Three “Containers” in Motion

In Hiroshima, three projects are simultaneously underway around the same time. The public opening of the former ABCC staff dormitory designed by Kunio Maekawa, preparations for the screening of the long-lost period drama by the atomic bomb victim filmmaker Sentaro Shirai, and the production of a picture story by Sadako Sasaki’s classmates in collaboration with high school students.

Architecture, film, and picture stories. The forms are vastly different. However, what they share in common is the ongoing effort to “transfer personal memories into a reproducible container before they fade away.” This task is being carried out not by those in the spotlight, but by the behind-the-scenes workers who organize, unearth materials, and refine the connections.

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The Significance of Opening Maekawa’s Architecture

The former ABCC (Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission) staff dormitory located on Hijiyama in Minami Ward, Hiroshima, is a complex of residential buildings designed by the master of modern Japanese architecture, Kunio Maekawa, in the 1950s. The ABCC was a U.S.-led organization that conducted health surveys on atomic bomb survivors, and this building itself records the asymmetrical relationship between the “investigators” and the “investigated” in spatial form. For survivors, it is also a place laden with complex emotions.

On the first day of its long-awaited public opening, about 500 people visited. The simple exterior made of concrete blocks, the strategically placed windows for ventilation, and the rationality pursued by Maekawa within a limited budget — visitors are not just seeing the “beauty” of the building. They are confronted with the very question of who needed this space and for what purpose during the post-war period in Hiroshima.

Notably, the journey to this public opening is significant. The civic group that has been preserving the building has meticulously organized priorities for recording and repairs amid its deterioration, engaging in negotiations with the administration. Architects volunteered to create measured drawings, and researchers from local universities prepared explanatory panels on the historical background. Behind the glamorous opening event lies years of diligent preparation.

To say that Maekawa’s architecture is being “opened” is not merely about opening doors. It means that the container of the building, along with the time and relationships accumulated within it, is being handed down to the next generation.

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The Significance of Films “Rolling”

Few people today know the name Sentaro Shirai. He was a filmmaker from Hiroshima who primarily worked on period dramas before the war, but he was exposed to the atomic bomb on August 6, 1945. He continued to make films afterward but suffered from the aftereffects of the bombing until his death.

His period drama “Beyond Grudges and Resentments” had long been considered lost. However, with the discovery of the film and restoration efforts by the National Film Archive, the path to screening has finally been opened. If the film is screened in his hometown of Hiroshima, it will be the first time Shirai’s work is “revived” in front of an audience from the bombed city.

Let’s pause for a moment. Film restoration is a physical repair process. Deteriorated film is cleaned frame by frame, missing parts are filled in, and it is returned to a projectable state. This process requires specialized skills, time, and funding. The decision by the National Film Archive to select this work for restoration was backed by someone who recognized the importance of preserving this director’s legacy.

While the film’s content is a period drama and does not directly depict the atomic bomb, the fact that a director who was exposed to the bomb continued to create films afterward — and that this film physically exists and has been restored to a reproducible state — changes the meaning of the work. Viewers will experience not only the story but also the weight of “this film has survived.”

Film is a technology that preserves time within the container of film. There are people who intervened before that container deteriorated. Without their work, Sentaro Shirai’s name might have faded from Hiroshima’s memory.

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The Significance of Picture Stories Being “Drawn”

Sadako Sasaki was exposed to the atomic bomb at the age of two, developed leukemia ten years later, and passed away at twelve. A project is underway to preserve her story, known worldwide as the model for the “Children of the Atomic Bomb” statue, in the form of a picture story.

At the center of this project are Sadako’s classmates. Now in their 80s, their recollections of Sadako differ slightly from the “symbol” found in statues and textbooks. Memories of playing together, laughing, and conversations in the hospital — the contours of Sadako as an individual remain only in their words.

What is intriguing about this project is the structure in which local high school students are responsible for the illustrations and narration. The generation with memories provides the material, while the generation without memories shapes it into a “form.” The words of the classmates become images and voices through the filter of high school students. In that process, something is stripped away, and something is added. The completed picture story will not be a direct reflection of the classmates’ memories but rather a “translation” born from the collaborative effort of two generations.

The choice of the picture story format also carries significance. It cannot store vast amounts of information like a digital archive. However, there are things that can only be conveyed through the physical relationship where the performer voices the story and the listener is present. The picture story serves as both a “container” and a “space” that generates new relationships with each performance. A performance is scheduled at the Atomic Bomb Museum, where children from Hiroshima will be the first audience.

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Common Structure Among the Three Containers

When we line up the three projects we have examined, a single structure emerges.

Buildings decay. Films deteriorate. Storytellers fade away — the original “containers” of memory all have finite lifespans. Before that lifespan runs out, memories must be transferred to another container. This is the common task shared by the three projects.

And the people carrying out this task are not the direct stakeholders of the memories. Architects creating measured drawings, archivists restoring films frame by frame, high school students converting classmates’ words into illustrations. They are not the “authors” of the memories but rather the “editors,” taking custody of the materials and shaping them into a form that can be passed on.

While the forms of the three containers differ, they all deal with “things that would have disappeared if no one had intervened.” And the motivation behind that intervention cannot be fully explained by a sense of mission or duty alone. There are those who were moved by the rationality of Maekawa’s architecture. There are those who found value in the films of an unknown director. There are high school students who, upon hearing their classmates’ voices, felt compelled to bring them to life in illustrations. Embedded within the framework is the individual judgment of “this should be preserved.”

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Who Does This Benefit?

The phrase “inheritance of memory” often resonates heavily. “We must not forget” and “we must pass it on” — while the urgency of these sentiments is valid, urgency alone cannot sustain a system.

What the three projects demonstrate is a design philosophy that lowers the barrier for the next generation to engage with memories by transferring them from “individual responsibility” to “reproducible containers.” By opening buildings, one can touch time simply by walking through. By rolling films, one can borrow the director’s perspective for 90 minutes. By performing picture stories, narratives come to life through voice and illustration.

Who does this benefit? — The people receiving the memories. And at the same time, the storytellers who have carried the burden of “I must convey this” alone. By transferring memories into containers, storytellers are slightly liberated from the role of being a storyteller.

In the city of Hiroshima, buildings are opening, films are rolling, and picture stories are being drawn. In each of these settings, behind-the-scenes workers are quietly at work. Memories are quietly transforming containers in their hands as they move toward the next time.