Memory Shifts from ‘Preservation’ to ‘Distribution’ — Three Circuits Opened Simultaneously

Three news stories emerged from Hiroshima around the same time: the renovation of the museum at the former Hiroshima Telegraph and Telephone Hospital, the expansion of the Chinese noodle shop “Yoki” into Canada, and the dispatch of high school students to the NPT Review Conference.

Buildings, food, and voices. The mediums are entirely different, as are the destinations and methods of delivery. However, when we place these three stories side by side, a common structure emerges. The memory of Hiroshima is quietly undergoing a phase transition from something to be “preserved” to something to be “distributed.”

While preserving memory and delivering it may seem similar, they are fundamentally different. To preserve, one can remain closed off inside. To deliver, a circuit that aligns with the outside is necessary. The three initiatives currently underway in Hiroshima are each designing different circuits and attempting to “translate” memory for different audiences. We need to examine the differences and overlaps in their mechanisms.

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The Building Speaks — The Former Telegraph and Telephone Hospital’s “Translation of Place” for Approximately 100 Million Yen

The former outpatient building of the Hiroshima Telegraph and Telephone Hospital is a bombed structure located about 1.4 kilometers from the epicenter. It functioned as a relief station immediately after the atomic bomb was dropped on August 6, 1945, and is known for the records of Dr. Michihiko Hachiya, who treated the victims. This reinforced concrete building survived the destruction and continued to be used as a hospital after the war. Following discussions on its aging and preservation, it was newly renovated and reopened as a museum on May 1, 2025.

The renovation cost approximately 100 million yen. The exhibits include photographs and medical instruments that convey the state of relief activities at the time, as well as video testimonies from survivors. Notably, this museum positions the building itself as an exhibit rather than being “just another atomic bomb museum.” The traces of heat rays on the walls, the tilted window frames, and the cracks in the concrete are not in display cases but exist in the very place where visitors stand.

It is often said that one can “feel the atmosphere of the time.” However, to be precise, this building is not the atmosphere itself but a “vessel” through which the atmosphere has passed. Because the vessel remains, when people stand there 80 years later, they can measure the distance through their own bodies: 1.4 kilometers from the epicenter, the thickness of the walls, the height of the ceiling. Abstract numbers are transformed into a bodily sensation. This is the translation power of the “place,” and the investment of approximately 100 million yen can be seen as funding to design that circuit.

The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum recorded its highest visitor count ever in 2024, with approximately 2.09 million visitors. By adding another “place” within the tourist flow, the physical points of contact with memory increase. This represents a step forward from preservation to the distribution of memory through space. That mechanism has finally taken shape.

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The Flavor Travels — “Yoki” Expands to Canada, a Memory’s Reach that Began with a Food Stall

Hiroshima’s Chinese noodle shop “Yoki” began as a food stall in the 1950s. With a clear broth made from a combination of pork bones and chicken carcasses, served with straight, medium-thin noodles, it is a top contender when locals think of “Hiroshima ramen.” After more than 70 years of deep roots in the community, this shop has decided to open its first overseas location in Canada.

According to reports, the investment for this expansion is approximately 30 million yen. In the harsh winter environment where local temperatures can drop to minus 20 degrees, the technical challenges of recreating Hiroshima’s flavors are significant. Adjustments are being made one by one regarding the preparation of the broth, management of the noodles, and differences in water quality, all while working to place the “same flavor” in a foreign land.

At this point, I want to pause for a moment. To directly link “Yoki”‘s expansion into Canada with the dissemination of the memory of the atomic bombing is, to be honest, a leap. The shop owner speaks of realizing a dream with his late father and a desire to deliver Hiroshima ramen to the world. They are not crossing the ocean to convey the history of the bombing.

However — here we see the structure. The name of the city of Hiroshima is entering daily life abroad through food. Someone in Canada eats a bowl from “Yoki” and remembers the name “Hiroshima.” The potential for that small point of contact to become an opportunity to touch upon Hiroshima’s history in another context cannot be denied.

The distribution of memory involves not only intentional communication but also circuits that quietly place names within daily life. What “Yoki” is undertaking is the latter mechanism. A bowl that began as a food stall after the war is now crossing the Pacific after 70 years. The length of that reach is somewhat breathtaking.

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Voices Reach — High School Students Speak in New York, a “Living Circuit” for Approximately 5 Million Yen

In 2025, high school students from Hiroshima are being dispatched to the NPT (Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty) Review Conference held at the United Nations headquarters in New York. This initiative, conducted in collaboration with Hiroshima Prefecture and peace-related organizations, costs approximately 5 million yen, covering travel expenses, accommodation, pre-training, and interpreter support.

The students deliver speeches in their own words based on testimonies they have directly heard from atomic bomb survivors. There is a double translation involved here. First, the experiences of the survivors are translated into the students’ words. Next, those words are translated into English and delivered to the international conference. With each layer of translation, the distance from the original experience grows. Yet — or rather, precisely because of this — this circuit holds unique significance.

The average age of atomic bomb survivors has exceeded 85 years. The number of those who can testify directly is steadily decreasing each year. There is naturally a conflict for the generation that does not know “that day” when they speak without having experienced it. However, the words spoken by the younger generation, who question themselves about “why they speak,” carry vibrations that are absent from memorized scripts.

The amount of approximately 5 million yen is small compared to the 100 million yen for the building and the 30 million yen for the restaurant. However, what moves with this funding is a living human being. They have expressions, their voices tremble, and they take time to think on the spot in response to questions. This is a form of communication through the body that cannot be replicated by digital archives. That is the irreplaceability of the “living circuit.”

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Viewing the Three Circuits Together — A Comparative Analysis of the Structure of ‘Delivery’

Now, let’s compare the three initiatives side by side.

What is common among the three is that they are each designing mechanisms to “deliver memory outward” rather than “keeping it inside.” The building uses the grammar of space, food uses the grammar of daily life, and people use the grammar of dialogue.

Moreover, there is another crucial commonality that should not be overlooked: none of these can exist solely through “individual efforts.” The museum requires administrative budgets and expert exhibition design. Overseas expansion necessitates local partners and logistics. The dispatch of high school students requires organizations to arrange pre-training and survivors to entrust their testimonies. The distribution of memory becomes sustainable only when individual enthusiasm is transformed into a system.

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Future Points of Interest — Is There a Design for ‘After It Has Been Delivered’?

The simultaneous opening of these three circuits marks a significant turning point. However, there is a question that must be asked going forward: What is the design for ‘after it has been delivered’?

How do visitors to the museum take their experiences home? How does someone who eats a bowl from “Yoki” retain the name Hiroshima in their memory? How do diplomats who hear the high school students’ speeches reflect those words in policy? If we do not consider what happens at the destination, the distribution will end as a one-way street.

In a survey conducted by Hiroshima City in 2024, about 60% of visitors to the Peace Memorial Museum reported that they had discussed peace with someone after their visit. The memory that has been delivered passes on to the next person. Designing that chain of transmission will be the challenge for the next phase.

Another point: the three initiatives are currently operating independently. However, when a high school student speaks about the memories seen in the museum, and that student’s childhood flavors cross the ocean — when such connections between circuits are established, Hiroshima’s “ways of delivering memory” will enter an entirely different dimension.

Eighty years after the bombing, the number of people who hold memories continues to decline. Therefore, memory must transform from being held by individuals to being structured, from preservation to distribution. The building, the flavor, and the voice. Hiroshima is now attempting to answer the same question in three different grammars — a quiet yet urgent question: “If we do not deliver it, it will become as if it never happened.”