It's not the kind of movie you would expect from the studio that made My Neighbor Totoro (in fact, for some bizarre reason, this movie was originally shown as a double feature with My Neighbor Totoro, even though the movies could not possibly have more different tones). Sure, Studio Ghibli is known for making nuanced movies with environmental, anti-war messages such as Nausicaa: Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke, but Grave of the Fireflies is far more visceral and grounded in the heartbreaking bleakness of real life. It's quite possibly the most viscerally bleak movie I have ever seen. I won't go into detail, but I will say that I've never cried so much during a movie in my life--and I cry at almost any movie that's mildly tragic.
Why mention this on a blog post that's supposed to be about my vacation in Japan? Well, because my reasons for going to Hiroshima are partly rooted in this film. As I mentioned, it's not about the atomic bombing and doesn't even take place in Hiroshima, but it is a stark reminder of one of America's darkest moments in its brief, violent history, and of the uniquely horrific events that transpired in Japan during the second World War (although the film's says it's not an antiwar movie, oddly enough). It motivated me to want to travel to Hiroshima to learn about the atomic bombing and the history surrounding it.
The sheer sadness of the movie also touched me, and perhaps part of the reason I wanted to see the Atomic Bomb Dome and Peace Museum was because I had some morbid desire to come closer to that tragedy. Watching Grave of the Fireflies filled me with a sensation I hadn't felt from any other movie, and perhaps what drew me to the history of Hiroshima's destruction and rebuilding was that sensation, a unique sense of tragedy that surrounds the Pacific War and World War 2. That may make me sound fairly shallow, to want to come closer to one of the most terrible events in modern history because I saw a movie. But any good movie is supposed to make you think about the real themes with which it grapples, and in that sense I would say that Grave of the Fireflies is one of the most powerful films I have ever seen, and one that I have no shame in citing as one of the reasons I wanted to travel throughout Japan.
So, to that end, the first thing my family and I did after arriving at Hiroshima (after storing our luggage at the hotel) was taking a shuttle bus out to the Atomic Bomb Dome. I had seen this building many times in photos during my Japanese language class; one of our lesson units focused on the Atomic Bomb Dome. I wanted to see it for real, and as it turned out, I found a lot more there than I expected. First, some pictures:
I felt a mixture of emotions seeing the dome. On one hand, you can't help but be aware of the intense tragedy associated with it. This building represents what Hiroshima looked like after the bombing: desolate, ruined, with almost no remainder of the bustling city it was before. It held an important place in Japanese history long before the bombing; the Emperor even stayed there for a brief period of time during the Sino-Japanese war to plan strategy. Yet within the range of the bomb, almost everything was completely destroyed: buildings, homes, families, lives.
Still the dome remains. Originally known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition Hall, it was designed by Czech architect Jan Letzel and completed in 1915. It went through various changes over the years, and changed names as well, but remained popular for its use for art exhibitions and other cultural events. However, during the war, it was taken over by various government agencies and repurposed for usage to further the war effort. It also happened to be under the spot where the bomb was dropped, and because of this, it managed to survive since the impact of the explosion went more outward than downward.
Today, it seems that very little of the building has been changed, and rubble still remains lying on the ground around it. While metal support beams have been installed to prevent the poorly-supported building from collapsing on itself, it's remarkable how well it has held together with rather minimal outside interference, all things considered. In that sense, it's almost more of a hopeful symbol than a tragic one: even in the aftermath of war, we are not completely broken. Or something like that.
Also, while my family and I were busy contemplating the horrors of war and lamenting how absolutely heartless us Americans were in dropping atomic bombs on a country that had all but surrendered, a cat came around to break the tension.
Anyway, it was pretty bizarre: while we were feeling all sad, this adorable stray cat starts walking through the building as if it had no significance whatsoever. For the cat, it was just another obstacle to be overcome on its way to...well, probably food. Or maybe just somewhere to take a nap. As horrible as it seems to describe anything related to the atomic bombing as funny, there was definitely something funny about a random cat just casually strolling through the rubble of the Atomic Bomb Dome. Plus, it's hard to stay sad when cute cats are around.
Near the dome, my family and I found a man named Mito Kosei (I put the last name first, as is the Japanese style). Well, I say found, but it's not like he was hiding. He was surrounded by tourists like ourselves, asking him questions and reading the literature he had left for people. As I found out, he was an in-utero survivor of the atomic bombing; his mother was four months pregnant when the Americans dropped the bomb. She is still alive today.
For 12 years, he has been volunteering his time as a tour guide, giving people history and testimony about the bombing and its aftermath and preceding events, and helping people find less well-known historical spots relating to the bombing. He also has written a great deal about nuclear power, citing various disasters and near-disasters caused by nuclear power and nuclear weaponry, as well as information about recent efforts to create a nuclear-free, or at least nuclear-reduced, world. His dedication is incredible and has amassed a great deal of information and made his mission of a nuclear-free world very publicly known; he even met with the Prime Minister of Malaysia in 2009. He has a blog too, if anyone is interested in checking it out.
I had not expected to meet and get to briefly speak to a survivor of the atomic bombing, but I'm very glad to have had the chance. Because of him, I learned a great deal about the bombing, and about nuclear weapons, including the dismaying but not surprising lack of commitment that America has made towards reducing nuclear weapons; according to Mito-san's, information, the Obama administration spent 1 trillion dollars on bolstering America's nuclear arsenal, and the Trump administration is set to spend even more.
After we visited the Atomic Bomb Dome, we went to the Peace Memorial Museum, where we learned even more about the bombing and the events leading up to it and following it, which were both distressing but also inspiring; so many people, both from Japan and internationally, devoted their efforts to helping survivors and raising awareness of the dangers of a world with nuclear weaponry. But at the same time, particularly as an American, it felt rather painful to read about just how calculated the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were. They were carried out with ruthless strategy, designed to cause the maximum amount of physical and psychological damage possible. Also, because of the American Occupations, news about the true nature and effects of the bombing were censored for years afterwards. As my dad noted, it's a wonder that the Japanese have welcomed American tourism and interest in Japan as readily as they have. I have to imagine that if the positions were reversed, and America was the victim of such an atrocity as we committed, us Americans would hold a much longer, more open grudge against our aggressors. I didn't take many pictures as I didn't know where it was allowed, but I don't know if I need any here. I think I've said all I really wanted to say. And I can only say so much; this is a place, I think, that is best experienced firsthand.
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