lamented that, in the past, so long as they lived within Urakami-cho, they remained shielded from the discrimination and humiliation. After the reconstruction process, that safe zone had been taken away from them. They became constantly subjected to the contempt of their new non-

Buraku neighbours (Nishimura 1970). The municipal authorities changed the name of ‘Urakami- cho’ to ‘Midori- cho’ (green town) because the newcomers did not like to be associated with the name of ‘Urakami.’ The few Buraku people who continued to live in Urakami-cho remained silent in the face of all these events, and suffered quietly from the discrimination and stigmatization inherited from the feudal era. In fact, the atomic bombing engendered a new stigma, that of being ‘Buraku hibakusha.’

Nishimura Toyoyuki’s collection of interviews with both Buraku and non-Buraku people living in Urakami in the 1960s and 1970s illustrates the reproduction of the Buraku stigma in postwar Nagasaki. Many non-Buraku newcomers regretted moving to Midori-cho because whenever they told the “old city people” (referring non-Buraku Shinto-Buddhist residents in the old city centre) always asked them, “Since when have you been living there?” The question was intended to glean the information on whether that person was a Buraku. To avoid being subject to the stigma, the newcomers had to insist they had only moved there after the war, otherwise any business relationships they had were at risk (Nishimura 1970).

Many of the newcomers did not transfer their koseki-tohon (household registration) from their previous town to Midori-cho to avoid any ‘misunderstanding’ about their identity

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(Nishimura 1970). Similarly, some Buraku people tried to conceal their background by repeatedly transferring their koseki-tohon to other towns and cities until their original address became untraceable (ibid). In this context, the koseki-tohon represents the continued discrimination and stigmatization of the Buraku people in postwar Nagasaki, and very likely any other place in Japan. One elderly Buraku woman stated:

The [second] atomic bomb killed more than 70 000 people, but even the bomb was not able to end the discrimination against us. The stigmatization of Buraku survived. The horror of the bomb cannot exceed our fear of this stigma. I heard that the atomic bomb disease will pass onto the next generation. The discrimination against us will never be eliminated, not until we all die. Our persecutors’ deep and persistent discrimination against us illustrates how the disease will be passed endlessly onto the next generations. (Nishimura 1970, 76)

Ironically, though the non-Buraku sought the elimination of the Buraku, the space formerly inhabited by the Buraku community now exists only within the minds of the non-Buraku.

Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing as ‘divine providence’ has been perceived as Urakami Catholics’ shared view of their atomic trauma and received a great deal of scholarly and media attention. However, the experience and continued plight of the Buraku community in

Urakami has remained what Michel Foucault called “subjugated knowledge” (Foucault 2003, 9).

The concept of “subjugated knowledge” refers to experiences and memories that are marginalized and remain invisible to the dominant perspective, because that knowledge is rendered “unqualified and unworthy of epistemic respect by prevailing and hegemonic discourses” (Madina 2011, 14). The Urakami Buraku remember their history as a series of forced relocations imposed upon them by municipal authorities. However, their peculiar remembrance of the atomic bombing and their ancestors’ ordeals have never been given a voice.

While both the Urakami Christians and Buraku have been subjected to various forms of discrimination and alienation from the dominant Shinto/Buddhist community as ‘stain’ (kegare), they differ markedly in their experience and remembrance of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki.

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While the former came to embrace the tragedy as a divine trial, a noble sacrifice and a selfless act of martyrdom, the latter saw the bombing as the result of Japan’s aggressions and prolonged war, and still remembers what happened to their community in postwar years as the manifestation of the lingering legacy of Japanese feudalism, a legacy which the supposedly modern, international, cultural, and Christian city of Nagasaki cannot accept. In other words, the presence of Buraku and their historical memory became a great obstacle in the city’s efforts to transform Nagasaki into the land of Christian martyrdom. The erasure of the Buraku community from postwar Nagasaki was one of the most violent forms of knowledge production perpetrated by Urakami, the ‘home of Catholics,’ and Nagasaki, the ‘Christian city.’

While the Buraku community was being demolished in the process of Nagasaki’s reconfiguration into an International Christian city, Japanese imperialists returned to postwar

Nagasaki by renaming themselves ‘peace.’

5. Revival of Imperial Dream in Postwar Nagasaki

5.1.Revival of Mitsubishi

On September 22, 1945, the American government announced that all Japanese conglomerates, or zaibatsu, were to be dismantled. The disintegration of the zaibatsu was one of the principal American strategies for making Japan’s economic and financial structures more democratic and competitive as the zaibatsu had monopolized these sectors until the end of the war. While most were dismantled, Iwasaki Koyata, the forth president of Mitsubishi, refused to dismantle his economic empire. Iwasaki insisted that the collaboration of Mitsubishi with

Imperial Japan was done as a duty; thus, he felt no shame or regret at the company’s activities

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during the war (Shirabe 1971).50 However, this resistance was short lived. On October 1, 1946,

Mitsubishi dismantled its headquarters. Its facets were spilt according to the various sectors in which Mitsubishi had interests, forming multiple companies within those sectors.

This dismantlement, however, was nominal at best. Even after the dismantlement of

Mitsubishi, those newly independent companies from Mitsubishi used their accumulated technology and political connections to pursue growth under the occupation’s economic policy, even though it was unfavorable to the former Mitsubishi industries. In the end, it took only ten years for Mitsubishi to be fully reorganized its disintegrated industries and financial sectors. One of the principle causes for Mitsubishi’s quick recovery was the outbreak of the Korean War

(1950-1953), which forced the American government to set-aside much of its demilitarization policy, including its ban on the Japanese production of military equipment. Those former

Mitsubishi industries and companies used the opportunities that followed from the Korean War to expand their industries and maximize their profits.

The Korean War considerably bolstered Japan’s economy. The United Nations Forces that participated in the Korean War introduced a direct procurement program in Japan to meet their material requirements. This program totalled $240 million by March 11, 1951, and affected the machinery, metal, textile, chemical, lumber, and paper industries. As a result of the UN’s direct procurement program, Japan had an import surplus of about $162 million in the first half of 1950 and Japanese foreign reserves increased from approximately $ 200 million before the break of the Korean War to $519 million by the end of 1950 (Okita 1951). The considerable demand for Japanese exports caused by the Korean War, and the massive capital injected into

Japan’s industrial sector rapidly resuscitated the zaibatsu, especially Mitsubishi.

50 Koyata Iwasaki died in December 1945, only four months after the end of WWII.

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By 1952, almost all of those new companies formed from the pieces of the former

Mitsubishi had been merged into one of four much larger corporations: Kowa Business, Fuji

Commercial, Tokyo Trading Company, and Tozai Trading. In 1953, soon after Japanese sovereignty was restored, those four companies merged into the Mitsubishi Commercial Trading

Company, which represented nine percent of Japan’s total trade. This number also represented the largest market share of any single holding, and marked the rebirth of the Mitsubishi Empire.

Mitsubishi had restored its status as the largest and strongest corporate conglomerate in postwar

Japan by following their traditional business practices; that is to say, they re-entered the weapon- manufacturing sector.

While the atomic bombing of Nagasaki destroyed Mitsubishi’s munitions and steel industries located in Urakami, the Nagasaki Mitsubishi Shipyard survived as its location was the old-center of the city. During the war, fifty-eight percent of its total production had been directed towards warships. After the end of the war, the Mitsubishi machinery and metal factories were quickly rebuilt, but the GHQ forbade any Japanese military production, which forced Mitsubishi to drastically restructure its naval production. However, in 1947, the Japanese government provided the Nagasaki Mitsubishi Shipyard with grants as a part of an economic policy intended to improve Japan’s trading business. This stimulus allowed Mitsubishi to build a variety of commercial ships, such as cargo vessels, oil tankers, and passenger ships (Diehl 2011). By 1950, the Nagasaki Mitsubishi Shipyard was almost as busy as it had been during the war given the increased demand for large export ships and oil tankers. By the mid-1950s, Mitsubishi had also reclaimed its status as a world-leader in the shipbuilding building industry (ibid). As the

Mitsubishi Nagasaki Shipping Industry regained its economic prominence, it regained much of its political influence in Nagasaki. However, the revival of Japan’s imperial legacy was not only

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contained within Nagasaki’s postwar economy. It also manifested itself in the commemoration space of the city.

5.2. The Construction of the Peace Statue

In August 1949, after the proclamation of the special construction law, the Nagasaki municipal government announced its ‘Peace Memorial project.’ The project would seek to promote Nagasaki as an international cultural city, and express its residents’ profound desire for peace. This project intended to convert the atomic field, in which Mitsubishi had had its industrial manufacturing plants, into Peace Park. The park was now to house a statue memorializing Nagasaki’s atomic bomb victims.

In September 1949, the ‘Committee for the Preservation of Materials on the Atomic

Bomb’ (Genbaku Shiryo Hozon Iinkai) began to discuss the establishment of an atomic bomb memorial monument. In July 1950, the committee proposed the preservation of the Sanno

Shrine’s one-legged torii (Shinto shrine gates), the other having been destroyed by the bombing, and to place a globe on its top. Some members of the city council did not support this proposal.

They believed the memorial had to be something honourable, something that would be of note for generations. Faced with the difficulty of achieving a consensus, the committee sought the advice of Nagasaki native intellectuals and professionals residing in Tokyo.

Meanwhile, the Hiroshima municipal administration was organizing the ‘Peace Park and Exhibition Hall Design Competition,’ for which it invited design submissions from the public. Kenzō Tange, a modernist architect from Hiroshima, placed first in the competition. His design set the main floor of the museum, which would be the main facility in the park, on piloti.

It also included a strong visual axis that extended from the entrance of the museum to the

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‘Structural Remains of the Atomic Bombing,’ and then through the center of the arched Peace

Tower. Those remains are now referred to as the “Atomic Bomb Dome.” However, some scholars have pointed out that Tange’s design was originally designed for the ‘Greater East Asia

Co-Prosperity Sphere’ competition organized by the Architectural Institute of Japan under the sponsorship of Imperial Japan in 1942 (Yoneyama 1999; Utaka, 2009). The ‘Greater East Asia

Co-Prosperity Sphere’ was the vision of Imperial Japan on a Pan-Asian hegemony, which required the assimilation of East and Southeast Asian countries into a Japanese fascist empire.

That project was given up when the Allied powers defeated the Japanese Imperial government. It was ironic, to say the least, that this project was re-appropriated as a ‘symbol of peace’

(Yoneyama 1999).

Imperial dream was revived in postwar Nagasaki as well. In October 1950, a newly elected Nagasaki mayor Tagawa Tsutomu and several Nagasaki city councillors went to Tokyo to meet with the ‘Nagasaki Prefecture Society’ (Nagasaki Kenjin-Kai) to determine what memorial statue would be most befitting an international cultural city. The Society was comprised of Nagasaki origin professionals, artists and intellectuals residing in Tokyo. The discussion did not go well as very few people could propose any concrete idea or suggestion.

However, at the very end of the meeting, Kitamura Seibou, a sculptor, showed the attendees a sketch for the bronze statue of a man. Kitamura described his plan as follows:

“The Statue of a Man for Peace” will be unique and will symbolize both the atomic bomb and peace most prominently. The monument would have to be enormous because it represents power. We will show the horror of the atomic bomb and pledge for the necessity of the peace by building an extensive monument. (Suehiro 2008, 219)

However, Kitamura’s proposal for the construction of the Statue of a Man for Peace starkly differed from the city’s original plan of building a simple memorial tower. More interestingly,

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Kitamura’s proposal ran counter to the convention of the proliferation of Japanese post-war memorial monuments to peace, love and hope, which always resembled Western goddesses

(Shibata 2009). In fact, the proposal was so unorthodox that the participants could not agree on whether or not to support it. Kitamura’s idea was brought back to Nagasaki.

In October 1950, Nagasaki was officially designated as the best place for sightseeing in

Japan. In May 1950, Mainichi Shinbun announced that it would hold a ballot to determine the

100 best sightseeing locations in Japan. As soon as the competition was announced, the municipal authorities realized how marketable the atomic bombing of Nagasaki could be. They decided to make use of the atomic bombing as a kind of baptismal image to garner the attention of the tourism industry. Its hope was to use its exotic landscape, historical sites, and the event of the atomic bombing as key elements in a tourism campaign intended to surpass the initiatives of

Hiroshima (The Atomic Bomb and Tourism August 1950). The city officials launched a campaign to encourage Nagasaki citizens, including children, to send postcards that would constitute votes in favour of Nagasaki. Nagasaki received 950,000 votes, placing first in the competition. This event helped convince the Committee for the Preservation of Materials on the

Atomic Bomb and Nagasaki municipal officials to proceed with Kitamura’s proposal because the idea of a large Western-looking masculine statue appeared to them as an ideal symbol of the greatness of new international Nagasaki. In February 1951, the city authority officially accepted

Kitamura’s proposal and hired him to oversee its production in February 1951.

Much of the motivation for Kitamura’s piece was the product of his pride, ego, and ambition. Kitamura was a renowned sculptor in Japan, who was a member of the

Imperial Japanese Art Association during the Asia and Pacific War. During the war, he produced some statues of famous military figures, all of which were muscled, warlike,

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and immense. However, towards the end of the war, many bronze statues, including some of those produced by Kitamura, were confiscated by the Imperial Japanese government given the scarcity of materials available for the production of military equipment.

After the end of the war, Kitamura’s career was in crisis. In 1946, the GHQ and Civil

Information and Education Section (CIE) ordered the Japanese government to remove or move any militaristic statues to less public places. In 1947, the Japanese government identified the statues that were subject to this policy and banned the creation of any new statues dealing with comparable subject matter. One of Kitamura’s statues, which he called an “unforgettable piece”

(Suehiro 2008, 221) that survived from wartime confiscation by the imperial government, was removed and placed in the back of the Tokyo Art Museum.

There was another incident that threatened and humiliated Kitamura’s career. In 1950, a new peace memorial was built in the Miyakezaka Park in Tokyo. This new peace memorial was placed on the old pedestal, upon which Kitamura’s bronze equestrian statues used to be placed.

Kitamura’s piece depicted Terauchi Masatake, a key figure in the Japanese annexation of the

Korean Peninsula in 1910 (Photograph 13). This statue was confiscated in 1943 and used in the production of military equipment. Only its pedestal remained.

Photograph 13: Kitamura’s statue of Terauchi (miniature version)

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In contrast, the statue that replaced Kitamura’s depicted three nude females cheerfully talking to one another (Photograph 14). Kikuchi Kazuo was this new female statue’s creator.

Kikuchi studied sculpting in France from 1936 to 1939. When he returned to Japan, Kikuchi joined the “New Production School Association” (Shin Seisaku-ha Kyokai), a group created by young Japanese artists in July 1937. The New Production School Association distanced itself from the dominant artistic associations and imperialist Japan in order to resist any political and ideological influence. For this reason, the members of the New Production School Association did not participate in the art competitions organized by the imperial Japanese government.

Conversely, Kitamura was renowned as one of imperial Japan’s top artists, typically winning one of the top three prizes in any artistic competition hosted by the imperial Japanese government

(Suehiro 2008).

Photograph 14: Kikuchi Kazuo’s “Statue for Peace” (Heiwa no zo) in Miyakazaka Park, Tokyo

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After the war, the artists of the New Production School Association began participating in art competitions and were successful. Kikuchi was one of the most successful artists in postwar

Japan.

In 1949, Kikuchi’s bronze sculpture, titled “Youth” (Seinen), placed first in a competition hosted by the Mainichi Press (Photograph 15). The statue which depicted a young, skinny man may remind some viewers of French sculptor Auguste Rodin’s “Thinker” as Kikuchi’s young man also seems sunk in deep thought. Kikuchi describes his statue as a “young man who seems to have remained within the space-time void of the battlefield.”51

Photograph 15: Kikuchi’ statue “Youth” (Seinen) placed in Keio Gijyuku University, Tokyo

The model for the statue was a young Japanese soldier that Kikuchi had met during his military service. The young soldier came from a rural area in the north-eastern Japan, and dreamed of becoming a musician; however, his throat was crushed during the war. Kikuchi’s work was widely recognized as communicating will for peace. This representational content became increasingly popular in postwar Japan because it was widely perceived that female bodies

51 Keio Gijyuku University Website: http://www.keio.ac.jp/ja/contents/history_topics/7.html

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represented humanity and a will for peace, while their nudity symbolized their liberation from any particular nationality or political ideology (Shibata 2009). In other words, the increased visibility of feminine (and skinny male) presence in postwar Japan’s public sphere was understood as the symbol of Japan’s demilitarization, democratization and postwar ideology of peace, and hence the success of U.S. occupation (Yoneyama 1999). Shibata Aoi (2009) claims that the replacement of Kitamura’s statue of a military leader with the peace memorial statue stood as a strong indication of the shift from Japanese militarism to Japanese pacifism. This interpretation, however, would have been more plausible if Kitamura’s career had ended with the collapse of Imperial Japan.

Kitamura’s persistence of the Man Statue in postwar Nagasaki illustrates his pride, belief and intense desire for fame as his statement below indicates:

I am determined to produce a statue in my home prefecture of Nagasaki that will constitute a national treasure. This is important to me because most of my major pieces were destroyed during the war and nothing remains. It is my great honour to be assigned such an unprecedented responsibility. Moreover, I am able to meet this responsibility by depicting a male nude, which is my area of expertise (cited from Suehiro 2008, 221).

Kitamura was sixty-six years old when he made the statement above to a local Nagasaki newspaper. This work had to be the masterpiece that would enshrine his name on the list of great

Japanese artists. Its design also represents a challenge to the dominance of goddess-like females or castrated-like males as the subject matter of postwar, Japanese sculpture.

Kitamura insisted that his statue had to be named ‘Peace Memorial Statue,’ rather than

‘Atomic Bomb Memorial.’ He explained that while the memorial would obviously have to mark the atomic bombing, it should do more. It should compel the viewers to pray for world peace.

Thus, he continued that ‘Peace Memorial Statue’ was more appropriate (Nagasaki Shinbun, 9

August 1965). Kitamura likely sought to better guaranty the longevity of the work by giving it the name ‘peace.’ Moreover, his use of the verb ‘pray’ also likely sought to appropriate some of

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the popularity of Nagai’s interpretation of the atomic bombing towards his advantage as an artist.

Kitamura strove to distinguish this memorial statue from his past works by claiming that, while the figure ought to be male if it were to adequately represent the power of the atomic bomb, it would also have to be a nude, which is a rare feature of any male subject (Okuda 2010). In 1952, the city authority accepted Kitamura’s proposal and named the statue ‘Peace Memorial Statue.’

However, as soon as the city authority announced the official project of the statue, some

Nagasaki Shinto/Buddhist residents began to claim that the new statue should be built in the old city centre, not in Urakami. Nagasaki’s tourism industry advocated very strongly in favour of this relocation. It asked the city authority to build the statue on the top of Mt. Inase located close to the old city center in order to make it a primary tourist destination. It argued that, because the function of the statue was to memorialize Nagasaki’s desire for peace, rather than the atomic bombing itself, the city-centre would be more appropriate as its message would come from

Nagasaki, rather than just Urakami. This initiative sparked controversy from many Nagasaki citizens, who believed that the statue ought to be displayed at the epicentre of the bomb explosion. Local Nagasaki newspapers offered a space for this debate.52 For instance, one

Nagasaki resident argued in the Nagasaki Minyū that:

For Nagasaki citizens, the atomic bomb is the event that took place in Urakami.... However, the ideas of “Atomic Bombed City Nagasaki” and “Peace from Nagasaki” signify the principle of Nagasaki city in Japan. Thus, the statue that calls out for world peace has to be located in Nagasaki city [not Urakami]. (Nagasaki Minyu 5 February 1952)

The branding of Nagasaki as an International Cultural City did not resolve or reconcile the historically embedded tensions between Urakami and the rest of the city. Rather, as Suehiro

Mayumi (2008) points out, postwar Nagasaki developed two distinct and mutually exclusive

52 During the debate, Urakami Cathedral’s backyard and Nishizaka area were also proposed. Some locals even proposed the Suwa Shrine as the location of the new statue.

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subjectivities: one promoting peace, the other mourning for the dead. In July 1953, the municipal authorities ultimately decided to place the statue in the epicentre of the explosion as a symbol of the former.

Despite this decision, however, the statue was not built at the epicentre in the end.

Although the Peace Memorial Statue was scheduled for completion by August 1954, it was delayed by one year, during which the location projected for the statue changed from the epicentre to the lower hill in the north side of the Peace Park. The change was recommended by the Association for the Construction of the Peace Memorial Statue, the funding organization of the Peace Memorial Statue. Kitamura accepted it. The consequence was that the symbolism of the statue was lost. The left hand of the statue no longer pointed to ground zero.

The Peace Memorial Statue was finally completed in May 1955 (photograph 16). It cost more than fifty million yen, thirty million of which had been collected through donations from

Japan and abroad. The rest was taken from the Nagasaki city budget. The statue cost twice as much as had been originally budgeted because the statue was larger than its initially planned size.

To justify the change and its consequent expense, Kitamura claimed that the statue had to be massive to demonstrate Nagasaki’s branding as a city of international culture and also to impress foreign tourists. The official description of the statue reads:

The statue’s right hand points to the threat of nuclear weapons while the extended left hand symbolizes eternal peace. The mild face symbolizes divine grace and the gently closed eyes offer a prayer for the repose of the bomb victims' souls. The folded right leg and extended left leg signify both meditation and the intention to stand up and rescue the people of the world. (‘Zone of Prayer’ Nagasaki Webcity 2013)

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Photograph 16: Nagasaki's Peace Memorial Statue (photographed by Otsuki)

The statue’s extended left hand, which was originally supposed to indicate the hypocentre of the bomb explosion, was now changed to symbolize ‘eternal peace.’ But, he was not pointing anything. All his fingers were out.

During the unveiling ceremony, the president of the project announced that the completion of the statue, which would be meaningful for all of mankind, would comfort the souls of the victims of the atomic bombing, and that its audience would feel an impulse to pray for peace. The speech concluded by claiming that the height of the statue (9.7 meters) would represent the symbol of the city slogan, “peace from Nagasaki!” When Kitamura saw his statue in Peace Park, he stated that “I have become immortal as an artist, as it [the Peace Memorial

Statue] will remain here as a national treasure for thousands of years” (Baba 2002).53 Kitamura’s

53 Major Japanese art critics received Kitamura’s Peace Statue positively. Typically, the statue was read as a powerful symbol of the universal will for perpetual peace, and that the face of the Peace Statue was neither godlike nor Buddha-looking, but “original” (Shukan-Bijyutsu, March 1954; Bijyutsu-Shinbun, March 29, 1954). None of these art critics addressed the commissioning of Kitamura, whose sculptures had been the subject of an imperial purge. Also, none questioned the cost of the statue, spent while hibakushas in both Hiroshima and

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immense statue was located in a zone designated for prayer. One Japanese journalist criticized that this prayer space amounted to little more than “Kitamura’s personal studio” (Baba 2002).

5.3. A Nagasaki female hibakusha, Fukuda Sumako’s “Talking to Myself”

While Kitamura was proudly looking up at his masterpiece, one female Nagasaki hibakusha, Fukuda Sumako, who was no longer able to walk due to her atomic bomb disease, was crawling her shabby tatami floor. She pushed herself very hard to sit at a small dining table by supporting her collapsing upper torso, while the loud music and city officials’ speeches honoring the statue and repeating the slogan “peace from Nagasaki!” coming into her tiny room.

Fukuda then started writing a poem. She asked her brother to mail her poem to a Japanese print media.

On August 10, 1955, the next day of the joint ceremony for the tenth atomic bomb commemoration and the unveiling of the Peace Memorial Statue in the Nagasaki Peace Park,

Asahi Shinbun, a national newspaper, carried the poem contributed by Fukuda. The title of the poem was “Talking to Myself” (hitorigoto) that reads:

I have become sick of everything. That huge status of peace that rises from the atomic field,

It’s OK. It’s OK, but

We can’t eat a stone statue, it cannot fill our real hunger.

Couldn’t something else be done with all that money?

And please

Don’t call me mean.

Nagasaki were suffering from unknown and incurable diseases, and from anxiety and poverty, and all without any financial or medical aid. Rather, some sympathized with the financial difficulty Kitamura had faced during the production phase of the statue (Shukan-Bijyutsu, March 1954).

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My state of mind is truthful,

For it is the mind of a survivor, surviving in the poorest way All these ten years since the A-bomb.

Ah, yes, this year I lack energy.

Peace! Peace! I am tired of hearing about it.

I am exhausted with unreliability disappearing into deep sky, and exhausted with fretfulness, Unable to find the answer, no matter how loud I yell and cry.

I have become sick of everything.

The more uproarious the people, the emptier my heart is, the more sorrow I feel for my dead father, my dead mother, my dead sister, all burned to death, and for their cruel suffering.

So far I have only cried, but now I begin to wonder

It is they who are happy, for they need not know all this anxiety and pain that is living. Oh, I cannot go on like this.

I whip myself, but… (Translation by Vance-Watkins and Aratani 1995, 14-15)

While the city and municipal authorities spent the massive amount of the city budget and donations from all over the world for the single gigantic statue, many Nagasaki hibakusha, including Fukuda, asked their municipal government to provide them with some medical aid, but received no answer from them. Fukuda wished every night before going to sleep that she would never be awaken again (Fukuda 1968). However, on the veiling day of the statue, she took a pen to speak out before her death would arrive. Fukuda was the first Nagasaki hibakusha that broke the silence prevailed in Nagasaki and expressed the unspoken and unheard voice, pain and despair of the hibakusha. However, it took another decade for Nagasaki hibakusha to follow

Fukuda’s attempt and break the silence.

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6. Consequences of the Post-War Social Reconstruction

Japan was undergoing a number of political changes in the 1950s. Japan signed the San

Francisco Peace Treaty with the Allied Powers, a treaty involving a total of forty-eight countries.

When the San Francisco Peace Treaty came into effect in 1952, the American occupation of

Japan ended. The treaty deprived the atomic bomb victims of any claim to seek reparations from the United States, effectively absolving the American government from any responsibility for the fallout from the atomic bombings.

Similarly, the government of Japan took advantage of the San Francisco Peace Treaty to expel its former colonial subjects – Koreans and Taiwanese – from postwar Japan. The Treaty ended Japan’s control of the Korean peninsula and Formosa (today’s Taiwan). The government of Japan reasoned that since their former colonies were now independent, the ex-colonial subjects were no longer Japanese nationals.54 To deprive former colonial subjects from any claim to Japanese citizenship, the government of Japan stipulated that those who registered Korean and

Taiwanese koseki (household registration) with the legal status as ‘Japanese’ during the colonial period would lose their Japanese nationality. The koseki-tohon system was used to define

Japanese citizenship through the inclusion and exclusion of various ethnic and minority groups since the transition of Japan into a modern nation-state. Specifically, a number of Japanese colonial subjects had been forcefully identified as a Japanese citizen and mobilized while Japan was at war; but, once the war ended, they were expelled from Japan, often being left as unidentified or stateless.55

54 The abrogation of Japanese citizenship is, arguably, at odds with the 1948 UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which states: “No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to change his nationality” (Morris-Suzuki, 2005). 55 See Japan’s Household Registration System and Citizenship: Koseki, Identification and Documentation (2014), Ed. David Chapman and Karl Jacob Krogness, Routledge (New York).

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As soon as the American occupation of Japan ended in 1952, the Nagasaki Mitsubishi

Shipyard resumed its production of military equipment, such as anti-submarine ships, torpedoes, and missiles for the Japanese Navy and foreign military-industrial companies, most notably

American armament companies (Kamata and Salaff 1993). By 1971, the Mitsubishi group had constituted about eighty percent of the total industrial productions of Nagasaki. International

Christian city Nagasaki once again became the castle town of the Mitsubishi Kingdom. Many of the Nagasaki hibakusha and citizens protested the manufacturing of these weapons, especially the production of nuclear vessels, because they saw it as one step towards the military appropriation of nuclear energy (Kamata and Salaff, 1993). However, despite this social unease, no significant social and political movement manifested because Mitsubishi once again employed thousands of Nagasaki citizens, including many of hibakusha. Mitsubishi’s influence discouraged large segments of the Nagasaki society from participating in any anti-militarist or anti-nuclear movement. In turn, this has encouraged conservative and ultra-rightist groups in their attacks against antinuclear peace movements and peace education that aimed to critically reflect the atomic bombing within the context of the Asia and Pacific War in Nagasaki (ibid).

In June 1971, the Nagasaki Prefecture reported to the central government that no Buraku districts existed in Nagasaki. The Japanese government demanded that they review their report.

The Nagasaki Prefecture authority responded: “It seems that there used to be a Buraku district in the city of Nagasaki. However, it was dissolved as new roads and non-Buraku entered the area”

(Nagasaki Buraku History Studies 1989, 20). In the same report, the Nagasaki Prefecture referenced an area outside of the city where “residents are still commonly called Eta” (ibid 19); however, the report claimed that “there is no difference in the manner in which the Buraku and

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non-Buraku people are administered… [with the exception that they] may face some discrimination when seeking to marry” (ibid 19). Calling Buraku people ‘Eta’ (stain) was the most profound form of discrimination against the community. Moreover, while marriage is one of the most defining events in a person’s life, Nagasaki officials described the stigma associated to the Buraku and the consequent difficulty they faced in seeking a mate as a ‘minor issue.’ The report demonstrates how ingrained the stigma upon the Buraku had become in the Japanese society.

MacArthur successfully expanded the influence of Christianity in postwar Japan, especially in Nagasaki. However, as Lawrence S. Wittner noted, “influence is quite different from conversion” (Wittner 1971, 79). There was no substantial increase in the number of

Japanese Christians. From before the war until the end of the American occupation of Japan, the

Japanese Protestant population remain static at around 100,000. The number of Japanese

Catholics increased slightly from 100, 000 to approximately 157, 000 (Okazaki 2012). Sodei

Rinjirô (2015) offers one possible explanation for MacArthur’s failure to Christianize Japan that the Japanese were worshipping MacArthur rather than Christ to fill the spiritual vacuum left by the disintegration of the Shinto God Emperor. According to this account, MacArthur replaced the divine emperor, paradoxically hindering Christianization of postwar Japan. On the other hand,

Masahumi Oakazaki (2010) contends that the failure of the Christianization policy was due to the fundamental contradiction between the American occupiers’ goal of the separation of church and state as the way of eliminating the National Shintoism on one hand, and MacArthur’s promotion of Christianity for the same objective. What is clear is that when MacArthur was removed from his position as the supreme commander of U.S occupation army in April 1951, his

Christianization policy was also over.

