Three Gears Moving Simultaneously in Hiroshima: Sounds, Corrected Records, and Standing People

Something a bit mysterious is happening in Hiroshima. A violin carved from an A-bomb tree has been delivered to the city, 37 errors have been found in the list of hair samples from 52 individuals resting at the A-bomb Memorial Tower, and training for youth peace volunteers has begun at the A-bomb Museum—while these events occurred around the same time, they each unfolded in different contexts. Yet, when placed side by side, a single structure emerges. A ‘memory custody system’ is quietly attempting to pass through generations across three layers: objects, records, and people.

Memory cannot be sustained for just one generation through individual goodwill or a sense of mission. What is needed to prevent this interruption is a vessel to receive that goodwill—namely, a system. What Hiroshima is currently mobilizing is nothing less than the inspection and renewal of that vessel.

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The Violin from A-Bomb Trees—Memory Moves Through ‘Sound’

In Hiroshima City, approximately 160 trees that survived the bombing within about 2 kilometers of the epicenter are registered. One of these, a violin made from the wood of a zelkova tree, was crafted by the Hiroshima Rotary Club and donated to the city. It is said that around 30 violins made from A-bomb trees have been created so far, with a track record of performances at concerts both domestically and internationally.

What is noteworthy here is the design intention behind ‘why a violin.’ If a wooden piece is placed in a display case, it remains something to be ‘looked at.’ However, if it is crafted into an instrument, it vibrates with each performance, shaking the air and reaching the bodies of listeners. Memory transforms from ‘storage’ to ‘movement.’ It can travel beyond the exhibition room, beyond the city, and across borders—sound can move.

Moreover, instruments require maintenance. String replacements, bow hair changes, humidity control. If someone does not continue to care for it, the instrument will cease to produce sound. Thus, the moment the shape of a violin is chosen, a structure is embedded that necessitates ‘the next person to take care of it.’ This is a mechanism that calls upon people. Behind the act of donation lies a design that almost compels inheritance—there is something quite moving about that.

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The Hair Samples at the A-Bomb Memorial Tower—Correcting Names is Correcting Existence

The A-bomb Memorial Tower stands quietly on the north side of the Peace Memorial Park. Inside, approximately 70,000 unidentified remains are housed, and hair and nails have been preserved for some of them. Recently, Hiroshima City has re-examined and made public the hair samples of 52 individuals. From this list, 37 errors in names and addresses have been confirmed.

I want to pause for a moment to consider the weight of the number 37. If even one character of a name is incorrect, a bereaved family member might pass by the list thinking, ‘This is not our person.’ If the address is slightly off, it cannot be cross-referenced with local records. Errors open a circuit that can render that person as if they ‘never existed.’ Conversely, correcting errors is an act of re-establishing that person’s existence in this world.

The city also announced that it would accept requests for DNA testing. DNA will be extracted from the hair samples and compared with samples from the bereaved families. Technically, if the hair roots are intact, nuclear DNA typing is possible, but the condition of samples after 80 years since the bombing varies greatly. Still, the significance of opening this window lies in demonstrating, as a system, the grace period of ‘there is still time.’

What becomes apparent here is the nature of records. Records do not end once created. They must be inspected, verified, and continuously corrected, or they will deteriorate over time. This deterioration is not only physical. There is also human-induced deterioration, such as errors in writing. To keep records in a ‘living state,’ a system that regularly involves human intervention is necessary. The recent public disclosure and correction of errors were precisely moments when that system was put into action.

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Youth Peace Volunteers—Nurturing ‘Storytellers’ Through a System

The training for youth peace volunteers that began at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum is a program aimed at cultivating guides who will convey the reality of the bombing to visitors, targeting high school and university students. The average age of A-bomb survivors exceeds 85, and the number of those who can continue to share their testimonies is decreasing year by year. The transition from the ‘generation that heard directly’ to the ‘generation that tells what they have heard’ is now an urgent issue.

The strength of this program lies in the fact that it does not rely solely on individual enthusiasm. There is a curriculum for the training, and after completion, the museum serves as a ‘place’ for their activities. In other words, a circuit for practicing what they have learned is designed from the start. Learning does not end as a one-time event but enters a cycle of repetition and renewal.

On the other hand, there is also a delicate question lurking here. To what extent can individuals who have not experienced the events ‘speak’ about the memories of those who have? The younger generation themselves must take on the responsibility of drawing that boundary line. The words they choose during training and where they choose to remain silent—this will reveal the quality of inheritance for the next era.

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When the Three Layers Interlock—The System Becomes a ‘Custody’ Structure

The object of the violin. The record of the hair samples. The people of the youth volunteers. Each of these is an independent initiative, but when viewed together, it becomes clear that they function as different layers of a single inheritance system.

Objects call upon the next custodians through maintenance. Records maintain accuracy through inspection. People acquire the ability to speak through training. None of these layers are designed to be ‘created once and done’; they are all predicated on the need for repeated maintenance. This is the crux of the matter. Instead of ‘preserving’ memory, they are ‘custody’—in other words, they are structured with the premise of passing it on to the next generation.

The difference between preservation and custody lies in the direction of time. Preservation looks to the past. It attempts to keep things unchanged for as long as possible. Custody looks to the future. It incorporates the idea of eventually passing it on to someone else. The three gears currently turning in Hiroshima are all oriented toward the future.

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Future Points of Interest—How to Design the ‘Seams’ of the System

As we approach the 80th anniversary of the bombing in 2025, it is worth watching how these initiatives will interconnect. Particularly concerning are the ‘seams’ between systems.

For example, will there be opportunities for youth volunteers to serve as guides at violin concerts? To what extent will digital archiving technology be integrated into the correction of the hair sample list? Whether objects, records, and people can have intersecting points rather than operating in closed circuits—this is where the next evolution of the system lies.

Another point to consider is that such ‘memory custody systems’ are not solely issues for Hiroshima. There are numerous memories across Japan that must be passed down, including memories of disasters, records of pollution, and local oral histories. It will be important to observe whether Hiroshima’s three-layer structure can serve as a model for other regions in the long term.

Memory does not remain simply because someone ‘remembers.’ It is only when there is a ‘place to be entrusted with that memory’ that it can reach the next generation. The three gears quietly turning in Hiroshima are gradually, yet surely, preparing that place.