I received the sad news that Shigeko Sasamori passed away in her sleep this week at the age of 92. Shigeko was 13 years old when the atomic bomb detonated over Hiroshima and suffered deadly injuries. She was so badly burned that she was unrecognizable. Her father found her days after because she kept repeating her name. In 1955, Shigeko was chosen to be part of a small group of young girls called the Hiroshima Maidens. They were brought to New York to have reconstructive plastic surgeries. Shigeko immigrated and lived the majority of her life in Los Angeles.
I photographed Shigeko while she visited New York through Hibakusha Stories to speak with students at high schools and universities. Hibakusha Stories gave several hibakusha (atomic bomb survivors) the opportunity to communicate with thousands of students for almost a decade.
The first photograph is of Shigeko dancing with students at Hunter College, and the other is with high school students at Brooklyn Friends during 2013. It was amazing to see the connection each hibakusha had with students who were 60 years younger than them. The attention and respect that the students had was surprising. I often wonder after all these years if they still realize how lucky they were to have met hibakusha like Shigeko.
I’ve never exhibited photographs of Shigeko in any of the From Above exhibitions. Maybe because my time around her dictated that the photographs were more documentary than the portraits in the project. It feels like I took these photographs yesterday, but more than a decade has passed. I’m grateful for that small amount of time Shigeko allowed me to be there with my camera.
“I thought the bomb was dropped right next to me. But actually the bomb was detonated 2,800 meters (almost 2 miles) away.” -Takeshi Minekawa
I recently received the sad news that Mr. Takeshi Minekawa passed away on January 5th, 2024. He was 87 years old. I photographed him near the hypocenter where the atomic bomb detonated over Nagasaki. This portrait has only been shown at the From Above exhibition in 2018. I took the photograph nearly a decade after I began photographing hibakusha, atomic bomb survivors.
Mr. Minekawa was nine years old when the atomic bomb exploded. He was with his parents when the plane carrying the “Fat Boy” atomic bomb flew over Nagasaki. They went outside to look when the air raid siren sounded and were overwhelmed by the enormous boom, flash of light, wind, and heat immediately after the explosion.
This portrait is part of my project From Above, which is a collection of portraits and reminiscences of atomic bomb survivors and firebombing survivors from Dresden, Tokyo, Coventry, Rotterdam, and Wielun. From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited internationally in museums, exhibition spaces, and at the United Nations. From Above was released as a limited edition book that was sold at PhotoEye.com. It is sold out, but I have the last copies. Contact me if you’re interested.
“My sister kept asking, “Where’s mother?” Suddenly, she went silent. That was probably the moment she passed away. The next morning, I arrived at my home and found my mother’s body. All of her clothes were burned off. She was 39 years old.” -Jouji Fukahori, atomic bomb survivor
I received the sad news that Mr. Jouji Fukahori passed away on October 28th at the age of 94. Mr. Fukahori was 14 years old when the atomic bomb destroyed Nagasaki. He lived 500m (1/3 mile) from the hypocenter in the Urakami district. It was home to 15,000 Christians and the Urakami Cathedral, the largest cathedral in East Asia.
The area was transformed into a field of ash. It’s estimated that three-quarters of the population in Urakami died. Many of the residents who survived only did because they were away from the area. The stone cathedral was split into pieces. Its twin bell towers were pummeled to the ground. One tower was thrown down the hill, which the cathedral was built on top of. I photographed Mr. Fukahori standing next to damaged religious statues that remain on the grounds of the rebuilt Urakami Cathedral.
This portrait has been shown on-line, but has yet to be seen in a From Above exhibition. I’ve worked on preparing an exhibition print and want to show it at the upcoming From Above exhibitions. I didn’t photograph him until ten years into the project. There are a lot of portraits in the project, I’ve begun to rotate some in during the middle of exhibitions so that more can be seen.
From Above is a collection of portraits and reminiscences of atomic bomb survivors and firebombing survivors from Dresden, Tokyo, Coventry, Rotterdam, and Wielun. From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited internationally in museums, exhibition spaces, and at the United Nations. From Above was released as a limited edition book that was sold at PhotoEye.com. It is sold out, but I have the last copies. Contact me if you’re interested.
