“It has been 72 years since the atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. The cruel and inhumane nature of this weapon has been proven, time and time again.

Naturally, I have believed in and prayed for the abolition of nuclear weapons, but I carried no doubts about the “peaceful” use of nuclear power, and believed that it was a power source that was worth pursuing.

I came to discover after the Fukushima nuclear crisis in 2011, however, that there is no such thing as a “foolproof” solution when it comes to nuclear power usage.

At this point, I have come to believe that nuclear power usage – and nuclear weaponry, of course – should be terminated.

My hope is that we are able to revisit and adopt the provisions of the much-debated Nuclear Weapons Convention, and in addition, the world is able to come to a consensus to abolish nuclear power usage so that we can continue to sustain this beautiful planet.

Yamada Kazumi”

“I was born in Manchuria near Harbin and raised there until I started primary school. My family lived in the outskirts, and the closest Japanese primary school was too far away for a daily commute. So my parents sent me to Nagasaki to live with my grandmother.

My grandmother owned a general store, and we lived there with my aunt and uncle. On the morning of August 9, I was playing shogi (Japanese chess) with a friend at home as we had no classes that day. We got into a bickering match, and my friend went down to the river for a swim. I went off on my paper route to cool my head. On my way back home, I noticed several villagers looking up at the sky.

“Rakkasan, rakkasan (parachute, parachute),” they said. I glanced up but saw nothing. I continued on my way. As soon as I walked into a shaded area tucked behind a knoll, there was a bright flash. Everything turned white. There was no sound or air blast, from what I remember – just scorching heat. “This is how I’m going to die,” I thought.

When I opened my eyes, the villagers who had just been peering up at the sky a moment ago were suffering severe burns. A thatched rooftop was on fire. Crazed cattle were storming around in circles. I headed back home, terrified. As I approached my home, I began to pass by more burn victims. Some were bluish-white and looked as if they were uninjured from far away – that is, until I realized that their skin had been completely peeled off their upper bodies, piled up at the waist. A heavily injured factory worker with a detached eyeball stopped me. “Bouya, kono kataki tottekureyo (Little boy, avenge this tragedy).”

I found out later that my friend whom I’d been playing shogi with died in the river. There is a fine line between life and death. If I’d been peering up at the sky with the other villagers for a second longer, my fate would have been the same.”