Hiroshima's Forgotten Victims: The Korean Survivors' Struggle

The legacy of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945 is a multifaceted tragedy, a story of unimaginable destruction and long-lasting suffering. While the world primarily remembers the Japanese victims, a significant and often forgotten group of survivors bears a double burden of historical injustice and personal anguish: the Koreans. A recent BBC visit to meet these survivors has shed light on a profound and complex story of disfigurement, shame, and institutional neglect. These individuals, who were in Hiroshima either as forced laborers under Japanese colonial rule or as voluntary economic migrants, were caught in a catastrophe not of their making, and their subsequent struggles have been largely ignored by both the Japanese and South Korean governments.
The stories told by these survivors are harrowing. They recount the blinding flash of light, the concussive blast, and the subsequent "black rain" that fell from the sky, a toxic mixture of radioactive ash and moisture. Many were not in the city for long. Under the Japanese colonial period, which lasted from 1910 to 1945, a large number of Koreans were conscripted into forced labor to support Japan's war efforts. Others were enticed by the promise of work, seeking a better life than what was available in their colonized homeland. They were a vulnerable population, often living in the poorest parts of the city and working in the most dangerous jobs. When the bomb fell, their status as non-citizens and their physical location in the heart of the industrial zones meant they were disproportionately affected.
The immediate aftermath was a chaos of scorched earth and human suffering. These Korean survivors, known as hibakusha, had to navigate this new reality with no support network. They were often left to fend for themselves, with limited access to the scarce medical resources that were available. The Japanese government's initial focus was on its own citizens, and the Korean survivors were often overlooked or actively excluded from aid. Compounding this, many faced discrimination and prejudice in Japanese society, which was still steeped in colonial attitudes. They were seen as outsiders, and their suffering was deemed secondary.
The physical and psychological toll on these survivors is immense. Many suffer from A-bomb sickness, a range of radiation-related illnesses including various forms of cancer, leukemia, and cataracts. The disfigurements from the burns are a constant reminder of the day, a mark that sets them apart. For many, this physical suffering is compounded by a deep-seated shame. In a deeply Confucian society that values appearance and social harmony, their disfigurements made them outcasts. They found it difficult to find marriage partners or employment. The fear of passing on genetic mutations to their children was a constant source of anxiety, and many chose not to have families, perpetuating a cycle of loneliness.
The tragedy does not end with the physical and social wounds. The political and historical neglect that followed is a central theme of their story. After Japan's surrender, many Koreans returned to their homeland, only to find themselves in a country devastated by war and political turmoil. The survivors of the atomic bomb, with their illnesses and disfigurements, were a reminder of a painful chapter of history that a newly independent South Korea was eager to move past. They were often viewed with suspicion or pity, and their pleas for assistance were met with indifference. The South Korean government, grappling with its own post-colonial and post-war struggles, was not equipped or willing to provide the necessary support.
It was a protracted legal battle that finally began to change things, but it was a long and difficult road. For decades, the survivors were denied the same benefits and recognition as their Japanese counterparts. They were seen as "foreigners," and their suffering was not considered a Japanese government responsibility. It was only after a series of lawsuits and public advocacy campaigns, led by the survivors themselves and their descendants, that the Japanese government began to provide some form of medical and financial assistance. However, even today, the aid is often seen as insufficient and comes with significant bureaucratic hurdles.
The BBC's report highlights the ongoing struggle for these survivors. Many are now elderly, their numbers dwindling, but their fight for recognition and justice continues. They are living a double exile, not fully Japanese, and not fully embraced by their homeland. Their story is a powerful testament to the human cost of war and the enduring legacy of colonialism. It challenges the conventional narrative of the atomic bomb by forcing us to confront the suffering of a group of victims who were marginalized not just by the bomb, but by the geopolitical and social forces that placed them in harm's way. Their story serves as a crucial reminder that historical memory is often selective, and that true justice requires acknowledging all victims, even those who have been forgotten.
Source@BBC