…16:19…Sarajevo….A woman walking alongside the traffic in what was known as Sniper Alley during the Siege of Sarajevo. Thirty years ago, during the siege that lasted four years, Sniper Alley ran along the main boulevard into and out of Sarajevo. Sarajevo is a long and narrow city that sits in a valley with mountains on each side. Serbian snipers were positioned in the high-rise buildings along the road and mountains a little further away. They picked off anything that moved in the street or who they could see in the windows of the apartments. Civilians still had to move around the city to survive. They risked their lives each time they stepped outside to get water, food, or wood to burn for heat.
What seemed insane but was reality, they either ran down a street to hide behind an obstacle, like a destroyed tram or car, or would wait for United Nations armored vehicles and walk behind them, using them as shields. It was luck that kept people from dying in the street. In most cases, if someone was shot, the body couldn’t be retrieved easily since the snipers would then prey on the people trying to recover the body. It was barbaric.
…11:08…Sarajevo….A young woman standing on the corner, underneath a bullet riddled building in what was known as Sniper Alley during the Siege of Sarajevo. Thirty years ago, during the siege that lasted four years, Sniper Alley ran along the main boulevard into and out of Sarajevo. Sarajevo is a long and narrow city that sits in a valley with mountains on each side. Serbian snipers were positioned in the high-rise buildings along the road and mountains a little further away. They picked off anything that moved in the street or who they could see in the windows of the apartments. Civilians still had to move around the city to survive. They risked their lives each time they stepped outside to get water, food, or wood to burn for heat.
What seemed insane but was reality, they either ran down a street to hide behind an obstacle, like a destroyed tram or car, or would wait for United Nations armored vehicles and walk behind them, using them as shields. It was luck that kept people from dying in the street. In most cases, if someone was shot, the body couldn’t be retrieved easily since the snipers would then prey on the people trying to recover the body. It was barbaric.
The New York Times printed my portrait of Shigeko Sasamori, a well known atomic bomb survivor who died this week in Los Angeles. It’s my first portrait of an atomic bomb survivor that they’ve ever published. I’m proud that a larger audience will know about Shigeko because her life deserves attention. After everything she endured, she still gave empathy to the world every moment of every day.
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.
…December 1st, World AIDS Day…On October 13th, 1996, the entire AIDS Memorial Quilt was displayed on the National Mall in Washington, DC, for the last time. It was unbelievably sad to see how massive it was. Each small quilt was made for a person who has passed away from AIDS. The quilt was laid from the Capitol to the Washington Monument. A large amount of space. The names on the quilts spanned all demographics and ages; male, female, young, elderly, middle age, children, husbands, wives, lovers, partners, friends, artists, business people, a few famous people and mostly ordinary people who were loved by someone. I remember wanting to find the quilt made for Freddie Mercury, but as soon as I saw the landscape, I realized that its entirety was more important than finding just one in a sea of millions.
The AIDS Quilt is the largest piece of community art ever shown. The enormous size of the project demonstrates how serious a problem AIDS/HIV still is. I wish the quilt would still be exhibited every year so we don’t have the excuse of saying AIDS/HIV was a problem for a brief moment, affecting only certain people. It’s easy to believe stereotypes when you’re wearing blinders.
Today, there is barely a mention of AIDS. AIDS still ends too many lives. I don’t want to forget those who have been affected. A few of my friends succumbed to AIDS; they just disappeared into the ether because they kept their illness a secret to avoid the stigma. I lost some friends who were HIV positive to suicide that was a result of the culture of ignorance and intolerance allowed to fester. I miss them, and they should still be here, selfishly making me a better person
“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.
“On the first day of the war there was a big bang- a bomb fell nearby and destroyed the facade in front of our house. I went into the cellar and hid in a baby carriage for all five days of the war. On the last day the Germans bombed Rotterdam. I came out of the cellar and saw that the sky was red because Rotterdam was burning.” -Max van Trommel
The bombing of the Dutch city of Rotterdam by the Luftwaffe occurred on May 14th,1940, four days after the start of the German invasion. The fierce resistance in Rotterdam was to be broken and the Dutch were forced to capitulate. Despite a truce that had been agreed in advance, the city was bombed under circumstances and is still controversial. The historic city center was destroyed, 900 people died and 85,000 people lost their homes. The Dutch government surrendered the following day and thus spared further cities a similar fate. Rotterdam remained occupied until the end of the Second World War.
During the occupation Max’s family suffered under the anti-Jewish measures. Max was the one to bring his sister away to a hiding place and later, he and his brother found a place in different locations in the east of the country. He spent the last three years of the war in hiding.
“During the first year not much changed. Then the Germans ordered us to wear yellow stars on our clothing. I had never been to a synagogue. I didn’t even know I was Jewish until they told me. Laws saying that Jews not allowed to travel on buses and trams, or go to public markets. That was the first serious sign that life had changed. Then they started issuing food coupons. We couldn’t buy certain things because there wasn’t enough food. My mother asked me to go around the city on bicycle to redeem the coupons. That was horrible because I went to shops outside my neighborhood where the owners didn’t know me. When they saw the yellow star they yelled at me to get out. It gave me an awful feeling that I was abnormal and wasn’t a part of the population.
When Jewish families began to be transported, my grandfather said we had to flee. My sister, 4, had to be brought to an address in Den Haag. My mother was unable to do that so I had to. I didn’t know the people who would be caring for my sister. My sister was anxious and felt something was wrong and didn’t want to leave my side. But I had to. The next day, my sister went to play in the garden then I left which was horrible because I betrayed my sister. I always hoped to apologize to my sister at the end of the war. The first time I saw my sister after the war, I spoke to her about it but she didn’t remember. My sister committed suicide at the age of 21. She wrote us a letter saying “I am not normal.” Which we understood because this is how we felt after the war. After the war I discovered my grandparents were hiding close to where I was. They had been betrayed and transported to Sobibor where they were murdered.”
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. A portion of From Above is permanently exhibited at the Nagasaki Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims. It has also been exhibited in numerous museums and exhibition spaces. From Above was released as a limited edition book that was sold at PhotoEye.com. The book is sold out from the site, but I have the last copies. Contact me if you’re interested.
