A Stack of Paper, Human Footprints, and Digital Voices—Three Circuits Operating Simultaneously

At the Hiroshima International Conference Center within the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, the “List of Atomic Bomb Victims” has been unveiled. This record includes approximately 23,000 entries, documenting the names of the victims, their addresses at the time, and whether they were missing—each line etched with the fact that a human being once existed.

At the same time, an exhibition tracing the footsteps of international students who came to Hiroshima from Southeast Asia during the occupation and were affected by the bombing was held, and a symposium on the inheritance of atomic bomb experiences utilizing AI attracted 241 participants.

These three events are each moving in different contexts. However, when placed side by side, a single question arises—will the memory of the atomic bombing be preserved on “paper,” carried by “people,” or entrusted to “technology”? Or perhaps, when these three elements come together, there exists a place where the memory can truly reach.

What the List Asks—The Weight Behind Each Line of “Numbers”

The unveiling of the List of Atomic Bomb Victims is not merely an archive disclosure. This list was originally created as a practical record to search for missing persons in the chaos immediately following the bombing. In other words, the act of “someone searching for someone” is itself preserved on paper.

The number 23,000 is significant. However, when reading the list line by line, what is present is not just numbers, but names. The addresses evoke the living environments of the time, and the four characters of “missing” conjure the time spent searching by the families. The list serves as both a “warehouse” of memory and a record of the act of searching.

The expectations surrounding this unveiling extend beyond historical verification by researchers. Families and descendants of those listed will have the opportunity to connect with their roots. In the inheritance of memory, the moment it becomes “personal” is the strongest. The list quietly yet surely opens the door to that connection.

However, challenges remain. The information in the list is fragmented, and verifying the accuracy of the entries will continue to be necessary. The unveiling is not the goal; rather, the value of the list will be determined by how many “readers,” “researchers,” and “connectors” emerge from here. While paper can be preserved, memory alone does not move through paper.

International Students Affected by the Bomb—A Circuit That Transcends Borders

The exhibition shines a light on the existence of young international students who came to study in Hiroshima from Southeast Asia and were affected by the bombing. They were sent to Hiroshima under Japan’s wartime policies, learned, and ultimately experienced the atomic bombing. Their experiences encompass a complex history that cannot be fully captured within the framework of “Hiroshima’s bombing.”

Notably, this exhibition displays both “testimonies” and “documents.” The words left by the international students, along with contemporary documents and photographs—by presenting these together, individual experiences are contextualized within institutional and policy frameworks. Visitors can perceive these events not merely as “tragic stories,” but as occurrences that took place within a structure.

This perspective becomes an important circuit for re-narrating the memory of the bombing in an international context. The memory of Hiroshima is not solely a domestic affair; it exists as a history involving young people from Southeast Asian countries. The exhibition is an attempt to visualize that “connection.”

However, the records of the international students are fragmented, and the aging of the witnesses is progressing. The memory carried by people is constrained by the time of those individuals. Therefore, the significance of creating a “space” in the form of an exhibition at this moment is somewhat profound. Memory, unless someone decides to “show it,” can easily become buried.

AI Symposium—What Can Technology Take on in Memory?

At the AI symposium focused on the inheritance of atomic bomb experiences, which attracted 241 participants, discussions were held on methods for digitally preserving and reproducing the testimonies of atomic bomb survivors. Specifically, techniques for recording survivors’ narratives in video, audio, and text formats were introduced, along with a system where AI presents related testimonies in response to questions.

When considering who this technology will ease the burden for, the first thing that comes to mind is the alleviation of the witnesses’ burden. For elderly survivors, repeatedly recounting the same experiences places significant physical and mental strain on them. The reproduction of testimonies through AI serves as a means to deliver memories even after the narrators are gone, while also protecting the current narrators in the moment.

Another possibility is the expansion of access. For those who cannot come to Hiroshima or do not understand Japanese, a circuit is opened through technology to deliver testimonies. In contrast to the “paper” of the list and the “space” of the exhibition, AI transcends “distance.”

However, there were cautious voices during the symposium. AI reproduces “words” and “information,” but it cannot fully replicate the emotions contained in the silence of the narrator, the tremor in their voice, or their hesitations. While technology can preserve the “content” of memory, it cannot transfer the “body heat” directly—recognizing this limitation is essential to building trust in technology.

The participation of 241 individuals indicates a high level of interest in this question. It is somewhat hopeful that a space has been established to discuss honestly what technology can and cannot do, rather than elevating it as a “universal solution.”

When the Three Circuits Intersect—Delivering Memory as a System

The list leaves a “record.” The exhibition shows the “context.” AI transcends “distance.” Each of these three initiatives has different functions, yet they all point in the same direction—delivering the memory of the atomic bombing to the next generation not solely relying on individual commitment, but as a system.

What I want to consider here is what happens when these elements “collaborate.” For example, if the data from the list is digitized and AI assists in searching and matching, the search for missing persons could be significantly streamlined. If the testimonies of international students introduced in the exhibition are incorporated into the AI database, the memory of Hiroshima could reach educational settings in Southeast Asia. The moment when paper, people, and technology align—there lies a new form of inheritance.

Of course, there are challenges to collaboration. The protection of personal information in the list, ethical considerations in the digitization of testimonies, and ensuring the accuracy and reliability of AI reproductions. Creating a system also means establishing rules. Continuous verification will be necessary to ensure that these rules align with reality.

Memory Comes Alive Only When It Reaches Its Destination

As we approach the 80th anniversary of the bombing, the number of witnesses continues to decline. The inheritance of memory has reached a stage where merely “listening while the narrators are still alive” is no longer sufficient. This is why the simultaneous operation of the three circuits of paper, people, and technology holds significance.

However, no matter how intricate the system created, memory will not move without someone at the receiving end. Those who open the list, visit the exhibition, and listen to testimonies in front of AI screens—each individual act of “receiving” becomes the final step in transferring memory from the past to the future.

Ultimately, the three initiatives pose a single question. Whose hands will carry the memory of the atomic bombing next? I would like to take a moment to reflect on whether I am included among that “who.”