Hiroshima A-bomb survivor
Ms. Sugino was exposed to the atomic bomb at her house, located 1.3 km away from the hypocenter. Although she and her mother were trapped under the collapsed house, their neighbor helped them and they survived. Her elder brother, who was drafted into the military as a student, died in an explosion near the hypocenter. Her elder sister also passed away 20 days after the bombing due to severe burns. As she was too young, she does not have any clear memory of the bombing; however, she is a member of an organization of atomic bomb sufferers in Tokyo who record testimonies given by other survivors. In 2012, she started giving testimony herself with a help of her mother’s memories.
Nobuko Sugino, Hiroshima Hibakusha Testimony
The testimonies by the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki form an historical legacy that is a clarion call for promoting peace and for securing a world free of nuclear weapons.
Nobuko Sugino
Hiroshima Hibakusha
Setagaya Ward, Tokyo
My name is Nobuko Sugino. I lived through the atomic bombing and was exposed to radiation in Hiroshima when I was one and a half years old.
During summer vacations and other times, I would return to Hiroshima. One day, I suddenly realized how much my mother had aged. I thought that if she were to pass away, I would never know what had happened “on that day.” Though she had never liked to speak about it, I asked her to tell me what had happened.
The following is what she shared with me.
Before the bombing, we were a family of six: my father, mother, my eldest brother (in his first year of junior high, my second brother (in fifth grade), my older sister (in second grade), and me, one year old. On August 6, my second brother had been evacuated to the countryside with other schoolchildren, and my father had been called up for military duty, so neither of them was home.
On “that day,” my eldest brother and my sister were outside and were killed by the atomic bombing. My mother and I were trapped beneath our house, 1.3 kilometers from the hypocenter, but our neighbor happened to find and rescue us.
Fleeing from the flames, my mother ran while carrying me. Amid the many people escaping, she happened to find my sister, who was fleeing hand in hand with the mother of a classmate and her son. My sister was eight years old, in the second grade. She happened to be at school that day. My mother gathered both my sister and me, and we evacuated to the outskirts of the city.
My sister was severely burned. As soon as we arrived at an elementary school on the outskirts of the city that had become an evacuation shelter, she collapsed from exhaustion. My mother, too, was exhausted and sat down. I, apparently energized after eating a rice ball from the relief kitchen, toddled about.
At the school shelter, people who had been sitting upright and appearing healthy would suddenly fall over and die. My mother said she stared at these scenes in shock throughout the night.
On the following day, August 7, train service to the suburbs resumed, and the three of us evacuated to my mother’s family home. Severely burned, my sister passed away on August 26, three weeks after the bombing. At her side was our mother, grandmother, and our father who had just returned from the war. My sister had suffered in pain for twenty days. Still, when I think of the many children who died without anyone by their side, I sometimes feel my sister was at least somewhat fortunate.
With the renovation of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum in 2019, the most visually shocking wax figures of hibakusha were removed from the exhibits. I feel this is very unfortunate. Those wax figures were the most vivid representation of the hibakusha victims, and I imagine that my sister and mother may have looked like that. Those who remember that day often speak of how the victims’ skin hung from their bodies.
My older brother was thirteen at the time of the bombing, in his first year of middle school. Atthat time, all students in middle school and older were required to perform national service in the form of labor. My brother and his classmates were mobilized near the hypocenter to demolish houses and buildings to create firebreaks in case of air raids. My brother and all his classmates and teachers died. Needless to say, none of their bodies were ever found.
When my father returned from the war, he had lost his home and two of his children. He was in poor health for some time and lacked the will to work. My mother supported our family by doing piecework at home while raising m y older brother and me.
My mother never stopped thinking about my older brother. For a long time afterward, whenever the wind rattled the windows or the front door in the middle of the night, she would jump up saying, “Hisashi’s home! Hisashi’s home!” even if it was the middle of the night. She was usually strong and energetic, but every August 6, when she observed a moment of silence on the veranda, her back would tremble. Even decades later, a t 8:15 a.m. on August 6, she would remember the two children she had lost to the atomic bomb. I believe it must have been unbearably painful for her.
Finally, I would like to share part of my own story.
I was one year old at the time, so of course I have no memory of the bombing itself. However, perhaps because I had been trapped beneath our house, from about age three until the third grade, whenever a truck approached the road in front of our home, or I heard distant thunder,
or felt a small earthquake, I would cling to my mother. I believe that something I cannot remember left a wound in my heart.
I am of the same generation as Sadako Sasaki, who is known for the Children’s Peace Monument and the folded paper cranes in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. When I was in my first year of junior high school, Sadako, then in her second year, died of leukemia. The news spread quickly through the city’s schools. I remember donating to the construction of the Children’s Peace Monument. I recall thinking that even ten years after the bombing, people were still dying of leukemia, and the fear that I, too, had leukemia would be set off even just by getting a nosebleed. Those who were exposed to the atomic bomb all live with this fear in our hearts that we may someday develop cancer.
When I turned forty, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even though I thought it might happen someday, it was still deeply shocking to hear. Fortunately, it was detected early, so I am in good health today.
Now, at a time when wars are being fought in various parts of the world and nuclear weapons could be used at any moment, I feel that unless we continue to call for nuclear abolition, the world will become an even more dangerous place.
I can never forgive the atomic bomb and nuclear weapons that mercilessly killed my brother and sister and caused my mother suffering for the rest of her life. And they have left me, even with no memory of the experience, with lasting anxiety about radiation. I pray for the abolition of nuclear weapons so that they may disappear from this world as soon as possible.
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