127 Countries Are Being Made a Place to Sit

In Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park, a crane is lifting the framework for a tent. The setup, which began on July 16, is in preparation for the Peace Memorial Ceremony on August 6. This year, a record 127 countries are expected to attend—representing about 66% of UN member states—who will sit before the memorial.

However, I want to shift my gaze slightly downward. For representatives from 127 countries to ‘sit,’ there must first be chairs. Without tents, the ceremony cannot take place under the August sun in Hiroshima. The setup of a large tent covering approximately 1,000 square meters, the design of traffic flow, the placement of interpretation booths, and heat mitigation measures—all of these elements mean that the ceremony serves not only as a message delivery device but also as a highly physical infrastructure.

The question I want to explore in this article is how the ‘system for delivering memories’ is designed in Hiroshima as we approach the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombing. The setup of the ceremony tent, the launch of the atomic bomb tram tour ‘Peace Loop 653,’ and the strengthening of testimony activities by the second and third generation of hibakusha—these three movements appear to progress in separate contexts. Yet, when lined up, a single structure emerges: a design philosophy that seeks to deliver ‘memories’ to the next generation not through individual efforts but as a system.

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The ‘Spatial Design’ of the Ceremony—Who is the Space For?

The Peace Memorial Ceremony began in 1947 and is now in its 79th year. Looking at the trend in the number of participating countries, the change is striking. From 74 countries in 2010, it rose to 111 in 2023, and this year it has reached 127. If we look at the numbers alone, we can summarize it as an ‘increased international interest.’ However, an increase in participating countries also means an increased burden on the hosts.

The Hiroshima City ceremony operations team updates the seating arrangements, traffic flow, and security zones for each country’s delegation every year. With 127 countries, significant arrangements are required just for language support. The ‘solemnity’ of the ceremony is supported by the precision of these behind-the-scenes arrangements. The weight of the ritual is found not only in the words of prayer but also in the seating chart.

Here, I want to pause and consider what the fact that ‘127 countries are gathering’ means for whom. Diplomatically, it serves as a venue for messages regarding nuclear disarmament. For hibakusha, it becomes a realization that their experiences are reaching the world. And for Hiroshima City, the act of ‘continuing to hold’ this ceremony every year functions as a mechanism for the transmission of memory. As long as the system continues, memories will not fade—this design philosophy is embedded within the framework of the tent.

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The Reason Behind the Hibakusha Tram 653—Turning ‘Experience’ into a System

If the ceremony serves as a device for delivering memories in ‘space,’ then the atomic bomb tram tour ‘Peace Loop 653’ serves as a device for delivering memories through ‘movement.’

Tram 653 was one of the vehicles running in Hiroshima City on August 6, 1945. It was exposed to the blast approximately 700 meters from the epicenter, sustaining significant damage to its body, but after restoration, it continued to operate post-war. It is currently preserved by Hiroshima Electric Railway, and the tour operation will begin on August 2 of this year. The participation fee is 500 yen per ride. The tour lasts about an hour, visiting hibakusha-related sites in Hiroshima while listening to a guide’s commentary inside the tram.

What stands out here is the ‘low threshold’ of this system. The price point of 500 yen is accessible for students on school trips and casual tourists alike. Rather than demanding a ‘preparedness to listen’ as in testimony gatherings, it embeds a connection to memory within the everyday act of riding a tram.

Here lies the cleverness of the design. The most challenging aspect of memory transmission is how to deliver it to those who are ‘not interested.’ Those with a strong interest in hibakusha experiences will visit museums and listen to testimonies themselves. However, to reach those with less interest—or perhaps even those from a generation yet to develop an interest—a circuit that allows for ‘casual’ engagement rather than ‘deliberate’ engagement is necessary. Tram 653 is designed to serve as that circuit.

The power of the ‘real thing’ that is the hibakusha tram cannot be overlooked. The vibrations that cannot be conveyed through textbook photos or digital archives, the smells inside the tram, and the changes in the streets visible through the windows—experiences through the five senses change the retention of memory. The operation of Tram 653 itself draws a ‘memory pathway’ through the city.

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The Second and Third Generation of Hibakusha—How to Design the Transition of the ‘Narrative Subject’

The third movement is confronting the most structural challenge. The second and third generation of the Japan Confederation of A- and H-Bomb Sufferers Organizations (Nihon Hidankyo) has embarked on strengthening testimony activities.

The average age of hibakusha has surpassed 85. According to statistics from the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare, the number of holders of the hibakusha health handbook is approximately 106,000 as of the end of March 2024, a reduction of over 70% from the peak of about 370,000. As the number of individuals who can directly share their testimonies continues to decline, the question of ‘who will speak’ can no longer be postponed.

What is intriguing about the efforts of the second and third generation is that they have adopted a policy of ‘speaking in their own words’ rather than merely ‘representing the words of hibakusha.’ The second generation has memories of hearing their parents’ experiences growing up. The third generation has memories of their grandparents’ silence and the atmosphere that permeated their homes. While this is not the ‘hibakusha experience’ itself, it is another testimony of ‘what the hibakusha experience brought to the family.’

At the recent general meeting, discussions were held on developing training programs for testimonies and expanding outreach lectures in collaboration with schools and local governments. Here too, we see the design intent to create a ‘system that operates’ rather than relying on ‘individual sense of mission.’ It is not an activity that ceases when one testimony giver falls; rather, it is about creating a structure that allows for the next narrator to emerge—this is also a matter of organizational sustainability.

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When the Three Systems Overlap

Ceremony, tram, testimony—when we line up these three initiatives, we can see that each is addressing the same question from different angles: ‘How can we deliver memories beyond individual lifespans?’

The ceremony gives a temporal dimension to memory by recreating the ‘space’ each year. The hibakusha tram combines ‘movement’ and ‘the real thing’ to give corporeality to memory. The second and third generation update the ‘narrative subject’ to provide new voices to memory.

And these three are nested within each other. On the day of the ceremony, if Tram 653 runs through the streets of Hiroshima and a second-generation testimony giver speaks inside it—if such a scene can be realized, the space, movement, and voice will connect as a single experience. Although there has been no official announcement of collaboration among the three parties at this time, as the design philosophies of the systems are aligned in the same direction, the potential for connection is certainly present.

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Who Does This System Ease?

Finally, I want to pose a slightly different question: ‘Who does this system ease?’

The transmission of memory has long depended on the resolve and physical strength of individual hibakusha. Standing on stage with aging bodies, recounting the same memories repeatedly—the burden must have been beyond imagination. The operational system of the ceremony, the mechanism for carrying memory on the ‘vehicle’ of the tram, and the structure that positions the second and third generations as narrative subjects—each of these is an attempt to gradually disperse the weight that has rested on the shoulders of each hibakusha.

Operating as a system means that it does not stop even if someone falls. This is not a cold statement. Rather, placing continuous pressure on one individual with the notion that ‘if you do not speak, it will end’ is far more harsh.

As we approach the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombing, the framework of the tent is being assembled, the wheels of Tram 653 are being polished, and the second and third generation testimony givers are refining their scripts. What is advancing in these three settings is the work of creating a ‘circuit’ that continues to ‘deliver’ memories rather than merely ‘entrusting’ them. —At the end of that circuit stands someone yet to be born.