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We still misunderstand Hiroshima and Nagasaki 80 years on
The atomic bomb mushroom clouds over Hiroshima (left) and Nagasaki (right).
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What you need to know:
- Eighty years on, the world still lives under a nuclear shadow
- Hiroshima and Nagasaki were a warning written in fire
On August 6 and 9, 1945, the United States unleashed a nuclear inferno over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, respectively. By the end of 1945, the attacks had killed 210,000 people, with 330,000 more dying later of burns and radiation. The spectre of nuclear war had dawned on humanity, with the ability to destroy whole cities in an instant and to poison generations that follow.
The path to that moment began in the trenches and capitals of Europe and in the ambitions of imperial states across Asia. When Hitler invaded Poland in September 1939, Europe was plunged into war. Japan’s imperial ascent had older roots: rapid industrialisation after the Meiji reforms led to military victories over China and then Russia in the early twentieth century. By the late 1930s and through the war years, Japan had occupied Korea, Manchuria and large swathes of China, and by 1941 it had driven into Southeast Asia and the Pacific. The result was a clash of empires that drew the US into the conflict after the attack on Pearl Harbour that killed 2,400 Americans and destroyed hundreds of aircraft.
Then science furnished the new weapon of war. When theoretical and experimental work in nuclear physics made clear that an atomic chain reaction would release enormous energy, in 1942, the US launched the Manhattan Project. Under J. Robert Oppenheimer’s direction, the project culminated in the Trinity test on July 16, 1945 — the first detonation of a nuclear device — proving that the new weapon worked.
By mid-1945, the Pacific war had been brutal and attritional. American forces had learned, at a terrible cost, that Japanese military culture at the time often equated surrender with dishonour. As a result, battles for islands such as Iwo Jima and Okinawa bled both sides and made it clear that an invasion of the Japanese home islands would be catastrophic. Military planners, under the leadership of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, estimated the human cost to be around 400,000 Allied casualties and vastly more Japanese deaths. That grim calculation, together with the Soviet entry into the war against Japan in August 1945, framed the US decision to use atomic bombs to compel surrender and to shape post-war order.
Those decisions deserve calm, critical interrogation. History is not a moral ledger we consult only when it flatters our present convictions. The lessons are practical and, often, uncomfortable.
First, war reshapes sovereignty. In the past, losing a war typically meant losing territory and freedom, but today, invasions and occupations often produce messy settlements. That difference matters: the expectation that there will be a price to pay for aggression — shaped the post-war settlement in Germany and Japan. Winners demanded more than mere surrender: they remade political cultures, legal systems and institutions to prevent a recurrence.
Second, the reality of war isn’t made for TV. The spectacle of modern media can turn suffering into anagrammatic headlines and curated outrage, but watching war on screens does not change its calculus. When it is decided that force is necessary, the full human consequences must be reckoned with. It is a dangerous delusion to presume that wars will always be surgical – people go to war to kill and destroy.
Third, total war can mean total targeting. Allied strategic bombing and the incendiary raids that devastated Japanese cities taught a bitter lesson about the relationship between military aims and civilian suffering. The line between combatant and community can blur in ways that haunt nations for generations.
Fourth, the danger of unchecked ideology. Japan’s militarism was not a sudden aberration: it was the product of centuries of ideas, institutions and choices. Those ideas were defeated not only by military force but by occupation policies that rewired political life and rebuilt civil society. If we cannot stand with greater conviction against those who wish to enslave us, we don’t deserve freedom.
Finally, human beings aren’t good people. Human beings can commit great acts of kindness and also terrible cruelty. Peace depends in part on deterrence and preparedness. Weakness can invite catastrophe for the vulnerable — just look at the DRC. A robust defence is often the most pragmatic route to preserve peace. It is a serious mistake to politicise the army. When soldiers forget who their real enemies are, they become complacent.
Eighty years on, the world still lives under a nuclear shadow. Weapons far more powerful than those that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki exist today: the Tsar Bomba, tested by the USSR, was 3,300 times more powerful than Hiroshima. The memory of August 1945 should awaken us. Remembering must be the engine for clear judgment. We need to have learnt that some thresholds should not be crossed lightly. When someone crosses a border to attack another, the price should be very high.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki were a warning written in fire. They demonstrated the desperate lengths nations will go to win a war. They emphasised the need to confront regressive and aggressive ideologies decisively. The brutal reality of warfare, once begun, follows a very different logic. Forgetting these lessons doesn’t make us more enlightened; it makes us infinitely more vulnerable.
Charles Makakala is a Technology and Management Consultant based in Dar es Salaam