“I was 4 years old when the atomic bomb was dropped. So I don’t know “normal life.” I hated the war for a long time, but realized having a grudge does nothing. I have to speak and leave messages to the next generation.” -Hidetaka Komine
Yesterday I received the sad news that Hidetaka Komine passed away, a couple of days before his 84th birthday. I met Mr. Komine during the second day of my initial trip to Nagasaki. He was the fifth hibakusha, atomic bomb survivor, I met. I remember it clearly because he was an unforgettable and remarkable person. He left an impression even before we were introduced. When I was walking back into the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum, I caught a glimpse of a man wearing a leather jacket and smoking a cigarette. He looked like he rode a Harley Davidson. Twenty minutes later, when it was time for my next interview and photograph, the man with the leather jacket walked in, it was Mr. Komine. He immediately started speaking and using his hands like I do, more direct and aggressive than any person I met in Japan. Even though I had no idea what he was saying, I knew he was interesting. He reminded me of the characters from my childhood in Brooklyn.
Mr. Komine lived a tough life, but he fought through the struggles and lived with dignity and pride. He could admit to the pain, anger, sadness, and regrets. There was no veil of secrecy in his words. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone who was tougher, sincere, or more compassionate. This is what real strength is to me.
He became my friend from the first moment. I returned to Nagasaki many times, and he was always there to greet me, and developed a friendship with my translator Seiichi. On my second visit to Nagasaki in May 2010, I exhibited the first portraits at the Nagasaki Peace Museum so that everyone I photographed could see. At that point, the project was seen once in Tokyo and there wasn’t any interest from venues in Nagasaki. Izumi and I were persistent. When Mr. Komine came to the exhibition with the other hibakusha, we spoke about my trip to Dresden to photograph firebombing survivors. But I will always remember him speaking with another person I photographed and saying that he didn’t recognize them because “Paule made them look better in the photograph.” That was Mr. Komine’s personality, like a character from Brooklyn and not like anyone else in Japan.
“If I had not encountered the atomic bomb, I don’t know what kind of life was waiting for me.”
The atomic bomb was one of Mr. Komine’s first memories of life. He was the first to tell me that the life of an hibakusha was cut in two. The life before the atomic bomb, and then the sharp cut the moment after the bomb exploded. His entire life he was subjected to discrimination, and prejudice. One day as a child he had enough of the fierce bullying because the atomic bomb left him with injuries that made it painful to walk. He fought back, risking serious injury, but he considered it a salvation to stand up for himself.
It wasn’t until he was 50 years old that Mr. Komine publicly spoke about his experiences. He was ready earlier in life to speak than most hibakusha. It was an honor that Mr. Komine was my friend. He made me a better person, and had more compassion and strength in one of his fingernails than I have in my entire body. The world was a better place with him in it. He will be missed.
“I lost my memory for 58 years. I also wished I had not remembered. Now I believe god asked me to remember so I could tell others what happened.”
-Rumi Hanagaki, atomic bomb survivor
Rumi Hanagaki was five years old when the atomic bomb exploded over Hiroshima. She was 1.7km from the hypocenter. On the morning of August 6th, 1945, Rumi, her grandmother and aunt were inside their home. Her mother was doing the laundry in the yard carrying her younger brother on her back. Then suddenly there was a flash. In an instant fire spread all over. The house was toppled. A chest of drawers fell on Rumi. She managed to free herself from underneath and run outside. Her mother, brother; who was blown across the yard ran to the bamboo grove nearby. The grove caught on fire immediately. The grass ignited into sparks and bamboo swelled in the heat and exploded, making a huge clanging sound. Splinters of shattered bamboo scattering everywhere, they ran in horror.
While escaping, Rumi was speechless as she encountered dreadful sights. She saw a doll that her mother made, burning quietly without any smoke or fire. The landscape was struin with birds burnt to charcoal and burnt dogs still wearing collars. She came across a woman sitting in a burnt field crying “I can’t leave with my son buried in this rubble.” Rumi passed a black lump with water gushing out. They realized that the lump were burnt bodies without limbs, totally black and swollen like rubber were piled up. Her mother hugged her tightly and said, “Don’t look!”
