Days that changed our world

The unleashed power of the atom has changed everything save our modes of thinking, and thus we drift toward unparalleled catastrophe.” – Albert Einstein Eighty years have passed since the twin horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki scorched their way into the conscience of humankind. Yet, even now, those atomic shadows flicker behind every international negotiation table, in every deterrence doctrine, and within every nation’s nuclear vault.

On August 6 and 9, 1945, respectively, the United States dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, instantly vaporizing tens of thousands and condemning many more to death through radiation, burns, and a lifetime of silent suffering. It was not just the end of World War II – it was the beginning of a nuclear age whose tremors continue to ripple through the global order. The numbers remain haunting. Hiroshima’s “Little Boy” killed an estimated 140,000 people by the end of 1945. Nagasaki’s “Fat Man” killed approximately 74,000. Entire generations were wiped out in seconds. Survivors – known as hibakusha – bore witness to unimaginable agony: charred corpses strewn across blackened streets, flesh dripping from bone, and children crying out for water in smouldering ruins.

Advertisement

The physical destruction was absolute, but the psychological devastation was perhaps more profound. Japan surrendered on August 15, bringing the war to a close, but at what cost to humanity? At the time, U.S. President Harry S. Truman defended the bombings as necessary to end the war quickly and save countless American and Japanese lives that would have otherwise been lost in a land invasion. However, in the years that followed, many historians, ethicists, and even military officials questioned whether Japan was already on the verge of surrender. Was the bomb more a message to the Soviet Union than a strategic necessity? Was it the first shot of the Cold War, not the last shot of the Second World War? Today, the debate continues, but the facts remain immutable.

Hiroshima was the first city in history subjected to a nuclear attack. Nagasaki followed three days later. The world had crossed a threshold – from which there was no turning back. The aftermath of the attacks led to the birth of a nuclear world order. The Manhattan Project, which developed the bomb, became the template for future nuclear programmes. The Cold War arms race between the United States and the Soviet Union brought the planet dangerously close to annihilation multiple times – the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 being the most dramatic example.

Treaties such as the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START), and the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty (CTBT) emerged in efforts to regulate this immense destructive capability. Still, the logic of deterrence – mutually assured destruction – ruled global security doctrines. Yet in 2025, marking the 80th anniversary of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the nuclear world appears more unstable than ever. Russia has withdrawn from several arms control treaties, including the New START treaty, signaling a more aggressive nuclear posture amidst its continued war with Ukraine and confrontation with NATO.

Moscow’s abandonment of the CTBT has raised alarms across the world. Russia has also signaled possible deployment of nuclear weapons in Belarus, deepening Cold War-style fault lines in Eastern Europe. Meanwhile, North Korea continues to conduct missile tests and enhance its nuclear capabilities, flouting international sanctions. Iran edges closer to nuclear weapons capability as its relations with the West deteriorate. China, for its part, is expanding and modernizing its nuclear arsenal at a rapid pace, potentially tripling the number of its warheads within a decade. In South Asia, India and Pakistan remain in a delicate nuclear balance, where one terrorist attack or miscalculation could trigger catastrophic escalation. The dream of a world without nuclear weapons, once championed by leaders like Mikhail Gorbachev and Barack Obama, now seems more distant than ever. The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN), which won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2017, helped bring about the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW). Yet the world’s major nuclear powers have rejected this treaty outright.

The TPNW may be legally binding on its signatories, but in the brutal arithmetic of global power, treaties without enforcement mechanisms are mere paper shields. Japan, the only country to have suffered a nuclear attack, continues to be the moral voice in the global anti-nuclear movement. But even within Japan, there are tensions. Under pressure from its security alliance with the United States and in response to China’s growing military assertiveness, Tokyo is debating constitutional changes to expand its military role. Some hawkish voices in Japanese politics have even flirted with the once-taboo subject of nuclear deterrence. Hiroshima and Nagasaki are sacred names in Japan, but their legacy is not immune to geopolitical shifts.

And what of the survivors – the hibakusha – who are dwindling in number every year? Their testimonies have formed the backbone of global peace advocacy for decades. Their appeals are not based on abstract theory but on lived horror. Many have spent their lives recounting their stories to students, diplomats, and international forums. Their fading voices remind us that this is not ancient history – it is still burning within the bones of those who survived. Nuclear weapons have not been used in warfare since 1945, yet they have been used every day in policy, diplomacy, and deterrence. They exist not to be launched but to shape outcomes. That is the paradox: weapons that kill only when used dominate even in silence. But that silence is not guaranteed. Cyber threats, rogue actors, political instability, and accidental launches – all these remain plausible paths to devastation. As we observe the 80th anniversary, the global nuclear arsenal stands at over 12,500 warheads. The United States and Russia possess more than 90 per cent of them.

Many are on high alert, ready to be launched within minutes. The dangers of miscommunication, miscalculation, and technical error loom larger than ever. Artificial intelligence in warfare further complicates command and control systems. Unlike the 20th century, where state actors were predictable and channels of diplomacy were clear, the 21st century is fragmented and volatile. A single spark in a hotspot – be it Taiwan, Ukraine, or the Korean peninsula – could unleash a chain reaction. Survivors, activists, and moral leaders continue to appeal for disarmament. Cities around the world commemorate Hiroshima Day with candlelight vigils, peace walks, and interfaith prayers. The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park and the Atomic Bomb Dome stand as global symbols of both destruction and resilience.

In classrooms, museums, and parliaments, the stories of that terrible dawn are retold. Literature, film, and art continue to grapple with the meaning of nuclear trauma – from John Hersey’s Hiroshima to Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go to the recent cinematic interpretations of Oppenheimer’s moral dilemma. And perhaps most powerful is the youth-led movement, emerging in recent years, that sees nuclear disarmament not just as an issue of weapons but of climate justice, racial equity, and human rights. These new voices connect Hiroshima to broader struggles against war, against exploitation, and against the destruction of the planet. They remind us that a world capable of producing atomic bombs must also be capable of disarming them.

The story of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is not over. It lives in the treaties signed and unsigned, in the bombs built and dismantled, in the speeches made and forgotten. It lives in the political tensions of our time and in the moral imagination of generations to come. As we mark eighty years since the sun fell twice from the sky, we must ask: will the 100th anniversary be one of regret or redemption? Will we remember Hiroshima as the beginning of nuclear tyranny or the turning point toward peace?

(The writer is Professor, Centre for South Asian Studies, Pondicherry Central University.)