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In August 1980, in response to the question how perpetual peace—which Kitamura’s statue supposedly symbolizes—would be realized, Kitamura laughed at the question, and said,

“That will never happen. Human nature is, after all, avaricious” (Nishi Nhihon Shibun, August 5,

1980). Finally, after the end of the occupation, Japanese class-A war criminals were rehabilitated and returned to the political arena, along with desires and dreams of Imperial Japan to be revived.

7. Conclusion

This chapter problematized the dominant, peaceful image of Urakami as the ‘land of

Catholics’ and Nagasaki as the ‘international Christian city’ by tracing the formation process of the outcast’s land Urakami and reconfiguration process of Nagasaki from the military industrial city into the international Christian city. Nagasaki city officials tried to restore the status of ‘old

Nagasaki’ as the ‘mecca of Christianity’ in the Far East and the ‘window to the West’—the status it prided itself on over three hundred years ago—to dispel Nagasaki’s feudal and imperial past. To achieve its objective, the city demolished the Buraku community, the reminder of the feudal legacy and Nagasaki’s Christian persecution history, while actively appropriating the

GHQ’s Christianization policy and the occupiers’ view of the city as an ‘exotic, Oriental

Christian city,’ and assimilating the image of Urakami that Nagai displayed to the outside of the city into its postwar reconstruction project. Therefore, the oblivion of Urakami’s Buraku community has been the very condition of the production of Nagasaki’s postwar identity

‘international Christian city,’ the dominant representation of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing and remembrance framed within Nagai’s biblical discourse, and the dominant scholarship on

Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory over the last decades. In other words, the biblical and universalist atomic bomb discourses surrounding Nagasaki’s atomic bombing and remembrance have obscured the peculiarities and violent aspects of Nagasaki’s cultural history.

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However, this chapter is able to present only some fragments of the memory of the

Buraku hibakusha and community members to reveal the lacunae within the representation, commemoration and historical knowledge of Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory. In an attempt to access their obliterated memories, I consulted archives, talked to Nagasaki residents, including hibakusha, and toured Urakami dozens of times. However, it became clear that accessing their obliterated history and memory was an impossible task given that the Buraku community in

Urakami has been almost entirely disintegrated. Whether directly or indirectly, Urakami

Catholics and Buddhist/Shinto residents in the rest of the city colluded with the officials’ efforts to erase the Buraku from the official archives and their remembrance of the atomic bomb memory. Neither of them recognized the Buraku people as a part of their community. Both groups saw the Buraku as belonging to the other community. They also continued to perceive the

Buraku as the stain within international Christian city Nagasaki. Nagasaki was very successful at erasing any trace of this community, and at instilling a self-effacing attitude in its members.

Touching the issue of the erased Buraku community seems still taboo in contemporary Nagasaki.

Note that Nagasaki’s wilful ignorance of the Buraku community has been normalized by the media’s and academic community’s repetition of the dominant discourse, anchored in the phrase

‘Nagasaki prays,’ which privileges the place of Catholics in Urakami while cementing the popular imagination of Nagasaki as the ‘Christian city.’

Finally, neither the atomic bomb, despite its destruction beyond measures, nor the subsequent GHQ’s demilitarization and Christianization policies managed to destroy the influence of imperial Japan. Imperial dreams returned to the postwar public space by effectively renaming themselves as a symbol of ‘peace.’ Mitsubishi continues to prosper through its production of military materials and warships in the postwar years. Tange successfully rebranded

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his imperial architectural project for the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere under the name of the Peace Memorial Museum and Peace Park in postwar Hiroshima. Likewise, Kitamura was able to realize his imperial ambition to perpetuate his renown by building the gigantic Peace

Memorial in Nagasaki, as if undermining the entire American attempt to liquidate the Japanese imperial legacy in one single gesture. These ghosts of Japan’s imperial dreams still stand as the symbols of peace in both Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Chapter 4: The Politics of Reconstruction and Reconciliation in U.S-Japan Relations— Dismantling the Atomic Bomb Ruins of Nagasaki’s Urakami Cathedral

The two photographs below depict the remnants of the Urakami Cathedral following the atomic bombing of Nagasaki (photograph 17 and 18). Both were taken in 1953 by Takahara

Itaru, a former Mainichi Shimbun photographer as well as a Nagasaki hibakusha. Most of the children playing beside the ruins were born after the atomic bombing and grew up in Urakami’s atomic field. Takahara’s photographs capture the remnants of the cathedral in shaping the postwar landscape and lives of people in and around Urakami.56

Photograph 17: Remnants of the Southern Wall and statues of the saints of Urakami Cathedral Photo courtesy of Takahara Itaru

56 Takahara took about 300 photographs of the ruins of Urakami Cathedral from 1945 to 1958. Takahara’s photographs were published in 2010 along with Yokote’s poignant text entitled Nagasaki Urakami Cathedral, 1945- 1958: An Atomic Bomb Relic Lost. 『長崎旧浦上天主堂１９４５－１９５８失われた被爆遺産』 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten). 147

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Photograph 18: Children play in remnants of belfry of Urakami Cathedral Photo Courtesy of Takahara Itaru

The Urakami Cathedral was inaugurated in 1914 and completed in 1925 with the installation of the twin belfries. But events leading to its construction date back to the late nineteenth century. Christianity was outlawed by the Japanese government from the seventeenth century to the late nineteenth century. In 1873, when the Meiji government lifted the ban on

Christianity, approximately 1,900 Urakami Catholic villagers, who had survived exile and persecution, returned to Urakami. In June 1880, they purchased land from the village headman and converted a house into a temporary church. The property had been the site of the memory of the Urakami Catholics’ martyrdom; it was exactly the site where their ancestors were ordered to trample on Christian images (the practice was called ‘fumi-e’) in order to demonstrate renunciation of Christianity to the feudal authorities. This was also the site where many of their ancestors refused to renounce their faith in the face of the torture and death. In 1895, about

5,000 Urakami Catholics decided to construct a cathedral. According to the oral history of the

Urakami Catholic community, the construction of the cathedral was paid for by a tithe in which

148 149 each parishioner donated a portion of their scant wages. Many of them went to town to sell vegetables, and purchase bricks on their way back with the money they had earned. They also physically contributed to the construction by manually carving stones and laying bricks. It took thirty years to complete the Romanesque cathedral. Every corner was adorned with carvings and statues of Christ, Mary, and the saints (Yokote 2010). The Urakami Catholics believed that the cathedral symbolized retribution for four centuries of faith and sacrifice. It was the grandest church in the Far East.

On August 9, 1945, twenty-four Urakami Catholics were preparing to celebrate the

Assumption of the Virgin Mary, and Father Tamaya Fusayoshi was hearing confession. At the same time, the American B-29 bomber “Bockscar” was redirected from Kokura to Nagasaki due to haze and smoke obscuring the target site of the large ammunition arsenal in the city of Kokura.

None of the twenty-five people in the cathedral survived the bomb explosion. In March 1958, the remnants of the cathedral were demolished. In 1959, the Urakami Cathedral was completely reconstructed, leaving no trace of the destruction of the original cathedral or the demolition of its remnants. Only photographs remain to testify to its destruction.

While many older residents remember the dismantling of the ruins as an ‘unfortunate’ event, younger residents were generally oblivious of the existence of the ruins until 2000 when

Nagasaki Broadcasting Company (NBC), a private media corporation, produced a documentary entitled “God and the Atomic Bomb – The Past 55 Years of the Urakami Catholic Hibakusha”

(神と原爆―浦上カトリックの５５年). NBC’s documentary depicts how the General Headquarters of

U.S. occupation (GHQ) decided to permit the publication of The Bells of Nagasaki written by

Nagai Takashi in 1949, and how Nagai’s biblical interpretation of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing as

“divine providence” and his biblical narrative of “forgiveness,” “reconciliation” and “prayers”

149 150 have shaped the historical consciousness of Urakami Catholic atomic bomb survivors over subsequent decades. In one of scene in the documentary, a female Urakami Catholic hibakusha quietly watches the local TV news report on a U.S. nuclear test. The viewer sees only her face and her gaze turning towards the TV screen as an anchor reports that the purpose of the nuclear test was to examine the “safety” and “reliability” of U.S. nuclear weapons. Her face, half of which is covered by a keloid, seems impassive. But she bites her lip as if holding back tears.

After the news, she offers a prayer. Then, she says:

I did have anger inside me toward America. But all I could do was seek the support of God and pray to him to keep me alive another day and give me the strength to survive tomorrow. I am still angry, but there is nothing I can do. I can’t join a movement or cry out in protest. All we can do as part of our [Catholic] teaching is to pray for peace. That is all we can do in our position, no matter how angry we may be. (NBC “God and the Atomic Bomb” 2000)

The documentary records how Nagasaki mayor, Tagawa Tsutomu , who had previously favoured preservation of the ruins of the cathedral, changed his position following a 1956 trip to the United States. The official purpose of Tagawa’s trip was to visit Nagasaki’s sister city, St.

Paul. The sister city agreement was signed on December 7, 1955, the day commemorating the attack on Pearl Harbour. The documentary also discloses that Bishop Yamaguchi Aijiro, an influential figure in the Nagasaki Catholic community who was also invited by an American

Catholic institution to the United States in 1955, determined to dismantle the ruins upon his return. During one scene of “God and the Atomic Bomb,” an interview is conducted with

Nakajima Banri, an Urakami priest who, in response to the question of why the Urakami

Catholic community agreed to the dismantling of the ruins, reluctantly said, “there were some external forces from the United States and international politics ...” (NBC, “God and the Atomic

Bomb” 2000). Nakajima also mumbled that, “the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan was also concerned… because the Urakami Cathedral was damaged by the United States…” (ibid).

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Similarly, Ikematsu Tsuneoki, a former Nagasaki city official and the first chief curator of the

Nagasaki International Cultural Hall (The predecessor of today’s Nagasaki Atomic Bomb

Museum), told a close friend that “preservation of the ruins [of the cathedral] would have caused some problem for the United States” (Takase 2009, 27). Consequently, a considerable sum of money was donated from the United States to the Nagasaki Catholic Church to reconstruct the

Urakami Cathedral on condition that the ruins be dismantled. Ikematsu, however, never revealed where the money came from because, he said, “those who were involved in the politics are still alive” (ibid).

In 2009, Takase Tsuyoshi, a journalist and second generation Nagasaki atomic bomb survivor, published a book entitled Nagasaki: Another Atomic Bomb Dome Lost (ナガサキ—消え

たもうひとつの原爆ドーム). Takase conducted archival research in the United States and Japan to find out whom Tagawa had met during his 1956 trip, and if, and how those he met had persuaded

Tagawa to dismantle the ruins. He traced the role of the United States Information Agency

(USIA) in the sister city project, and shows that St. Paul officials had drafted an agreement for sister city relations to be signed by Mayor Tagawa on his scheduled (but postponed) trip to the city on December 7th, 1955, the fourteenth anniversary of the Pearl Harbor Attack. Takase concludes that the purpose of the sister city relationship was to symbolize the mutual forgiveness and reconciliation between the United States and Japan, and that the ruins were dismantled as a symbolic gesture of Nagasaki’s commitment to move toward a more peaceful future by forgetting the tragedy. One retired Nagasaki official acknowledged that city workers had been aware of the role that politics played in dismantling the ruins of Urakami, but added that discussion of the topic had remained ‘taboo’ among them.57

57 Tasaki Noboru, a former city official in the Nagasaki city peace administration, mentioned it in a conversation with the author in August 2010.

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Takase was the first to catalogue the evidence of U.S. involvement in Nagasaki’s decision to dismantle the ruins. However, some questions have not yet been fully answered. For instance, why did the United States seek a symbolic gesture of reconciliation between Japan and the United States centered on the atomic bombing in the mid-1950s? What role did the Nagasaki and Japanese governments play in the politics of dismantling the Urakami Cathedral ruins and shaping remembrance/oblivion of the atomic bomb memory? What accounts for the very different action of Hiroshima in the preservation of the Atomic Dome, and with what consequences?

This chapter examines the politics surrounding the dismantling of the ruins of the

Urakami Cathedral in the face of strong opposition among the residents of Nagasaki and the hibakusha. It then explores the different outcome of the two atomic bomb ruins— Hiroshima’s

Atomic Dome and Urakami Cathedral—and reflects on the significance of the ruins of the

Urakami Cathedral.

1. Debating the Fate of the Cathedral Ruins (1949-1956)

In April 1949, Ohashi Hiroshi, the mayor of Nagasaki, established the Committee for the

Preservation of the Remains of the Atomic Bombing (原爆遺構保存委員会) as a municipal advisory body. From April 1949 to March 1958, the committee held twenty-seven meetings, nine of which were dedicated to the fate of the cathedral ruins. In all nine meetings, the committee members voted in favour of preserving the ruins.

On September 1st, 1951, an article in the Nagasaki Nichi-Nichi Shinbun asked: “Should

Urakami Cathedral Be Preserved?” and included a comment by Ishida Hisashi, chair of the

Committee for the Preservation of the Remains of the Atomic Bombing:

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I believe that for the sake of both tourism and peace, Nagasaki city should preserve the cathedral as a work of art and as a testimonial to the atomic bombing. If it is demolished, what does Nagasaki intend to preserve as a reminder of the bombing? If a decision is made to remake everything anew without preserving the ruins, it will prove that Nagasaki has deliberately forgotten the reasons for its special designation as an international cultural city. (Yokote 2010, 78)

This was the sentiment of the council and many Nagasaki hibakusha and residents.

However, Nagasaki Catholic leaders called for removal of the ruins and the reconstruction of a new cathedral on the site of the ruins, emphasizing that their souls were deeply attached to that site of memory where their ancestors had endured persecution more than two hundred years earlier. On the same day that the local paper published Ishida’s comments, the

Nagasaki Catholic Public Relation Committee published an article in their bi-monthly bulletin,

Katorikukyô hô, stating that the remaining walls were an obstacle to reconstruction of the cathedral and had to be torn down. The article asserted that removal of the ruins would be more appropriate to cultivate the “hill of blossoming peaceful flowers” in order to “plant hearts of peace” (Diehl 2011, 223). The Hill of Blossoming Flowers (花咲く丘) is actually the title of one of

Nagai Takashi’s books published in 1949. Nagai, who received the first Honorary Citizen of

Nagasaki award from Nagasaki City Council in 1949 as well as a National Honorary Award from the Diet in 1950, wrote in that book that the reconstruction of the cathedral was critical to revive the Catholic community and spread Christ’s love in Japan.

According to Kataokka Yakichi, a scholar on the history of Japanese Catholics, especially those in Nagasaki, Nagai called for the removal of the cathedral ruins as follows:

Every time we see such a thing (konna mono) [referring to the ruins], not only do our hearts ache, but we also do not want to show the children— who will be born in the future— traces of the crimes of our generation that waged a war that even resulted in the burning of the house of God. Rather, we want to build a peaceful and beautiful church, and make this place a hill of

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blossoming flowers to point the hearts of the children freely to heaven. (cited from Kataoka 1961, 199)58 In using Nagai’s discourse, the Nagasaki Catholic leaders may have sought to legitimize their policy by framing the demolition of the ruins as the will of Saint Nagai, the representative figure of postwar Nagasaki.

In 1954, to counter the powerful call by non-Catholic Nagasaki residents and hibakusha for the preservation of the Cathedral, Nagasaki Catholics formed the “The Association for the

Reconstruction of the Urakami Cathedral” (浦上天主堂再建委員会), and launched a fund-raising campaign. The Association estimated that the total cost for reconstruction would be over

60 million yen. They anticipated that half of that could be collected through donations from

Japanese Catholic churches. In the midst of their search for the other half, Bishop Yamaguchi received an invitation to North America.

In May 1955, Yamaguchi left for a ten-month trip to the United States and Canada. The official purpose of the trip was to receive an honorary doctorate from Villanova University, a private Roman Catholic institution in the United States, for his contribution to the development of the Nagasaki Catholic community and to the spiritual recovery of Nagasaki. It is believed that

Yamaguchi also hoped to use the occasion to raise additional funds for the reconstruction

(Takase 2009). Yamaguchi visited St. Paul, Chicago, New York, Washington D.C., New Orleans,

Los Angeles, San Francisco, Honolulu, Toronto, Montréal, and Québec City. The trip was exceptional given that so few Japanese nationals were permitted by their government to travel abroad before 1964. Prior to his trip to North America, Yamaguchi had noted that some

58 In his book The Life of Nagai Takashi (永井隆の生涯), Kataoka frequently quotes Nagai’s remarks without citing a reliable source. He also depicts the conversations between Nagai and Chinese locals as if Kataoka himself was present at that scene. Kataoka also details Nagai’s military duty in China and writes that Nagai provided the medical treatment even for the Chinese locals and refugees; he states that Nagai was adored by the Chinese people as a “Living God” (Kataoka 139). However, Nagai’s act—providing medical treatment for the war refugees and civilians even from his/her enemy country— cannot be framed as a ‘humanitarian relief activity.’ It is the basic responsibility that International Law demands that all parties to comply with aid for refugees, civilians and POWs.

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European churches were reconstructed in a manner that incorporated the ruins of their previous incarnations, though he had also noted that American tourists may not appreciate the reminder of the atomic bombings preserved in those ruins (ibid). Whatever transpired during the trip, when

Yamaguchi returned to Japan in February 1956, he met with the Nagasaki Catholic community and announced that Urakami Cathedral would be rebuilt and that the ruins had to be removed.

The debate over the fate of the cathedral ruins among Nagasaki Catholics, the city council, the Committee for the Preservation of the Remnants of the Atomic Bombing, and the non-Catholic Nagasaki citizen groups intensified after Yamaguchi’s return from North America in February 1956. The city council and the Committee received support from non-Catholic

Nagasaki hibakusha, who sought to ensure that the ruins were preserved, especially after the

1955 construction of the Peace Memorial Statue, which, in their eyes, far from capturing the destructive power and traumatic experience of the bomb conveyed a warlike image that failed to reference Nagasaki’s nuclear catastrophe.59 The pro-preservation group believed that the ruins of the cathedral could best convey the destructive power of the bomb to non-hibakusha both present and future. Nonetheless, Yamaguchi told a local newspaper that he was adamant because he did not believe that the ruins represented peace. They represented instead a far too vivid link to a troubled and troubling past (Diehl 2011).

The specific motivation for preservation of the ruins varied from one group to another.

Some city officials and business leaders saw a commercial opportunity in the remnants. Nagasaki was awarded first place in the “Top 100 Tourist Destinations of Japan,” as presented by the

Mainichi Shinbun in October 1950. One of the most popular tourist attractions of postwar

59 Nagasaki City Tourist Department Website states that the statue’s right hand points to the threat of nuclear weapons while the extended left hand symbolizes eternal peace (http://www.nagasaki- tabinet.com/detail/index_130.html). Also See Brandon Shimoda (August 2015) “from The Grave on the Wall NAGASAKI” The Volta, Issue 56 (available at: http://thevolta.org/ewc56-bshimoda-p1.html). Shimoda’s offers his insightful view and critical observation over Nagasaki’s Peace Statue.

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Nagasaki was the site of the ruins of Urakami Cathedral (Diehl 2011). The Nagasaki Tourism

Office stated that removal of the ruins of the cathedral would result in the loss of important tourism revenue.

The Tourism Office’s statement provoked Nagasaki Catholics. Some described it as

“disturbing” that the ruins of the cathedral was treated as a sightseeing destination (Diehl 2011).

Kataoka claimed that the Catholic community wanted to rebuild the cathedral as quickly as possible, and that any resistance or impediment to that reconstruction for the sake of turning their destroyed place of worship into a tourist destination was “sacrilegious” (ibid).

However, Urakami Cathedral was not only the House of God during the Asia and Pacific

War. It also served as the warehouse for the storage of rice and food for the Japanese imperial army and the primary space for Urakami Catholics’ patriotic activities (Yokote 2010). Urakami

Bishop Urakawa Wasaburo taught that Urakami Catholics must work together with Japanese spirit to “demonstrate the faithful spirit of sacrifice that shines with eternal hope” at the

Cathedral (Diehl 2011, 32).60 Likewise, Katorikukyō hō, the Nagasaki Catholic’s bulletin, served as the medium to communicate Nagasaki Catholic leaders’ official views to the followers even during the war period. On January 1, 1938, Bishop Yamaguchi stated in Katorikukyō hō that

“The religious life of the present world represents the duty to serve divine will.” He went on to claim that, “Heaven requires violence” because one “cannot obtain the crown of eternal happiness without passing through narrow paths and roads of thorns.” Yamaguchi then called

60 Diehl’s extensive archival research in Nagasaki has discovered invaluable information and knowledge concerning the war efforts made by Nagasaki Catholic leaders and Nagai, and how the Nagasaki Catholic leaders pushed on the dismantling of the ruins.

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Japan’s invasion of China a “crusade” and “holy war against communism” guided by the

“righteousness of the Imperial Army.” 61

While Yamaguchi published his annual New Year's greetings, Nagai was serving as an imperial surgeon in Nanjing where the Japanese Imperial Army occupied and devastated the city from December 13, 1937 and committed atrocities against civilians and unarmed combatants over a period of six weeks. Nagai’s letter sent from the destroyed city of Nanjing to his Catholic community was published in Katorikukyō hō in January 1938. He wrote:

I respectfully wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from the battlefield. We have greeted this year along with grave current events, but especially this year Japan will soar. This is the perfect opportunity for Japanese Christians to display that essence. As I pray for the activities of everyone on the home front, I, too, will render the duty of a warrior of Japan, and repay the kindness of the emperor.62

Nagai returned to Nagasaki from China in March 1940 as a decorated soldier. He also received the Order of the Rising Sun for his ‘bravery’ in China, and continued to wear the military uniform hanging a long sword at his waist in the Nagasaki Medical University to demonstrate his patriotism to the Imperial Shinto State (Takahashi 1994; Diehl 2011; Saito 2015). The “troubling past” the remnants of the cathedral reminded Nagasaki Catholic leaders, including Nagai, was not only the atomic bombing, but also their wartime efforts.

Meanwhile, the Committee for the Preservation of the Remnants of the Atomic Bombing believed that they ought to respect the religious convictions of the Catholic community, and tried to find an acceptable compromise. First, they proposed that the ruins be reinforced to prevent them from collapsing to eliminate any safety concerns. Secondly, they proposed that the city

61 See Diehl (2011), Mark R. Mullins (1994) “Ideology and Utopianism in Wartime Japan: An Essay on the Subversiveness of Christian Eschatology” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies Vol.21 (2-3), and Takahashi Shinji (1994) Doing Philosophy in Nagasaki: Death and Life in the Nuclear Age 『長崎にあって哲学をする：核時代の生と死』 (Tokyo: Hokujyu Shuppan). 62 Katorikukyō hō, 15 January 1938; cited from Diehl, p. 117. In this letter written by Nagai, he did not mention anything about the atrocities and mass rapes the Japanese Imperial Army committed against Nanjing civilians, including children and women.

157 158 provide an alternative location for the building of a new cathedral. Thirdly, they proposed that the Urakami Catholic community build a new cathedral next to the ruins. However, all of these proposals were rejected. Urakami Bishop Nakajima argued that the current site was too small to both build a new cathedral and preserve the ruins; secondly, he argued that the ruins were deteriorating, so that it was no longer possible to reinforce them; thirdly, he argued that, from the religious point of view, “refining the tragic appearance of the cathedral” was unacceptable (Diehl,

226).

From his inauguration in 1951 until 1956, Nagasaki mayor Tagawa Tsutomu sought to ensure the preservation of the ruins of the cathedral, which was the will of many Nagasaki residents. A local engineer who worked for the city reconstruction project recalled that Tagawa had said the ruins would be preserved, and that Nagasaki Prefecture would have to handle this as the city administration was preoccupied with other reconstruction initiatives. The engineer went on to say that “I drew up a detailed strategy for the preservation of the ruins that were to be reinforced with concrete. The mayor seemed satisfied [with the plans]” (Takase, 116).

In 1955, Tagawa received a letter from William Hughes, a member of the American philanthropic group, the “Friend of the World.” Hughes proposed to formulate a sister-city relationship between Nagasaki and St. Paul. The Nagasaki city archive documents that the original proponent of the sister-city project between the two cities was Lewis W. Hill Jr., grandson of the founder of the Great Northern Railway. The archive explains that prior to the

Asia-Pacific War, Hill Jr. had travelled to Nagasaki where he became fascinated with Nagasaki’s landscape and its warm-hearted residents. After the atomic bombing, Hill was convinced that peace could be achieved through mutual understanding and the cultivation of true friendship. A local newspaper claimed that St. Paul was chosen because of its large Catholic community

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(Nagasaki Nichi Nichi Shunbun, September 4, 1955). Nagasaki was the first Japanese city to receive such an invitation from the United States. The city administration enthusiastically welcomed this offer as increasing the number of foreign tourists to the city had been one of the primary agendas for the city’s economic policy since 1949. Tagawa and Nagasaki councillors accepted the proposal.

In September 1955, Tagawa received an invitation from St. Paul to the ceremony marking the start of the sister city relationship. On September 4th, Nagasaki Nichi Nichi Shinbun reported that, “…St. Paul is very interested in the reconstruction of the Urakami Cathedral, which was baptized by the atomic bombing. It is expected that [St. Paul] will financially support that reconstruction.” On September 13th, the majority of Nagasaki’s councillors supported

Tagawa’s trip to St. Paul as an important step in the cultivation of friendship between the United

States and Japan (Nagasaki Nichi Nichi Shinbun, September 14, 1955). The city council asked the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs to issue a passport for Tagawa and permit an exchange of currency. The Japanese government, however, declined the request given its strict proscriptions against exporting currency.

The U.S. State Department and the American embassy in Tokyo, however, intervened.

On November 7th, 1955, the Bureau of East Asia and Pacific Affairs of the Far East, a branch of the State Department, sent a telegram to Tagawa supporting the visit as a contribution to friendship and mutual understanding (Takase 2009).

Two days later, the State Department sent a telegram to the American embassy in Tokyo.

The telegram described the Japanese government’s rejection of Nagasaki’s request for permission to exchange currency as a significant obstacle to Tagawa’s attendance at the inauguration ceremony. The State Department then requested that the American embassy in

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Tokyo be permitted to unofficially seek to persuade Tokyo to authorize Nagasaki’s request (ibid).

The telegram also included copies of the letter the State Department had sent to Tagawa and the note St. Paul had sent to the United States Information Agency (USIA). One month later, on

December 7th, 1955, the fourteenth anniversary of the Pearl Harbour Attack, St. Paul’s city council approved its participation in the sister-city program with Nagasaki.

The State Department, the USIA and the American Embassy in Tokyo helped Tagawa to overcome all obstacles to his visit to the United States. Tagawa left Japan for the United States on August 22, 1956. St. Paul’s original proposal was to have Tagawa attend the sister city inauguration ceremony; however, the trip turned into a grand American tour. Tagawa visited St.

Paul, Chicago, New York, Washington D.C., New Orleans, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and

Hawaii during his one-month trip. Nagasaki’s municipal budget could not have covered the cost of such a tour. Most of the population in Japan was still suffering severe economic hardship through the 1950s while the hibakusha were left without any medical or financial assistance until

1957. Given fiscal constraints on the Japanese and Nagasaki municipal governments to promote and organize the tour, its funding was almost certainly provided by the U.S. government and/or private U.S funding.

The Nagasaki local newspaper reported that Tagawa had an attendant, a “Mr. Shinohara,” for the duration of his tour. The article described Shinohara as the head of the secretariat of the

Association for the Construction of the Peace Memorial Statue (平和祈念像建設協会), the primary funding source for Kitamura’s Prayer for Peace statue. A local California newspaper, the

Press-Telegram, described Shinohara in greater detail. On September 14th, 1956, the Press-

Telegram identified Shinohara as “Morizō Shinohara,” and described him as Tagawa’s secretary and translator. Shinohara was described as having studied English and the Bible with an

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American Methodist missionary in Nagasaki from 1932 to 1934. He later received a Fulbright

Scholarship to study in the United States after the war.

A Nagasaki city report published on October 10th, 1956 catalogued Tagawa’s itinerary

(Nagasaki Shisei Tenbo 1956). He met with mayors and visited hospitals, schools, and other municipal institutions. According to the archive, Tagawa’s visit was extensively reported in the

American media and the sister city program was received positively in the United States. The report also stated that the State Department received Tagawa and organized all his activities during his stay in Washington D.C.; it did not, however, identify whom Tagawa met and where he visited.

2. U.S-Japan Relations (1953-1957)

In January 1953, Dwight D. Eisenhower took office as President. Eisenhower quickly launched a drastic review of American nuclear policy, military strategy, foreign affairs, and overseas information programs as detailed in a report of the National Security Council (NSC) in

March of 1953, during which Eisenhower and Secretary of State John Foster Dulles discussed how to overcome the taboo surrounding the use of atomic weapons (NSC March 1953).

Eisenhower and Dulles were convinced that the most effective way to change public opinion on the use of nuclear weapons was to shift the public perception of the non-military use of nuclear energy (Kuznick 2011). Stefan T. Possony, a consultant for the Psychological Strategy Board of the U.S. Defense Department and originator of the Star Wars strategy, explained that, “the atomic bomb will be accepted far more readily if at the same time atomic energy is being used for constructive ends” (ibid). To this end, Eisenhower made a speech at the United Nations

General Assembly on December 8, 1953 titled, “Atoms for Peace.”

161 162

At the UN, Eisenhower proposed the establishment of an international organization for the peaceful use of atomic energy. The speech described his determination to solve “the fearful atomic dilemma” by finding in nuclear energy “the miraculous inventiveness of man” dedicated to life rather than death, and emphasized the U.S intention to halt the nuclear arms race by negotiating with the Soviet Union (Takekawa 2012). To this end, the United States would

“encourage world-wide investigation into the most effective peacetime uses of fissionable material” by providing its allies and third-world countries with “all the material needed for the conducting of all experiments that were appropriate.” He also stated that the United States was ready to begin negotiating with the Soviets to reduce “the potential destructive power of the world’s atomic stockpiles.” Eisenhower’s speech at the UN General Assembly inaugurated the psychological warfare campaign named “Atoms for Peace.”

