The Legacy of Sadako Sasaki

Earlier this evening I was trying to catch up on all the stuff I had recorded on my DVR, as I'm starting to run out of space.  Among the many things I had recorded was an NHK program entitled "My Small Steps from Hiroshima."  This program examined the role of Kaoru Ogura, a Japanese American, who devoted his life to bringing the story of A-bomb victims and survivors to the world.  He was, for many years, the director of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and is also almost solely responsible for introducing the story of Sadako Sasaki to Japan and the rest of the world.

For those of you not familiar with the story, Sadako was two years old on August 6, 1945 when the atomic bomb named "Little Boy" was dropped from the B-29 "Enola Gay" on the city of Hiroshima.  Although Sadako survived the actual blast, ten years later she developed leukemia.  There was a significant increase in the incidence of leukemia among children after the bombing; a consequence of exposure to radiation from the bomb.  Sadly, many young children, especially junior and senior high school kids, were organized into special brigades tasked with clearing streets after bombings.  The idea was for them to clear the streets to allow fire and rescue crews to navigate damaged areas to fight fires and rescue survivors.  Unfortunately, many of these kids who rose to the occasion and did their jobs, were exposed to some of the highest levels of radiation and many died within days; others developed various cancers and they lived relatively short lives.  Anyway, I digress....there is a Japanese tradition that if you fold 1,000 paper cranes (tsuru in Japanese), you will be granted a single wish.  Putting her faith in this tradition, Sadako began to fold paper tsuru in the hopes of being cured of her leukemia.  She died October 25, 1955 at the age of 12.

Mr. Ogura was instrumental in getting not just Sadako's story out to the Japanese public and the world, but also the stories of countless other hibakusha (A-bomb survivors).  Many of these individuals have lived their entire lives suffering from scars; physical, psychological, and emotional, from that fateful day in 1945.  Although he has passed, his wife, Keiko Ogura, carries on his legacy by continuing to talk to school children across the world about her own experiences as a hibakusha.  The story of Sadako and the cranes is now very widely known and children across the world fold cranes in her honor.  Every year, thousands upon thousands of cranes are brought to Hiroshima to be placed at the statue commemorating Sadako or at the Children's Memorial.  It's very impressive to see all these tsuru from across the globe that continue to honor the legacy of Sadako.

After watching this show, I started to reflect on my own connection with August 6, 1945.  Although I'm a 4th generation American of Japanese ancestry, my parents were both in Japan during the war.  My mother is a Japanese national, but my father is a 3rd generation American of Japanese ancestry.  My grandfather moved the family back to Japan prior to the Second World War, so my father spent his formative years in Japan, before returning to the U.S. in 1955.  Both my parents and the vast majority of my relatives in Japan are hibakusha.  My parents rarely, if ever, talk to strangers about their wartime experiences, but I have been fortunate in that they have been very open with me about what they saw, experienced, and felt during that time.  Needless to say, their experiences have left a deep impression upon me. 

Even after seeing photos and visiting the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, it's still very hard for me to fully appreciate the horrors they witnessed.  My maternal grandfather was a naval officer and stationed near the famed Hiroshima Dome, the epicenter of the atomic blast.  We assume he was instantaneously vaporized; sadly, he was one of the lucky ones.  I lost other relatives whom I'd also never meet.  The unlucky were the ones who slowly died of burns, radiation poisoning, various forms of cancer, or other radiation-based diseases.  Countless thousands lived the rest of their lives with permanently melted flesh, deformities, or microscopic shards of glass embedded in them.  One of my mother's neighbors never wore long sleeved shirts, because if he did, the fabric would lightly snag on the tiny shards of glass embedded in his arms, which would cause him immense pain.  Sadly, he wanted to wear long sleeves to hide the significant scarring on his arms, where his flesh had essentially melted due to the intense heat of the blast.  Still others had to live with the stigma and discrimination of having been exposed to the bomb.  Single female hibakusha in particular found it impossible to marry, since it was thought that exposure to the radiation would result in their giving birth to deformed children, regardless of how healthy they were. 

Aside from my family's story, I never gave much thought to the legacy of Sadako Sasaki, aside from the poignancy of her story and the powerful message it conveyed.  However, it all came full-circle for me on May 29, 2016.  Many of  you know that I volunteer at the Japanese American National Museum as a docent and photographer.  May 29, 2016 was the opening reception for "Above the Fold," an exhibition about origami (Japanese paper folding) and it's role in art, science, and industry.  What was special about that reception was that the museum was to take ownership of one of the original tsuru actually folded by Sadako Sasaki.  Her older brother (Masahiro Sasaki), nephew (Yuji Sasaki), and the grandson of President Harry Truman (Clifton Truman Daniel), came to present the precious artifact to the museum.  These three have tirelessly worked to not just keep the memory of Sadako alive, but to also spread the stories of hibakusha and to speak out against the production and proliferation of nuclear weapons.  Only a handful of the tsuru are out in the public, let alone outside of Japan, so the museum was very honored to receive this artifact from the family.  The tsuru is on display at the Japanese American National Museum and as you can see from the accompanying photo, it's very small. 

Photo Credit:  Dr. Tsuneo Takasugi

I was one of the photographers that day, but I got a chance to meet Masahiro Sasaki and briefly talk with him.  I shared with him that my parents were hibakusha and that at some level, I understood what he and his sister went through and how much I appreciated his sharing his and his sister's story.  However, what struck me most was what he told me.  He encouraged me to convince my parents to talk about their experiences to the public (something I've not been successful at doing), but he also said it was more important for me to share my parents' story, especially after they pass.  While that was something that I knew and understood, there was just something about the way he encouraged me to do this, that made it seem even more important. 

So, after watching "My Small Step from Hiroshima," I recalled what Masahiro Sasaki told me.  I also started to think about Sadako, her cranes, and her legacy.  Here was a young girl who was an innocent victim of war, faced one of the most horrific weapons of war, put her faith in the story of a thousand cranes, and faced the challenges of fighting leukemia; a battle she eventually lost.  However, her friends, her classmates, children across Japan, and children across the world continue to fold tsuru in her name and in the name of peace.  In some real sense, the countless millions of tsuru folded over the decades form a physical link between August 6, 1945 and today.

The story of the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are important today as they were over 70 years ago.  I know many will argue of the military necessity to end the war and the countless lives that were saved.  One could make that calculus and defend it and I don't mean to directly comment on its morality.  I just know that those who survived the initial blast did not deserve the horrors or the challenges they faced afterwards.  I am very fortunate that among all my relatives who survived August 6, 1945, none suffered from any long-term effects....at least to my knowledge.  Even my father, who was buried under rubble and had to dig himself out, was very fortunate to have not suffered any major injuries or long-term effects like others.  But members of my family are among the minority.  In this day and age when more countries are developing nuclear weapons, with some not adhering to or becoming signatories of the Treaty on the Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons and with countries with unstable leadership, like North Korea, developing nuclear capabilities, it is important to remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Note:  All photos were taken by me, except the cover of the Sadako book and the credited photo by Dr. Takasugi.