August 9 Nagasaki Memorial Day

Nagasaki: The Second Blast and the Silence We Must Hear

On August 9, 1945, just three days after Hiroshima, the nuclear abyss opened once again—this time over Nagasaki. In a matter of seconds, a city whose history had long connected different cultures was transformed into hell, claiming the lives of more than 70,000 people.

In the world's collective memory, Nagasaki often remains in Hiroshima's shadow. The second bombing is frequently seen as an echo of the first, yet for those who survived, it was not a matter of wartime calculations but the personal end of their world. The second atomic bomb proved that humanity had crossed a boundary from which there was no return, and that cruelty can repeat itself again and again unless it is stopped.

The tragedy of the survivors—the hibakusha—did not end in August 1945. For many years, they endured not only the devastating physical consequences of radiation exposure but also social isolation, fear, and discrimination.

A similar painful experience of exclusion was later endured by Ukrainians after the Chornobyl disaster. Liquidators and evacuees were often met with suspicion and, at times, everyday hostility. In the Soviet reality, where people had spent decades waiting for housing, the priority allocation of apartments to evacuees created social tension and resentment. Once again, the suffering of others encountered human indifference, turning the original trauma into another long struggle—the struggle to be accepted.

Today, as Ukraine resists devastating aggression and lives under the threat of new catastrophes, we understand this pain with particular clarity. We know what it means when your home is turned into ruins and your future is burned away in a matter of seconds.

The memory of Nagasaki is a call not to become accustomed to the suffering of others. It reminds us that every tragedy demands our clear, truthful, and unwavering remembrance.