On March 1, 1954, however, the United States tested a 15-megaton hydrogen bomb codenamed ‘Bravo’ on the Bikini Atoll in the Pacific Ocean.63 ‘Bravo,’ which was the most powerful weapon ever tested, caused massive radiological contamination and acute radiation syndrome on the inhabitants on the islands of Rongelap and Ailinginae located within the Bikini

Atoll. At the time of its detonation, a Japanese fishing boat named the “Lucky Dragon #5”

(Daigo Fukuryu Maru) was 85 miles away. All crew members were exposed to radiation, one of whom died of radiation poisoning on September 23rd, 1954.

63 From mid-1946, the United States conducted a series of the nuclear tests at the Bikini Atoll with the codename: ‘Operation Crossroads.’ These tests reduced the fish population and food production significantly, and resulted in the death of many locals of the atoll. As a result, about 540 people on the Bikini Atoll were forced to permanently evacuate their homeland (Chugoku Shinbun Hibakusha Research Crew 1991; The Guardian “Paradise lost - 'for the good of mankind' August 6, 2002). Also See Robert Jacobs’ “The Radiation That Makes People Invisible: A Global Hibakusha Perspective” The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 12, Issue 31, No. 1, August 4, 2014 available at http://japanfocus.org/-Robert-Jacobs/4157/article.html. In this article, Jacobs explores how the problem of nuclear radiation has been globalized, and how the victims of radiation throughout the world experience not only similar health problems, but also the same kind of social discrimination and stigmatization, while revealing that no government has ever officially compensated the victims.

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Yomiuri Shinbun first reported the incident on March 16th, 1954. Panic spread across

Japan over the possibility that irradiated tuna had been sold to Japanese consumers. The Japanese media broadcast images of Geiger counters showing high levels of radiation in fish and fishing boats in the central fish market in Tokyo. The term “shi no hai” (“ashes of death”) became widespread as a means of describing the danger of the fallout. Some 8,000 fishmongers and sushi shop owners protested American nuclear tests, demanding that the American government compensate them for their losses in discarding the irradiated catch. They also demanded that nuclear testing be outlawed. Two months later, the Japanese media warned the Japanese population that it should filter its drinking water after a strong radioactive rainfall as a result of the Bravo. The incident heightened public awareness of and sensitivity to the dangers of nuclear testing.

Japanese antinuclear and anti-American sentiments grew rapidly as the American government sought to minimize the damage caused by the Bravo test and attacked Japanese critics including the victims (Takase 2014). Moreover, the US continued testing hydrogen bombs in the Bikini Atoll even after the Lucky Dragon #5 incident went public; consequently an ever- increasing number of Japanese fishing ships brought home irradiated fish to Japanese markets

(ibid). Japanese antinuclear and anti-American sentiments was heightened in the unprecedented scale and evolved into the national movement that called out the total ban of the nuclear tests.

On August 6th 1955, the tenth anniversary of the atomic bombing, the first World

Conference Against the Atomic and Hydrogen Bomb took place in Hiroshima. Some survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings testified about their experiences to the thirty thousand participants from all over Japan and some fifty foreign delegates from thirteen different countries in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park (Totten and Kawakami, 1964). In September

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1955, the conference evolved into the Council Against Atomic and Hydrogen Bombs, called

“Gensuikyo.” The U.S government expressed growing concern about the growing anti-nuclear movement and the role of Japanese Communists as it evolved into a national and international movement calling for the remembrance of Hiroshima, Nagasaki and Bikini to emphasize Japan’s nuclear victimization.

From the end of the Asia-Pacific War, Japan’s integration into the American network of bases and alliances was pivotal to American interests in the Far East. The deployment of nuclear missiles in Japan was also an American priority in 1954 (Arima 2008). On May 26th, 1954,

Eisenhower warned that growing antinuclear sentiment threatened to evolve into anti-

Americanism on a national scale. The Lucky Dragon #5 incident inspired the U.S to provide

Japan with nuclear technology for civilian applications in order to counter Japan’s antinuclear sentiment, suppress communist influence, and keep Japan within the sphere of American power

(Ota 2013).

Eisenhower’s nuclear campaign, “Atoms for Peace,” was very attractive to Japanese capitalists and politicians given shortages of electric power. Moreover, building nuclear power plants could pave the way for Japan’s development of nuclear weapons. However, the

Eisenhower administration initially excluded Japan and West Germany from its list of possible recipients of American nuclear technology because of the risk that they would develop nuclear weaponry to challenge the United States.64

Shoriki Matsutaro, a Japanese media tycoon, was one of the most prominent promoters of the benefits of the nuclear energy. Shoriki was an unindicted Class-A war criminal imprisoned for two years who was released without trial in 1947. He became the president of the Yomiuri

Shinbun in 1950 and of the Japan TV Corporation in 1952. Shoriki and Yomiuri became key

64 Instead, the U.S government favoured Turkey, Iran, Iraq, India, Pakistan, and the Philippines (See Arima 2008).

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Japanese proponents of nuclear energy. In January 1954, two months before the Lucky Dragon

#5 Incident, Shoriki’s Yomiuri Shinbun began a series of special features on nuclear energy titled,

“We Have Finally Caught the Sun – Can nuclear energy make human beings happy?” (「ついに太

陽を捉えたー原子力は人を幸福にするか」), which vigorously propagated Eisenhower’s Atoms for

Peace campaign.

Meanwhile, a group of Japanese politicians were drafting a budget for the development of

Japan’s first nuclear energy program. On March 3, 1954, under the leadership of a young politician Nakasone Yasuhiro, three political parties—Liberal Party (自由党), Reform Party (改進

党), Japanese Liberal Party (日本自由党)—jointly submitted the draft. The next day, Koyama

Kuranosuke, one of the authors of the draft budget and Nakasone’s ally claimed:

The American President has already stated that the United States would train Japan to use a new type of weapon, and it is extremely regrettable that our government has not yet accepted this invitation… If we are to avoid inheriting America’s out-dated conventional weaponry, we must understand the mechanisms of the new weaponry and become competent in its use. Therefore, we three parties have asked the Diet to pass a budget for a nuclear energy research program that aims to create nuclear reactors and pursue the peaceful applications of nuclear energy along with the United States…(Kato 2013).

Koyama revealed that under Nakasone’s leadership Japan would seek access to the military applications of nuclear energy by means of a non-military nuclear program. Koyama’s statement created an uproar in Japanese public opinion. On March 4, an editorial in the Asahi

Shinbun called for the “removal of the draft budget for the nuclear energy program.” It severely criticized the ambiguity of the project and suggested that the project could be construed as preparation for war, a course barred by Japan’s Constitution.

The members of the Science Council of Japan (JSC) also immediately criticized

Nakasone’s approach. On March 4, 1954 the Asahi Shinbun published, “Sudden advent of the draft budget for the production of nuclear reactors – Scholars oppose it as premature.” That day

165 166 the Mainichi Shinbun headlined, “Scholars puzzled over the abrupt appearance of the budget for the nuclear power program and call for its amendment.”

The issue of Japanese development of nuclear energy was not new. Japanese scientists had conducted research into atomic bombs after the attack on Pearl Harbour in December 1941; however, when they concluded that an atomic bomb was only possible in theory, not in practice, the project was abandoned (Dower 2007, Yamamoto 2014). Thus, the Japanese scientific community was astonished by the atomic bombs and admired the scientific success of the

American nuclear fission program. During U.S. occupation, while GHQ banned Japan from engaging in nuclear research, leading Japanese scientists and the three largest newspapers, Asahi,

Mainichi and Yomiuri, began to promote nuclear energy research through the dissemination of the redemptive discourse “Atoms for Dreams” that the atomic bombing was the necessary precursor to rebuilding a new, stronger, more powerful, peaceful, and prosperous Japan

(Takekawa 2012, Yamamoto 2012). Yukawa Hideki, the most prominent theoretical physicist in postwar Japan as well as one of the scientists in the aborted Japanese atomic bomb development project, stated in 1948:

Nuclear physicists received significant benefits from the development of the atomic bombs as it facilitates the studies of nuclear physics. As long as human beings do not make a mistake that would result in the annihilation of the entire world, science will continue to progress […] We cannot anticipate what kind of by-products can occur in the process of developing nuclear science technology. However, there is no doubt that it [nuclear energy] will enrich our lives and bring about the perpetual peace to the world […] The success of the atomic bomb explosion was the first step to realize such a dream. It will be beyond our imagination how the peaceful use of nuclear energy can contribute the welfare of the people. (Yukawa 1989 [1948], 32)

The discourse of “Atoms for Dreams” began to proliferate after Yukawa’s statement appeared in national newspapers and science journals, and reached a peak when Yukawa received the Nobel

Prize in Physics in 1949 (Yamamoto 2012). The Japanese scientific community and print media had never opposed research on nuclear energy per se when directed toward the development of

166 167 peaceful applications of nuclear energy. As Shunichi Takekawa (2012) argues, most prominent

Japanese scientists and national newspapers “showed strong interest in the potential of nuclear power” and “drew a line between peaceful and military uses of nuclear power” (Takekawa 2012).

Put differently, Japanese scientists and media, regardless of political position, “embraced the dual nature of nuclear power” (ibid). Shoriki and Nakasone, recognizing the climate of public opinion and the position of the Japanese scientific community, modified the discourse on nuclear energy research accordingly.

On March 8, 1954 Shoriki’s Yomiuri published an article “Japan Enters the Nuclear Era,” promoting the draft budget for the nuclear energy program as a “progressive” idea. Promoters of nuclear energy research became more assertive. They again called on the memory of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as reason to promote Japan’s nuclear energy research. For instance, Taketani

Mitsuo argued that, “the casualties of atomic war are entitled to have the strongest say in the development of atomic power… [Japan] has the best moral grounds to conduct research. Other nations are obliged to help Japan” (Zwigenberg 2012). On March 11, the Japan Science Council

(JSC) announced that it would endorse the draft budget if nuclear energy research were directed exclusively towards civilian applications (Takekawa 2012). The JSC’s shift in position towards nuclear energy research resulted from agreement between the JSC and Nakasone, the strongest political proponent of nuclear energy, that Upper House approval of the budget would respect their condition and provide them with significant research funds for JSC (Jyomaru 2012).

On March 12, the Asahi reported that the “Science Council of Japan has endorsed the program.” On March 13, the Mainichi’s editorial stated that the draft budget had changed the objective of nuclear energy research from the “creation of nuclear reactors” to the “development

167 168 of peaceful applications of nuclear energy.” The Mainichi editorial concluded that Japan could expect positive results from nuclear energy research.

The public debates over Japan’s nuclear energy program took place while the radiated

Lucky Dragon # 5 was silently heading back to Japan from Bikini. On April 3rd, the Diet passed the budget, including the first nuclear energy program in the midst of the panic followed by the

Lucky Dragon #5 incident. In his study on the role of the Japanese print media in the knowledge production of nuclear energy, Takekawa concludes that “…the three major newspapers argued against the military use of nuclear power, but did not oppose its peaceful uses while observing the Lucky Dragon #5 Incident and the rise of anti-nuclear sentiment and movement in

Japan…[even] when the dark side of nuclear power was highlighted in Japan” (Takekawa 2012).

The USIA cooperated with Shoriki’s Yomiuri Shinbun to host exhibitions on the peaceful applications of nuclear energy in eleven major cities in Japan. The Yomiuri Shinbun reported that

Japanese visitors praised the exhibition’s promotion of the civil applications of this new powerful, clean, and boundless energy source. Positive coverage of the exhibitions were disseminated throughout Japan by national and local media outlets.65

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum was selected as one of eleven sites of the exhibition in May 1956. The City Council, Hiroshima Prefectural Government, Hiroshima University, and

Chugoku Shinbun enthusiastically welcomed the exhibition and co-sponsored it. Prior to the exhibition, Hamai Shinzo, the mayor of Hiroshima, even advocated construction of the first nuclear reactor in Hiroshima, stating that “the souls of the dead would be comforted should

Hiroshima become the ‘first nuclear powered city.’ The citizens, I believe, would like to see

65 In his article “Drawing a Line between Peaceful and Military Uses of Nuclear Power: The Japanese Press, 1945- 1955” (2012), Takekawa Shunichi discusses how other national newspapers supported Japan’s introduction of nuclear power. For instance, he points out that, after Yomiuri’s exhibition on Atoms for Peace, Asahi Shinbun, too, co-hosted Atoms for Peace exhibits with USIA in Kyoto and Osaka.

168 169 death replaced by life” (cited from Zwigenberg 2012). Six members of the Association of Young

Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Survivors attended the Hiroshima exhibition. The Chugoku Shinbun explained that the exhibition helped to understand that nuclear energy could positively contribute to civilization. The Atoms for Peace campaign reinforced the view that the peaceful use of nuclear energy was completely different from military use for nuclear weapons.

Nagasaki was not included in the list of nuclear energy exhibition site cities. At this time, however, USIA was coordinating a sister city program between Nagasaki and St. Paul in parallel.

3. Sister City Program and Eisenhower’s Global Expansion Policy

In the aftermath of World War II, William Benton, the American Assistant Secretary of

State observed that diplomacy was no longer only between governments as “people of the world are exercising an ever larger influence upon decisions of foreign policy” (Benton, July-

December 1945, 589). In 1946, the American military initiated its “exchange of persons program.” A number of foreign nationals received grants to come to the United States for study, research, teaching, lecturing, and observation (Fujita 2007). At the same time, American citizens were encouraged to go abroad to achieve similar ends. This collaborative effort of the American government and private American organizations in the service of U.S foreign policy was the centerpiece of what came to be called “U.S cultural diplomacy” (Fujita 2007, Parry-Gills 1994).

The program was transferred to the State Department in 1952.

The Eisenhower administration expanded U.S Cold War strategy and cultural diplomacy through military and economic integration of its allies and decolonized countries through new people’s exchange programs (Klein 2003). The Eisenhower administration established the USIA in 1953 as an agency devoted to U.S cultural diplomacy and launched the “People-to-People program” to integrate other countries into U.S military, political and economic policies.

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The Eisenhower administration assigned the USIA a role as the primary coordinator of the People-to-People program. The USIA Office of Private Cooperation selected American citizens to serve as members of the People-to-People program committee. The majority were well-known entrepreneurs who “had the most to gain from the integration” of the target countries

(ibid). The creation of sister city relations between American and Japanese cities was typical of activities within the People-to-People program (ibid).

One of the major collaborators in the People-to-People program was the American airline industry. Since the end of the war, U.S government had encouraged American airlines to expand in areas considered geopolitically vital to American security (ibid). American airlines frequently offered free flights for foreign guests of the State Department/USIA. The Nagasaki-St. Paul sister city program exemplifies how the Eisenhower administration and private entrepreneurs collaborated to achieve their mutual interests.

Nagasaki Mayor Tagawa travelled by Northwest Airlines to the United States in August

1956. In 1947, Northwest became the first American airline to open direct flights between the

United States and Japan in 1947. It was eager to attract American tourists to Japan. However, the

Lucky Dragon #5 Incident of 1954 and the subsequent rise of the anti-nuclear weapons movement appeared an obstacle to their expansion. Northwest Airlines was eager to cooperate in the People-to-People program and the sister-city program between Nagasaki and St. Paul as a means of overcoming anti-American sentiment (Takase 2009).

Northwest Airlines Headquarters is located in Minneapolis, Minnesota, whose capital is

St. Paul. The Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport (MSP) is also a primary Northwest hub. This, together with its large Catholic population, made St. Paul an ideal candidate for the first sister-city program between the United States and Japan.

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Lewis Hill Jr., the initial proponent for the sister-city project between Nagasaki and St.

Paul, was one of the most powerful financiers in Minnesota and a member of the Minnesota

State Assembly. He had a close relationship with Northwest Airlines and was a strong

Republican supporter and friend of Eisenhower (Takase 2009). The program was consistent with the diplomatic goals of the Eisenhower administration while at the same time serving the commercial interests of Northwest Airlines and the Minnesota economy.

William Hughes, who initially proposed the sister city program to Tagawa, was a member of the “Friend of the World,” the American philanthropic organization. Friend of the World had been working to establish the sister-city program between the United States and Europe since the early 1950s. Hughes’s wife was a second-generation Japanese American. Hughes was known for his strong sympathy toward and attachment to Japan. Visiting Nagasaki with his wife in 1979,

Hughes explained in an interview that the St. Paul city council chose the fourteenth anniversary of the Pearl Harbour Attack as the day to sign the sister-city relationship with Nagasaki as an acknowledgement of mutual wrongdoing during the Asia-Pacific War. He also stated that the sister-city relationship would be a pledge to pursue peace in the future through healing the wound caused by the war (Takase 2009). This narrative of healing and reconciliation through

U.S. assistance with reconstruction/restoration of what the atomic bomb destroyed was central to

Japanese and American media discourses in the mid-1950s.

4. Politics of Healing, Forgiveness, Restoration and Reconciliation

While Bishop Yamaguchi and Mayor Tagawa were touring the United States, a group of twenty-five young female hibakusha referred to as the “Hiroshima Maidens,” were invited to the

United States to undergo reconstructive plastic surgery from 1955 to 1956. Although each visit

171 172 was organized by different American private organizations, the visits were planned and carried out within the framework of U.S. cultural diplomacy. The guests from the A-bombed cities stood as symbols of healing, mutual forgiveness, restoration and reconciliation in American-Japanese relations.66

The Hiroshima Maidens first appeared in the Japanese media in June 1952 after the San

Francisco Treaty went into effect and Japanese sovereignty was regained in April of that year within the framework of the US-Japan alliance. Tanimoto Kiyoshi, Hiroshima based Methodist minister and founder of the Hiroshima Peace Center, and novelist Masugi Shizue organized a fundraising campaign with Japanese celebrities, artists and writers to provide reconstruction surgery for the young women dubbed Hiroshima Maidens. With donations from all over Japan, nine Hiroshima Maidens underwent reconstructive surgery in the Koishikawa clinic in Tokyo in

December 1952. Their successful surgeries encouraged Masugi to extend their fundraising campaign for Nagasaki Atomic Maidens as well (Hattori 2003).

Masugi wrote to Mayor Tagawa that the Koishikawa clinic in Tokyo would provide the reconstruction surgery for five Nagasaki Maidens and the Tokyo branch of Hiroshima Peace

Center would bear the cost. Of the 25 candidates that Mayor Tagawa and medical doctors had initially selected, three young female hibakusha were eventually chosen from Nagasaki based on the degree and location of the keloids caused by the burns, their age (those deemed still

‘marriageable’), and consequently how much they would benefit from the surgery (ibid).

66 Several scholars have discussed how the Hiroshima Maidens symbolized the notion of healing of the broken relation between the United States and Japan, as well as the idea of forgiveness and reconciliation between the two countries. See M.J. Yavenditti (1982) “The Hiroshima Maidens and American Benevolence in the 1950s” Mid- America: A Historical Review 64 (2), and Robert Jacobs (2010) “Reconstructing the Perpetrators’ Soul by Reconstructing the Victim’s Body: The Portrayal of the Hiroshima Maidens by the Mainstream Media in the United States” Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and Pacific.

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On January 21, 1953, the three Nagasaki Maidens embarked for Tokyo. On the way, they stopped by the Hiroshima Station, where six Hiroshima Atomic Maidens and Tanimoto waited for them to offer flowers to the Nagasaki Maidens. On January 22, Chugoku Shinbun reported that the Atomic Maidens from Hiroshima and Nagasaki greeted each other in tears and spontaneously began to sing the song written for the Atomic Maidens entitled “Come Back to

Me, My Smile” (ほほえみよかえれ) together. The lyrics, written by Sako Michiko, one of the

Hiroshima Maidens, go:

Cruel destiny I carry on my back/ A lonely life I live/ The maiden’s smile has faded/ My smile, when will it return?

冷たきさだめ身に負うて寂しく生きる乙女子の頬より消えしほほえみよ再びいつの日にかえる

The melody was composed by Kobayashi Michio, a Class A-war criminal imprisoned for life in Sugamo Prison in Tokyo (Hattori 2003). Kobayashi was the senior military police officer in the Philippines during the war.67 In June 1952, Tanimoto and Masugi brought two Hiroshima

Atomic Maidens to the prison to ‘console’ (imon 慰問) the war criminals. An article in the

Chugoku Shinbun dated June 12, 1952 reports that Kaya Okinori, a Hiroshima native and the former Imperial Minister of Finance, offered an apology to the two maidens, saying that “I am guilty for the suffering of my fellow Hiroshima people. I wish I could console you all

[Hiroshima citizens], but I am a prisoner…” Hata Shunroku, another war criminal and the former

Imperial Army supremo of the Hiroshima military, also expressed his remorse to the Maidens that “It was inevitable that the former enemy targeted Hiroshima because the city was the pivot of the Imperial Army in Western Japan. Your sufferings are the result of our presence in

Hiroshima.” Chugoku Shinbun continued to write that after hearing the confession from the two

67 Asahi and Chugoku Shinbun newspapers reported on Kobayashi, but neither described exactly which crimes Kobayashi was tried and responsible for.

173 174 war criminals, one of the Hiroshima Maidens began to cry, saying that “We have never thought that you are responsible for our suffering. We came here to work with you to eliminate war.” The article ended that the tears had “gushed from their [war criminals] devilish faces.” During this visit to Sugamo prison, the Hiroshima Maidens and Tanimoto asked Kobayashi, a Christian as well as war criminal who “loved music since he was a child” and “never let go of his guitar” even during his imperial duty in the Philippines, to compose the melody for the maidens (Asahi

Shinbun, February 6, 1953). In February 1953, the song was completed under Kobayashi’s songwriter name, “Kobayashi Michio.” Therefore, before going to the United States to undergo more advanced plastic surgery, the Hiroshima Maidens, who represented Japanese victimhood, already performed the symbolic role in the forgiveness and reconciliation between the Japanese military high command that represented the Japanese responsibility for the war on one hand, and the Japanese collectivized nuclear trauma on the other. In this domestic political theater of forgiveness and reconciliation, the Japanese war criminals were represented as the accountable for U.S’s use of the atomic bombs and the hibakusha’s suffering, rather than for the numerous

Japanese war atrocities committed in Asia- Pacific. It can be further argued that their dramatic encounter in Sugamo prison also reconciled the dual subjectivities of the Japanese nation as the perpetrators and victims.

Nagasaki Shinbun reported on December 28, 1952 that the writer’s group in Tokyo had asked Pearl S. Buck, a Nobel Prize winning American writer, to help their efforts to provide more advanced reconstruction surgery for the Atomic Maidens in the United States. According to the Nagasaki Shinbun article, Buck contacted the American Orthopaedic Association (AOA) through Eleanor Roosevelt, the widow of Franklin D. Roosevelt, and the chairman of AOA sent a letter to the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission (ABCC), saying that they were planning to

174 175 send a group of American plastic surgeons to Hiroshima and Nagasaki for one year. On February

13, 1953, Nagasaki Shinbun reported that the news from AOA had significantly encouraged

Nagasaki Atomic Maidens; and some of them cried for joy. Aoyama Takeo, the chair of the

YMCA in Nagasaki, embarked on the establishment of the Nagasaki Atomic Maiden Association to host the AOA’s medical staff (Hattori 2003). However, the project faded away for unknown reasons.

On the other hand, Tanimoto arranged for Norman Cousins, editor of the Saturday

Review and an antinuclear activist, to meet with the Hiroshima Maidens at his church in

Hiroshima in 1953 and asked Cousins to organize fund-raising for Hiroshima Maidens’ surgery in the United States (Nakano 2002). Tanimoto was also one of the six survivors of the Hiroshima atomic bomb whose experience of the bombing is portrayed in John Hersey’s 1949 bestseller

Hiroshima, which had made Tanimoto’s presence known to prominent American intellectuals and allowed him to connect with them, including Cousins.68

Cousins received broad support and funding for his Hiroshima Maiden Project from all over the United States, most notably from the readers of the Saturday Review, whom Christina

Klein (2003) characterizes as American liberals who felt “tremendous guilt over the dropping of the atomic bombs” and “eagerly donated funds to the Maidens project as a way to expiate that guilt” (Klein 153).

68 Just as Nagai in Nagasaki, Tanimoto Kiyohi has been known for his humanitarian efforts for Hiroshima Maidens and the reconciliation between Hiroshima/Japan and the United States. However, Yoshikuni Igarashi (2000) documents Tanimoto Kiyoshi’s account on the atomic bomb and Emperor’s sacred decision, implying Tanimoto’s role in the politics of sacrifice, forgiveness and reconciliation between Japan and the United States. Igarashi cites Tanimoto’s writing in which he wrote: “…the emperor could not endure to witness his subjects suffer in the war any longer and accepted the terms the four nations presented “by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is insufferable” in order to save his subjects and the human beings of the world from the destruction of war. The sacrifice in Hiroshima became the basis “to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come” (cited from Igarashi 28). It would be interesting to examine how the two Christian leaders in postwar Japan contributed to the construction of the master narrative of the Asia and Pacific War as well as Japan’s amnesia of its imperial past.

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The State Department was initially sceptical of the project as the government was promoting its “Atoms for Peace” campaign and concerned that the publicity of hibakusha’s deformed bodies would fuel antinuclear movements worldwide. Cousins realized that the U.S government would intervene or even interdict the project if he framed the project as the acknowledgment of American responsibility, or expiation for its use of the bombs. Consequently,

Klein argues that Cousins tactically “caste[d] the relationship between the United States and

Japan in the intimate terms of one family member feeling ‘love’ and ‘duty’ to another” (150). In so doing, the Hiroshima Maidens project ensured the hierarchical relationship between the

United States and Japan by portraying the United States as the benevolent, healthy, strong donor capable of providing humanitarian aid to poor fragile Asian women, and consequently generated patronizing sympathies from Americans (Klein 2003).

In the end, none of the Nagasaki Maidens were invited to the Hiroshima Maiden Project in the U.S. However, the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral, also known as the Cathedral of the

Virgin Mary, became the recipient of U.S. reconstruction funds.

The Japanese media called the young female hibakusha “Atomic Maidens” (Genbaku

Otome) whereas they were consistently called “Hiroshima Maidens” in the United States. In

Japan, the Hiroshima Maiden project was portrayed as a form of U.S. atonement (Chugoku

Shinbun May 14, 1955). The Chugoku Shinbun and Asahi Shinbun also reported that after returning to Hiroshima from the United States, both the physical and psychological traumas of the Atomic Maidens had been healed by advanced American reconstructive plastic procedures

(Asahi Shinbun June 18, 1956, Chugoku Shinbun June 27, 1956). The project was presented by the Japanese media as the symbolic restoration of postwar American-Japanese relations, which had been ‘wounded’ by the Lucky Dragon #5 Incident and the rise of Japanese antinuclear and

176 177 anti-American sentiments (Hattori 2003). Likewise, the plastic surgery the Hiroshima Maidens received in the United States served not only as a metaphor for the ‘reconstruction’ of postwar

Japan, showing the humanitarian spirit within the American consciousness, but also served to underscore the view that the trauma of the atomic bombing was curable through advanced U.S. medical technology.

Both Yamaguchi and Tagawa were aware of the media discourse surrounding the

Hiroshima Maidens in the United States and Japan. The American print media from 1955 to

1956 indicate that Yamaguchi and Tagawa had agreed that the remnants of the cathedral would serve as a reminder of the hostile history between the two countries, hence the demolition of the remnants and reconstruction of a new cathedral would be more appropriate than its preservation to mark the first sister city relationship between the United States and Japan. The statements of the two Nagasaki officials cited in the American newspaper articles also reveal Nagasaki leaders’ competitive stance toward Hiroshima. On May 6th, 1956, The New York Times reported

Yamaguchi’s comment that “many Japanese people thought it ironic that the atomic bomb took the grandest proportionate toll of the Christian community in Nagasaki.” But, he continued that the Catholics regarded Nagasaki’s atomic bombing as divine “trial” and its victims as

“martyrdom to end the war, the final appeasement of God for wrongs done” (The New York

Times, May 6, 1956). Yamaguchi reportedly went on to assert that “we felt that the sacrifice of

Japanese at Hiroshima must not have been enough in the sight of Lord” (ibid). He then stated that he had received $40,000 for the reconstruction of the Urakami Cathedral during his trip to the United States. The article concluded with Yamaguchi’s call for further donations of $100,000 to help rebuild it.

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Yamaguchi visited St. Paul soon after the St. Paul City Council signed the sister-city relationship on December 7, 1955. On December 11th, the St. Paul Sunday Pioneer Press published an interview with Yamaguchi during which he described the goal of rebuilding the

Urakami Cathedral. He stated that given St. Paul’s desire to enter into a sister-city relationship with Nagasaki, he would favour dismantling the ruins of the Cathedral and rebuilding it anew.

In the American news coverage of Tagawa’s statements, Nagasaki competition with

Hiroshima was a central theme. On August 9, 1955, on the tenth anniversary of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, The Daily Courier of Connellsville Pennsylvania reported Tagawa’s comment that while Hiroshima had become known around the world, Nagasaki had been all but forgotten. On the same day, the United Press cited Tagawa’s claim that “Hiroshima uses the atomic bombing as political propaganda” and that Nagasaki would never do any such thing. He even asserted that Nagasaki Atomic Maidens would never ask the United States for reconstructive plastic surgery and removal of their keloids (The United Press August 9, 1955).

On December 1, 1955, The Times Record in New York reported Tagawa’s emphasis on

Nagasaki’s long history as Asia’s “window to the West” since the sixteenth century and its status as a “Christian city” (The Times Record December 1, 1955). The article continued that “[t]hese long contacts with the West, Nagasaki Mayor Tagawa said, gave Nagasaki people a tolerant spirit, and they met the atomic bomb without rancor” (ibid). The article ended with the following statement: “Nagasaki folks are genial in character; and their feeling toward America and

Americans is good on the whole” (ibid). While Tagawa clearly intended to appeal to the

Americans by contrasting the characteristic of Nagasaki citizens with that of Hiroshima, he was apparently oblivious of the fact that the surgery of Hiroshima Maidens and the demolition and

178 179 reconstruction of the Urakami Cathedral, both paid for with American funds and both directed toward overcoming rancor between atomic victims and Americans, were perfectly parallel.

In August 1956, interviewed by the St. Paul Dispatch, Tagawa, playing the Cold War card, noted that many Japanese people wanted to strengthen relations with the United States, but that Japanese communists were seeking such a relationship with the Soviet Union (St. Paul

Dispatch August 23, 1956). The question of the renewal of the US-Japan Security Alliance

(Ampo) was a politically and emotionally charged issue in Japan in the mid-1950s, a time when many Japanese feared it could lead to their involvement in another nuclear war.

