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From Ashes to Blossoms: 80 Years after Hiroshima

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From Ashes to Blossoms: 80 Years after Hiroshima

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World War II remains one of the most devastating conflicts in history, claiming over 50 million lives. The war split the world into two alliances: the Allies (Britain, France, the U.S., and the Soviet Union) and the Axis powers (Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, and Imperial Japan). It was marked by profound human rights violations, including the Nazi concentration camps and U.S. internment camps.

One of the most infamous legacies of the war was the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. As the world celebrated the end of the conflict, a sobering global conversation began—one that questioned humanity’s capacity for destruction and underscored the urgent need for peace. In the decades that followed, the international community came together to help rebuild Hiroshima and support its people.

Through press photographs, military documents, personal testimonies, and survivor artworks, this exhibition shares powerful stories of survival, loss, and resilience—offering a rare glimpse into life before, during, and after the bombing.

Curated by our director, a third-generation survivor of the Hiroshima bombing, this exhibition highlights the ongoing journey from devastation to peace, featuring the voices of hibakusha who advocate for a world free from nuclear threats.

"As survivors, we cannot do anything but tell our story. 'For we shall not repeat the evil—this is the pledge of survivors". — Keiko Ogura

Eighty years later, Hiroshima continues to stand as a beacon of peace, a symbol of healing and survival. We invite visitors to engage with a story that speaks powerfully to our present and future.

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Located on an estuary of the Ota river, Hiroshima, a fan-shaped city had served as the headquarters to the Japanese army charged with defending the island of Kyushu.

Hiroshima had not yet been a target of American bombing, but Japan's deepening involvement in the war, meant that the city and its people had started becoming more vigilant. As American weather planes flew over the city, air raid warnings grew more frequent and Hiroshima's people learned to lead their lives under the looming shadow of wounds and scars.

And, so a sunny Monday morning, August 6, 1945 started out like any other day of the week. office-goers rode their bicycles, walked or made their way to the bus-stop. Soldiers practiced their calisthenics routines on the parade field and women and children, helped with clearing out the firebreaks in neighbourhoods.

In those first few hours after dawn, Hiroshima remained a calm and peaceful city, unaware of the unspeakable horror that would crush its morning quiet.

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North Field, B-29 Base on Tinian Island 

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North Field, B-29 Base on Tinian Island 

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Taken on July 7, 1945, a month before the fatal bombing of the port city of Hiroshima, this photograph gives an aerial view of the North Field airstrip. At the successful completion of the mission, the photograph was signed by the crew of the Enola Gay, and its Pilot Capt. Paul Tibbets.

Later, signatures of the crew of the Bockscar, the fighter plane that dropped "Fat Man" on Nagasaki, a few miles away from the city of Hiroshima, serve as a record of the relief and celebration following a definitive end to WWII.

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Col. Paul Tibbets was 29 years old when he was tasked with manning the B-29 that would drop the first A-Bomb bringing the Second World War to a horrific close. Named after his mother's maiden name, this signed photo shows a young Col. Paul in the cockpit of the Enola Gay, a few minutes before take-off.

In an interview taken years after the mission, he recounted how he was,

"coldly objective in that time period because the importance of that mission was so extreme. There was no way that I could fail through personal error or something like that".

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A Signed Photograph of the Mushroom Cloud

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A Signed Photograph of the Mushroom Cloud

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At 8:15 am, on August 6, 1945, Col. Paul Tibbets, in command of the Enola Gay, dropped "Little Boy" over the city of Hiroshima. By 8:16 am, the calm and peaceful morning sky was lit by a massive explosion as the A-bomb detonated 1900 feet above the city's parade field.

Col. Paul had already manoeuvred the B-29 bomber 11 1/2 miles away from "ground zero" when the crew circled back to look at the destruction unleashed. Tibbets recalled,

"The city was hidden by that awful cloud . . . boiling up, mushrooming, terrible and incredibly tall",

Within ten minutes of the explosion, the mushroom cloud had risen over 60,000 feet up into the sky veiling Hiroshima in a thick rain of black smoke and debris.