Because of the shock, she lost her memories about the atomic bomb for 58 years. When she was 63 years old, her memories suddenly returned.
This portrait is a part of my From Above project, which is a collection of portraits and reminiscences of atomic bomb survivors and firebombing survivors from Dresden, Tokyo, Coventry, Rotterdam, and Wielun. From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited in museums, exhibition spaces, and at the United Nations. From Above was released as a limited edition book that was sold at PhotoEye.com. It is sold out, but I have the last copies. Contact me if you’re interested.
“I thought the world was exploding. I can remember it as if it were yesterday.”
-Inosuke Hayasaki
地球が爆発しているんじゃないかと思った。その時のことは今でも昨日のことのように覚えている。
I received the sad news that Mr. Inosuke Hayasaki passed away on April 28th. Mr. Hayasaki was 14 years old when the atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. He was working at a Mitsubishi arms factory 1km away from the hypocenter. I photographed him solemnly standing at the hypocenter, underneath the exact point where the bomb detonated over Nagasaki. It’s usually a place that a few random people walk through to get from one part of Nagasaki to another. That early morning in December, we were alone. Only the birds were criss crossing from one tree to another while we quietly photographed.
His portrait was taken years after my book, From Above, was published. But it was exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims in 2017.
I received the sad news that Mr. Yoshitoshi Fukahori passed away from pneumonia on May 21st. He was 93 years old. The first time I met Mr. Fukahori was in 2010 during my second trip to Nagasaki. He was fourteen years old and 3.5km away from the hypocenter when the atomic bomb was detonated.
Hours after the bomb was dropped, he and a friend went to retrieve the bodies of his older sister and uncle that were trapped underneath the rubble of their home located close to the hypocenter. They didn’t reach the house until the next day because the fire and debris made it impossible to get to. His aunt’s body was never found. “My sister didn’t die instantly. I regretted not coming to help her the day before. That memory still hurts me. On August 12th, I went back to Nagasaki with my mother to cremate my sister. My mother never looked at the fire. She stood still, staring at the ground, praying. That was the most difficult sight.”
On my second trip to Nagasaki, I asked Ayumi if I could meet Mr. Fukahori. I read an article that after the war, Mr. Fukahori started speaking about his experiences. But he believed words would not be enough, and he established the Committee for Research of Photographs and Materials of the Atomic Bombing in 1979. He collected more than 3,000 photographs taken of the bomb’s aftermath. Many of the photos depict similarly harrowing scenes to those Mr. Fukahori witnessed. I was interested because he wanted to tell the story through photographs. Most hibakusha use their words or paint and pictures to describe their experiences. Mr. Fukahori’s collection of photographs hit me harder because it is a snapshot of reality. No imagination was needed, and the brutality was right there in the photograph.
I visited Mr. Fukahori for the last time in December 2018. He had moved into a home for the elderly, but he was still sharp and affable. He spent an hour talking to us and joking how the staff at the elderly home had him on a schedule to exercise. This the last frame I photographed of him when he walked Ayumi and me to the elevator. I photographed from the elevator as he disappeared behind the curtain.
…Nagasaki…This morning I received the sad news that Yoshiro Yamawaki passed away on September 17th. I photographed Mr. Yamawaki during my first trip to Nagasaki in September 2008. His portrait is in my book, From Above, and has been exhibited several times. He was the only hibakusha, atomic bomb survivor, during that visit who spoke to me in English. He learned English when he retired so that he could communicate his experiences about the atomic bomb and educate more people about the dangers of nuclear weapons.
Mr. Yamawaki was eleven-years-old when the atomic bomb was detonated over Nagasaki. He was at home 2.2km from the hypocenter. His testimony was about him and his brother venturing through a sea of rubble to find their father’s body at the Mitsubushi Steel Works Factory the day after the bomb destroyed the city. The two young boys then had to cremate the body. The next day they returned to the burned out factory to get the ashes, but because of the lack of wood the body wasn’t fully cremated. They wept at the sight of their father’s lifeless body and vowed never to tell their mother they weren’t able to cremate his body.