The USIA in Japan was undoubtedly abreast of the debate over the fate of the ruins taking place in Nagasaki in the midst of the Japanese antinuclear peace movement. Typically,

USIA staff were stationed in embassies and American Cultural Centres (ACC) in major cities, and were responsible for the administration of various cultural and international exchange programs, such as the Fulbright Fellowship. The American Cultural Center had an office in

Nagasaki and its officers were aware that Nagasaki had been the top tourist destination in Japan in the postwar years. The ruins of Urakami Cathedral were the city’s most popular tourist attraction as the remnants were emblematic of the popular imagination of Nagasaki as an exotic

Christian city and fulfilled visitors’ desire to witness the city’s recent history of the atomic bombing. At the same time, American policymakers may have been apprehensive about the potential that the ruins of the cathedral could serve as an icon of an international antinuclear movement.69

69 The Lucky Dragon #5 incident also galvanized public opinion outside Japan. Belgian diplomat Paul-Henri Spaak stated, “if something is not done to revive the idea of the President’s speech – the idea that America wants to use atomic energy for peaceful purposes – America is going to be synonymous in Europe with barbarism and horror” (Kuznick 2011, p. 2). Likewise, Indian Premier Jawaharlal Nehru called American leaders “dangerous self-centered lunatics” (ibid) that would destroy any people or country in their way. British Prime Minister Winston Churchill captured this same sentiment by stating that the Pacific Ocean is not an American lake (Takase 2014). In May 1954, Eisenhower complained that, “everybody seems to think that we are skunks, sabre rattlers, and warmongers”

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5. Dismantling the Ruins

After his return from the United States in September 1956, Tagawa became reluctant to comply with the committee’s recommendation for preservation of the ruins. By that time, a decade had already passed since the atomic bombing. Roads had been widened in the Urakami district; new houses had been built; and, the number of tourists had increased. With the reconstruction, other ruins left by the bombing had been dismantled. The ruins of the Urakami

Cathedral were the only notable remaining vestige of the bombing in the city. Non-Catholic locals, especially hibakusha, were calling for their preservation as a material artefact to commemorate the tragedy. In contrast, very few Urakami Catholic hibakusha participated in the debate.

(Kuznick 2011, p. 2). Similarly, American Secretary of State John Foster Dulles stated that, “comparisons are now being made between ours and Hitler’s military machine” (ibid).

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Photograph 19: Remnants of Urakami Cathedral (front) and Peace Statue (back) in 1958 (Photo courtesy of Itaru Takahara)

Within the Urakami Catholic community, some members urged Nakajima, the Urakami chief priest, to preserve the ruins. However, Nakajima characterized the ruins as ‘trash,’ which was already destroyed, so the preservation of the ruins was meaningless.70 Nakajima announced in

February 1958 that dismantleming of the ruins would commence within the month. The following day, a local newspaper reported Mayor Tagawa’s comment that the dismantling was

“unavoidable” (Yokote 2010). The committee members of the Atomic Bomb Material

70 Years later, Nakajima recounted to a younger Urakami priest named Furusu, that the Catholic community probably disliked him as a result of his position in the debate (Takase 2009). Furusu told Takase that Nakajima probably tried to shield Yamaguchi from criticism by representing the bishop’s position on his behalf.

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Preservation and Nagasaki councilmen were puzzled by the mayor’s position. They requested that the mayor hold a meeting to clearly communicate his intention.

At an emergency meeting of the Nagasaki City Council on February 17th, 1958,

Iwaguchi Natsuo, a former reporter for the Nagasaki Nichi Nichi Shinbun and the youngest member of the council, argued for preservation of the ruins. Iwaguchi emphasized that the ruins were of historical value as material evidence of the bombing. He reminded the Council that

Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the only two cities in the world where boys and girls walked around with keloid scars, and that the full ramifications of the event remain unknown.

Consequently, it was the duty of the citizens of Nagasaki to preserve what evidence remained to ensure that no such tragedy would ever occur again. Iwaguchi stated, “We want political leaders and visitors from all over the world to witness the horrific power of the atomic bomb and the baseness of war!” (NBC “God and the Atomic Bomb 2000). Tagawa responded to Iwaguchi, saying:

It is undeniable that the ruins are valuable as a tourist attraction, but I do not believe they serve to promote peace. The horrific power of the atomic bomb has already been studied and documented scientifically, so even those who have never experienced its power can understand that such weapons should neither be used nor produced. Consequently, the existence of the ruins is superfluous. The question at hand is whether the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral are appropriate physical materials to convey the tragedy of the atomic bombing. Frankly speaking, my answer is no. The preservation of the ruins is not necessary to the pursuit of peace. Therefore, I will fully support for dismantling of the ruins and reconstruction of a new cathedral at the same site to respond to the wishes of the Catholic people. (NBC “God and the Atomic Bomb 2000)

Tagawa argued that while atomic weapons were widely viewed as an absolute evil, that characterization was little more than ideological posturing. In practical terms, the possession of atomic weapons by the Soviet Union, the United States and Britain could be construed as a necessary condition for peace.

Tagawa’s comment on the idea of nuclear détente shocked the council members.

Iwaguchi once again rose and questioned Tagawa:

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Let me ask you then. Why are you going to erect a memorial statue for the twenty-six martyrs?71 Why are you going to replicate the Dutch House?72 Isn’t it because you want to convey the history of Nagasaki as Japan’s window to the West and how Western culture came to Japan? Isn’t it because you want to let the architecture silently speak to the viewers about such history in the present? We have been collecting tiles, bamboo, and other small objects exposed to the radiation of the atomic bomb as artefacts of the tragedy. Do you really believe that those little pieces will adequately convey the horror of the atomic bombing? We are asking you to preserve the ruins not as a symbol of hatred, but as a symbol of the baseness of war, as the spiritual cross of our sins! (NBC 2000; Takase 2009, 146-147)

Councilman Araki Tokugorō echoed Iwaguchi’s plea.

[The ruins] are invaluable because they will forever call out to humankind that never again should such ruins be produced. All the citizens of Nagasaki want to preserve the ruins! If they are removed, how will your successors, the mayors of Nagasaki in 100 or 200 years judge our decision? They must be preserved! Those ruins, please preserve them! Please preserve them! Mayor! Please! (NBC 2000; Takase, 148)

Despite the six decades that have passed, Iwaguchi’s speech and Araki’s plea, which are preserved in audio in Nagasaki’s archives, remain heart wrenching. They were not sufficient, however, to change Tagawa’s course of action.

The following day, the Council voted unanimously to preserve the ruins of Urakami

Cathedral. Moreover, approximately 10,000 Nagasaki residents signed a petition calling for the preservation of the ruins. The Council Chair submitted a resolution for the preservation of the ruins to Bishop Yamaguchi. Nagasaki hibakusha groups jointly submitted three proposals with the Commission for the Preservation of Atomic Bomb Material to prevent the removal of the ruins. The first proposal was to remove the ruins of the front walls, but integrate the sidewalls into the new cathedral. In the event this proposal was rejected, the group proposed to transport

71 The memorial of the twenty-six martyrs refers to the project of building a monument on Nishizaka hill to commemorate a group of Christians who were executed by crucifixion on February 5, 1597. The Memorial Monument of the twenty-six martyrs was completed in June 1962 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the canonization of the Christians executed on the site. 72 ‘Dutch House’ is more commonly known as Dejima today. It was an artificial island in the port of Nagasaki, constructed in 1636 originally to segregate Portuguese residents from the Japanese population and control their missionary activities. After the expulsion of Portuguese, a Dutch trading factory, formerly located in Hirado, moved to Dejima. The Dutch workers were confined to Dejima to separate them from the Japanese during Japan's two centuries of isolation. The plan of restoring Dejima was discussed in the 1950s, but actual work took place in 1996.

183 184 the ruins to Peace Park. Their third proposal involved the excavation and preservation of the belfry, which remained buried after the explosion (Diehl 2011; Takase 2009). On February 26,

Tagawa met with Yamaguchi and asked him to consider the preservation of the ruins. On March

5, Tagawa reported that he had tried to negotiate with Urakami’s Catholic leaders; however, the remnants were deemed to be obstacles to the construction of a new cathedral. Consequently, the mayor asked the Council and the Committee to find a location to which the ruins could be transported, a practical impossibility given the scarcity of available land as a result of the 1955 construction of the giant statue ‘Prayer for Peace’ in the Peace Park. Nonetheless, the Council and Committee continued to strive for the preservation of the ruins, including a proposal for the relocation of the proposed new cathedral, a plan rejected by Catholic leaders. They insisted that the cathedral be reconstructed on the same location, the site of the memory of the Urakami martyrdom.

In the final meeting in March, the city council voted to leave the ultimate decision to

Mayor Tagawa. Iwaguchi and the hibakusha group then addressed three new proposals. The first proposal was to hold surveys all over Japan to discuss the fate of the ruins at the national level.

The second proposal was to invite the National Commission for Protection of Cultural Properties

(文化財保護委員会) to offer their opinion. The third proposal was to provide financial support not only for the preservation of the ruins, but also for reconstruction of a new cathedral (Diehl 2011).

However, Tagawa dismissed their final plea.

On March 14th, 1958, the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral were dismantled. Very few people were present at the site during the demolition process. Only the statues of St. Mary in

Mourning and St. John the Apostle, and a portion of the southern wall were preserved from the demolition after a last desperate plea from hibakusha groups.

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On the day of the dismantling, Nagasaki Shinbun reported:

[The dismantling] began with the remnants of the front walls. Those remnants, however, made for extremely difficult work. The sturdy ropes meant to pull them down were cut. Nevertheless, by mid-afternoon, the wall collapsed. About thirty tons of ruins were pulled down by early evening. (Nagasaki Shinbun March 14, 1958)

Photograph 20: Dismantling of Remnants of the Cathedral Photo (photo courtesy of Takahara Itaru) The article indicates that the ruins were fairly robust, despite the Urakami Catholic church’s claim that the remnants had posed a physical threat of collapse. On March 29th, two weeks after the demolition of the ruins, Nagasaki City Hall caught fire and was largely destroyed. Along with the building itself, much of the municipal archives were destroyed, including the materials detailing Tagawa’s trip to the United States. The fire occurred on Saturday when few people were in the city hall. The cause of the fire remains unknown.73 As a result of the fire, it is

73 The negatives of the photographs of the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral taken by Ikematsu Tsuneyuki, the first chief curator of the Nagasaki International Cultural Hall, were also burnt in the fire at City Hall. Ikematsu took a number of photographs of the ruins right after the atomic explosion. He privately printed 100 copies of his photograph collection and sent them to Christian organizations in Japan and abroad, including the Vatican. Despite their powerful visual impact, Ikematsu’s photographs have never been widely shown within Japan or abroad. Ikematsu carefully preserved the negatives of his photographs in Nagasaki City Hall. As a result, for decades, it was believed that there were few photographs of the ruins taken by Nagasaki locals until Takahara brought his

185 186 difficult to assess exactly Tagawa’s position concerning the cathedral and the U.S.-Japan security alliance as it evolved during his trip, who he met and what they discussed.

The construction of the new Urakami Cathedral was completed in October 1959. The question of how they eventually collected another $10,000 remains unknown. Three statues that survived the bombing were rehoused in front of the new cathedral, and a portion of the wall is located right beside the tower, making it the epicenter in the Nagasaki Peace Park. The Urakami

Catholic leaders described the new cathedral as a symbol of the recovery and reconstruction of their community. However, Nagasaki perpetually lost its most powerful symbol of the dawn and suffering of the nuclear age.

Photograph 21: Dismantling of Remnants of the Cathedral (Photo courtesy of Takahara)

photographs of the ruins to the public for the first time in 2009. The images of the ruins that were internationally distributed were taken by either Yamashita Yosuke, the Japanese imperial military photographer, or U.S occupiers.

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6. Remembrance of Absent Ruins in Photographs

Today, the Hiroshima Atomic Dome is recognized internationally as a symbol of the advent of the nuclear age and of a universal desire for peace. However, few municipal officials in

Hiroshima were interested in the preservation of ruins prior to the late 1960s. They felt that their preservation would be an obstacle to Hiroshima reinventing itself from the former imperial army city to a city of peace (Fukuma 2011).

The Hiroshima Atomic Dome was originally the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial

Promotion Hall. Discussion over whether to preserve the remnants of the atomic bombing took place in Hiroshima, too. However, neither city officials nor the citizenry was interested in the conservation. In 1951, Mayor Hamai claimed that preservation of the remnants of the Hall would be wasting money since the collapse of the remnants was inevitable (Chugoku Shinbun August 6,

1951). Likewise, the president of Hiroshima University, Morito Tatsuo, stated that preserving the remnants would only be a discomfort and that the construction of a new building symbolizing peace would be far more valuable (ibid). The Hiroshima municipal government did not regard the remnants of the Hall as a potential tourist resource (Fukuma 2011), whereas the ruins of the

Urakami Cathedral became the most popular tourist attraction in Nagasaki, which was the more popular tourist destination for Japanese due to Nagai’s popularity and its image as the baptized city by the bomb in the 1950s, right up to the 1958 demolition.

In May 1960, a children’s group called “Hiroshima Paper Crane Society,” founded to honor Sadako Sasaki, who had died of lymph gland leukemia caused by the radiation poisoning of the atomic bomb at the age of 12, created a petition for the preservation of the remnants of the atomic bombing. Hiroshima Mayor Hamai, however, believed that “the ruins have no scholarly value as they could not reveal the power of the atomic bomb” (Chugoku Shinbun, October 5,

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1963). Meanwhile, the remnants of the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall continued to decay and some civil engineers warned that they were on the verge of collapse. The mayor and city officials waited for the question to sort itself out (Fukuma 2011).

However, city officials began to recognize both the symbolic power and the potential of the ruins as a tourist attraction when civil groups and prominent figures, such as Gensuikyo,

Tange, the architect of Hiroshima Peace Park and Memorial Museum, and Yukawa, the first

Japanese winner of the Nobel Prize in Physics, called for the preservation of the Dome, describing it as the “Memorial Cathedral of Hiroshima’s Atomic Bombing” and “Unparalleled

World Cultural Heritage” (Hiroshima City Council Archive II 1990, 817). The mid-1960s reference to a “Memorial Cathedral” has a bitter irony after the grandest and truly historical

Cathedral in the Far East had already been dismantled. In July 1966, the Hiroshima City Council unanimously called for the preservation of the Atomic Dome and set a target of 40 million yen to finance the project. They collected approximately 67 million yen from all over Japan and the work was completed in August 1967. In December 1996, the Atomic Dome was designated a

UNESCO World Heritage Site.

In 1970, Matsumoto Hiroshi, a professor of literature at Hiroshima University, wrote that the Atomic Dome is no longer a ruin of the atomic bombing since it obtained the status of an object of “perpetual preservation” (Chugoku Shinbun August 3, 1970). He claimed that the restoration of the Atomic Dome rather indicated the death of the ruins. His controversial statement poses a question of what the ruins signify to viewers. Ruins embody a sense of loss and irreversibility of the past (Ruth 1997). The fragmented body compels us to recognize that the remnants will eventually fall into decay and oblivion if we fail to reclaim them by generating action driven by critical thought by working through what the ruins mean to us in the present.

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Contending that the Atomic Dome no longer evokes such a sense of crisis or dynamism,

Matsumoto concluded that the perpetual preservation of the Atomic Dome would not guarantee remembrance of the substance of the atomic bomb memory; rather the pretence to perpetually remember would accelerate oblivion by effectively precluding the sense of crisis in our remembrance, the essential condition for the possibility of inheriting the remnants left by absent others.

Many Nagasaki residents today lament the dismantling of the ruins of the Urakami

Cathedral which deprived them of a powerful monument to the atomic bomb experience—one arguably even more powerful than Hiroshima’s Atomic Dome. However, the photographs of the ruins of the cathedral evoke in the viewer the sense of loss precisely because of our recognition of the perpetual loss. The ruins of the cathedral permanently remain on the verge of the second destruction, continuously appearing as something to be erased. The ghostly remnants in the photographs provoke the viewer’s sense of crisis that some important history and memory surrounding the ruins would be forever obliterated if s/he fails to reclaim what was lost (see Till

2005; Ruth 1997). The ruins themselves never speak to us. To have the ghostly remnants become part of our present and our politics against multiple forms of injustice, it is necessary to articulate the significance of that event in the present. In other words, the ruins in the photographs prompt the viewer to construct and reconstruct the means for what is visible and seek what is not fully recovered from oblivion by searching the traces of the past.

The disentanglement of the political implications of the sister city relationship and the dismantlement of the ruins reveals how deeply Nagasaki was embedded within Eisenhower’s

U.S. cultural diplomacy and the “People-to-People program” that aimed to integrate Japan into

U.S. global policy. The detour to the 1950’s political landscape, in turn, illuminates the postwar

189 190 history of Nagasaki. While it is known that Nagasaki housed Mitsubishi’s largest warship production site, and monopolized the manufacture of torpedoes during the Asia-Pacific War, it is largely ignored that Nagasaki remains one of Japan’s largest manufacturing sites for military production under the Mitsubishi Heavy Industrial Corporation (Okuda 2010; Funakoshi 2008).

Though Mitsubishi’s production of warships was briefly interrupted during the American occupation, it resumed operations in 1950 with the outbreak of the Korean War.

In recent decades, Nagasaki’s economic development has relied heavily upon

Mitsubishi’s prosperity through the production of weapons, nuclear vessels and nuclear reactors.

The Mitsubishi Nagasaki Shipping Company built the first Japanese-made Aegis warship, which was originally built by the U.S. Navy, for the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force in 1991

(Funakoshi 2008). The Aegis Combat System also allows the sharing of military-strategic information between the United States and Japan.74 In addition, Urakami is still home to the only factory producing Japanese torpedoes (Okuda 2010, Funakoshi 2008). Put differently,

Mitsubishi/Nagasaki is one of the major beneficiaries of American-Japanese collaborative efforts both to produce weapons and to introduce nuclear energy into the country, both in the service of the U.S.-Japan Security Alliance.

Nagasaki prefecture hosts the third largest American military base in Japan today. In

1946 the U.S. took over the Japanese naval base in Sasebo, just 68 kilometers from the epicenter.

Sasebo was for 60 years Japan’s imperial military port city. During the Korean War, it was reorganized by the U.S. into a military port and housed one of the Headquarters of the United

Nations Forces. After the end of the U.S. occupation, Japan Self-Defense Forces were established in 1954 and Sasebo also became the homeport for Japan’s Maritime Self-Defense

74 “Japan – AEGIS Weapon System Upgrade” U.S. Defense Security Cooperation Agency, December 10, 2012: http://www.dsca.mil/major-arms-sales/japan-aegis-weapon-system-upgrade

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Force. As well, the Nagasaki Airport has served the U.S military base in Sasebo as a point of entry into, and exit from, Japan (Okuda 2010). Nagasaki has been firmly integrated into the U.S.-

Japan Security Alliance since the mid-1950s—the period when the debate over the ruins of the cathedral took place and the sister city relationship was made. As the U.S Navy states on its official website:

The important bilateral relationship between Japan and the United States that exists today is very much in evidence at U.S. Fleet Activities Sasebo, where ships of the Japan Maritime Self Defense Force and the United States Seventh Fleet share this excellent port. (Commander Fleet Activities Sasebo http://www.cnic.navy.mil/regions/cnrj/installations/cfa_sasebo.html)

Likewise, Hiroshima, the popular symbol of the nuclear age and the mecca of world peace, shares a similarly militarized history with Nagasaki. Iwakuni, which houses one of the largest U.S bases in East Asia, is located within miles of Hiroshima’s epicentre. Indeed, there is a high concentration of Japanese Self-Defense Force bases in Hiroshima Prefecture today (Shukan

Kinyo November 7, 2008). Both Hiroshima and Nagasaki manifest the continuing legacy of

Japanese imperialism by offering land on which the alliance with the former enemy continue to thrive.75

What the resurrected memory of the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral signifies is not a mere melancholic sense of loss; rather, the resurrected memory and history of the ruins illuminate the Japanese desire for the oblivion of its imperial past as well as the contemporary realities, where the same political order dominated by the U.S-Japan alliance that determined the fate of the ruins, continue to rule Nagasaki and Japan, and maintain the status quo, all of which, in their concerted efforts, produce ruins in other parts of the world.

75 Carol Gluck (1997) rightly points out that the end of the Cold War “did not ring the end of the cold-war postwar” (18) to Japan. She offers a critical insight on the continued U.S-Japan Security Alliance, contending that Japan had become so comfortable with the “subordinate independence” (Gluck 1997, 18) to the United States that it would not even try to form a new international relation with other countries or new security policy by its own.

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7. Conclusion

This chapter has explored how the fate of the ruins of Urakami Cathedral has been intertwined with multiple political, economic and military interests linking Japan and the United

States from 1945 through the 1950s, and the competing desire and will for the remembrance and oblivion of the past in the wake of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, with resonances to the present. The debate over the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral took place in the midst of a political crisis touched off by the Hydrogen Bomb test in Bikini and the Lucky Dragon #5 incident that it precipitated in March 1954, leading to the subsequent rise of the antinuclear peace movement throughout Japan and internationally.

The USIA in Japan pursued a double agenda from 1954 to 1957. One was dissemination of the idea of the “peaceful use of nuclear energy” by holding joint exhibitions with the Yomiuri

Shinbun and other national and local media to transform the cruel memory of nuclear weapons within Japanese consciousness into a new developmentalist logic. A second and related agenda was to disseminate the narrative of “mutual forgiveness, healing, reconstruction and reconciliation” between the two countries to counter growing Japanese antinuclear and anti-

American sentiment in the context of the large Japanese anti-nuclear weapons movement sparked by the Lucky Dragon # 5 Incident but building on the consciousness of Japan as the only nation to be targeted with nuclear weapons. The USIA goal was to assure Japan’s political, military and economic integration within the U.S sphere. The U.S.-sponsored tour of Yamaguchi and Tagawa in the context of establishing the St. Paul-Nagasaki sister city program in 1955, along with the

Hiroshima Maiden project, and the dismantling of the Urakami Cathedral ruins were part and parcel of long term U.S. policy encapsulated in the U.S.-Japan alliance and the U.S-.Japan

Security Treaty.

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One of the characteristics of Eisenhower’s People-to-People program is its employment of sentimental narratives that emphasize the human connections, solidarities, and universal values between Americans and target nations (Klein 2003). In turn, selected foreign officials and individuals translated U.S. interests into local and national policies and politics. Tagawa and

Yamaguchi fully recognized the value of the sister city relationship as a symbol of the mutual forgiveness, reconciliation and a future-oriented relationship between the two countries. Tagawa, who pledged the economic development of Nagasaki, likely expected that the sister city program would bring American tourists to Nagasaki. This was bought at the price of dismantling the ruins of Urakami, the most powerful symbol of nuclear catastrophe, an act carried out against the will of the majority of Nagasaki hibakusha and residents who bowed to the will of the Catholic

Church supported by a handful of Nagasaki political leaders with strong ties to the United States authorities.

The local debate over the fate of the ruins in Nagasaki also illuminates the starkly contrasting historical consciousness between Nagasaki Catholic leaders who sought the oblivion of not only the memory of atomic trauma, but also their imperial past, believing that future generations should not remember such a past on one hand, and Nagasaki hibakusha and citizens who believed that peace could be achieved only through the remembrance of the folly of war embodied by the cathedral ruins on the other. The desire to forget the troubled and turbulent past and transform the ruins into a new, beautiful cathedral bereft of any trace of the war –just as

Nagai transformed himself from the decorated imperial surgeon into a ‘Saint’ without confessing his own complicity with Imperial Japan—overwhelmed the latter’s plea. Just as the United States sought to erase the trace of their indiscriminate mass-killing in the atomic bombings, Nagasaki

Catholic leaders, including Nagai, wished to dismantle the reminder of their moral responsibility

193 194 for Japan’s war crimes. It is a difficult past, which was resurrected along with the dismantled ruins, to inherit and remember. Yet, I believe that it is important to work through and learn from this difficult past in order to engage our contemporary moment.

The politics of healing, forgiveness, reconstruction and reconciliation, therefore, should not be reduced to serving an American political agenda. As we have seen, the Hiroshima

Maidens played the key symbolic role in the forgiveness and reconciliation narrative both within

Japan and in U.S-Japan relations. The Hiroshima Maidens were represented in the two countries as the righteous victims who expressed hatred toward no one, who never questioned the responsibility for their suffering, but accepted and endured their ordeal as ‘destiny.’ This representation of the Hiroshima Maidens may recall the female Urakami Catholic hibakusha in the NBC’s documentary, “God and the Atomic Bomb” mentioned in the introduction of this chapter. She said: “I am still angry, but there is nothing I can do…All I can do in our position [as an Urakami Catholic] is to pray for peace no matter how angry we may be.” Her remarks point to the presence of silenced voices, suppressed wills and desires among Urakami Catholic hibakusha.

What NBC’s documentary, Takase’s book, Takahara’s photographs of the ruins along with

Yokote’s text, and this work attempt to resurrect is not only the politics surrounding the demolished ruins, but also the multiple voices, memories, and wishes of Catholic and non-

Catholic hibakusha.

My work was not able to fully trace the role of the Japanese government/Ministry of

Foreign Affairs in the decision to dismantle the ruins as the relevant Japanese government archives remain classified. It can only point to the fact that the timing of the debate over the fate of the ruins also coincided with the critical period in Japan’s nuclear energy development and the establishment of Japan’s Self-Defense Force. The Urakami priest Nakajima, who implied the

194 195 involvement of the United States and the Ministry of the Foreign Affairs of Japan in the decision of the dismantling of the ruins, was the key figure in disentangling the politics surrounding that issue. He passed away in 2007. Likewise, Ikematsu, who confided that the demolition of the ruins was the condition offered to the Nagasaki Catholic Church to receive substantial donations for reconstruction, died in 1990 without disclosing which American institution donated and offered that condition. The study of the forces that determined the fate of the ruins in Nagasaki, therefore, remains incomplete.

The review of the 1950s political landscape between the United States and Japan has also disclosed how knowledge of nuclear energy was constructed as something completely detached from nuclear weapons by transforming the fear and anxiety generated by the nuclear arms race into ideas of peace and dreams of progress through development. From 1954, many Japanese, including hibakusha, participated in a peace movement that targeted nuclear weapons while embracing nuclear energy as a key to transformation. In Japanese consciousness, the two ideas reinforced a collective national identity as the ‘chosen’ atomic victims who made the noble sacrifice embodied in the horror of nuclear attack; therefore the Japanese nation was entitled to oppose nuclear weapons while benefiting from nuclear energy for peaceful use. In the end, the

Japanese people, including many hibakusha, indeed nearly all Japanese, embraced nuclear energy as the redemptive future of their collective nuclear trauma (Yamamoto 2012). The media discourse of healing, forgiveness, reconstruction and reconciliation of U.S.-Japan relations was assimilated into a redemptive narrative that eventually served to legitimize the postwar political order linking the United States and a subordinate Japan, in which the Japanese took advantage of alliance with the former enemy to reconstruct economy and society, while the U.S.-Japan

Security Alliance served as a keystone for US power in the Pacific and globally.

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My work did not offer a comparative study of the two atomic bomb cities in Japan. Yet, the study of the politics of Nagasaki, the social stratification between the Catholics and non-

Catholics, Nagasaki Catholic leaders’ desire for the oblivion of its wartime period, the Nagasaki

Mayor’s sense of competition with Hiroshima, and the fact that the second atomic bomb destroyed the grandest Cathedral in the Far East suggest the bases for the different outcomes of the two atomic bomb ruins in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

196 Chapter 5: Remembering the Colonial Memory: Korean Hibakusha in Nagasaki

The Nagasaki city tourist bureau offers a ‘peace walking tour’ (Nagasaki Peace Saruku) that includes Nagasaki Peace Park, Atomic Bomb Museum, Nagasaki National Peace Memorial

Hall for the Atomic Bomb Victims, Urakami Cathedral, and Nagasaki City Nagai Takashi

Memorial Museum. They are all located in Urakami.

Originally, the Nagai Takashi Memorial Museum was named “Nagasaki City Nagai

Library” when it was first built in 1952. In 1969, it was reformed and renamed “Nagasaki City

Nagai Memorial,” and was further renovated and renamed “Nagasaki City Nagai Takashi

Memorial Museum” in 2000. At the entrance, a portrait sculpture of Nagai is displayed. Besides that one finds four Chinese characters “如己愛人” (Nyoko-aijin) written by Nagai himself. It means “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The museum leaflet reads that this memorial museum was built not only to emphasize the tragic aspects of the atomic bombing, but also to convey the preciousness of peace and indomitable spirit of Nagasaki Catholics, hibakusha and citizens to the viewers by presenting Dr. Takashi Nagai’s life. The museum exhibits the certificates of commendations Nagai received as the first Honorary Citizen of Nagasaki from Nagasaki City

Council in December 1949, the National Honorary Award from the Japanese Prime Minister

Shigeru Yoshida in 1950, and a silver cup from Emperor Hirohito in 1949 to show Nagai’s contributions to Nagasaki’s postwar reconstruction and spiritual recovery of the Nagasaki

Catholics from the atomic trauma.

A mere 3.2 kilometers from Nagasaki Peace Park toward the Nagasaki Central Station, another peace memorial museum stands: the Oka Masaharu Memorial Nagasaki Peace Museum.

There are more than twenty peace museums in Japan. However, the Oka Masaharu Memorial

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Nagasaki Peace Museum is unique as it is one of the very few Japanese museums that exclusively exhibits the history of the Japanese war crimes and colonization (Yoshida 2007).

This museum is located on the Nishizaka hill, close to the Twenty-Six Martyrs Memorial

Monument. Masaharu Oka (1918-1994) was a protestant minister as well as a member of the

Nagasaki city assembly; and his work contributed to the foundation of the literature on Japanese atrocities committed on the Koreans and Chinese during the war. Oka investigated the history of the Korean forced labourers and atomic bomb victims by surveying each site in the entire prefecture of Nagasaki where Koreans resided or worked as slave labours. Oka then published six volumes of reports based on his findings. Through his research, Oka concluded that approximately 10,000 out of 20,000 Koreans were killed by the atomic bomb in Nagasaki. He was also the representative of the civil society named “Nagasaki Human Rights Association for

Korean Residents in Japan” (Nagasaki Zainichi Chosenjin Jinken Iinkai) established in 1965 and took the leadership to erect a memorial monument for Korean atomic bomb victims in the

Nagasaki Peace Park in 1969.