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Log of the President’s Trip to the “Berlin Conference”

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Log of the President’s Trip to the “Berlin Conference”

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The Truman Booklet is most likely the only official record of the "Berlin Conference" held in Potsdam, between July 6- August 7, 1945. Attended by the US President Harry S. Truman, the conference discussed Germany's surrender and re-integration within Europe and the rest of the world.

It also holds a record of the President's response to first hearing the news of the successful atomic bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945,

“This is the greatest thing in the world.”

The war had raged on for six years, perhaps desensitising global powers and civilians to the immeasurable fatalities. But as we contend with these twisted emotions of jubilation, even in the face of unfathomable destruction, we are left to ask:

What is the cost of war? And, are there any real winners in it?

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Most survivors describe that the blast had a "brilliant" flash of blinding light that seemed to swallow the entire city. The deafening roar of the blast followed later. Those closest to "ground zero" died instantly. The heat from the blast was so intense that it burned patterns of the dark clothing onto people's skin and the shadows of bodies onto walls.

While people indoors were spared the flash burns, the shockwaves tore down the the city's built structures, reducing them to rubble and trapping its people below mountains of debris.

In the days that followed the blast, family and friends cried out in anguish as they searched for loved ones. Many showed up with melted, blistered skin. Others, who had been further away from "ground zero", would go on to suffer a long and invisible battle against radiation poisoning.

But perhaps most frightening was the slow realisation of the scale of devastation. Relief was delayed because no one could comprehend what had happened. The Japanese government only received confirmation on the kind of weapon and its affects 16 hours after the explosion.

Though estimates vary, at least 70,000 people are believed to have perished in the initial blast including 20 American airmen held as prisoners of war in the city. By the end of 1945, the death toll in Hiroshima had climbed to over 100,000. In the years that followed, and at present, many continue to suffer from chronic illnesses and cancers that trace back to radiation poisoning.

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In the immediate aftermath of the bombing, Hiroshima was left in a state of total decimation. The city was left beyond recognition of the once thriving industrial and port city of Japan. Renamed the Dead City, these photographs depict the horrific sight of disintegration.

We see an Allied soldier as he surveys the mangled remains of Japanese buses amid the fiery ruins. A child is photographed crying, frightened, calling out to his parents.

In another photograph, taken a month later, in September 1945, an unidentified newsman stands amidst the rubble, a reminder of the immense human toll.

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On-board the HMS Glenearn, a Landing Ship Infantry, an unnamed British naval officer travelled through the ravages of the atomic blasts, solemnly documenting the wreckage and ruin of the city.

Closely guarded by the officers family, this album, made available for public viewing 80 years after, signals a step towards reconciling the violence and loss enacted by and felt on both sides of the warring factions.

As we reflect on this fateful day in history, we are compelled to ask what it means to witness destruction from afar? How does one begin to reconcile the devastating violence of war when it affects the shared core of humanity?

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The atomic bombing of Hiroshima irrevocably altered the city and its people. Survivors, known as hibakusha, not only endured the immediate devastation but also faced the long-term effects of radiation, physical injuries, and profound psychological trauma. As Hiroshima began its painful recovery, its residents confronted the moral and ethical questions raised by nuclear warfare, a struggle shared by the world at large.

Rebuilding was not just a matter of reconstructing buildings, but of reconciling with the deep emotional and psychological scars left by the bomb. Hiroshima emerged as both a symbol of destruction and a powerful advocate for peace, committed to ensuring that the horrors of nuclear war would never be repeated.

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The A-Bomb Dome, once the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, now stands as a skeletal remnant of immense historical and moral weight. The Dome has become a symbol not only of Japan’s complex wartime legacy but also of humanity's shared responsibility to confront the ethics of nuclear weapons.

Its preservation, debated for decades, reflects a nation’s struggle with its past and its role in shaping a peaceful future. Now recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the A-Bomb Dome transcends national borders to stand as a universal monument—a call to “never forget and never repeat.” In its haunting silhouette, we are reminded that ruins bear witness and stand as a solemn beacon offering lessons on the devastating capacity of war and their plea for peace in a world scarred by conflicts.