I only saw Mr. Yamawaki twice after my initial trip to Nagasaki. He came to the exhibition at the Nagasaki Peace Museum in 2010 and the exhibition at the Peace Memorial Hall in 2017. He was a true ambassador, and I wish more of the people we assign as diplomats would learn a lesson from his desire to communicate the truth about the suffering war and nuclear weapons cause. I’ll always remember him insisting that he tell me his testimony in English. His efforts educated everyone he spoke to, but the job of educating the world about the horrors of war and the use of nuclear weapons is far from completed.
“After the war I saw the photo of the mushroom cloud, but I thought they should have shown photos of the people underneath. It’s a bloody shame!”
-Ron Schlote
Ron Scholte was serving in the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army (KNIL) when he was taken as a prisoner of war by the Japanese when they invaded Java in 1942, and later sent to Fukuoka Camp 14 in Nagasaki. He was used as a forced laborer until the end of the war in August 1945. He was one of 120 Dutch POWs to survive the atomic bombing of Nagasaki.
Ron was working inside a tunnel about a mile from the hypocenter when the atomic bomb detonated. When the workers heard a plane approaching, some of them went near the tunnel’s entrance to peek out. When they only saw a B-29 I thought it couldn’t have been an air raid. Then a small parachute was dropped. Suddenly a bright flash of light blinded me and I was tossed back into the tunnel by a strong gust of wind.
“I didn’t know the type of weapon that was used. I was in the middle of the chaos and couldn’t think of the end of the war. We went back to the city without knowing the consequences of radiation exposure. For a couple of days my task was to gather dead bodies to be cremated. It was the most painful thing I had to do- especially when the bodies were children. Sometimes I would pick up charred bodies which would just break apart. There were a lot of wounded. I also carried a wounded soldier on my back through a field to get medical attention. I felt it was my duty to help no matter how badly I had been treated previously.
Nagasaki is now a beautiful city but it was totally destroyed. I had to stay on top of a hill for two nights because the city was burning. I saw the entire city in flames. Many of us were burned and our open wounds were attacked by maggots.
I didn’t learn about the surrender until a couple of days after. A Japanese man approached me and said “War Finished. Japan and America are now friends.” The soldiers disappeared and only the honcho (boss) from the Mitsubishi shipyard was there. He told me that he lost all his family and had nothing to eat. I had a little food and gave it to him. I hugged him when we said goodbye. I felt deep sympathy for his loss. Three weeks later we were liberated.”
I had the privilege of photographing Mr. Scholte in January 2015. I had learned about his story and it took me a long time to find him. Even on the day of our meeting my train connections to the southern Netherlands were delayed because of a small snowstorm in Amsterdam. I arrived at his home as the sun set, a few hours late, and snapped this photograph when I caught him glimpsing out a window as I walked to the front door. I didn’t think this would be the portrait I would use in the project. But as time passed and I thought about his story it made sense. When I look at this photograph, he is beginning to fade away in the reflection of the landscape. A few years prior, he had begun writing down his experiences in Nagasaki because he was diagnosed with dementia. The story was too important to be lost in his fading mind so I’m grateful he had documented his experiences in great detail. That day he was able to speak for hours about what he had seen in Nagasaki.
He was living alone but shortly after my visit was moved to an elderly home as his mind rapidly deteriorated. He lived a little less than four years after we met and passed away at the age of 94. Not many people know that there were Dutch POW’s affected by the atomic bomb. Most of them died from various forms of cancer within ten years of 1945. The majority of Dutch people I speak to about Mr. Schlote and the other Dutch POW I photographed are shocked to learn about their stories.
This portrait is a part of From Above, which is a collection of portraits and reminiscences of atomic bomb survivors. From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited in numerous international museums and exhibition spaces. From Above was released as a limited edition book released as a limited edition book available at https://www.photoeye.com/bookstore/citation.cfm?catalog=I1040&i=&i2
An article written by Miki Shirasaka for KYODO News about From Above was published in several newspapers around Japan. From Above is a collection of portraits and reminiscences of atomic bomb survivors and firebombing survivors from the Second World War. From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited in numerous international museums and was most recently exhibited in Dresden, Germany.
The article also introduced my portraits of Ukrainian teenagers who have fled the war that is currently raging in their country. Miki was one of the first journalists to write about From Above when I began the project in 2008. I’m grateful for her interest throughout the years.
