Above and Below the Mushroom Cloud

“We are all agents of history, regardless of our consciousness or intentions.”

— Joseph Gerson, With Hiroshima Eyes

Yukiyo Kawano, a U.S.-based visual artist, born and raised in Hiroshima, circulated a letter earlier this year to engender critical analysis in the anti-nuclear movement. Seventy-eight years after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Kawano’s letter questions the perspective and portrayal of the dominant U.S. historical narrative, which isolates U.S. atomic policy from those it victimizes. Kawano’s letter concerns an inflatable mushroom cloud artistically rendered by Pedro Reyes and exhibited in several U.S. cities in 2022. Excerpts from her letter appear in italics below.

[Reyes’s] image…coincides with the image taken by a U.S. military aircraft from the sky of the mushroom cloud rising from the Nagasaki atomic bomb. Is it an image that instantly offers viewers a space to safely assume that the photographer/military personnel has all the possible means to escape to minimize their exposure to radiation? Such a view was never offered for people who were at the ground level in Nagasaki (or Hiroshima) … I worry about the normalization of such an image.

Without asking critical questions we remain subjected to a state-sponsored historical record. Why does the official U.S. narrative surrounding the 9/11 attacks focus on “ground zero” and on images of victims’ families, but the U.S. government portrayal of the atomic bombings presents the military victors’ perspective? Similarly, we have a vast library of books, films, and museum archives to preserve the perspective of victims of Nazi Germany. This is an important history, but it stands in contrast to the lack of such memorialization for those who suffered under U.S. militarism. It is clear: when the U.S. can be portrayed as the victor and savior, or if U.S. lives are lost, the suffering of victims is essential to the story. When the U.S. perpetrates genocide and human rights atrocities, the faces of victims go unseen.

The U.S. bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki instantaneously took the lives of every living being in their proximity. The mushroom shaped cloud that arose from the detonation was an accumulation of ash from the city itself. That Cloud contains our grandparents’ flesh and bones … How do we address the issue … so as to avoid reinstating the violence… engage in a discussion of ways we can ensure equity around artwork that deals with historical trauma … we all react with different degrees of intensity to potent images depending on our frames of reference…whether we know anyone who has been impacted.”

The disarmament movement must resist criminal policy while also advocating a more accurate public understanding, one that debunks the propaganda of nationalism and lifts up the voices it seeks to silence. Howard Zinn famously said that controlling people’s sense of history can make them believe anything. Kawano and others elevating hibakusha voices are reminders that stories and images make up the foundation of our history and cultural identity.

Yukiyo Kawano received a response from the Union of Concerned Scientists including concrete steps organizations can take to shift this paradigm. Here are full versions of Yukio Kawano’s original letter and the response from the Union of Concerned Scientists:

My name is Yukiyo Kawano, I am a U.S. based visual artist, born and raised in Hiroshima. I am sending you an email to talk about the inflatable sculpture that Mr. Pedro Reyes has been installing in many cities including NYC, in Times Square in June, 2022 (https://www.alonzocoburn.com/pedro-reyes). I understand that this project was commissioned by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists as well as other anti-nuclear organizations based in the U.S.

I trust that the artist spent time studying the Hiroshima/Nagasaki discourse and that his  intentions are good; however, I do worry about the normalization of such an image. Also I am hoping to make a specific argument for the need of a critical analysis that hasn’t yet been incorporated into the anti-nuclear movement as it has within other movements.

Art pieces often work as a public’s unraveling of various social and environmental issues. Today’s artists are constantly being asked to see and question what is at stake: Who is telling the story? Who is silenced in the process? What is the nature of history? Who is assumed to be the viewer in a given context? In this case the installation of an inflatable sculpture that depicts the colossal, visual effect of an atomic bomb explosion, commissioned by anti-nuclear organizations based in the U.S., and sector of the Mexican government.

The question that we must ask ourselves is whether the artist is exempt from the need to scrutinize the project on its own terms, and in its larger context of, for example, the ICAN/ the TPNW? Can the artistic intention to redeem or transmogrify succeed with any symbol associated with historically contentious events, not to say atrocities? I think that the symbolic image archived on the artist’s website shows that we all react with different degrees of intensity to potent images depending on our frames of reference, for example, what we know about their references, whether we know anyone who has been impacted.

The first image (the symbol) on the website taken from overhead, gives a birdseye view that coincides with the image taken by a U.S. military aircraft from the sky of the mushroom cloud rising from the Nagasaki atomic bomb.  Is it an image that instantly offers viewers a space to safely assume that the photographer/military personnel has all the possible means to escape to minimize their exposure to radiation?  Such a view was never offered for people who were at the ground level in Nagasaki (or Hiroshima) on that critical day. People who’ve been working from this ground-level perspective, such as a scholar and writer Yuki Miyamoto (Beyond the Mushroom Cloud 2011), have been projecting this specific viewpoint of ground zero (https://www.fordhampress.com/9780823240500/beyond-the-mushroom-cloud/).

The U.S. bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki instantaneously took the lives of every living being in their proximity. The mushroom shaped cloud that arose from the detonation was an accumulation of ash of the city itself. That Cloud contains our grandparents’ flesh and bones. Again, the question here is what is the framework around the artwork that constitutes historical trauma? How do we address the issue to be respectful of the difficult and often painful feelings that arise from this artwork so as to avoid reinstating the violence?

I am currently working on a protocole that looks at how we can democratize knowledge for artists and activists.

I would like to invite Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists as well as other ICAN supporters to engage in a discussion of ways we can ensure equity around artwork that deals with historical trauma germane to a specific place, specific common-history, and generations that have been affected.  What is the artist’s responsibility when addressing a hypothetical /probable global-based future using the evidence of what has already happened in these communities? A good start to this discussion would be a piece by Lilly Adams of the Union of Concerned Scientists, which looks at how we can work with impacted people in ways that are inclusive, diverse and equitable (https://www.nuclearvoices.org/post/working-equitably-with-nuclear-frontline-communities).

Also to be considered among contemporary art practitioners is how the material condition gives rise to specific art objects, namely, the polyethylene film that was used for the inflatable sculpture along with the 12,075 rocket-shaped balloons which were handed out at the venue to onlookers. This opens another set of considerations about how art, seeking to address an issue, can be unaware of the politics of its very production, ignoring how its production and dissemination contributes to the climate crisis.

From a singular “woman of color” perspective, I would recommend an examination of the “authorized righteousness” of a large portion of the movement who believe it to be their voice, their moral duty to decide how these images are purveyed regardless of reinstating trauma.

It takes tremendous will for women of color to voice our concerns in a world where we suffer from many forms of violence.  Asian-Americans are “encouraged” not to speak out, which causes self-censorship.  We are pressured by a large percentage of people in our community who want to keep the status quo. The American response to these issues is difficult for Japanese nationals to understand. People who have not had an opportunity to question their circumstances, never given an escape route from aspiring whiteness, are hostage to this normalization in which they constantly suffer systemic violence.