The Memory of Disasters Fades if Left Alone. That’s Why We Need a ‘System’

Twelve years have passed since the Hiroshima landslide disaster. In the early hours of August 20, 2014, heavy rain struck the Asaminami and Asakita districts, claiming 77 lives. As the years go by, the number of people who can vividly recount that night is gradually decreasing. Residents who have moved away, children who have grown up and left the area, and new households that have moved in all contribute to a changing community, which in turn dilutes the intensity of memory.

According to a 2023 survey conducted by Hiroshima Prefecture, about 60% of residents feel that their awareness of disaster risks has diminished compared to before. Memorial ceremonies are held every year, and flowers are laid at altars. However, holding a ceremony just once a year makes it difficult to keep disaster prevention a personal concern in daily life.

Currently, there are three initiatives in Hiroshima and Onomichi. The “Heavy Rain Disaster Heritage Center,” operated by disaster-affected residents, the “Disaster Prevention Food Truck” that travels around the region, and the “Drone Film Festival” in Onomichi. None of these initiatives are led by the government; they have been established by residents and private entities. What they have in common is the effort to create a structure that makes it hard to forget, rather than merely calling for remembrance.

By embedding memory into a system rather than leaving it to individual will, this design philosophy connects the three initiatives.

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Heritage Center — Designing a Space That Avoids Personalization of ‘Storytellers’

The “Heavy Rain Disaster Heritage Center” established in Hiroshima Prefecture is primarily run by the affected residents themselves. The exhibits include everyday items deformed by landslides, weather data from that time, evacuation route maps, and video testimonies from residents. Since its opening, thousands of people have visited, and it has also become a destination for school trips and community training.

What is noteworthy is that this heritage center consciously avoids the personalization of ‘storytellers.’ As the survivors age, there will inevitably come a day when they can no longer share their experiences. To ensure that memories do not vanish with a single individual, testimonies are recorded in video and text, and the layout of the exhibits is designed to encourage ‘re-experiencing.’ Visitors first view the rainfall data from that time, then compare aerial photographs from before and after the disaster, and finally listen to the voices of the residents. The order of information is structured to build understanding before emotion.

This structure contrasts with large-scale facilities like the “Disaster Reduction and Human Renovation Institution” (Kobe City, with about 400,000 annual visitors and an annual operating budget of about 1 billion yen). The operating costs of the heritage center are covered by contributions from residents and small grants, making its annual budget significantly smaller. Therefore, there are various efforts to keep the system light for sustainability. Updates to the exhibits are conducted through workshops with residents, avoiding reliance on external designers. Lowering maintenance costs supports the very sustainability of the initiative.

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Disaster Prevention Food Truck — A Daily Connection Through ‘Eating’

If the heritage center is a ‘place to visit,’ the disaster prevention food truck is a ‘place that comes to you.’ It circulates through the disaster-affected areas several times a week, providing about 100 meals per visit. The menu features locally sourced ingredients, and there are mechanisms in place to engage with disaster prevention information while dining.

What makes this initiative clever is that it uses ‘lunch’ as the entry point rather than ‘disaster prevention lectures.’ Seminars and workshops typically attract only those already interested. However, the food truck draws in anyone who is simply hungry. While waiting in line, people glance at posted evacuation route maps and chat with their neighbors about concerns like, ‘Is our hillside okay?’ Disaster prevention shifts from something learned intentionally to something encountered naturally in daily life.

This ‘design of connection’ is akin to the ‘population approach’ in public health. Instead of targeting only high-risk individuals, it aims to elevate the awareness of the entire community. While the number of meals provided by a single food truck may be small, repeated visits accumulate the number of people reached. On a monthly basis, this could amount to hundreds of residents, and annually, thousands of individuals are exposed to disaster prevention information through the act of ‘eating.’

From an operational perspective, the food truck format has advantages. Without a fixed facility, initial investments and maintenance costs are kept low. The cost of vehicle modifications typically ranges from 2 million to 5 million yen, which is negligible compared to the construction costs of large heritage facilities. The ability to deploy without being tied to a specific location also lowers the barriers for expansion to other regions.

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Drone Film Festival — Capturing ‘Beauty’ and ‘Fragility’ in the Same Frame

The “Drone Film Festival” held in Onomichi may initially seem distant from disaster prevention. However, aerial footage reveals the structural features of the terrain that are not visible from the ground. The ridges of mountains, valleys, and the meandering of rivers — these are simultaneously the paths along which debris flows and the places where water accumulates.

Last year’s film festival attracted over 500 attendees. Among the showcased films were those capturing the ‘current state’ of disaster-affected areas. The beauty of the restored streets and the underlying faults and steep slopes are captured within the same frame. One participant reportedly said, ‘The place I thought was beautiful was actually the most dangerous spot.’

This shift in perception is at the core of the drone film festival. It presents disaster prevention not as a ‘scary story’ but as an ‘experience that changes how we see things.’ Fear does not last. However, once a perspective has changed, it is difficult to revert. When one views the land they inhabit from above, the meaning of ‘living here’ subtly shifts. This change in awareness is not easily achieved merely by distributing hazard maps.

The festival is primarily organized by local filmmakers and technicians, establishing a system that does not rely entirely on government subsidies. The prices of drone equipment have significantly decreased in recent years, and the costs of aerial photography have also dropped. The commodification of technology enables privately-led heritage activities — this structure is evident here.

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The ‘Nested Structure’ of the Three Initiatives

The heritage center passes memory to those who come. The food truck delivers memory to those who do not come. The film festival changes the perspective of those who are ‘still unaware.’

Each of the three initiatives resists ‘forgetting’ from different angles. Yet they all share the design philosophy of ‘embedding disaster prevention into the flow of daily life.’ Viewing exhibits, eating meals, watching films — none of these are extraordinary acts. Precisely because they are not special, they can continue. And because they continue, they become a system.

There is one more commonality that should not be overlooked. All three initiatives began at a scale that local stakeholders and regional technicians deemed manageable, rather than being top-down policies imposed by the government. A large budget can lead to the construction of impressive facilities. However, when the budget runs out, the facility may remain while its content becomes empty — this is a scenario we have seen repeatedly in this country. Starting small, keeping maintenance costs low, and creating a system that can function even with personnel changes — within this modest design lies the most practical wisdom.

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Who Does the ‘System of Remembering’ Make Easier?

Finally, I want to return to the question posed in this article. Who creates the ‘system of remembering’ — and more importantly, who does it make easier?

Those who continue to recount memories bear a heavy burden. Each year, they must recall that day, articulate it, and keep passing it on, which carries a significant emotional load. Having a system means that this burden is not placed solely on one individual. When testimonies are recorded as videos, storytellers can have days of rest. When the food truck circulates, community leaders do not have to visit each household individually. When the film festival shifts perspectives, it eliminates the need to explain ‘why preparedness is necessary’ from scratch every time.

The system protects not only the memory but also those who safeguard that memory.

The three initiatives in Hiroshima quietly demonstrate this. The future of disaster prevention lies not in loud proclamations but in the accumulation of small connections embedded in daily life.