Genbaku

Something I wasn’t expecting was to be in the midst of the city. I had imagined a place cut off, removed and set aside as a sort of sacred space. The past would be physically cut off from the present – that was what I had imagined.

But here was the A-bomb dome, across from a major tram stop at the intersection of Aioi street and a riverside walk. Workers cycled past, commuters entered and left the trams, businessmen chatted to each other walking along the street, tourists stopped for photographs and two drunkards sat on a nearby bench putting the world to right.

Here stood a symbol of inhumanity while humanity, in its variations, went on around it. Here life contrasted with death and both seemed indifferent to the other.

The A-Bomb Dome, or Genbaku, was the work of the Czech architect Jan Letzel. From 1915 onwards it had stood as a proud symbol of modernisation, serving as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. Its former grand function, signalled by its equally grand name, is now marked against its purpose today. The A-Bomb Dome maintains a sort of balance – enough of the building remains to reflect its former stature while at the same time expressing the brutal destruction of the day.

Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it remains in stasis – perpetually caught between destruction and construction, with repair work preventing it from naturally crumbling, but never going so far as to move beyond that harrowing day.

The dome itself, with its twisted barbed iron sits as a crown of thorns. Set against the sky, it carries a spiritual significance, but only one born out of humanity’s darkest moments.

escalator up

“You know nothing of Hiroshima”. These words appear as stone in the opening of Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour. Lui says them to his French lover as she utters the facts and figures of August 6th 1945. These words represent the chasm between experience of the A-bomb and the knowledge. And so, beforehand, the thought of visiting the Peace Memorial Park had been difficult. This irrevocable gap between experience and knowledge cannot be bridged by any commemoration. Visiting this site isn’t going to change that. It is as if, although I have this knowledge, I can go no further. As we make our way up the escalator these thoughts return.

Genbaku 1

Like many stations in Japan, Hiroshima Central empties out into vast commercial spaces rather than the city itself. Arriving from Yokogawa, we had the choice of entering the multi-floored Sogo department store, or the mass underground pedestrian subway, both of which acted as commercial buffers to the open city. We opted for the latter and went underground.

The pedestrian subway runs parallel to the traffic-heavy surface of the street. This is a clear walkway cutting through the city from below. Lined with upmarket boutiques, restaurants, grocery stores, cafes and the odd gym. What is convenient for many Japanese commuters creates a strange relation to the city. For someone arriving in Hiroshima for the first time, this only delays the experience of the open city.

Continuing through the underground shopping Mall we pass escalators jutting upwards to the “real” world. Off to the right of a pedestrian roundabout – the centre is a small fountain - is a sign reading: “To the A-Bomb Dome/ Peace Memorial Park”. Following Tomoko, I take the escalator up. There is never any preparation when you approach from below.