In October 1995, one year after Oka’s death, Oka Masaharu Memorial Nagasaki Peace

Museum opened its doors to inherit Oka’s efforts to pursue the responsibility of the Japanese government for victimizing millions of Asians and Allies’ POWs during the war, demand the government for its official apologies and proper compensation to the war victims of Japan’s colonization and aggressions, and eliminate discrimination against the Koreans in contemporary

Japan. Oka Masaharu Peace Memorial Museum has never received any funds from the public institution or business associations; it fully depends upon private donations and volunteers.76

Oka’s memorial museum displays its principle as follows:

76 In 2003, the Oka Masaharu Memorial Museum obtained the certification of Non-Profit Organization.

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It is important to remember the cruelty of the war and the atomic bombing. However, it is also extremely important to remember that the Japanese were victimized precisely because we had committed atrocities in Asia […] We will never achieve peace if we fail to extend our imagination for the pain of the Others inflicted by the Japanese when we reflect our own. If we do not question the irresponsibility of our government for its war victims, war will occur again—just as the justification of the use of the nuclear weapons would lead to another nuclear attack.

The museum is filled with a number of archived photographs and materials that silently testify the Japanese atrocities committed all over Asia. When I visited Oka Masaharu Memorial

Museum in June 2009, Nagasaki hibakusha were serving at the reception and curators counter.

They were all volunteer workers and also former school teachers. They told me that this museum is not included in the Nagasaki city official map, implying that what their museum exhibits is not the official view of the history of the Asia-Pacific War. The geographical distance between the

Nagai Takashi Memorial Museum and Oka Masaharu Memorial Museum may also signify the gap between the historical consciousness between those who perceive the last seven decades of

Japanese history as the triumph of Japan’s pacifist spirit and postwar economy on one hand, and those who see only, in the words of Walter Benjamin (1968), the “pile of debris” (257) of the human catastrophes on the other.

This chapter explores the ethics of remembering the Korean colonial memory by shedding light on how Nagasaki’s memory communities encountered the memory of the colonial atomic bomb victims, and challenged the nationalized atomic bomb discourse from the 1960s and 1970s. In particular, I look into how Oka sought the atonement for his sin—sin of betraying

God by worshipping the Emperor and supporting Japan’s imperialism and colonialism that enslaved and killed a significant number of Asians—by fighting against the Japanese government and Japanese collective amnesia in order to restore the dignity and human rights of the Korean victims. Just as Nagai did in 1934, Oka converted to Christianity in 1938 during the

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Asia-Pacific War. Both Nagai and Oka served in the imperial army; and they were both single fathers to two children. This chapter does not offer a comparative study between Nagai and Oka concerning their historical consciousness and notion of ‘sin.’ However, I will illustrate how

Oka’s way of seeking the atonement of his sin significantly differs from Nagai’s to demonstrate the multiple interpretations of the notion of ‘God and the Atomic Bomb’ within Nagasaki people’s historical consciousness. Nagai interpreted the atomic bombing as ‘divine providence,’ implying that the atomic bomb victims, sacrifice, appeased the rage of God. In contrast, Oka acknowledged his own complicity with Japan’s imperialism and colonialism and pursued the

Japanese responsibility for the war by seeking legal, social and historical justice for the Asian victims. For Oka, this was the only way to atone his sins before the Lord.

The chapter then proceeds to discuss how Oka’s commitment to recover the Korean atomic bomb victims from oblivion has been taken over by Han Su-san (韓水山), a South

Korean novelist, who retells, represents and translates the fragmented memory of the Korean atomic bomb victims into the form of the literature entitled Crows. Han’s Crows was the first

Korean atomic bomb literature published in South Korea in 2003. As well, it is the first foreign atomic bomb literature that has been translated into Japanese in 2009. In this final section, I employ Walter Benjamin’s notion of ‘translation’ as a redemptive act that ensures the afterlife, living on, of an original text (Benjamin 1926) and Roger I. Simon’s concept of “public historical memory” that moves beyond the corporal, ethnic and national boundaries, and serves as “points of connections between people in regard to a past that they both might acknowledge the touch of”

(Simon 2005, 89). Through reflecting how Oka’s commitment to the recovery of the Korean colonial memory inspired Han to deliver the first Korean atomic bomb literature to the public, I contemplate the possibility of intercultural and intergenerational inheritance, translation and

200 201 transmission of the memory of the colonial victims between ourselves and the memory of the

Other.

1. Historical Background of Japan’s Colonial Rule over the Korean Peninsula

On August 29, 1910, the treaty annexing Korea to Japan was promulgated. Under the annexation treaty, the Emperor of Korea handed sovereign power over his country to the

Emperor of Japan. It was the beginning of thirty-five years of Japanese colonial rule over Korean subjects. The Japanese colonial authority confiscated land and harvested rice from Korean farmers. By 1920, approximately 30,000 displaced Korean farmers had migrated to Japan to find a job (Lee 2012). The number of the Korean immigrants to Japan continued to increase as a result of flood and drought in their homeland on the top of Japan’s confiscation of their lands.

During the 1930s, approximately 400,000 Korean farmers immigrated to Japan and worked in factories, construction sites and mine fields (ibid).

After the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War in 1937, the Japanese authorities further exploited Korean land and farms; consequently famine spread out all over Korea (So 1987; Lee

2012). At the same time, Imperial Japan began to assimilate Koreans as ‘true’ subjects of the

Japanese empire. The Japanese authorities sought a full assimilation of Koreans into the Japanese empire: Koreans were forbidden from speaking the Korean language and practicing their culture, traditions and beliefs, and forced to replace them with Japanese and Shintonist ways.

In March 1938, National Mobilization Law was legislated in the Diet of Japan. The new law authorized the imperial government to control over civilian organizations (such as religious and labor unions), nationalize industries and print media, and draft civilian workers into strategic war industries. The Law was also applied to the Koreans. Imperial Japan carried out large-scale

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of the forceful mobilization of Koreans as wartime workers all over Japan as an increasing number of Japanese men were conscripted after the outbreak of the Pacific War. Those Koreans were mostly men, but many Korean women were also taken to Japan, or the battlefields in Asia as workers.77 Japan also started accepting Korean volunteers into its army in 1938 and began conscription of its colonial subjects in 1944. More than 300,000 Koreans were forced to serve in the Japanese military as an imperial soldier (Underwood and et al, 2010). By August 1945, approximately 2.3 million Koreans resided in Japan (Kashiwazaki 2000).

Immediately after the end of the war, the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers

(SCAP) treated Japan’s former colonial subjects as ‘liberated people’ in occupied Japan

(Kashiwazaki 2000; Takemae 2003). SCAP began reparation programs for the former colonial subjects in December 1945, offering free train transport to embarkation points. Approximately

600,000 Koreans had returned to Korea by the end of the SCAP’s reparation program in

December 1946 (Nantais 2014).78 The majority of those Korean repatriates had been forcefully brought to Japan after the outbreak of the Pacific War in 1941.

However, Korea was already divided at the 38th parallel. Most of the repatriates sailed for the American-occupied Southern half of Korea as they were originally from the southern provinces of the country, whereas only a few hundred Koreans were directly repatriated to the

Soviet-occupied northern Korea (Nantais 2014). The Koreans who decided to remain in postwar

Japan were mostly those with prewar-roots in Japan; their children were born in Japan and spoke

77 The Japanese Military Sex Enslavement, commonly known as “Comfort Women,” was systematically organized by the imperial state after the Nanjing massacre and mass rape committed by the Japanese imperial army in December 1937 as a way of ‘disciplining’ the behaviors of the Japanese soldiers. It is estimated that between 100,000 and 200,000 Korean women, mostly teenagers, were drafted via force, fraud, and other means of menace, and forced to serve to the Japanese soldiers as sex slaves (Yang 2008).While Korean women made up the largest number of the Japanese military's comfort women, Imperial Japan also drafted women into sex enslavement from China, Taiwan, Indonesia, the Philippines and Dutch. 78 There is debate among historians on the number of the Koreans who returned to Korea through the voluntary repatriation program. Some historians claim that 1.3 million Koreans returned to Korea (Takemae 2003).

202 203 only Japanese in many cases (Lee 2012). They opted to stay in Japan due to Korea’s political instability, its devastated economy and land, the spread of epidemic diseases, the lack of housing and jobs, and prejudice against repatriates in their homeland (Kashiwazaki 2000). Yet, many of them were still hoping to return to their homeland once the living condition in Korea had been improved and the division of the country ended in unification (Lee 2012; Kashiwazaki 2000;

Takemae 2003). Koreans who remained in Japan after the end of the war have been called

“Zainichi Korean” (common called ‘Zainichi’), which literally means Koreans residing in

Japan.79

Zainichi Koreans during the U.S occupation associated with either of the two principal

Korean organizations—the Chōren (Zainihon Chosenjin Renmei) or the Mindan (Zainihon

Chosen Kryoryu Mindan). The Chōren, which is translated into the “League of Korean Residents in Japan,” was established in Tokyo in October 1945. The Chōren’s top leadership had close ties with the Japanese Communist Party (JCP), which was the only political party that demanded the

Japanese government to render equal social, political and economic rights to the Zainichi

Koreans (Nantai 2014). The Chōren also established hundreds of Korean language schools all

79 In May 1947, the Japanese government passed the “Alien Registration Order” (ARO). It required non-Japanese nationals residing in postwar Japan to register as an ‘alien’ with local administration. The ARO obliged Koreans and Taiwanese who remained in Japan to register as an ‘alien,’ and to carry an ‘alien passbook’ at all times. However, the ARO did not change the status of the former colonial subjects into Japanese nationals. It reads that the Koreans and Taiwanese were “for the time being regarded as aliens” (Nantais 2014; emphasis is added). The primary objective of the ARO was to “identify Koreans who had entered Japan illegally” (ibid, 7) and establish documentary evidence of the legal residence for the former colonial subjects who had already resided in Japan before the end of the war by requiring them to register themselves as an ‘alien’ with local authorities (Nantais 2014). More precisely, the official status of being an “alien” in occupied Japan protected them from being regarded as an illegal immigrant and becoming the subject of deportation. Nantais’s study finds that the Zainichi Koreans willingly accepted the ARO because it satisfied their desire to be regarded as “foreign nationals,” rather than their hateful status as “Japanese nationals” (Nantais 2014). Nantais notes that “Since both Koreans and Japanese viewed Koreans in Japan as de facto foreigners, the two sides were in agreement whenever the government drafted legislation that recognized Koreans (and Formosans) as ‘foreign nationals’” (2014, 7). According to Nantais, the Koreans in Japan wanted to be recognized as “Korean nationals” or “foreign nationals” on par with “United Nations nationals” (2014, 6). However, he continues, “SCAP… did not budge on the nationality issue and intervened to force the [Japanese] government to delete such references” (7), which refer to ‘foreign nationals’ or ‘Korean nationals.’ SCAP/Washington urged the Japanese government to respect the legal status of Koreans as “Japanese nationals” that “would eventually repatriate or assimilate in Japanese society” (Nantais 2014, 13).

203 204 over Japan. Soon after its establishment, the Chōren came to support the North Korean communist regime.

On the other hand, the Mindan (The Korean Residents’ Union in Japan) was founded in

October 1946 by former members of the Chōren. The Mindan’s first leaders left the Chōren as the organization shifted its principle from the “fraternal, Korean nationalist organization” to the

“one oriented toward Communist political activities” (Nantai 2014, 6). It was renamed the

“Zainihon Daikan Minkoku Dantai” in 1948 to manifest their support for South Korea. However, the Chōren attracted a much larger number of Zainichi Koreans than the Mindan. The Chōren membership was approximately 400,000, whereas the latter was 100,000. In other words, the majority of Zainichi Koreans supported Kim Il-sung, the leader of North Korea’s communist regime during the U.S. occupation.

The Japanese officials tried to convince MacArthur and SCAP/GHQ officers that the so- called “Korean problem,” which refers to the question of how to deport the inassimilable, communist sympathizer Koreans within Japan, was not merely a local problem, but rather international problem of Communism (Koshiwazaki 2000; Nantais 2014). The Japanese government sought ways of convincing the SCAP that the forceful deportation of the Koreans was the most effective and only way to resolve the “Korean problem.” Suzuki Yoshio, the

Japanese attorney-general, told the GHQ that the Koreans were teaching the Communist ideology in the Chōren-commissioned Korean schools and preparing children to become militant to maintain their autonomy (Nantais 2014). Suzuki then raised the question over the Koreans’ suitability to remain in Japan as civil, decent and loyal Japanese citizens (ibid). The Japanese

Home Ministry and police also frequently reported on protests and political movements that involved Koreans to reinforce SCAP/GHQ’s negative perception of them (Koshiwazaki 2000).

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In May 1948, William Sebald in the State Department’s arm in GHQ addressed the need to design a program to “remove this potentially dangerous minority from Japan” (Nantais 2014, 11).

As a result, from May of 1948 onwards, SCAP identified any political actions taken by Koreans as a “communist’s act” (ibid). SCAP was convinced by the Japanese government that Koreans were the ‘threat’ to the social order in postwar Japan and thus, had to be repatriated from the country. The Chōren was dissolved by the Japanese government in 1949.

In August 1948, the partition of Korea became consolidated as the two ideologically opposed states—the Republic of Korea (ROK/South Korea) and the Democratic People’s

Republic of Korea (DPRK/ North Korea)—was respectively established. The ROK government passed the Nationality Act that conferred South Korean nationality to all Koreans, regardless of one’s domicile. SCAP’s top official urged Syngman Rhee, the first President in U.S-backed

South Korea, to accept as many Koreans as possible from Japan.80 However, Rhee had no interest in receiving the approximate 600,000 leftist Koreans in the ROK (Nantais 2014).

Moreover, Zainichi Koreans, who were sympathetic with the North Korean regime, were not interested in obtaining South Korean nationality, either. The ROK’s Nationality Act did not resolve the “Korean problem” in Japan. The issue of the legal status of Koreans in Japan remained unresolved.

On September 8, 1951 fifty-one countries signed the San Francisco Peace Treaty with

Japan. It formally ended the state of war between Japan and the Allied countries, and recognized

Japan’s sovereignty. Japan lost the control of its former colonies, Korea and Formosa, and gave

80 SCAP had a mixed feeling about the ROK Nationality Act. They concerned that if SCAP allowed Koreans to obtain the nationality of the ROK while in Japan, those supporting North Korea, who were, in the words of Nantais, “the very one the Occupation authorities were keenest on expelling” (2014, 14-15), would likely retain Japanese nationals and remain “legally “untouchable” (ibid, 15). SCAP was increasingly concerned about how they could expel and eliminate the communists from Japan before its occupation ended. SCAP decided to further alienalize, racialize and excessively politicize Koreans by labelling them ‘Communist North Koreans’ to “make them find life in Japan too unbearable” (Nantais 2014,15) and force them voluntarily to repatriate in order to resolve the “Korean problem.”

205 206 the U.S. control of the Ryukyu Islands, today’s Okinawa. The San Francisco Peace Treaty also specified the details of the settlement of war-related issues. The Japanese government relinquished every right of the Japanese citizens to demand reparations from the United States.

More precisely, the San Francisco Peace Treaty nullified U.S’s legal responsibility for the indiscriminate mass-killings of civilians by the conventional bombs and the two nuclear weapons.

The San Francisco Peace Treaty was fundamentally flawed because it did not invite any of the key victimized countries by Imperial Japan. Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore did not participate in the treaty. Similarly, China, Taiwan, South Korea and North Korea were not invited to the San Francisco peace conference and subsequently, none of them signed the treaty.

The United States initially planned to invite South Korea to the peace conference.

However, the Japanese government opposed to South Korea’s attendance by claiming that “this country, not having in a state of either war or belligerence with Japan, cannot be considered as an

Allied Power” (Hayashi 2014, 166).81 Japan also asserted that “it should be noted that the majority of Korean residents in Japan are Communists” (ibid). Likewise, the United Kingdom objected to the participation of South Korea, too, saying that Korea was merely a colony and not one of the Allies’ nations (ibid). In the end, the United States decided not to invite South Korea to the San Francisco Peace Conference. As a result, Japan’s legal responsibility for the war and reparations was ‘settled’ in the absence of the victimized countries who suffered the most by the

Japanese colonization and aggressions. Inevitably, the peace treaty ended satisfactory for the

Japanese state as Yoshida Shigeru, the premier of Japan at the time, stated that it was “fair” and

“generous” to Japan (Price 2001).

81 It was written in a memorandum entitled “Korean and Peace Treaty” submitted by the Japanese government to the United States on April 23, 1951 (Hayashi 2014).

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On April 19, 1952, nine days before the San Francisco Peace Treaty went into effect, the

Japanese government issued “circular No. 438” that stipulated the uniform loss of Japanese nationality by Koreans and Taiwanese. The logic of the deprivation of their Japanese nationalities was that the San Francisco Peace Treaty had ended the Japanese control over the

Korean Peninsula and Formosa. Thus, the government of Japan declared that the Koreans and

Taiwanese were now independent and no longer Japanese nationals. Formosans, who had previously registered with the Republic of China (Taiwan), became Taiwanese nationals in Japan.

In contrast, Zainichi Koreans became, in effect, de facto stateless aliens since Japan recognized neither of two Koreas.82 The Japanese government granted the special status of provisional resident for the former colonial subjects to remain in Japan.

After the Japanese government succeeded in revoking Japanese citizenship of the former colonial subjects, it introduced domestic programs to provide veterans’ pensions and relief for the wounded, the bereaving (including the families of the missing or non-returning soldiers) and the former colonial administrators (Field 1997). Only Japanese citizens, who were former soldiers and the bereaved families, were eligible to receive the pensions, assistance and/or compensations from the state. It means that, as Norma Field rightly stated, “soldiers and dependents from the former colonies, that is, Taiwan and Korea, have been ineligible for relief

82 Many scholars have criticized the deprivation of Japanese nationality from former colonial subjects as a “racist,” “imperial,” and “colonial” act (e.g., Field 1997; Kashiwazaki 2000).The Japanese state was certainly racist. However, we must also recognize the Koreans’ desire to be recognized as Korean nationals. Nantais claims that “most Koreans never wanted and did not like their Japanese national status in the first place” (2014, 22) and thus, “it would be more appropriate to call their loss of Japanese nationality a recognition of their desire to be ‘Koreans’” (23). In fact, in October 1951, right after the San Francisco Peace Treaty was signed, SCAP organized talks between representatives of the government of Japan and South Korea over a normalization treaty and agreement regarding the legal status of Koreans in Japan. The Japanese representatives agreed to recognize South Korean nationality and to issue permanent residency rights for Koreans in Japan in order to ensure that Koreans in Japan would not become stateless. However, they achieved neither a normalization nor agreement over the legal status of Koreans as a result of the disagreement over the marine sovereignty of the Takeshima/Dokdo—which is still disputed between the two states to this day. Koreans in Japan who aligned themselves with South Korean and their descendants had to wait for their permanent residence status until 1965 when the Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and the Republic of Korea was signed.

207 208 and compensation even though they were (against their will) Japanese subjects when they sustained injuries and lost loved ones or were detained in Siberian camps, tried, punished, and in some cases executed as war criminals” (1997, 18). As well, Japanese civilians (non-combatant victims) have also been excluded from compensation for war losses; consequently the victims of the massive air raids all over Japan, and of the battle of Okinawa, which literally dragged the entire population—including women, children and infants—into the brutal battle, “have gone unassisted and uncompensated” (ibid).

The Diet of Japan promulgated the Law for Health Protection and Medical Care for

Atomic Bomb Victims in 1957. The law ensured that those who were legally acknowledged as

“hibakusha” received a “Hibakusha Health Certificate (hibakusha kenko techô)” and became entitled to free annual medical examinations and treatments from the Japanese government. One of the conditions to be legally recognized as a hibakusha was that s/he was exposed to the atomic bombing within 2 kilometers from the epicenter (it includes the fetuses of the legally acknowledged hibakusha). This strict legal definition of “hibakusha” inevitably excluded the majority of the survivors. Moreover, not surprisingly, the law was applicable only for the

Japanese hibakusha living in Japan.83 It means that even overseas Japanese nationals, who immigrated to foreign countries after the end of the war, were also ineligible to access services outlined by the new law. The former colonial war victims and hibakusha were completely neglected and forgotten by the Japanese state and people until the mid-1960s.

83 In September 1968, the Japanese government established the Special Measures for hibakusha. The government somewhat expanded its benefits, while slightly deregulating the recipient qualification, or to be officially identified as “hibakusha.” The Ministry of Health and Welfare also issued a Hibakusha Certificate to approximately 370,000 hibakusha and enabled them to become eligible for certain forms of medical treatment and financial compensation. However, these laws provided only “little more than token medical care” (Kamata and Salaff 1993, p. 66); thousands of survivors, including foreign hibakusha, were still left without obtaining health notebooks.

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2. Emergence of Korean Hibakusha in the Japanese Discourse in the mid- 1960s

In June 1965, Kenzaburo Ōe, a Japanese Nobel Laureate writer, published a book entitled

Hiroshima Notes. It is one of the first works of Japanese literature that shed light on the Korean hibakusha in the atomic bomb discourse. In the same month, the Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and the Republic of Korea was signed by the Japanese and South Korean governments. This diplomatic normalization treaty finally granted permanent residence to the

South Korean nationals in Japan. The treaty also ‘settled’ Japan’s responsibility for the wrongdoings inflicted over the Korean population during the war period by offering ‘economic aid.’ In turn, the South Korean government agreed on the treaty “without provision for compensation to individual citizens” (Field 1997, 11). Consequently, Zainichi Koreans, along with Koreans elsewhere, lost any right to claim the redress and demand compensation from the

Japanese government. Ōe’s Hiroshima Notes was published to raise awareness of the presence of the Korean hibakusha among the Japanese people by making them visible in the Japanese society.

In Hiroshima Notes, Ōe presents an episode he learnt from an article published from the

Chugoku Shinbun. It is about an old Korean female hibakusha living in a barrack in Hiroshima.

This old Korean female hibakusha lost her five children to the atomic bombing, while she herself got keloids all over her body, and cursed the Americans and the Japanese for many years. One day, this Korean hibakusha converted to Christianity. As she had known the Lord, her hatred towards the Americans and Japanese dissolved. Ōe then inserted the testimony of this Korean hibakusha as follows:

I appreciate the Japanese government for providing me with welfare aid even though I am Korean. I rather want to offer an apology to the Japanese people for staying on the welfare, though I’ve been disabled by the atomic bomb. I only would like to call out the abolition of

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nuclear weapons as a mother who lost the five children regardless of one’s nationality, Japanese or Korean (Ōe 1965, 80).84

After this testimony, Ōe quoted another Japanese hibakusha’s testimony regarding a Korean, titled “unforgettable kindness”:

Three days after the bomb explosion… a boy, who was probably around 14-15 years old, passed by and asked me, “there is a first-aid center in Kongen-san [in Hiroshima]. Would you like to go?” I could instantly tell that the boy was from the [Korean] peninsula because of his broken Japanese. I was touched with his innocent mind and heartiness beyond the racial bias. I nodded as if holding onto him. The boy carried me in his back and brought me to the relief center. He left there like a wind without telling me his name and where he lived. I couldn’t even say thank you to him… (Hoshimoto Kuni 1950).85

Ōe certainly attempted to eliminate the Japanese bias and prejudice against this visible minority group by representing the Korean hibakusha as, in his own words, “extraordinary generous” people. In so doing, Ōe tried to evoke the sympathy in the Japanese consciousness to mobilize the Japanese support for the Korean hibakusha to receive the hibakusha relief law.

However, Kawaguchi Takayuki (2008), a Japanese scholar on the atomic bomb literature, argues that Ōe’s representational practice of the Korean hibakusha within the universalist, humanist discourse might have erased the radial difference between the Japanese and Koreans hibakusha, and eventually incorporated the memory of the Korean hibakusha into the narrative of “fraternity beyond the differences” and “reconciliation” between the two countries. Put differently, the issue of the Korean hibakusha should have been discussed within the discourse of Japan’s legal, political and moral responsibility for its former colonial victims, instead of such a sentimental narrative.

84 The Japan- South Korean Normalization also granted the partial welfare to Zainichi Koreans (see Sotomura 2014 http://www.desk.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/download/es14_tonomura). 85 It was compiled in a booklet published from the Hiroshima city administration in 1950, but was never distributed until Oe’s Hiroshima Notes.

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Kawaguchi also points out that in Hiroshima Notes, Ōe omitted the first segment describing the old Korean hibakusha’s life before the atomic bombing in the newspaper. The original newspaper article of the Chugoku Shinbun documents that the Korean hibakusha came to Japan at the age of 18 in 1927, a decade after Japan’s annexation of Korea. She talked about her late husband, who had earned a “relatively good salary for a Korean worker in Japan” (cited from Kawaguchi 2008, 83) and raised seven children with him. In the interview with the

Chugoku Shinbun, she did not mention any negative experience she had faced as a Korean living in Japan. Yet, she must have gone through numerous hardships in Japan throughout the colonial period. By omitting her memory narrative on the pre-atomic bomb period, Kawaguchi argues that Ōe re-structured her narrative of the colonial memory into the Japanese hibakusha’s narrative style that always begins with the recollection of ground-zero. It can be also argued that, despite Ōe’s good intention, his representational practice of the Korean hibakusha was colonial in nature. As a result, the Korean hibakusha’s trauma was represented as the product of the one single event that took place in the singular site at the particular historical moment. Ōe’s representational practice of the old Korean hibakusha reminds me of the eloquent discussion on the historical injustice for the indigenous people in Canada written by Naomi Angel (2012), a

Canadian scholar. Angel claims that “colonization occurs on both national and personal levels. In turn, processes of decolonization must also occur on multiple levels” (204), and poses the ethical question of how one ought to attend the testimony of the former colonial subjects as a “broader decolonization project” (ibid, 209) by challenging the colonial form of healing practice.

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3. Encountering the Silent Korean Atomic Bomb Victims in Nagasaki

Three years after the publication of Ōe’s Hiroshima Notes, Ishimure Michiko published a reportage on the remains of 153 anonymous Korean atomic bomb victims in Nagasaki from

Asahi Journal on August 11, 1968. The reportage was entitled “Chrysanthemum and Nagasaki—

Ashes of Korean Hibakusha Remain Silent” (『菊と長崎―被爆朝鮮人の遺骨は黙したまま』). The ashes of those Korean atomic bomb victims had been placed in the charnel house of Seikoin, a

Buddhist temple, in Nagasaki.

When the Japanese government ordered the dissolution of the Chōren (the largest

Zainichi Korean organization) in 1949, it also instructed all the municipal governments to seize

Chōren’s offices all over the country. When the Nagasaki municipal government took the

Nagasaki branch of the Chōren, they found the ashes of the Korean atomic bomb victims. The

Japanese government initially asked Daion-ji, another Buddhist temple in Nagasaki, to keep the ashes. In 1952, Daion-ji asked the municipal government to transfer them to another place because they could no longer afford the space for them. The municipal authority asked Seikoin to keep the ashes in the charnel house until some guarantor came to receive them. However, after the division of Korea was consolidated as the result of the Korean War, the Buddhist priests in

Seikoin became concerned about which of the two Koreas the remains should belong to, and if the remains could ever be taken to their motherland. Ishimure investigated the historical background of those perpetually silent Korean atomic bomb victims in Nagasaki.

Before discussing the Korean atomic bomb memory in Nagasaki, Ishimure’s background as a female writer and activist needs to be discussed in order to understand what compelled her to write the Korean atomic bomb victims. Ishimure was born in 1927 in Kumamoto, Nagasaki’s neighboring prefecture. Both Nagasaki and Kumamto face the Ariake Sea and many residents

212 213 there have historically engaged in the fishing industry. Ishimure moved to a small modest fishing village called ‘Minamata’ in Kumamoto prefecture during her childhood. She went to school, married and settled in Minamata. Around 1952, fishes began to float in Minamata Bay. As well, villagers began to witness cats exhibiting bizarre behavior that resulted in their falling into the sea and dying (Allchin 2000). In 1954, a local newspaper reported that all cats near the bay in

Minamata were found dead. Around the same period, dozens of the villagers began to tumble while walking, tremble uncontrollably and suffer from unbearable pain. By 1956, at least seventeen villagers had died from the unidentifiable and incurable disease. The villagers went to panic as they believed that it was contagious. Ishimure was aware that the patients were quarantined in a barrack; nobody left there alive, and their bodies were silently carried out for cremation to avoid public eyes (Ishimure 2014).

In 1956, epidemiological and medical researchers at Kumamoto Medical University embarked a research to find out the cause of the disease. In 1959, the research group determined that the disease was caused by mercury poisoning as a result of the industrial pollution produced by the Chisso Corporation that began to manufacture acetaldehyde in 1932. Through this production process, mercury began to spill into the sea, spread and accumulate in the Minamata bay and eventually entered into the food chain. Minamata villagers had relied almost exclusively on fish and shellfish from the bay as their primary diet over the decades. The outcome was catastrophic—almost the entire villagers were poisoned; and even infants were born with symptoms of the Minamata disease (Allchin 2000).

The disease came to be known as the “Minamata disease” which caused severe brain damage, neurological degeneration, physical deformities, numbness, slurred and spontaneous

213 214 speech, involuntary movements, unconsciousness, and death (Thornber 2012).86 However, neither the Chisso nor the Japanese government acknowledged the report from Kumamoto

Medical University. As a result, the Chisso Corporation continued to discharge mercury to the sea for another nine years and the pollution further spread out into the sea (Harada 1972).

Ishimure witnessed how the Minamata patients and their families suffered from not only the disease, but also the discrimination and stigmatization by the village society. She also saw how the state and the giant corporation looked down upon the fishermen and farmers, refused to take their responsibility for the loss of the patients’ lives and damage to Minamata’s natural resources, and how the Japanese society failed to realize that the government and the Chisso

Corporation not only violated the most basic human right of Minamata patients—their right to live—but also committed a ‘crime.’ In September 1968, the Ministry of Health and Welfare finally acknowledged the causal relation between the Minamata disease and the mercury discharged from the Chisso Corporation. Ishimure had been writing on the Minamata patients’ struggles, while fighting against the government and the Chisso Corporation for the compensation to the patients.87 Hibakusha, especially the Korean hibakusha, reminded Ishimure of the Minamata patients—they were all abandoned after having been exploited by the Japanese state and capitalists.