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For the children of Hiroshima, the war left deep physical and emotional scars, altering their childhoods in ways that would last a lifetime. Yet amid unimaginable loss, many found strength in education—a lifeline that symbolized their hope for renewal and their determination to rebuild. Their resilience, often unseen, became the foundation for a city and a world committed to peace. In the quiet moments of learning, there is a subtle but powerful message: even after the darkest of days, hope can grow, and a better future is possible.

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On 13th March, 1955, Mrs. Shinobu Hizume, widow of a Hiroshima bombing victim, arrived at London Airport for medical treatment. Dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, she traveled with Dr. Sugi Yamamoto, seeking relief from the long-term effects of radiation exposure.

Like many hibakusha, Mrs. Hizume suffered scars of the bombing, even a decade later. Her journey to Britain highlights the ongoing global struggle to address the profound, lingering consequences of nuclear warfare—reminding us that Hiroshima’s impact extended far beyond the immediate destruction.

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The crew of the Enola Gay, who dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima, left behind signed images and letters reflecting their thoughts and emotions during and after the mission. While many saw their actions as part of their military duty—essential for ending World War II—others wrestled with the moral weight of using a weapon of mass destruction.

In the immediate aftermath, many crew members grappled with the discomforts of their roles in the war. As soldiers they had done what was necessary to end the war. As time passed however, realisations on the human cost became harder to ignore.

While most maintained they had no regrets, viewing it as just a job, their personal accounts reveal a complex mix of pride, duty, and, for some, a lingering awareness of the destruction they had caused.

These signed letters and images offer a rare, personal insight into the crew's mindset—highlighting the tension between duty and morality in the aftermath of an unprecedented act of warfare.

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A collection of signed memorabilia and personal letters from the crew of the Enola Gay, the letters feature reflections of Captain Tibbets, Bombardier Ferebee, Navigator Van Kirk, Tail Gunner Caron, and Radar Operator Beser and their roles within the war.

Dated September 29, 1993, Captain Tibbets reflects on the crew’s precautionary cyanide capsules. They were instructed to take these with them when boarding the aircraft, the crew was ordered to consume them, in the event that their mission failed.

Carrying out the mission was neither an easy nor a straightforward decision. In fact, the crew battled with their conscience and went on to ensure significant trauma. The decision to drop the bomb was one fraught with immense ethical and psychological burden on the American forces.

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Morris R. Jeppesen's final steps before 'Little Boy' was dropped

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Morris R. Jeppesen's final steps before 'Little Boy' was dropped

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This signed photograph captures the near-total destruction of Hiroshima following the bombing and is signed by Morris R. Jeppesen, a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army Air Forces. As the Weapon Test Officer on the Enola Gay, Jeppesen's responsibility was to switch three safety plugs on the Little Boy bomb with arming plugs just before reaching the target area. This critical action, essential to prevent premature detonation, made him the last person to handle the bomb before it was dropped.

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A Documentary Interview with Retd. Brigadier General Paul Tibbets, 1989

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A Documentary Interview with Retd. Brigadier General Paul Tibbets, 1989

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Co-produced by Tibbets and the Buckeye Aviation Book Company this documentary- interview features a 58-minute-long interview between retired Brigadier General Paul Tibbets and Tom Ryan.

This excerpt is a reminder of how war forces people to overlook their moral beliefs. For Col. Paul Tibbets, dropping the bomb was akin to his responsibility for his nation. He could not have let his emotions take over his duty.

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Towards Healing: The Resilience of Hiroshima and its People

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Towards Healing: The Resilience of Hiroshima and its People

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In the aftermath of the atomic bombing, the survivors of Hiroshima—hibakusha—faced not only the physical and emotional scars of their experience but also profound social stigma. In the years following the bomb, many of the survivors were discriminated against by their own fellow Japanese citizens. Despite their suffering, they were seen as "contaminated" or "cursed". This discrimination was compounded by fears of radiation poisoning, with its prolonged health affects, which many believed could be transmitted through close contact.

