This day is always tricky for me, because on the one handside it's my birthday and on the other it's the day that might have been the most tragic day in human history.
Today marks the 80th anniversary of one of the most devastating events in human history: the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. On the morning of August 6, 1945, near the end of World War II, the United States dropped the first atomic bomb ever used in warfare over the city. The weapon, nicknamed Little Boy, was released from the Boeing B-29 Superfortress Enola Gay at approximately 8:15 a.m., detonating high above the city center. In an instant, an enormous blast and heat wave destroyed much of Hiroshima and killed tens of thousands of people; many more died later from injuries and radiation sickness.
The bomb exploded almost directly above the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall—about 600 meters in the air. Because the detonation occurred nearly overhead, the building’s central structure remained partially standing even though everything around it was flattened. Its exposed steel dome became one of the most recognizable symbols of the bombing. Today the preserved ruins are known worldwide as the Hiroshima Peace Memorial (Genbaku Dome), or simply the A-Bomb Dome. Rather than demolish the damaged structure, the city chose to preserve it as a memorial to the victims and as a reminder of the destructive power of nuclear weapons.
The dome now stands within the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, an area dedicated to remembrance and peace. Every year on August 6, ceremonies are held there to commemorate those who died and to renew calls for nuclear disarmament. Bells are rung, names of victims are remembered, and a moment of silence is observed at exactly 8:15 a.m., the time of the explosion.
This anniversary also makes me think about my own visit to Hiroshima in the spring of 2024. Early one morning, around 8:30 a.m., I arrived at Hiroshima Castle to do my first drone flight above the castle grounds. The quiet of the morning and the calm atmosphere around the reconstructed castle made the moment feel almost timeless. Standing there, it was hard to imagine that the city had once been almost completely destroyed.
Later that same day I traveled to Miyajima and visited the famous Itsukushima Shrine. I arrived at low tide, when the great torii gate stands directly on the exposed seabed rather than floating in the water. Being able to walk out toward it and capture the scene with my drone offered another powerful perspective on the region—one defined not by destruction, but by beauty, culture, and continuity.
This year’s anniversary carries special weight. Eighty years have passed since the bombing, meaning that the number of surviving witnesses—known in Japan as hibakusha—is rapidly declining. Many of them have spent decades sharing their experiences in the hope that future generations will understand the human cost of nuclear war. The 80th anniversary has therefore been marked by renewed global reflection on the dangers posed by nuclear weapons and the importance of preserving historical memory.
Remembering Hiroshima is not only about the past; it is also about the future. The A-Bomb Dome remains standing not as a monument to destruction, but as a symbol of resilience and a warning. Eight decades later, it continues to remind the world of what happened on that morning in 1945 and why such a tragedy must never happen again.
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