86 Approximately 65,000 Minamata patients are still fighting for the recognition as the Minamata disease and reparation against the Japanese government to this day. It should also be noted that Minamata disease, which is officially defined as “chronic poisoning by alkyl mercury compounds from industrial waste, characterized by (usually permanent) impairment of brain functions such as speech, sight, and muscular coordination,” is no longer limited as Japanese disease. It has been found all over the world, including China, Canada, Iraq and the United States. Many victims of the Minamata disease in North America are indigenous people, the former colonial population. It points out that the Minamata disease is not only a disease resulting from economic and industrial development. It can be also categorized as a colonial disease inflicted over former colonial populations by the former colonizers even after the colonial system itself has been legally abolished. 87 In 1968, prior to writing about the Korean atomic bomb victims, Ishimure started a serial reportage on the Minamata disease and patients from the same journal, Asahi Journal. She then published a reportage on the Minamata patients entitled Sea of Suffering and the Pure Land (Kugai Jyo-do) in 1969.

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Ishimure’s reportage collected multiple eyewitness accounts of Korean hibakusha resided in Nagasaki. The below is the excerpt from one of the Korean testimonies in “Chrysanthemum and Nagasaki.” The testimony goes:

After the atomic bombing, Korean corpses were the last to be buried. Many of the Japanese [atomic bomb victims] survived, but very few Koreans managed to stay alive... The place where the corpses were located could indicate that they were Koreans [because] they were piled up while still alive, like throwing them into a jail…

[…]

Koreans were working in Mitsubishi armament factory, Nagasaki steel manufacture and Mitsubishi Electricity factory. Chinese were also brought into those factories. After the atomic bomb explosion, people were not able to come to Nagasaki because the land was destroyed. [Meanwhile] Crows flew into Nagasaki from the sky. Many crows arrived in Nagasaki. So did flies. Then, the crows were eating out the abandoned Korean corpses. I wondered where they came from— so many crows came to Nagasaki. They were gouging out the eye-balls. While I was staring at that scene, the corpses began to move! Yes, they looked like they were moving! But they were actually maggots moving. The Japanese people must have been disgusted [with the smells of the Korean corpses]. They really smelled.

Korean female students were taken [to Nagasaki] as a volunteer corps, too… taken far from Korea. How would they investigate those Korean girls, those Korean Maidens? None of them survived [from the atomic bomb]. About 10,000 Koreans were instantly burnt in the concentration camp. By six thousand degrees of heat. How would the Atomic Bomb White Paper possibly investigate them? All those with the deepest grudges were killed [by the atomic bombing]. (Ishimure 1968, 6)

原爆のおっちゃけたあと一番最後まで死骸が残ったのは朝鮮人だったとよ。日本人は沢山生き残ったが朝鮮人はちっとしか生残らんじゃったけん、どがんもこがんもできん。死体の寄っとる場所で朝鮮人はわかるとさ。生きるときによせられとったけん。牢屋に入れたごとして。（・・・）

三菱兵器にも長崎製鋼にも三菱電気にも朝鮮人は来とったよ。中国人も連れられて来とったよ。原爆がおっちゃけたあと地の上を歩くもんは足で歩くけんなかなか長崎に来つけんじゃったが、カラスは一番さきに長崎にきて、カラスは空から飛んでくるけん、うんと来たばい。それからハエも。それで一番最後まで残った朝鮮人たちの死骸のあたまの目ン玉がカラスがきて食うとよ。どこどこから来たカラスじゃったろうかうんと来とった。カラスが目ン玉ば食いよる。アッアッと思うて見とれば死体が動く。動きよる！と思えば蛆が動きよるとよ。それでも日本人は困ったとじゃろ。臭かったけん。

朝鮮の女学生も来とったですよ。ていしん隊で。・・・遠い朝鮮から連れてこられてきて。あの娘たちのことをどげんして調べられるとやろか。朝鮮の乙女のことは。ひとりも助かった娘はおらんとやろ。一万人あまりの朝鮮人が、じゅうっと、一ぺんに灼けて死んだろ、あの収容所の下で。六千度の熱で。原爆の白書、どげんして調べるとやろか。一番うらみのふかいものはぜんぶ死んでしもうたとよ。

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I juxtapose the original text following the English translation to mark the untranslatability of the survivor’s Nagasaki dialect with a slight Korean accent for the Japanese speakers. Non-Japanese speakers must bear in mind the presence of the untranslatability and the distance of written

English from oral, vernacular testimony of the Korean hibakusha. Despite the linguistic barriers, the testimony above invites the readers to see the presence of the untraceable, absent and perpetually silenced memory of the nameless Korean victims. The remembrance of the Korean hibakusha unfolds another view of Nagasaki’s ground-zero.

It is estimated that there were about 50,000 Koreans lived in Hiroshima, and 30,000 in

Nagasaki in August 1945. Though the number of Korean dead by the atomic bombing still remains vague, one out of ten atomic bomb victims could be assumed to have been Korean in both cities (Oka and Kamata 1982; Kawaguchi 2008). When the atomic bomb exploded in

Nagasaki, Koreans escaped into air-raid shelters just as the Japanese did, but they were kicked out from the shelters by the Japanese. While surviving Koreans moaned with pain in Korean,

“Aigo… Aigo…”88 in the streets, the Japanese relief workers and medical staff distinguished the

Koreans from the Japanese survivors by hearing their cry in Korean and left them to die. They provided the medical treatment only for the Japanese nationals and took only the Japanese survivors to hospitals. Thousands of Koreans died, leaving their last word, “Omuni… Omuni…”

(Mother… Mother…). It has been said that the death rate among the Koreans and foreign atomic bomb victims was higher than the Japanese victims because the former had been suffering from the severer malnutrition and harsher labour conditions than the Japanese during the war period.

However, the Korean hibakusha’s remembrance of ground-zero in Ishimure’s reportage elicits

88 Korean word, “Aigo” () is an interjection, such as Oh!, Ah!, Oh my!, My goodness! Ouch!. The meaning depends on each context. In the case described above, the Korean atomic bomb victims expressed their sense of despair, and unbearable, unspeakable pain.

216 217 that the Japanese discrimination and their practice of colonial privilege over the Koreans and other foreign nationals also contributed to the death of those that may have otherwise survived.

Ishimure initially approached the issue of the Korean atomic bomb victims out of her compassion and empathy with them. However, as she bore the witness to the Korean hibakusha’s testimonies, Ishimure realized the ongoing colonial relations of power between the Japanese and the Korean people through her encounter with the Korean hibakusha. She wrote:

I am writing the transcription of their [Korean hibakusha’s] testimonies that are translated freely (Iyaku/意訳) by the Korean hibakusha into Nagasaki dialect. While attending their testimony, I couldn’t even respond or speak a single word of Korean. I am struck with this fact…It is common all over the world that the oppressed and dominated subjects speak and write multiple languages other than their mother tongue. What does it mean to us? What does it signify to us that ethnic Koreans, whose presence, history and memory are scattered at the abyss of the Japanese consciousness and history, actually speak not only the standard Japanese but also dialects? […] How could we [the Japanese nation] come to terms with the fact that we have never learnt a single word of Korean?...What does it mean to us that they [Koreans] still patiently and prudently speak to us in Japanese? (Ishimure 1968)

Ishimure discussed not only the unequal, unjust power relations that continued to be practiced between the former colonizer and the colonized subjects. But, she also acknowledged that her complicity with the ongoing relations of power and privileged. Ishimure was not only documenting the testimony of the Korean colonial memories, but trying to respond to the memories of the former colonial subjects, the Others, by finding “points of connections” (Simon

2002; 2005) between herself and the memory of the Other in order to transform the colonial legacy she participated in into a more just and ethical living relationship with the former colonial subjects in the past and present.

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4. Commemoration of Korean Atomic Bomb Victims in Nagasaki

While Ishimure was writing the reportage on Nagasaki’s Korean atomic bomb victims,

Oka Masaharu, a pastor as well as Nagasaki city councilman, was making every effort to erect a memorial monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims in Nagasaki Peace Park and preserve the ashes of those 153 anonymous Korean atomic bomb victims left in Seikoin underneath that monument. Just as Ishimure, Oka was neither a hibakusha nor of Nagasaki origin. However, Oka devoted his life to restore the dignity of the Korean colonial victims who had been killed in

Nagasaki.

Oka was born in Osaka in 1918. None of his family members were Christian. But, his older brother studied the bible in Osaka’s YMCA and sometimes brought Oka to Mass and bible study meeting prior to the Asia and Pacific War. In 1933, at the age of 15, Oka dropped out of high school and entered the Imperial Navy as a telegraph soldier to help his family. During his military service, he dreamt of becoming a lieutenant commander. However, Oka was discharged from the military service when he suffered from pleurisy in 1935. While hospitalized in the Navy hospital in Kure in Hiroshima Prefecture, Oka avidly read the bible.

In December 1938, Oka was baptized in Japan Evangelical Lutheran Church. However, his faith did not prevent him from pursuing his career in the Imperial Navy. In November 1939,

Oka once again volunteered to join Imperial Navy’s Communication Crop.89 Decades later, Oka confessed that “I voluntarily became a perpetrator” (Oka 1975, 110) by serving the Imperial

89 In 1941, Oka’s brother died from peritonitis. His brother was drafted into the army in 1937. There he was physically assaulted by a senior officer for his “deviate thought” and suffered from the visceral injury caused by that assault. Oka’s brother was discharged from the army due to the injury, which deteriorated into peritonitis over a few years and eventually killed him. He noted that the Emperor, Imperial state and Oka himself were all responsible for the death of his brother because they all constituted the system that normalized the violence inflicted upon his brother (Oka 1975).

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Navy. Oka acknowledged that “I was not able to realize that being faithful to the Lord and worshiping the Emperor as the ‘Living God’ were completely irreconcilable” (ibid, 138).

From August 1943 to August 6, 1945, Oka served as an instructor of communication technology at the Navy School in Etajima in Hiroshima Prefecture. Right after the first atomic bomb explosion, Oka was mobilized into Hiroshima city to provide medical aid and relief products. As soon as he witnessed ground zero annihilated by the nuclear bomb, he realized that it was no longer possible for Japan to continue the war. Oka called his students and colleagues to make a collective plea to the Emperor to end the war. However, Oka was immediately relegated to another communication crop in Kure in Hiroshima Prefecture. A week later, he learnt of

Japan’s official surrender to the Allied Powers on August 15. What Oka drew from his own participation in the war as the perpetrator as well as Christian was that war occurs when humans become unconscious of his/her sinful nature, and ignorant to the teaching of Jesus Christ

(Nishimura 2007). To repent his own sin and guilt for ignoring the Christian teaching and supporting Imperial Japan, Oka decided to fight against the lingering legacy of Japan’s imperialism and colonialism in postwar years (Oka 1975).

The issue of the legal status of Koreans in Japan considerably affected Oka’s thought and life. Oka entered the theological school of Japan Evangelical Lutheran Church in 1951 right after the San Francisco Peace Treaty was signed. This was not a coincidence. The Koreans’ loss of any legal protection from the Japanese government motivated Oka to become a pastor at the age of 32. During the five years of study and training to become a pastor, Oka lost his wife to pulmonary tuberculosis in 1953 and became a single father to the two children. In May 1956, he was appointed to the Nagasaki branch of Japan Evangelical Lutheran Church. In 1958, he started his missionary work for Korean refugees, who had escaped their homeland during the Korean

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War and had been detained in the Oumura camp in Nagasaki.90 The Japanese government treated those Korean refugees as ‘illegal immigrants’ and decided to deport them to South Korea, despite the fact that many of those refugees asked Japan to send them to North Korea. However, the South Korean government refused to accept the refugees; consequently they remained in

Japan as illegal, stateless immigrants (Oka 1981; Hikichi 2005). Oka tried to obtain a residential status for those Korean refugees in Japan. In June 1965, Oka established a citizen group called the “Human Rights Society for Nagasaki Zainichi Koreans” (長崎在日朝鮮人の人権を守る会) to advocate the human rights of the Zainichi Koreans, including the refugees, by demanding the

Japanese government that it ensure the equal social, economic and political rights of the Korean residents in Japan.

In May 1967, one year before Ishimure’s reportage was published, the chief Buddhist priest of Seikoin sent a letter to Oka. In the letter, the priest explained to Oka that they had been taking care of the ashes of 153 anonymous Korean atomic bomb victims left without caretakers since 1952, but would have to transfer them somewhere else as it became increasing difficult to secure a space for new ashes. Seikoin then asked Oka for help.

Oka described his emotions when he saw the remains of the Korean atomic bomb victims in Seikoin’s underground ossuary for the first time as follows:

…the remains of the Koreans were piled high. I felt I heard crying and groaning of hundreds and thousands of [Koreans]... I felt indescribable pain in my heart and tears gushed out from my eyes […] What kind of responsibility I could possibly take for those perpetually silenced Korean atomic bomb victims? I must take the responsibility for those silenced dead towards the future. How could we pursue the atonement for their brutal death? Would it be possible for me to live in relation to those deaths? (Oka 1981, 25)

90The Oumura Camp was built to detain ‘illegal immigrants’ in December 1950 during U.S. occupation period. However, most of those ‘illegal immigrants’ or ‘foreigners’ in the Oumura camp were Koreans, who re-entered Japan after they saw the devastated living conditions in Korea prior to the Korean War or sought refuge during the Korean War.

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Akira Nishimura (2007), a religious scholar, offers his insightful view of Oka’s historical consciousness and notion of responsibility. Nishimura argues that, even though Oka used the biblical language “atonement” to describe his commitment to work for the Koreans, he consistently pursued justice and responsibility for the former colonial victims in secular terms— legal, political and historical— to atone his sin before God. Oka told the priest in Seikoin that he would build a new charnel house and memorial monument for those Korean atomic bomb victims in Nagasaki Peace Park. Oka believed that it was the Japanese responsibility to take care of the ashes of the Korean victims until their motherland became unified.

Oka established a committee, which was composed of Japanese Nagasaki residents and hibakusha, to erect a charnel house as well as memorial monument dedicated to all the Korean atomic bomb victims. Oka also asked both the Mindan (pro-South Korean organization) and the

Chōsen-Soren (pro-North Korea), which was founded in 1955 after the 1949 dissolution of the

Chōren, to support his committee’s effort to construct a memorial monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims. By support, Oka never asked them any financial aid, but their spiritual support to commemorate their fellow Korean atomic bomb victims beyond the different ideologies. However, the Mindan accused Oka that “the Nagasaki branch of Mindan possesses the ownership of the ashes. You and those who have any relation with the Chosen-Soren must withdraw from that project [of building a charnel house and monument]” (Oka 1981 [1979], 27).

Soon after that, some members of the Mindan took away the ashes by a truck without any legal or administrative process. In November 1973, all the ashes of 153 anonymous Korean atomic bomb victims were placed underneath a memorial monument in South Korea.91

91 Oka later commented that Mindan’s act was somewhat rough, but still understandable as most of the Koreans in Japan were originally from the southern provinces of Korea (Oka 1989).

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In Hiroshima, a memorial monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims was erected in

1970. Unlike Nagasaki’s case, the majority of the memorial committee members were Zainichi

Koreans (fifty-seven Koreans and three Japanese) associated with the Mindan. The Korean memorial in Hiroshima was constructed at the site where Prince Yi U, nephew of the Yi dynasty’s king, was found after the atomic bombing as he was serving as lieutenant-colonel in the Japanese Imperial Army in Hiroshima back in the time. However, the monument was located outside of Hiroshima Peace Park, the official commemorative site.

The Korean Memorial Monument in Hiroshima provoked a dispute between the Mindan and the Chosen-Soren. In English, the name of the Korean monument is translated into “The

Monument in Memory of the Korean Victims of Atomic Bomb.” However, Chinese characters engraved on the front of the memorial reads that Kankokujin Genbaku Giseisha Ireihi. In general,

“Kankokujin” refers to South Koreans in Japanese. While the Mindan maintained that the memorial was erected for all the Korean atomic bomb victims, the Chosen-Soren claimed that they had been excluded from the memorial service for the Korean atomic bomb victims at that monument, and requested the Hiroshima municipal authorities to grant them permission to erect their own memorial monument. The city authority rejected the request.

In September 1986, Sō Tokai, a first-generation Zainichi Korean, sent an open letter to the Hiroshima city administration and expressed his displeasure about the location of the memorial monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims. He wrote: “The memorial stood not in the wide open space of the Peace Park, but outside, that is, across the river at the western foot of the Honkawa Bridge. Frankly, we could not restrain our astonishment and anger. Discrimination even against the dead? Discrimination even among the victims of the atomic bomb?...” (cited from Yoneyama 1999, 158). In response, the Hiroshima municipal government addressed three

222 223 reasons why they opposed to the relocation of the Korean memorial monument into the Peace

Park. First, the 1967 municipal regulation prohibited the construction of any more memorials inside the official commemoration site in Peace Park. Secondly, the Korean memorial would likely provoke a political controversy, implying the irreconcilable relationship between the

Mindan and the Chosen-Soren. It went on to say that Hiroshima’s commemoration site is a sacred site “where prayers for all of humanity are offered” (Yoneyama 1999, 159) and thus, bringing a political controversy into the site would be sacrilege. Finally, the Peace Park is the site for all the atomic bomb victims regardless of one’s race, nationality or religion; therefore, placing the monument dedicated to the particular nationality—whether South or North Korean— was unnecessary and inappropriate (ibid).

However, Hiroshima municipal authority changed its stance in 1990. They announced that Hiroshima would accept the transfer of the Korean memorial monument into the Peace Park if both the Mindan and the Chosen-Soren agreed to accept it as a ‘unified memorial.’ Lisa

Yoneyama (1999) discusses that Hiroshima’s policy change in 1990 was made to advertise the image of Hiroshima as the ‘internationally friendly city’ in order to host the 1994 Asian Games, an athletic competition with participants from all over Asia, and demonstrate Hiroshima’s universal, humanistic spirit to the world in the fiftieth anniversary of Hiroshima’s atomic bombing in 1995. In addition, the criticisms to Hiroshima’s exclusion of the Korean memorial monument from the Peace Park had been vocalized by the late 1980s, while the Hiroshima Peace

Memorial Museum, too, began to face growing international criticism from foreign tourists, scholars and antinuclear peace activists for its exclusion of Japan’s colonial history and aggression in Asia from the exhibition. To ease the accusations while achieving its political goals,

223 224 the city administration offered the transfer of the Korean monument into the ‘sacred’ site. In

1999, the Korean memorial monument was finally transferred into Hiroshima Peace Park.

On the Korean memorial monument in Hiroshima, Prince Yi U’s name is inscribed. As well, the national flag of the Republic of Korea is engraved on the left side of the memorial.

Below the flag, two individuals’ names and titles are also engraved. One is Hyo-sang, chair of the national congress of the Republic of Korea at the time when the memorial was erected.

Another was Han Kap-su, a professor from Seoul University, who authored the history of the

Korean victims for the memorial monument (Yoneyama 1999). It is clear to the viewers that the monument can hardly be a ‘unified memorial’ for all the Korean atomic bomb victims. Rather,

Yoneyama contends that the memorial, which is embellished with the South Korean national symbols, “signifies the victories of Koreans who survived Japanese colonialism, the war, and even the atomic bomb” (1999, 161), while “simultaneously serves as a national icon, embodying the pride and glory of the Republic of Korea” (ibid).

Kim Chul (2008), a South Korean scholar in literature, notes that Japan functions as a mirror that shows the ‘I’ that Koreans want to see as true of themselves. Japan’s persecution of the Koreans highlights not only their national pain, but also their patriotism, glory and honour, and enables the forgetting of memories that would disrupt Koreans’ historical consciousness (Kal

2008; Otsuki 2011). The inscription of Yi’s name in the monument signifies the desire of the

South Koreans to cleanse the memory of the Korean collaborator with Imperial Japan, which disrupts the notion of the South Korean patriotism and honour, by rehabilitating Prince Yi from the ‘traitor’ to a ‘martyr’ of Imperial Japan. What the monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims in Hiroshima signifies is that there is no place for tens of thousands of Koreans atomic

224 225 bomb victims to be remembered in the nationalist historiography in South Korea and Japan as well as their historical consciousness (Lee 2003; Kal 2008; Otsuki 2011).

In Nagasaki, even after the ashes of the 153 Korean atomic bomb victims were all gone,

Oka and his supporters continued to pursue their Korean memorial project. On August 9, 1979,

Oka and his supporters erected the memorial monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims in

Nagasaki Peace Park.

Photograph 22: Nagasaki Korean Atomic Bomb Victims’ Memorial (Photographed by Otsuki)

In English, the name of the memorial monument is translated into Nagasaki Korean

Atomic Bomb Victims’ Memorial. The Chinese characters engraved in the front of the monument reads: Tsuito: Nagasaki Chosenjin Genbaku Hibakusha. The word “tsuito” refers to the call to mourn to remember, while “Chosenjin” refers to ethnic Koreans. Oka and the

225 226 committee selected the word “Chosenjin” to signify that the memorial is dedicated to all the former colonial Korean hibakusha.92 The sentence below is inscribed on the monument:

This memorial is dedicated to the Koreans who had been forced into harsh labor by the Japanese military and consequently were killed in the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. The memorial is also dedicated to the families of those Korean victims.

Each representative from both the Mindan and the Chosen-Soren attended the unveiling ceremony, and laid flowers to the memorial. Not even a single name or title of any individual is engraved on the memorial as the memorial committee members deliberately remain anonymous just as the Korean atomic bomb victims (Nishimura 2007). In the unveiling ceremony, Oka declared that the objective of erecting this memorial monument was to seek the atonement for those nameless, faceless and stateless Koreans killed by the atomic bombing. He then concluded that the Japanese people, including hibakusha, would remain guilt and sinful along with the

Japanese government if they accepted the systematic and institutional exclusion and alienation of the Koreans, Chinese, Taiwanese and other foreign hibakusha from the white paper and medical relief law for the hibakusha (Oka 1981 [1979], 31).

On the same day, Oka and the members of “Human Rights Society for Nagasaki Zainichi

Korean” also erected a bulletin in Nagasaki Peace Park. It is available in Japanese, English and

Korean. It reads:

On August 22, 1919, the Japanese government proclaimed the “Annexation of Korea.” Japan colonized and ruled Korea, and deprived the freedom, human rights and even the land of the Korean people. As a result of the loss of their land, a large number of Koreans migrated into Japan. By August 15, 1945, the number of Koreans who had been brought into Japan as forced labourers reached 2,365,263. It is estimated that there were about 70,000 Korean forced labours in the prefecture of Nagasaki, and more than 30,000 of them resided in Nagasaki city and its surrounding areas. They had been forced into hard labour in Mitsubushi’s shipping, steel, electrical and arms factories; they also built roads and air-raid shelters. On August 9, 1945, about 20,000 Koreans were exposed to U.S’s atomic bombing and approximately 10,000 of them were killed by the explosion.

92 However, “Chosenjin” also connotes some contemptuous implication in contemporary Japan. Some Japanese speakers would also associate the word “Chosenjin” with North Korea.

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Today, we, anonymous Japanese, erected this memorial monument dedicated to all the Korean colonial victims, who had ended their harsh lives in the foreign land of Nagasaki. We take our responsibility and offer a sincere apology for Japan’s colonial policy and forced labour system, which abused and exploited the colonial subjects and eventually exposed them to the atomic bombing. We pledge for the abolition of nuclear weapons and wish for the unification of the Korean Peninsula. August 9, 1979.

This bulletin is still displayed in the same location in Nagasaki Peace Park, despite the continuous demand from the conservative and nationalist citizen groups for its removal. The following discusses what enabled Oka and Nagasaki citizen groups to erect the Korean memorial monument in Nagasaki Peace Park in 1979, whereas it took decades for Hiroshima.

5. Sadao Kamata, Nagasaki Testimony Circle, and Catholic Nagasaki Mayor Hitoshi Motoshima

The “white paper” that Oka and the Korean hibakusha in Ishimure’s reportage refer to was the report on the actual conditions of the hibakusha published by the Japanese Ministry of

Welfare in November 1967. After two years into the investigation, the white paper reported that it had found no significant difference between the health and living conditions of hibakusha and non-hibakusha. The government’s report outraged the hibakusha and their supporters, motivating them to launch an investigation on the realities of the hibakusha by their own in both Hiroshima and Nagasaki. However, the problem of the white paper was not only in its insensitivity and insincere results, but in that it also completely excluded Korean, Taiwanese, Chinese and other foreign national hibakusha from the investigation.

In 1968, a Nagasaki citizen committee consisting of hibakusha, medical professionals and scholars published a report “Over the last twenty-three years—the actual conditions of

Nagasaki hibakusha and our demands” (あの日から二三年、長崎原爆被災者の実態と要求) to counter the 1967 white paper. Through their research and interview with Nagasaki hibakusha,

227 228 the committee members realized that many hibakusha wanted to break the silence and speak out.

One of the primary motivations for Nagasaki hibakusha to break the silence was the Minamata patients’ social and legal actions against the Chisso Corporation and the Japanese government for their losses. Nagasaki hibakusha understood how difficult it was for the Minamata patients to challenge Chisso, which had been an integral part of Minamata’s local economy since 1925, just as Mitsubishi in Nagasaki. As the Nagaskaki hibakusha saw the Minamata fishermen and farmers standing up and fighting against the authorities and the giant corporation not only for their financial and material losses, but also for their dignity, they decided to speak out what they went through over the last decades as hibakusha.

In 1969, to respond to the desire of Nagasaki hibakusha to break the silence, Nagasaki- based medical professionals, scholars, writers and hibakusha founded the “Nagasaki Testimony

Circle” (長崎証言の会) to document the experience, lives, and memory of the atomic bomb through hibakusha’s own voices. Kamata Sadao, one of the founders of the Nagasaki Testimony

Circle, claimed that “we will recover the memories of thousands of atomic bomb victims buried underneath Nagasaki’s ground-zero from oblivion” (Kamata 1970, 66). Kamata founded the

Nagasaki Testimony Circle not only to collect the accounts of eyewitnesses, but also to reveal the structural violence that allowed Japan to colonize and invade other countries, while rationalizing and legitimizing U.S’s use of the atomic bombs. As he writes:

To ‘recover’ the primary source of the history, one has to contextualize the material in a broader historical context to make it the reference through which we critically engage in the present to shape the future. When one has achieved it, s/he can finally claim that the past has been genuinely recovered. Similarly, a testimony cannot be merely a recollection of the past. It must take over the rancor of the dead to accuse the atomic bombing and injustice in the present time (Kamata 1970, 21).

Kamata was also close to Nagasaki hibakusha writer, Fukuda Sumako. She was the author of

“Talking to Myself” (hitorigoto), which expressed the hibakusha’s despair for the first time from

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Nagasaki and cried out against the imposition of the act of pray for an empty notion of ‘peace’ upon the wounded bodies of Nagasaki’s hibakusha on the next day of the veiling ceremony for

Nagasaki’s Peace Statue in 1955. Kamata tried to transform the dominant notion of ‘Nagasaki prays’ into ‘Nagasaki testifies.’

Kamata also repeatedly criticized Urakami Saint, Nagai’s biblical discourse of the atomic bombing, saying that Nagai completely neglected to engage the issue of the Japanese responsibility for the war (Kamata 1972). He argued that Nagai’s documentation of the atomic bombing cannot be called ‘testimony’; it merely accommodates itself to what the “nuclear authorities” (Kaku-Kenryoku) wanted to hear (ibid, 149). He then encouraged hibakusha to testify their memory and what the dead could not live to tell to challenge the dominant atomic bomb discourse and transform the status quo into one that was more just.

Kamata was from Miyazaki prefecture, another neighbouring prefecture of Nagasaki.

During the war, he was mobilized into the student corps and witnessed the normalization of violence within the army—senior officers assaulted lower-ranking soldiers and students without any reason on a daily basis. Kamata expressed his critical view towards the militarism and violence in his diary. One day, his diary was found. Kamata was brutally assaulted and verbally humiliated by military officers and his high school classmates. After the end of the war, he entered medical school in Fukuoka, but changed his major to literature.

In August 1951, Kamata visited Nagasaki for an anti-Korean War meeting, and met with some hibakusha for the first time. Through their testimonies, Kamata learnt the presence of the numerous Korean and Chinese forced labourers who were killed by the atomic bombing in

Nagasaki. Later, Kamata recalled his first attendance to hibakusha’s oral testimony that “I felt haunted by thousands of the dead that includes Koreans and Chinese” (Nagasaki Shinbun 2002).

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Kamata also realized how strongly Nagai’s atomic bomb discourse influenced the historical consciousness of Nagasaki hibakusha and silenced many of them for many years, and how

Nagasaki officials, hibakusha and residents suffered from the sense of inferiority to Hiroshima

(Fukuma 2010; Kusuda 2013). Kamata named “Nagasaki Testimony Circle” (instead of “Atomic

Bomb Testimony Circle”) to emphasize that their testimonial movement was Nagasaki’s

(Kusuda 2013). In 1962, Kamata was appointed as an assistant professor at College of Naval

Architecture of Nagasaki (Nagasaki Zosen Tantki Daigaku) and moved to Nagasaki with his wife. Since then, Kamata had devoted himself to work to bring legal justice to the Chinese,

POWs and former colonial forced labourers and atomic bomb victims, while pursuing the abolition of nuclear weapons until his death in February 2002, at the age of 72.

In 1975, Kamata and Nagasaki Testimony Circle established “Nagasaki Association for

Oversea Atomic Bomb Survivors” (Nagasaki Zaigai Hibakusha o Shiensuru Kai). Kamata brought medical students and doctors from Nagasaki to South Korea and launched an investigation on the actual conditions of the hibakusha in the country. Upon his return, Kamata worked with Oka and their supporters to bring South Korean hibakusha to Nagasaki and provide them with medical examination and treatment. The Memorial Monument for the Korean atomic bomb victims was erected in Nagasaki Peace Park through the strong collaboration and shared historical consciousness among Oka, Kamata and their supporters in Nagasaki.

From 1979 to 1989, three memorial monuments dedicated to the commemoration of the

Koreans and other non-Japanese atomic bomb victims were constructed within Nagasaki Peace

Park: “Nagasaki Korean Atomic Bomb Victims’ Memorial” (1979), “Foreign War Victims’

Memorial for the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons and Establishment of World Peace” (1981) and “Statue of Mothers and Children for Peace” (1987).