The hibakusha were frequently excluded from social and professional opportunities, as employers and colleagues shunned them out of fear, ignorance, or prejudice. Even in the rebuilding efforts, survivors struggled to find acceptance, and their trauma was often minimized or overlooked in the rush to return to normalcy. This societal rejection highlighted the deep divide between the recognition of their suffering and the desire to move past the war's painful legacy.

This experience raises a difficult question: How does a society heal when it is unwilling to acknowledge its own pain? And, perhaps more profoundly, how does a nation reconcile with its own people when the scars of war are so deeply embedded in the fabric of everyday life? As we explore the path to peace in the next section, we are invited to consider how reconciliation and healing can only begin when the wounds of the past are fully recognised—not just by the world, but by the very people who lived through them.

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Showers (驟雨, Shuu) by Yoshiro Fukui (1953)

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Showers (驟雨, Shuu) by Yoshiro Fukui (1953)

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This sketch is a preparatory study for Showers (驟雨, Shuu), a painting completed by Yoshiro Fukui in 1953, now housed in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. On the back of the sketch, Fukui inscribed: "6th August, Showa Year 20 (1945)—Sketch of the Atomic Bombing Paintings, Yoshiro Fukui."

Fukui, a native of Hiroshima and a student of Western-style painting, was serving as a soldier in a relief unit when the atomic bomb exploded. Surviving the blast, he immediately began sketching the harrowing scenes around him, capturing the devastation that had obliterated the city and its inhabitants. Showers depicts a mother holding her dead child, alongside a female student, all soaked in the radioactive "black rain" that fell in the hours after the bombing—a haunting symbol of the bomb's far-reaching and lingering effects.

Fukui is often credited as one of the first artists to capture the immediate aftermath of the bombing, giving his work an intensely personal dimension. Having witnessed the destruction firsthand, Fukui’s art reflects not only the physical devastation but also the deep emotional trauma of the survivors. His sketches, which served as the foundation for later works, such as Showers, convey the profound human cost of the bombing, offering a visceral, personal account of the suffering and loss that followed. It is also symbolic of survivors taking charge of their lives and accounts. Art serves as a method to reconcile their lived experiences of the A-Bomb explosion. It serves as a space to express difficult emotions like their grief, anger and hurt. More significantly, it frees them from the burden of carrying their stories alone as they rebuild their lives.

Two similar sketches, "Sketch of Woman Holding Child and Other Persons" and "Sketch of Woman Holding Dead Child and Another Woman", are also in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum’s collection, suggesting that these rough studies were early iterations of the final painting.

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Barefoot Gen: Explosion of Tears (Hadashi no Gen: Namida no Bakuhatsu), released in 1977, is a powerful animated adaptation of Keiji Nakazawa’s semi-autobiographical manga. It offers a vivid, unflinching portrayal of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima through the eyes of a young boy, Gen, who witnesses the immediate devastation and its long-lasting effects on survivors.

The film stands out for its raw depiction of the bomb’s horrors, highlighting the physical and emotional trauma experienced by the people of Hiroshima. Unlike many earlier depictions, Barefoot Gen provides a deeply personal, child’s perspective on the destruction, making the impact of nuclear warfare all the more tangible and harrowing.

Released in the 1970s, when Japan was grappling with its post-war identity, the film served as a poignant reminder of the catastrophic consequences of the atomic bomb. It called for peace, reconciliation, and the abolition of nuclear weapons, urging viewers to unite for human dignity, solidarity and peace across the world.

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Protest at the 40th Anniversary of the Hiroshima Bombing, 1985

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Protest at the 40th Anniversary of the Hiroshima Bombing, 1985

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On August 6, 1985, during the 40th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, a group of anti-nuclear protesters staged a powerful demonstration to call attention to the ongoing global threat of nuclear weapons.

While survivors and dignitaries gathered for the official memorial ceremony inside Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, several hundred pacifist protesters gathered outside. Many of them, dressed in white robes, staged a dramatic "die-in" on the streets at the exact moment the bomb dropped on Hiroshima 40 years earlier. The protesters, lying down in symbolic death poses, sought to dramatise the horrors of nuclear warfare and the continuing danger posed by atomic weapons.

Their peaceful protest outside the park was a poignant reminder that, despite the passage of four decades, the specter of nuclear annihilation remained a pressing issue, and that true peace could only be achieved through the abolition of nuclear weapons.

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In a poignant ceremony that took place along the banks of the Motoyasu River, in front of the A-Bomb Dome, paper lanterns were lit and gently set afloat on the river's waters, creating a moving display of remembrance and hope. This Lantern Floating Ceremony has become a deeply symbolic tradition in Hiroshima, honoring the lives lost and reaffirming the city's commitment to peace.

Each lantern, drifting softly on the Motoyasu River, carries the spirits of the hibakusha—the survivors—and all those who perished in the bombing. The soft glow of the lanterns reflects the collective wish for healing, peace, and the prevention of future nuclear destruction.

In this quiet act of remembrance, the city continues its journey towards reconciliation, shining a light on the enduring need for global peace and a world free from nuclear weapons.

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46th Anniversary of Hiroshima: Remembering Hiroshima's Past, Shaping the Future

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46th Anniversary of Hiroshima: Remembering Hiroshima's Past, Shaping the Future

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These photos from the 46th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing capture the city’s somber reflection most poignantly.

In one, an elderly man dressed in mourning black stands alone by the river near the A-Bomb Dome, lost in thought, remembering the countless victims of the blast, as the water carried them.

The second photo shows a young boy gazing up at the Dome, listening intently as his sister explains its significance on their way to a pool.

In a third, doves flutter over Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park during the memorial service, while the skeletal remains of the A-Bomb Dome shimmer in the background—both a symbol of devastation and a testament to resilience.

In carrying a painful history, Hiroshima's past invites us to reflect on the values of unity and peace, one that continues to resonate with our present.

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The Tokyo Federation of A-Bomb Sufferers Organizations, known as Toyukai, was established in 1956 to support survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings residing in Tokyo. Since its founding, it has played a vital role in advocating for the welfare of hibakusha and pushing for the abolition of nuclear weapons.

As part of a campaign to raise funds for documenting and preserving survivors’ testimonies, the organization sold crane pins; symbols of peace and longevity in Japanese culture. These original pins remain powerful reminders of resilience and hope.

Origami cranes have become closely tied to the hibakusha’s call for peace and an end to war. One of the most enduring symbols of this is Sadako Sasaki. 2 years old when the A-Bomb detonated, Sadako developed leukaemia, the "A-Bomb disease", when she was 11 years old.

According to a Japanese legend, if a sick person folds 1,000 origami cranes, their wish for health will be granted. Throughout her hospital stay, Sadako folded well over 1,000 cranes, finding strength and purpose in the act. Though she passed away, her legacy has continued to live on. Today, millions around the world fold paper cranes in her memory and in solidarity with the victims of nuclear warfare. At the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, a large glass display continues being filled with these cranes—left by visitors from across the globe.

Each fold of the crane carries a quiet plea for peace, non-violence, and remembrance, turning a traditional act of hope into a living tradition, symbolic of human compassion, unity, and the pursuit of peace.

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Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum: A Beacon for Peace

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Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum: A Beacon for Peace

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The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum stands as a powerful symbol of both the devastating consequences of war and the enduring need for global peace. The Peace Memorial, with its A-Bomb Done, is one of the few structures to have survived the atomic blast.

Since its establishment, the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum has played a critical role in educating visitors from around the world about the realities of a nuclear explosion. Through personal stories, photographs, artefacts and multimedia exhibits, the museum bears witness to the suffering of the hibakusha and the long-lasting effects of the atomic bomb on both Hiroshima and the world. It is a place where the tragedies of the past are not only remembered but serve as a stark reminder of the consequences of global conflict.

In today's world, it remains as relevant as ever. With ongoing threats of nuclear proliferation and the possibility of weapons of mass destruction, the museums serves as a critical space for dialogue about the importance of disarmament and the ethical implications of nuclear technology.

The museum continues to serve not merely as a symbol of peace, but as a reminder that peace is a shared responsibility for all of humanity.

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Cards that have a collage of photos will be displayed individually but with a shared caption.