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On December 9, 1981, Kamata, Nagasaki hibakusha and citizen groups erected “Foreign

War Victims’ Memorial for the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons and Establishment of World

Peace” in the Peace Park. The citizen committee stated as follows:

At the end of the Second World War many Allied prisoners were being interned at Nagasaki, as well as large numbers of forced laborers from China and Korea, and many of these people were killed in the atomic bombing, or in earlier American bombing raids. This memorial is dedicated to these foreign victims of the war, and was erected on the 40th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack as a pledge to work for the end of all war and the elimination of nuclear weapons.

Photograph 23: Foreign War Victims’ Memorial for the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons and Establishment of World Peace (photographed by Otsuki)

In August 1987, a commission named “Nagasaki Peace Association of the Monument of

Mothers and Children” (Nagasaki Heiwa no Boshi-zo o taterukai) largely comprised of female hibakusha, erected the Statue of Mothers and Children for Peace (Heiwa no Boshizo).

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Photograph 24: Statue of Mothers and Children for Peace (photographed by Otsuki)

The commission’s formal declaration is engraved into two small black stones next to the monument in both Japanese and English:

Ah! On that unforgettable day, in an instantaneous blast of indescribable heat, the bodies of tens of thousands of men and women, mothers and children were hideously torn and burnt to death.

After more than forty years, the agony continues even yet. Danger[ous] signs of a second nuclear war permeate our very existence. The earth stands at the brink of total oblivion.

We must not allow any more war! Nor the use of atomic weapons! Let us guard our precious green earth and preserve all life of every kind.

All the three monuments were erected to remind the viewers of the numerous nameless victims killed by Japan’s colonization, military aggressions, Japan’s fanatic militarism and U.S’s atomic bombs. They commemorate the memories that have been marginalized, ignored, suppressed and

232 233 obliterated from the dominant nationalist historiography in Japan and the nationalized collective memory of the Japanese nuclear victimhood. The statues were all erected to historicize the atomic bombing as the result of the horrid culmination of war crimes and atrocities, instead of detaching the atomic bomb history from the context of the Asia-Pacific War.

The three monuments were all built by private donations. However, they could not have been built in Nagasaki Peace Park without Motoshima Hitoshi, the first Catholic Nagasaki mayor, who served as a mayor from 1979 to 1995. Motoshima is well-known both in Japan and abroad as a former Nagasaki Mayor, who “broke one of the nation’s most sensitive taboos by saying that

Emperor Hirohito bore some responsibility for World War II [in December1988]” (The New

York Times January 19, 1990) and subsequently, was shot by a member of a right-wing group in

January 1990. In the same year, despite the life threat, Motoshima also became the first Japanese official to give a formal apology to the hundreds of thousands of Koreans and Chinese who were forced to work as slave labourers and as “comfort women” during the war period.

Motoshima was the descendant of the hidden Christians, who had been subject of the persecution of the Japanese feudal authorities for centuries. During the war period, he saw many competent and intelligent Koreans and Taiwanese were failed to be promoted in the military academy. The colonial subjects in Japan reminded him of his Catholic ancestors, and he suffered from the sense of guilt for being an oppressor over the Koreans, the Taiwanese and the Chinese.

Soon after he took the office in 1979, Motoshima attended a discussion meeting with the

Hiroshima mayor on the expansion of the medial relief aid for the Japanese hibakusha.

Motoshima recalled that when he arrived in the Hiroshima assembly, Hiroshima’s councilmen laughed at him, and asked, “How come you arrived here now?” implying that Nagasaki had been absent from the discussion for the hibakusha’s relief law for many years (Yokota 2008).

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Motoshima noted, “I appreciated Hiroshima’s efforts for hibakusha, but couldn’t accept our subordinate position vis-à-vis Hiroshima” (ibid).

Motoshima proposed the Hiroshima mayor Araki Takeshi to include the issue of Korean and Taiwanese hibakusha, who were completely disqualified to apply the relief law, in their discussion. However, Araki immediately refused Motoshima’s proposal, saying, “Here is the place to discuss the issue of Hiroshima and Nagasaki!” (Yokota 2008, 125). Motohisma decided to challenge Hiroshima’s atomic bomb nationalism in the name of universal humanism by reminding Hiroshima and the Japanese population that they were all perpetrators in the eyes of the Asian victims. When Oka asked Motoshima for the permission to erect the Korean memorial in Nagasaki Peace Park, the mayor instantly responded to Oka “You can erect it wherever you like” (ibid, 90). Motoshima also granted permission to erect the other two memorial monuments funded by the private donations in the Nagasaki Peace Park.

Furthermore, during Motoshima’s terms, the Nagasaki municipal government finally launched the investigation to trace out the Korean atomic bomb victims for the first time in 1981 after Oka and Kamata had demanded them to do so for many years. The result, however, did not satisfy Oka as the number of the Korean forced labourers and the estimated Korean casualties of the atomic bomb in the report were lower than what they expected to see. Oka decided to document the history of the Korean forced labourers by himself. He visited hundreds of sites where the Korean forced labourers had lived and worked, documented their work and living conditions, and collected the testimonies concerning the Korean colonial labourers and atomic bomb victims all over Nagasaki prefecture from 1982 to 1994. He eventually published six volumes of the historical records of the Korean forced labours and atomic bomb victims scattered across the entire prefecture. Oka also left numerous essays and remarks. Among them

234 235 his statement below probably most highly illuminates what kept compelling him to pursue historical justice to the Korean colonial victims:

Is it really okay for us to engrave only the horror of the nuclear weapons and the tragedy of the Japanese hibakusha in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the twentieth century history? Is it really fine with us not to document the history where hundreds of thousands of Koreans, whose land was colonized by the Japanese, were forcefully brought into Japan as slave labourers, and eventually killed by the nuclear hell? Is it really acceptable for us not to document the fact that the Korean survivors from the atomic bombing are still suffering from the after-effects without any compensation or relief aids from neither the Korean nor Japanese government? I believe that we must tell the people in the world the history of the Korean colonial atomic bomb victims. (Oka 1989, 12) Oka, Ishimure, Kamata and their memory communities in Nagasaki sought the way of transforming the Korean colonial memory and atomic bomb victims from the obliterated past into the public memory to do justice for their deaths. Their cry for justice and remembrance of the Korean colonial history and memory has been given over to a South Korean writer, Han Su- san, in the contemporary moment.

6. Inheritance of the trace of Korean colonial atomic bomb memory

Japanese artists, Iri Muraki and Toshi Maruki, painted a series of fifteen murals titled

“The Hiroshima Panels” (Genbaku no zu), which portrays the consequences of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, over a span of thirty-two years (1950–1982). The image below is their fourteenth mural completed in 1972 titled “Crows,” which depicts crows flocking over the Korean atomic bomb victims who were forced to work in war-related labour in Japan and left to die after the atomic bombing. Maruki Toshi talked in an interview how the Korean testimonies in Ishimure’s reportage inspired them. She said, “We felt compelled to draw the

Korean atomic bomb victims, who had been discriminated by the Japanese even in their death”

(Maruki 1978, 227).

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Figure 2: Hiroshima Panel XIV “Crows” painted by Maruki in 1972

In the Marukis’“Crows,” the victims are wearing a white chima-chogori, the Korean traditional dress. Needless to say, none of the Korean atomic bomb victims was wearing the Korean dress.

Yet, the white chima-chogori conveys their youth, bond to homeland, culture and tradition, and their Korean identity, which were all deprived by the Japanese colonialism. Crows, the figures of predators, embody the Japanese colonialism in the Marukis’ painting. In the same interview,

Maruki continued to say that “We never expect that painting the Korean atomic bomb victims would repent our sin, but we were compelled to paint their death” (ibid, 228) to translate and represent the socially and physically repressed narratives into the public space (see Maclear 1995;

Simon 2005).

The Marukis’ Crows and Oka’s historical records on the Korean atomic bomb victims came to inspire Han Su-san, a South Korean novelist, to write a fictional work on the Korean forced labourers who died in Nagasaki as a way of translating and retelling the colonial memory into the present.

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Han was born in November 1946 in South Korea. After having gone through the decades of the military regime and the democratization of his country in 1987, Han stayed in Japan from

1988 to 1992.93 Initially, he was interested in the history of Zainichi Koreans. As he proceeded with the research, Han learnt about the Korean forced labourers and atomic bomb victims

(Nishinihon Shinbun, February 17, 2010). Han reflected how the Marukis’ Crows moved him with its evocative image, especially of the white chimachogori, which calls out to the viewer to extend his/her imagination for the memory, dreams, hopes and wishes the Korean victims might have held within them (ibid). He also recalled how Oka’s devotion to make the history of the

Korean forced labourers and atomic bomb victims known to the world motivated him to build the plot of his novel (Kusuda 2013).

After fifteen years of research and writing, Han finally published his novel entitled Crows in Korean in June 2003. The novel is composed of five volumes and depicts the Korean forced labours who were brought from Korea to an island named “Hashima” in Nagasaki and exploited as slave labourers in Hashima’s coal mines owned by Mitsubishi from 1944 to 1945. The

Japanese translation of Crows was published with the title Gunkanjima (the battleship island), today’s name of Hashima, in 2009. All the quotes from the novel below is translated from the

Japanese text to English by the author.

Hashima is a very small island. It floats off the coast of Nagasaki, surrounded by a concrete sea wall. It is estimated that more than 500 Koreans were brought to Hashima and worked in the seabed coal mine (700 meters deep underground) as slave labourers during the

Asia-Pacific War. However, the number of Koreans or any other forced labourers in Hashima can never be estimated accurately because very few people survived the horrendous labour

93 The censorship was launched in 1981 when the South Korean military government arrested and physically assaulted a writer who expressed his ant-government view in his serial novels in the newspaper. It was practiced until the democratization of South Korea in 1987.

237 238 conditions and returned from Hashima after the end of the war. Along with the Koreans, Chinese forced labourers, Japanese convicts on death-row and Allies’ POWs are believed to have worked there. After the end of the war, over 5,000 people lived in the island. Majority of them were

Japanese engaged in the coal mine industry of Mitsubishi; and apartment buildings, schools and hospitals were constructed in the 1950s. However, as coal mining declined, operations at the facility ceased and the island was abandoned in 1974. Hashima has been transformed into ruins.

Photograph 25: Hashima/Gunkanjima

In the remarks of the author, Han writes: “this novel is dedicated to those who lived as

Koreans and died as Koreans [nonetheless] whose remains had been left and abandoned by their mother country.” Han says that the title Crows was inspired by the Marukis’ painting (Nishi

Nihon Shinbun, February 17, 2015). However, in his novel, crows signify multiple metaphors in addition to symbolizing Japanese colonialism. In one scene, they appear as the image of the

Korean coal miners whose bodies were all covered by charcoal. In another scene, crows are used as the symbol of the spirits of those Koreans who failed to escape Hashima, as follows:

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Nobody has ever managed to escape from here. They ended up being drowned in the sea and their bodies were washed ashore. Their decaying corpses are then abandoned there as an example to the others […] Whenever I see crows, they all manifest the spirit of Koreans who want to go back to home, but cannot because they lost their motherland. So, they are stuck here, flying around Hashima even though they escaped to be free at the expense of their lives. (Han Volume I, 8).94

Han depicts a ritual performance practiced by the Korean slave labourers in Hashima’s mining fields. The ritual used to be performed by the Japanese miners in Nagasaki and its neighbouring areas. It was performed to guide the spirit of the miners, who died during the mining operation, to the heaven without getting lost. Miners cried out altogether “Climb up!

Climb up!” (Agaro! Agaro!), while carrying the body out of the mining field to the ground. In

Crows, the Korean slave labourers in Hashima, after having learnt it from someone, practice the same ritual when their fellow Koreans died in the mining, crying out in Korean “Ollakaja!

Ollakaja!” (Han Vol I, 221). In the very end of the novel, Han then depicts hundreds of crows flocking over the corpses of the protagonists, who managed to escape from Hashima and arrived in Nagasaki city, but got killed by the atomic bombing. Crows absolutely embody the Japanese and the Japanese colonialism in Han’s novel just as the Marukis’ painting. However, Kusuda

Tsuyoshi (2013), a Japanese literature scholar, offers an evocative view over what Crows in this last scene might also signify. Kusuda claims that the crows flocking over the Korean corpses in

Nagasaki’s ground-zero could also be interpreted as the spirits of the Koreans who died in

Hashima’s coal mine that were trying to bring back the spirits of the Korean atomic bomb victims to their motherland together by calling out to the dead “Ollakaja! Ollakaja!” (Climb Up!

Climb Up!). Kusuda’s interpretation echoes with Han’s attempt to recover and resurrect the memory of the Korean slave labourers, many of whom were killed by the atomic bombing, from oblivion and bring them back to their home, the Korean consciousness in the present.

94 All the citations from Han’s Crows are translated from the Japanese text Gunkanjima into English by the author.

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Han notes that he wrote Crows not to remind the readers of Japan’s imperial history, but to contemplate how the readers ethically remember the colonial history and atomic bombing as a way of reflecting their contemporary moment (Lee 2003). Lee Jaeseok (2003), a South Korean literature critique, claims that Han’s Crows is the first piece of Korean atomic bomb literature that transcends the politicized identification of the Japanese as the perpetrators and Koreans as the victims, and calls out the readers to transform the forgotten memory of the Korean atomic bomb victims into the public memory. Roger I. Simon (2005) proposes the notion of “public historical memory” as the memory that is grounded in a shared pedagogy of practice of remembrance, and “decidedly social repetition, or better a re-articulation of past events suffused with demands of remembrance and learning across generations, across boundaries of time, space, and identification” (88). Simon emphasizes that the practice of remembrance cannot be reduced to merely a tool to know the past, or to confirm the particular group identity or identification, but memory moves beyond the corporal, ethnic and national boundaries, and serves as “points of connections between people in regard to a past that they both might acknowledge the touch of”

(2005, 89). Public historical memory thus provides a space where people come together to learn the important implications from the past as a way of fostering an ethical living relation with the past in order to form a more democratic present with the Other (Simon 2000; 2005; 2014, Di

Paolantocnio 2014). Han’s Crows illuminates how the practice of remembrance of the Korean atomic bomb victims in Nagasaki can be inherited, re-articulated, and transformed into public historical memory by re-remembering and retelling the trace of the past, and indicates the possibility of formulating a community of memory bounded by continuing sense of belonging to a memorial kindship and the commitment to the practice of remembrance across different times, spaces, ethnicities or national histories (Simon 2000; 2005).

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Han’s retelling of the colonial memory and Simon’s notion of public historical memory also recall Walter Benjamin’s poignant essay, “Task of the Translator” (1996 [1926]). Benjamin insists that translation serves to a literary text’s afterlife, its survival. He notes, “[n]o translation would be possible if in its ultimate essence it strove for likeness to the original. For in its afterlife—which could not be called that if it were not a transformation and a renewal of something living—the original undergoes a change” (Benjamin 1996 [1926], 73). Jacques

Derrida (1985) elaborates Benjamin’s notion of translation as an act of inheritance of the substance of the original text and narrative. Thus, the task of the translator is to respond to the claim of the author, inherit the cultural narrative of the original to ensure its survival into the present and future. Derrida then affirms that Benjamin’s notion of afterlife of the original text does not mean merely the extension of its life, but “it lives more and better, beyond the means of its author” (Derrida 1985, 179). Han’s Crows, which was born out of thousands of the testimonies on Korean slave labours and hibakusha collected by Oka, represents, or at least opens up the possibility for, the intercultural and intergenerational translation and transmission of the colonial memory between the Korean and Japanese languages, and historical consciousness across the national history, time and space. Benjamin notes:

Translation thus ultimately serves the purpose of expressing the central reciprocal relationship between languages […] As for the posited central kinship of languages, it is marked by a distinctive convergence. Languages are not strangers to one another, but are, a priori and apart from all historical relationships, interrelated in what they want to express. (Benjamin 1996 [1926], 72)

Today, Hashima is called “Gunkanjima” (a battleship island) in Japanese because of its armored warship (gunkan)-like appearance. The Nagasaki tourism industry has been promoting

Gunkanjima as a new tourist attraction (sightseeing boat trips around the island are available) over the last years. In July 2015, Gunkanjima, along with twenty-two other former industrial

241 242 sites in Japan, obtained the status of UNESCO World Heritage Sites as the historical testimony that symbolizes how those sites contributed to Japan’s modernization.95 UNESCO World

Heritage Committee was aware that Gunkanjima and six other sites on the UNESCO list had employed up to 60,000 Korean forced labours in Japanese mines and factories during the war period. Kusuda (2013) is apprehensive that the Japanese title Gunkanjima might cloister

Japanese readers’ remembrance and imagination of the colonial memory in the single site. The question of whether or not the Japanese title is appropriate is certainly debatable. The answer would depend on how each Japanese reader bears witness to the Other’s remembrance of the colonial history and memory, which is powerfully expressed in Crows. Han writes:

What Japan demanded from us was everything in Korea. They tried to loot out the entire lands, which had been the primary source of the lives of the Koreans and thousands of years of our civilization. (Han, Gunkanjima 2009 Volume I 2009, 244)

7. Conclusion

This chapter has discussed how Imperial Japan had exploited the lives of the Korean people during the colonial period, how the Japanese government and U.S. occupation authorities framed the undetermined legal status of the Korean people in postwar Japan as the “Korean problem,” and how Japan and the Allied Powers ‘settled’ Japan’s war responsibility by excluding the most victimized countries from the San Francisco Peace Treaty. If colonialism is defined as

95 In September 2013, the Japanese government sent an application package for 23 former industrial sites in Japan for listing as UNESCO World Heritage Sites to the UNESCO World Heritage Committee. Gunkanjima was one of those sites. The UNESCO bid, however, sparked a fierce opposition from South Korea as Gunkanjima and six other sites on the UNESCO list employed up to 60,000 Korean forced labours in Japanese mines and factories. Japan’s application made no mention of the use of the forced labours from Korea, China and other parts of Asia and Allies countries (POWs). Despite that, in July 2015, Japan won its UNESCO World Heritage Status for all the 23 sites, including Gunkanjima, as “Sites of Japan’s Meiji Industrial Revolution: Iron and Steel, Shipbuilding and Coal Mining.” The Japanese delegation to UNESCO announced that “Japan is prepared to take measures that allow an understanding that there were a large number of Koreans and others who were brought against their will and forced to work under harsh conditions in the 1940s at some of the sites” (The Guardian July 6, 2015). In response, South Korea’s foreign ministry said in a statement that “For the first time Japan mentioned the historical fact that Koreans were drafted against their will and forced into labour under harsh conditions in the 1940s” (ibid).

242 243 the practice of acquiring full or partial political control over another country and nation and exploiting them economically, postwar Japan’s policy and politics in relation to the former colonial subjects were the continuous practice of colonialism by making them unqualified to receive the war-related relief laws, and unjustly settling Japan’s responsibility for the war compensation with South Korea in 1965 to penetrate into the South Korean economy. This ongoing colonial legacy and power relations between the Japanese and the former colonial subjects are exactly what Ishimura, Oka, Kamata and their supporters in Nagasaki recognized as their own issue and responsibility for Japan’s colonial past in their present time.

By shedding light on the remembrance, commemoration and representation practices performed by the local memory communities in Nagasaki, I have also explored the notion of the responsibility for the past wrongdoings, and contemplated what constitutes the ethics of remembrance of the obliterated, and unredeemable memory of the numerous anonymous colonial atomic bomb victims. As I have examined in the previous chapters, Nagai Takashi totalized all the war crimes committed during WWII into the biblical idea of the ‘sins of mankind,’ the heavily abstracted and ambiguous culprit responsible for the appalling violence committed by the

Japanese army and U.S’s use of the nuclear weapons. Nagai then addressed the status of the atomic bomb death as “pure lambs” that were sacrificed to redeem the sins of all mankind as

Christ was sacrificed. In contrast, Oka sought the atonement of his own sin, his own responsibility for supporting the war and betraying the teaching of the Lord by pursuing legal, political and historical justice for the victims of Japan’s aggression and colonial policy in which he had participated in. Oka hardly used the word “redemption,” but his efforts to excavate the obliterated memory of the colonial victims and bring them into our historical consciousness mirrors Walter Benjamin’s notion of redemption (Benjamin 1968), which can be achieved only

243 244 through our encounter and solidarity with the obliterated past and forgotten victims to make the continuous barbaric legacy of the past visible and transform the status quo into a more just one.

Both Oka and Ishimure acknowledged their own complicity with the ongoing colonial legacy and pursued the question of how their practice of remembrance could do justice to those stateless, nameless and faceless atomic bomb victims. Similarly, Oka, Kamata and their supporters, including hibakusha, in Nagasaki recognized that the history of the atomic bombing cannot be detached from Japan’s colonization and the Asia-Pacific War, and committed themselves to stay close to the anonymous dead, the unredeemed sufferings of the colonial victims, carefully gathered the remnants of the past—the scattered images, testimonies, and materials— to document the colonial historical memory as a way of preserving and protecting them from once again falling into the oblivion.

Nagasaki’s memory work and Han’s Crows illuminate how, in Simon’s words, memory

“can become transactional” (2005, 88) through retelling, representing, and re-articulating the past. As we have seen, those individuals, who had encountered the remains of 153 anonymous

Korean atomic bomb victims, produced a new memory discourse in each one’s language through each one’s distinctive memory of the injustice. Each memory discourse of the Korean atomic bomb victims was then altered, transformed, translated, transmitted, and diffused by each encounter with the memory of the Others. The remembrance of a difficult past can be transformed into public historical memory across different generations, time, space, and nationalities and open up the possibility for forging a community of memory through the practice of remembrance and shared sense of solidarity with the marginalized and forgotten past (Simon

2000; 2005).

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Finally, this chapter has also inquired what might account for the different commemoration practice of the colonial atomic bomb victims between Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

As we have seen, Hiroshima’s commemoration site serves as the universal symbol of nuclear age and commitment of all mankind to the abolition of nuclear weapons. The site has to remain sacred, international, and universal for all human beings to pray for peace and pledge for the creation of nuclear free world. In a way, Ōe’s Hiroshima Notes resonates with the representational practice of Hiroshima as both memory and narrative of the atomic bombing through the universal humanist discourse.

On the other hand, Nagasaki had suffered from the sense of inferiority to Hiroshima’s symbolism. Nagasaki Mayor Motoshima’s particular historical consciousness and identity as the descendant of the hidden Christians certainly contributed to the development of his compassion and empathy for the Korean atomic bomb victims, and played a crucial role in erecting the

Korean memorial monument in Nagasaki Peace Park. However, he also sought Nagasaki’s equal status as Hiroshima as atomic bomb city through making distinctiveness from his counterpart.

Therefore, it can be argued that, while Hiroshima strove for the maintenance and reinforcement of its universal symbolism of the nuclear age, Motoshima and Nagasaki’s local memory communities pursued the particularism of its remembrance of the atomic bomb memory by remembering what Hiroshima failed to remember as a way of overcoming their status as the

“forgotten atomic bomb city” and challenging Hiroshima’s atomic bomb nationalism. I hope that this chapter illustrated how Nagasaki memory communities tried to transform the dominant notion of ‘Nagasaki prays’ into ‘Nagasaki testifies.’ I also hope that Gunkanjima’s acquisition of the status of UNESCO World Heritage Site as the historical site that contributed to Japan’s

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‘modernization’ illuminates the persistent Japanese desire to erase and obliterate their colonial history and memory from the space of Nagasaki.

246 Conclusion—70TH Anniversary of Atomic Bombing in Hiroshima and Nagasaki

Thesis Eleven, a journal on cultural sociology, carries a special issue to mark the seventieth anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 2015. All the contributors engage the question of “What is the meaning of Hiroshima and Nagasaki for us today, and what responsibilities do we have towards the victims?” (Evans and Tester 2015, 5; emphasis is original). There is only one article that ponders Nagasaki’s atomic bomb memory in this special issue: Maja Zehfuss’s “(Nuclear) war and memory of Nagasaki: Thinking at the (impossible) limit” (2015). In the article, Zehfuss reads two very different texts. One is Jacques Derrida’s “No

Apocalypse, Not Now” (1984) that contemplates nuclear war, and another is a Pakistan novelist

Kamila Shamsie’s Burnt Shadows (2009). Zehfuss questions the absence of the word of

‘Hiroshima’ and ‘Nagasaki’ in Derrida’s text on nuclear war, and claims that, for Derrida, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was not “an instance of nuclear war not least because the world did not end” (2015, 62) yet.

On the other hand, Shamsie’s Burnt Shadows narrates the journey of Hiroko Tanaka, a

Nagasaki female hibakusha, from the final days of the Asia and Pacific War in Nagasaki, to

Delhi on the brink of partition in 1947, to Karachi and Abbottabad in the early 1980s, and to finally New York in the aftermath of September 11 and the beginning of U.S bombing campaign over Afghanistan. For Hiroko, the bombing of Nagasaki was the end of her world—her belief, dream and hope. The bombing of Nagasaki also projected, in the words of Shamise, “The Yet

Unknowing World” (2009, 3) on ground zero. Hiroko continues her journey to escape from her trauma. However, it is impossible for her to forget the memory of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing because the same rhetoric of ‘just war’ and ‘liberation,’ which turned hundreds of thousands of

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248 lives into burnt shadows, has been repeated over and over again, continuously evoking in her the memory of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing. Through Hiroko’s voice and her struggle with the haunting trauma, Shamise poses the question of what makes such violence possible. Is it the dehumanization of the enemy? Shamise says ‘no’ through Hiroko, who insists:

You just have to put them in a little corner of the big picture. In the big picture of the Second World War, what was seventy-five thousand more Japanese dead? Acceptable, that’s what it was. In the big picture of threats to America, what is one Afghan? Expendable. (Sahimise 2009, 362, cited from Zehfuss 2015, 65)

To justify the use of the two nuclear bombs over the country that was already defeated, and of cluster bombs over civilian areas in non-Western Christian countries that were already exhausted by embargo, starvation and poverty, Zehfuss maintains that “you do not have to deny people their humanity” (2015, 69), but just making the Others’ lives irrelevant to the whole world. “Put differently,” Zehfuss continues to argue that “those wielding the power of destruction do not even do people the courtesy of considering them important enough to dehumanize them” (ibid). Then, she asks the readers, “Why we should remember these bombings? ...Is it just that another decade has passed, and an anniversary is upon us, that remembering is expected, a duty? Or is there something in the world we inhabit today that compels us to interrogate the event of 70 years ago and how we should relate to them now?”

(2015, 68; emphasis is original). Zehfuss presses us to think our time and poses her final question of “Why Nagasaki and why now?” (68; emphasis is added).

My dissertation explored the question of how Nagasaki’s atomic bombing had been represented and remembered over the last decades. For the question of Why Nagasaki and why now, I would respond that re-writing and re-remembering of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing and

Nagasaki’s postwar history can illuminate how the legacy of the Japanese imperialism continues to exist and rule contemporary Nagasaki, Hiroshima and Japan by renaming itself ‘peace,’ and

248 249 allying with the United States, the former enemy. I would also respond to that question that investigating the remembrance of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing and postwar history also elicits how the politics of sacrifice, forgiveness and reconciliation has disciplined the remembrance and knowledge of the atomic bombing and the Asia and Pacific War over the last 70 years, and continues to dominate the political discourse and political order between Japan and the United

States to legitimize the status quo and further expand U.S’s influence over the world.

I have examined how the dominant representation of Nagasaki as the “Christian city” and the popular discourse “Nagasaki prays” were produced; and in this process of the knowledge production, whose memories and what features of the city’s past and present had been concealed.

During U.S occupation period, Nagasaki received significant amount of material and financial aid from GHQ and American Christian Churches. As well, GHQ promoted and distributed Nagai

Takashi’s books, which represented Urakami as the “home of Catholics,” and called the atomic bomb “divine providence” and the atomic bomb victims “pure sacrificial lambs,” during its

Christianization policy of Japan. Nagasaki officials actively appropriated the occupiers’ ideal view of Nagasaki as an ‘exotic, charming, cosmopolitan Christian city’ to dispel its imperial past and ensure American’s material support for the city’s reconstruction. In the process of the reconfiguration of postwar Nagasaki into the occupiers’ Orientalist image of the city, it deemphasized its human cost by the atomic bombing, whereas Hiroshima promoted the idea of the first atomic bomb city in the human history. The space of postwar Nagasaki served to embody the ‘success’ of GHQ’s Christianization policy and American Christian Church’s project of

‘peace and reconciliation’ without justice between the two former adversaries during the first years of the occupation period.

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My dissertation, however, revealed how violently Nagasaki’s postwar reconstruction had been proceeded to represent the peaceful image of Nagasaki as international, Christian city that

‘prays,’ and eventually allowed the imperial legacy to return and govern Nagasaki once again after the end of U.S occupation. Nagasaki municipal authorities demolished the Buraku community in Urakami by destroying their houses and communal graveyard because the presence of the Buraku community would remind them of the lingering legacy of the Japanese feudalism and the deep chasm between Urakami and the rest of the city for centuries. Such a past was not compatible with the postwar image of Nagasaki as ‘international, cultural and Christian city.’ Moreover, many Buraku people in Urakami were the members of the political organization named “Zenkoku Suiheisha” (National Levelers’ Association) whose main objective was to eradicate the cultural, social, political and economic discriminations against the Buraku communities, and to fight for the dignity and human rights of the Buraku people. The demolition of the Buraku community in Urakami resulted in the disintegration of the sole branch of

Suiheisha in Nagasaki prefecture. Had the Nagasaki branch of Suiheisha remained in postwar years, they might have mobilized Nagasaki Buraku and non-Buraku hibakusha to fight for the common goals, such as medical and financial relief aid from the government and the elimination of the discrimination against the hibakusha, especially non-Japanese hibakusha, in much earlier years.

Meanwhile, Mitsubishi quickly revived itself through the Korean War and the establishment of the U.S-Japan Security Alliance and Japan’s Self-Defense Force after the end of

U.S occupation. During the first years of occupation, GHQ forbade any military production in

Japan. However, as soon as the American occupation of Japan ended in 1952, the Nagasaki

Mitsubishi Shipyard resumed its production of military equipment, such as anti-submarine ships,

250 251 torpedoes, and missiles for the newly formed Japanese Navy and foreign military-industrial companies, most notably American armament companies (Kamata and Salaff 1993). Mitsubishi restored its kingdom in postwar Nagasaki, and has continued to rule Nagasaki’s local politics, economy and everyday lives of Nagasaki residents. By the 1960s, participating in antiwar and antinuclear movements had come to be perceived as anti-Mitsubishi in Nagasaki. As a result, while tens of thousands of people cried out against nuclear weapons and nuclear tests in

Hiroshima, Nagasaki remained silent. In turn, the contrasting landscape between the two atomic bomb cities was represented by the media “Hiroshima rages” while “Nagasaki prays.”

Similarly, Kitamura Seibou, an imperial sculptor, completed his imperial dream in the form of ‘Peace Memorial Statue’ in Nagasaki’s commemoration space for the atomic bomb victims. Just as Mitsubishi, Kitamura had lost his career during the first years of GHQ’s demilitarization policy, but grasped momentum in the wake of the Korean War in 1950. In 1955, three years after the end of U.S occupation, Kitamura finally realized his imperial goal and his own ego, which was expressed by his own remarks, “I have become immortal as an artist, as it

[the Peace Memorial Statue] will remain here as a national treasure for thousands of years’ (cited from Baba 2002). In his poignant reflection of Nagasaki’s ground zero in the contemporary moment, Brandon Shimoda, a Japanese-American poet and writer, critically observes what the

Kitamura’s statue projects onto the viewers today as follows.

The giant does not make me think of the victims of the atomic bomb, living and dead, nor the bomb; nor do I see the giant, eyes closed or open, as an injunction to remember the victims, the bomb, or to never forget, but as the stale indication that what is being remembered is the injunction itself: remember to remember—that in the giant’s clumsily balletic, disembodied, meaningless pose, we are much safer at the threshold of memory, just outside of it, where all of our feelings are the right feelings, because they have no particular object by which to clarify, to be made specific, to be made genuine, real. (Shimoda, August 1, 2015, The Volta: available at http://www.thevolta.org/ewc56-bshimoda-p1.html)

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Shimoda captures how the giant statue is devoid of any meaning. The Peace Prayer’s arms— one is raised upward while the other is horizontally extended— point to nothing. The architectures in

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park and the green giant statue sitting in Nagasaki’s ‘zone of prayer’ are both the revival of the aborted imperial projects, which managed to be realized in the commemoration space for the nation’s atomic victimhood by renaming themselves the symbol of

‘peace.’

I also critically inquired the notion of Nagasaki as the “forgotten atomic bomb city”

(Mitchell, August 9, 2011) through the perspective of cultural memory studies to understand what have necessitated and normalized Nagasaki’s low-profile and self-effacing attitude, if not its absence, in the atomic bomb historiography, media representation and popular imagination of the nuclear catastrophe in Japan and abroad. My work showed that Nagasaki had never been forgotten by the American and Japanese policymakers. Rather, Nagasaki has been firmly incorporated into the U.S.-Japan relations since the end of the war. While the idea of Nagasaki as the ‘inferior atomic bomb city’ to Hiroshima continuously haunted Nagasaki officials, hibakusha and residents, and shaped Nagasaki’s postwar reconstruction policy and atomic bomb discourse, my dissertation unveiled that GHQ and American policymakers had persistently operated its cultural diplomacy between Nagasaki and the United States. For instance, GHQ organized the first international event in postwar Japan—the 400th anniversary of Saint Francisco Xavier’s arrival in Japan—in Nagasaki in May 1949. Similarly, U.S. government invited the first hibakusha to the United States not from Hiroshima, but from Nagasaki, and led them speak to the Americans how the Nagasaki hibakusha appreciated the atomic bombing for ending the war and baptizing Nagasaki, and sought peace and reconciliation with the American people.

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Above all, GHQ promoted and distributed Nagai’s books more than any other texts written by Hiroshima hiakusha writers during the occupation period. Nagai’s books have been translated into multiple languages over the last decades, while the two biographies of Nagai have been published in English. Despite the prevailing conception of Nagasaki as the “forgotten atomic bomb city,” Nagai is probably most known hibakusha writer internationally. While

Hiroshima has become a testament to the destructive capacity of mankind, Nagasaki, more precisely Nagai’s discourse, has been constantly called out to confirm that the ‘sins’ committed by the mankind have been atoned, redeemed and forgiven, bringing a closure to the history of the atomic bombing, and making the discourse of responsibility and justice irrelevant or meaningless to the remembrance of the atomic bombing.

TIME magazine article cited below well-illustrates how power disciplines and shapes the discourse, and produces the dominant knowledge as Michel Foucault claims. It reads:

… Hiroshima today is grimly obsessed by that long-ago mushroom cloud; Nagasaki lives resolutely in the present…Comparing Hiroshima with other war-devastated cities, a U.S. casualty commission official noted: “This is the only city in the world that advertises its past misery.”

Nagasaki, by contrast, has few reminders of Aug. 9 beyond a one-floor museum, a green marble shaft marking the epicenter of the blast, and a Peace Park dominated by an eloquent 32-ft. statue of a squatting figure that eternally lifts one arm to the sky, extends the other in forgiveness. Unlike Hiroshima… Nagasaki… has never been invaded by antinuclear demonstrators. By last week, while Hiroshima staged noisy ban-the-Bomb rallies, Nagasaki had not witnessed a single demonstration against U.S. nuclear tests over Christmas Island. Explains Hiroshi Wakayama, a businessman who in 1960 quit as chairman of Nagasaki's small chapter of Gensuikyo, Japan's antinuclear council: "We don't want to go around bragging about being victims of the atomic bomb. It is not compatible with the character of Nagasaki."

A tranquil, beautiful seaport perched in a natural amphitheater overlooking the East China Sea, Nagasaki… prefers to be known as Japan's most cosmopolitan city. Its tourist bureau seldom steers visitors to atomic landmarks, celebrates instead the city's lantern-lit nightclubs and restaurants… and the Nipponese-Gothic mansion, built on a hilltop by a British tycoon in 1850, that Nagasaki fondly identifies as the "original home'' of Puccini's Madam Butterfly. […]

Nagasaki's citizens seem to be less fearful of “atom sickness” than their fellow survivors in Hiroshima…The city's longtime mayor, Tsutomu Tagawa, whose home was destroyed by the Bomb, says his people feel "no bitterness" toward the U.S., shrugs: "If Japan had had the same type of weapon, it would have used it." Today the main difference between the two cities is that

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Hiroshima has remained a stark symbol of man's inhumanity to man; Nagasaki is a monument to forgiveness. (“Japan: Tale of Two Cities,” TIME, May 18, 1962; Anonymous)

As we have seen, the absence of the antinuclear demonstrators and of the atomic bomb ruins in Nagasaki was not the product of ‘Nagasaki’s spirit of forgiveness.’ The discourse of

Nagasaki’s atomic bombing within the article of TIME magazine recalls the remarks made by

Nagasaki Mayor Tagawa Tsutomu, and cited and widely distributed by American print media in the mid-1950s in which Tagawa criticized Hiroshima for using the atomic bomb as propaganda, and claimed that “Nagasaki folks are genial in character; and their feeling toward America and

Americans is good on the whole.” In Chapter 4, I argued that Tagawa’s statements, along with

Nagasaki Bishop Yamaguchi’s, were shaped by the politics of forgiveness, reconciliation and reconstruction between the United States and Japan within the framework of U.S cultural diplomacy. Its objective was to consolidate the U.S-Japan Security Alliance. Tagawa and

Yamaguchi proceeded the dismantling of the ruins of the Urakami Cathedral to make the city of

Nagasaki as the symbol of mutual forgiveness and reconciliation between the United States and

Japan, despite the outcry of non-Catholic Nagasaki hibakusha and residents against the dismantlement. The U.S-Japan relations dominated and determined the fate of the ruins of the

Urakami Cathedral. As a result, Nagasaki perpetually lost the most powerful reminder of how the

‘just war’ conducted in the name of God had destroyed the symbol of the Japanese martyrdom for the freedom of faith with the nuclear bomb.

Tagawa understood that the consolidation of the U.S.-Japan Security Alliance would significantly serve to Mitsubishi’s economic development, which had been an integral part of

Nagasaki’s economy over the last decades. The article of TIME magazine was published in 1962, two years after the U.S-Japan Security Treaty was signed by Kishi Nobusuke, the Japanese premier of the time and former Class A-War criminal, despite the public outcry against the treaty.

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The media representation of Nagasaki as “a monument to forgiveness” had disguised how the geopolitical and economic interests, and the desire of multiple actors in the United States and

Nagasaki to obliterate the past all contributed to the silence of Nagasaki hibakusha, and the absence of the antinuclear protestors and the atomic landmark in the second atomic bomb city.

Zehfuss claims that we are prompted to remember the past because we see challenges as

“similar to those we encountered in the past” (2015, 66) and keenly sense that our present are

“slipping from our control” (ibid). By gathering scattered, fragmented memories of those who were already gone, and translating the remnants of the past, such as the photographs of the dismantled cathedral ruins and incomplete remarks of Nagasaki hibakusha and individuals, into the present, I attempt to grasp the historical moment in our time in order to intervene the current course of history, or what Walter Benjamin called “now-time” (Benjamin 1968, 261). Japan’s imperial legacy has come to manifest itself in this contemporary moment, and the same political order and discourse— that dismantled the ruins of the cathedral and silenced Nagasaki hibakusha— is trying to overthrow Japanese citizens’ commitment to the promise with the past – we will never victimize others again by using force.

On September 2, 2015, U.S. President Barack Obama released a statement marking the formal end of war in the Pacific, in which he called the alliance between the United States and

Japan “a model of the power of reconciliation” (Asahi Shinbun, September 3, 2015). Obama continued to claim that the two former adversaries have now become “steadfast allies” that collaborate on advancing “common interests” and “universal values in Asia and globally” (ibid).

“Seventy years ago this partnership was unimaginable,” the president Obama said. Then, he paid tribute to the sacrifice of the American servicemen and women who served during World War II, stating that “We live in freedom because of their brave service” (ibid). Obama made the

255 256 statement while the leading opposition parties in Japan and more than 14,000 Japanese scholars have collectively opposed to the new U.S-Japan security bills that would allow the Japanese forces to take a more active role in aiding U.S’s military operation, and argued that the bills violate Japan’s pacifist constitution, which prohibits the nation from using force to settle international disputes. As well, hundreds of thousands of demonstrators, including high-school and university students, and the second and the third generations of hibakusha, all over Japan have been crying out to withdraw the new security bills (many of the Japanese call it “war bills”) over the last four months. Despite the outcry of the Japanese population, Japan’s chief cabinet secretary, Suga Yoshihide, welcomed the message from Obama, saying that Japan would continue to work with the United States to further develop bilateral ties and make efforts to protect ‘peace’ and ‘stability’ throughout the world.

On September 17, 2015, Japan’s parliament gave final approval to legislation expanding the overseas role of the country’s military, while tens of thousands of protestors were surrounding the parliament in rain, crying out “Protect Peace Constitution!” “No More War!” and “No More Abe!.” 148 lawmakers voted in support for the new security bills and 90 against in the Diet. Prime Minister Abe Shinzo, the ground son of Kishi, who had signed the revised

U.S-Japan Security Alliance in 1960, stated that the new security laws “will make possible a closer alliance with the United States in cases such as a war on the Korean peninsula or a blockage of sea lanes that threatened Japan’s security” (ibid). The Wall Street Journal reports that “For the first time in the 70 years since the end of World War II, the [new security] laws will give the Japanese government power to use the military in overseas conflicts even if Japan is not under attack” (September 18, 2015).

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Photograph 26: Protesters against the new U.S-Japan Security Law surrounding the Parliament on August 30, 2015 (Tokyo Shinbun)

China immediately responded to the new political movement in Japan, criticizing that

Japan’s new security laws pose ‘threat’ to regional peace by breaking not only “Japan’s promise to the world after World War II,” but also “betray[ing] its own people” (Xinhua editorial,

September 19, 2015), whereas U.S State Department sent a message that “We welcome Japan’s ongoing efforts to strengthen the alliance and play a more active role in regional and international security activities, as reflected in Japan’s new security legislation” (The Japan

Times, September 19, 2015). South Korea remained relatively quiet as Japan’s new security laws would enable Japan to provide logistical support to South Korea if the North invaded, and just as

257 258 the U.S-Japan relations, the U.S-South Korea Security Treaty is pivot for the country’s security policy. The foreign ministry of South Korea only called on Japan to ensure the transparency in implementing its new defense policy, “while maintaining the spirit of the pacifist constitution”

(Defense News, September 19, 2015).

Shortly after the new security laws were passed, the Japan Business Federation, called

“Keidanren,” composed of the chairmen of the giant Japanese corporations, such as Mitsubishi and Hitachi, commented on that “The security situation surrounding our country is getting increasingly severe. We welcome the enactment” (Kyodo, September 19, 2015). Virtually all the members of Keidanren engage the military industry and the production of weapons and nuclear reactors. Likewise, the chairman of the Japan Chamber of Commerce and Industry called the security laws “a legislative arrangement necessary to protect the lives and assets of the Japanese people” (ibid). In addition, the chairman of the Japan Association of Corporate Executives, said,

“We commend it as a major step toward strengthening Japan’s security” (ibid), and added that it is “extremely regrettable” (ibid) that strong opposition remains among the Japanese public.

We are living in a precarious moment. The seventieth anniversary of the Asia and Pacific

War evokes multiple, and competing memories and discourses in Asia and Pacific. To counter the competing memory discourses, some call out to move toward reconciliation between Japan and other Asian countries. I would like to contemplate the notion of intergenerational responsibility in the following section by engaging Hiro Saito’s discussion on what intergenerational responsibility constitutes and what the remembrance of the atomic bombing means to us.

Saito (2015) is another contributor to Thesis Eleven’s special issue of the seventieth anniversary of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and offers the idea of “cosmopolitan commemoration”

258 259 of the atomic bombing as the way of moving toward reconciliation and world peace. Saito defines cosmopolitan commemoration as transnational and inclusive practice of remembrance, which “allow foreign others as fellow humans in both the process and content of commemoration”

(Saito 2015, 74). Saito is critical about the commemoration practice of the Holocaust because it dehumanizes the Nazis Germany as the absolute enemy and perpetrator, and has served to the

United States as the “ethical basis for waging a ‘just war’ against the ‘enemy’ that is considered evil” (2015, 74). On the other hand, Saito argues that “the commemoration of the atomic bombing [of Hiroshima and Nagasaki]… embraces the ethics of no war, as opposed to just war, by recognizing that even perpetrators can suffer because they are also humans. In this respect, the commemoration of the atomic bombing is more radically cosmopolitan than that of the

Holocaust and perhaps more urgently needed in the contemporary world” (75-76). He then presents a Hiroshima hibakusha poet, Sadako Kurihara’s poem “When We Say Hiroshima” as a potential reference to what constitutes the ethics of the cosmopolitan commemoration of the atomic bombing. Kurihara’s “When We Say Hiroshima” reads:

When we say “Hiroshima,” do people answer, gently, “Ah, Hiroshima”?

Say “Hiroshima,” and hear “Pearl Harbor.” Say “Hiroshima,” and hear “Rape of Nanking.” Say “Hiroshima,” and hear of women and children in Manila thrown into trenches, doused with gasoline, and burned alive.

Say “Hiroshima,” and hear echoes of blood and fire. Say “Hiroshima,” and we don’t hear, gently, “Ah, Hiroshima.” In chorus, Asia’s dead and her voiceless masses spit out the anger of all those we made victims.

That we may say “Hiroshima,” and hear in reply, gently, “Ah, Hiroshima,” we must in fact lay down the arms we were supposed to lay down.

We must get rid of all foreign bases

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until that day Hiroshima will be a city of cruelty and bitter bad faith.

And we will be pariahs burning with remnant radioactivity. That we may say “Hiroshima” and hear in reply, gently, “Ah, Hiroshima,” we must wash the blood off our own hands. (Kurihara [1972] 1988, 193-194)

Kurihara’s “When We Say ‘Hiroshima’” was first published in Japan in 1972. It has been translated into English and widely read both in Japan and abroad. The poem has been well- received by domestic and international scholars and literature critics as a call to critically remember Hiroshima through the position of the others. Saito maintains that Kurihara’s poem represents the plea of the hibakusha, who call out to the people in the world to “transcend the logic of nationalism and collectively practice cosmopolitan commemoration of all war victims in their common pursuit of world peace” (2015, 73). For Japan, South Korea and China to come to reconcile with each other, Saito also asserts that the citizens of America must “engage in an act of ‘higher moral value’ in confronting their own country’s wartime atrocities” (84) because

“Japan’s relations with the United States would be the key to reconciliation in the region” (83).

When we have realized such a common goal, Saito concludes, “people will answer gently, ‘Ah,

Hiroshima’” (85).

I share Saito’s critical view of the commemoration practice of the Holocaust in the

United States. In fact, the idea of the Americanization of the Nazi Holocaust remembrance has been investigated by prominent Holocaust scholars. For instance, James E. Young (2000) claims that the remembrance and commemoration of the Nazi Holocaust in the United States give the

Americans “moral authority” by representing the genocide of the European Jewish as the primary reason for the United States to enter the war to stop Hitler and liberate the Jewish people, despite the fact that “none of the Allies really did enough to stop the Holocaust as it was unfolding” (Shoah resource center: An Interview With Prof. James E. Young, 2000). Richard H.

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Minear (1995) claim that the presence of the Holocaust Memorial Museum in the heart of U.S capital mirrors the absence of the “Atomic Holocaust Memorial Museum” (347; emphasis is original) in the United States, illustrating Americans’ inability to acknowledge their own war crimes and responsibilities (see Minear 1995).

However, I disagree with Saito that the commemoration of the atomic bombing could serve as the model of the cosmopolitan commemoration to the world. I rather think that

Kurihara’s poem should be read more critically, instead of representing it as the spirit of cosmopolitan commemoration, or reconciliation.

“When We Say Hiroshima” is a reflection of Kurihara’s own experience of encounter with Americans’ remembrance of the atomic bombing and the Asia and Pacific War in the mid-

1960s. In November 1965, Kurihara, along with other Japanese intellectuals and antiwar peace activists, carried a large anti-Vietnam War advertisement in The New York Times and The

Washington Post. The title was: “Stop the Killing! Stop the Vietnam War! An Appeal from

Citizens Japan and the Voice of Hiroshima.” The below is the extract from the advertisement:

The Vietnam War reminds us of Hiroshima and all our own bitter past. Having inflicted bombs and suffered them as well, we can imagine the feeling that life deep in the hearts of the bombed Vietnamese. We can also imagine the emotion of American youngsters who are now sent out to destroy Vietnam. (http://triptych.brynmawr.edu/cdm/ref/collection/SC_Ephemera/id/1578)

The statement was made to appeal American citizens to fight with Japanese peace activists and Hiroshima citizens against U.S’s military intervention in North Vietnam. However, their anti-Vietnam War message provoked many American readers, especially veterans of WWII, who sent a letter to the editorial of the two American newspapers, saying that “Remember Pearl

Harbour!” “Have you thought about the young American soldiers killed by the Japanese Army!?” and “Don’t’ you remember why you got the atomic bomb?!” (Beheiren News, Vol 20, June

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1967). Kurihara recalled that her encounter with the American remembrance of the atomic bombing had made her realize the illusion of the universality of the memory of Hiroshima and

Nagasaki (Kurihara, Beheiren News Vol. 22, July 1967). Scholars and literary critics both in

Japan and abroad have acclaimed that Kurihara had tried to convey the intersubjective remembrance of Hiroshima to the Japanese people.

Kawaguchi Takayuki (2008), however, reads Kurihara’s poem critically, and poses a question—who speak for the Asian victims in Kurihra’s poem? He claims that Kurihara encountered not Asian victims, but Americans that spoke for the rage of Asian victims against

Japan from the American position and remembrance of the Asia and Pacific War. That is, it was

American’s good war against Japan; it liberated Asians, including Japanese themselves, from fascist Japan by dropping the atomic bombs, but also rehabilitated them into democratic citizens

(Yoneyama 2003). Kawaguchi points out that that certain positions are absent in the U.S.-Japan bilateral remembrance and memory discourse of the atomic bombing and the Asia and Pacific

War.

Kurihara’s poem seems to assume that those who say ‘Hiroshima’ are solely Japanese citizens and Japanese hibakusha as she expresses “to hear gently ‘Ah, Hiroshima,’ we must wash the blood off our own hands” (emphasis is added). As a result, her poem effaces the diversified identities, subjectivities, nationalities and ethnicities among the hibakusha. Not every hibakusha or the bereaved of the atomic bomb victims would expect a gentle reply when he or she says

‘Hiroshima.’

Furthermore, Kurihara’s call for the remembrance of the Japanese atrocities seems to me an economy as it expects a return—an empathetic response to Hiroshima’s pain from Americans and Asian victims. I, as a citizen of Japan, remember the Japanese atrocities not because I wish

262 263 the Asian nations to acknowledge the Japanese victimhood, but because I am responsible for

Japan’s continued failure to acknowledge our past wrongdoings and fulfill the legal, moral and historical responsibilities for the victims’ cry for justice. Saito, too, shares my notion of responsibility as he claims, “…younger generation of Japanese citizens, including myself, do have commemorative responsibility, to acknowledge Japan’s past wrongdoings and press the government to offer more satisfactory apologies, even though we did not commit those acts”

(Saito 2015, 82).

However, I have different views regarding the notion of ‘war responsibility’ from Saito’s.

He maintains that “young generations of Japanese citizens do not have commemorative responsivity because they have inherited war responsibility, but because the present situation— the persistence of the historical problem—demands commemoration of Japan’s past wrongdoings (ibid). He rejects a Japanese historian Ienaga Saburo’s claim that younger generations of Japanese “inherit responsibility for the war from their proceeding generations by virtue of the Japanese nation’s continuity” (Ienaga 1985, 307, cited from Saito 2015, 82). Saito sees Ienaga’s idea of intergenerational responsibility the logic of “essentialist position” (Saito,

82) that is similar to “ethnic nationalism” (ibid). However, I wonder if we can draw such a clear, separation line between war responsibility and postwar responsibility, and claim that we are not bounded at all with the former. There is a seamless thread between the two. Saito cites Derrida’s text, but does not engage Derrida’s notion of inheriting the future-to-come, which is probably most relevant to the question Saito raises in his article, whether or not he agrees with. Derrida

(2001) claims:

We inherit a language, conditions of life, a culture...which carries the memory of what has been done, and the responsibility, so then, we are responsible for things we have not done ourselves and that is part of the concept of heritage. (Derrida 2001, 102).

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We are bequeathed institutions from our predecessors and are responsible for maintaining, reforming and rebuilding them towards just institutions (Thompson 2009; Derrida, 2001). For instance, the citizens of Japanese have inherited a Peace Constitution that calls on the Japanese to strive for the banishment of oppression and intolerance from the earth (see the preface of Japan’s

Peace Constitution). To inherit this constitution means that the Japanese must take intergenerational responsibility not only for undoing the wrongs of their predecessors, but also for fighting against any oppressive acts against individuals who cry for justice. This is why hundreds of thousands of the Japanese citizens still go out to the streets and call out the cancellation of the new security laws even though it has already been approved by the parliament.

We did not directly commit the war crimes, but it does not dissolve our responsibility for Japan’s war crimes because we are responsible for those who demand justice that was ignored and dismissed by the legal system of law, and cry out the remembrance of their pain. I believe this is what Ienaga, who undertook a series of lawsuits against the Ministry of Education, which had censored the school history textbook Ienaga authored, for violation of his freedom of speech, meant by saying that we “inherit responsibility for war.”

Why Nagasaki and why now? I would also respond to the question that the remembrance of the atomic bombing and colonial memory practiced by Japanese individuals and Nagasaki local memory communities might open up the possibilities for us to “improve our being in the world” (Zehfuss 2015, 66) and retain hope even in such a precarious world. The encounter with the former colonial atomic bomb victims experienced and expressed by Ishimura Michiko, Oka

Masaharu, Kamata Sadao, the Marukis, and Han Su-san illuminate the possibilities of what

Roger I. Simon calls “ethical, pedagogical remembrance” (Simon 2001, 2005). Simon claims that the past is not called out to affirm one’s identity or serve to the political needs of the present,

264 265 but to grasp the ongoing injustice and unsettled social wrongs to critically engage our contemporary moment as the way of leaning from the past and preserving hope in the present

(see also Di Paolantonio 2014). Simon presses us to think how our remembrance of the difficult past can foster a more ethical relation with the others in the present, and what constitutes the “a point of connection” (Simon 2001, 12) among those committed to the remembrance of the obliterated memory beyond national(ized) memories.

Some may ask how the notion of pedagogical remembrance differs from that of

‘cosmopolitan commemoration’ as both call out to come together and “transcend the logic of nationalism” (Saito 2015, 84). The pedagogical remembrance would never encourage us to remember the other’s memory for reconciliation, or to pledge in chorus ‘Never Again.’

Pedagogical remembrance rather calls out to us to acknowledge the radical difference of the

Others, or in the words of Simon, the “alterity of the historical experience of others—an alterity that disrupts the presumptions of “the self-same”” (2005, 4). The risk of cosmopolitan commemoration is that it may efface not only the certain responsibilities the perpetrator’s country must bear for the victims, but also the alterity of each victim and peculiarity of each violence by the name of universality or cosmopolitanism.

Saito claims that “Japan, South Korea and China need to adopt the cosmopolitan logic of commemoration” (2015, 84) to reconcile with each other. However, we must acknowledge that just as the Chinese, Koreans and other Asian nations have a difficulty in imagining and recognizing the victimhood of their perpetrators, the Japanese, including Saito and myself, can never fully imagine their pain and their sense of humiliation invoked by their remembrance of how their motherland was exploited, how their ancestors were forbidden to speak their own language and practice their own tradition, and how they were forced to starve, raped, killed and

265 266 left to die. There are surely some politicized remembrance and oblivion in Japan’s former victim countries just as our remembrance and amnesia of the Asia and Pacific War have been shaped by the politics of the U.S-Japan relations. Yet, we must acknowledge that what our ancestors committed to their bodies, psych and history are unforgettable, unforgivable and irredeemable, just as hibakusha.

Ishimure, Oka, Kamata, the Maruki and other Nagasaki memory communities never sought forgiveness or reconciliation with the other. They rather recognized the impossibility of forgiveness and reconciliation. There was only one task they could pursue—to bring justice to the others by recovering their memory from oblivion, documenting their history and testimony, visualizing what the Japanese had forgotten, and reforming the law into more just for the Other.

In so doing, they tried to sustain the prospect of democracy, and create an ethical relationship with the Other.

Han Su-san’s Crows, the first Korean atomic bomb literature, illustrate how the memory discourse can be renewed and multiplied through the translation and transmission of the memory into our present. I saw the Marukis’ mural “Crows” for the first time at the Nagasaki Atomic

Bomb Museum in 2009. The painting provoked significant pain, and the sense of shame and guilt about my ignorance to the memory of the Korean atomic bomb victims within me. I could only imagine and claim that crows flocking over the Korean corpses in the Marukis’ painting represent the predator, the Japanese. However, Han Su-san’s Crows not only conveys the brutality of the atomic bomb death and perpetual void in our historical memory of the atomic bombing and Asia and Pacific War to the Korean and Japanese readers in the contemporary period. But, his novel also extends our imagination of what crows may signify to us through his evocative language and re-remembrance of the Korean colonial victims. Han Su-san’s novel

266 267 opens the ethical possibility for the Japanese and Koreans to come together to mourn for those anonymous and faceless victims, and create a memory community to critically think and engage our shared present, such a precarious moment with the other, while acknowledging the radical difference of the other and retaining the alterity of the other.

On September 7, 2015, the Japanese Supreme Court, for the first time, declared South

Korean survivors of the 1945 U.S. atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as fully eligible for government-sponsored medical subsidies, regardless of where they receive treatment. The

Japan Times reports that the decision made by the Supreme Court will be “a landmark victory for hibakusha living overseas as they seek to secure recognition of their rights” (September 8,

2015). One of the three plaintiffs, Lee Hong-hyun, a 69 years old South Korean national and resident in Osaka, was exposed to radiation while in his mother’s womb, and suffered from kidney disease. When the three plaintiffs asked the Osaka Prefectural government to reimburse the Korean-based survivors for their medical expenses in 2011, it refused their claim, saying that according to the central government’s policy, hibakusha living abroad do not qualify for medical subsidies unless they receive medical treatment in Japan. In 2014, the Osaka High Court ruled that the refusal of the Osaka Prefecture for the reimbursement of medical expenses to the South

Korean plaintiffs was illegal. The Supreme Court upheld the decision made by the Osaka High

Court. Chief Justice Okabe Kiyoko in the Supreme Court claimed that Osaka’ action “runs counter to” the principle of the Atomic Bomb Relief Law, which aims to address health problems of hibakusha and ensure their medical treatment “no matter where they live” (cited from The

Japan Times, September 8, 2014). The Health Labour and Welfare Ministry responded that it will “take the ruling seriously.” The decision made by the Osaka High Court and Japan’s

Supreme Court illustrates not only how the efforts made by many Japanese individuals, such as

267 268

Oka and Kamata, to bring legal justice to the Korean and other foreign hibakusha have been inherited in the realm of law. But, their decision also shows the possibility of our contemporary moment to repair and retry what was failed and betrayed in the past to create a democratic relationship between us and the other in the present time. I hope that my study on Nagasaki’s remembrance of the atomic bombing and my re-remembering of Nagasaki’s ethical remembrance of the colonial memory can raise the pedagogical question of how we can foster historical consciousness that treats history not merely as a ‘past event’ that should ‘never again’ occur, but as a promise of hope from the past that calls upon us to inherit intergenerational responsibility for the possibility of the present to break the course of unjust legacies in order to create a democratic future-to-come.

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Reports

Hiroshima City Council Archive II. 1990. Hiroshima: Hiroshima City.

The Vision of Nagasaki City Administration [Nagasaki Shisei Tenbo]. 1956 Nagasaki City.

Nagasaki Genbaku Sensaishi [History of the Atomic Bomb and War Damage in Nagasaki] Nagasaki City Council, 1988.

Nagasaki City Archive. 1977, 2006.

Documentary

Nagasaki Broadcasting Company (NBC). 2000. “Kami to Genbaku—Urakami Katoric hibakusha no 55 nen” [God and the Atomic Bomb—Urakami Catholic hibakusha’s last fifty-five years]

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