From Hiroshima to Gaza, there is no peace without justice

I was 17 when Israel waged Operation Cast Lead on Gaza in 2008. I was sitting mock exams for my final year of high school when it felt like the doors of hell had been flung open. For 22 days, Gaza was pounded from land, sea, and air, sealed off from international media. Aid was reduced to a laboratory for testing weapons and exterminating bodies, while the rest of the world was distracted with New Year’s celebrations.

That assault marked a turning point in my life—not because it was the first I endured, but because I was old enough to understand the violence as part of a systematic ethnic cleansing  campaign that’s been ongoing since 1948.

The Goldestone Report that investigated atrocities committed during this dark period, noted Israel’s deliberate targeting of civilians and civilian infrastructure as part of a broader policy, which continues to this day with impunity.

We had survived two Intifadas before this horror, yet nothing prepared us for that winter’s brutality. Our home became a shelter for displaced families, including my childhood friend Alia Al-Khatib. On 5 January 2009, her father Ali left to pick up some necessities for his family and check on his elderly parents who refused to abandon their home in Jabalia, but he never returned. An Israeli drone strike killed him instantly.

Days later, our neighbour received a threat that our homes would be targeted. We immediately ran into the street barefoot, and spent three days at another nearby house plagued by fears.

It was psychological warfare; the bombing was never carried out. A ceasefire was declared on 18 January 2009 which allowed us to return home.

Then came the surreal expectation to return to “normal.” Go back to school. Carry on.

Israel killed over 1,400 Palestinians, mostly civilians, children and women. How do we carry on after that?

I tried to take comfort in the fact that my family was still alive. But I couldn’t escape the idea that I could have been another forgotten name amongst those killed.

After this, I turned to other survivors around me, including my dad who endured over 16 years of captive resistance in Israeli jails. I decided to endure by using any tool at my disposal to convey the struggles of our refugees, martyrs and detainees to people around the world.

Thirteen Hiroshimas

A Japanese war photographer and journalist Rei Shiva visited Gaza to cover the aftermath of Israel’s attacks. My brother Majed was his fixer, he lived with my family for about a month at our home in Al-Saftawi Street, where we shared the details of our lives to him under a persistent lack of safety and electricity.

I never imagined that 16 years later, my encounter with Rei would lead me to Japan.

Israel’s genocide and its devastating impact pushed me to undertake a labour of love for the survivors in my family, and those facing unprecedented dehumanisation.

Following the publication of my book Between Reality and Documentary (2025), which examines Gaza refugees through colonial, humanitarian, and Palestinian documentary film, Rei and his partner Rena Masuyama, extended a generous invitation for me to speak about it.

I was able to address the Japanese Parliament against the backdrop of a so-called “ceasefire” following over two years of the latest Israeli genocide in Gaza. I also spoke at the United Nations University, Senshu University in Tokyo, and cinemas and cultural centres as part of Eurasia World film Week.

From the US atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to the Japanese Red Army who joined the Palestinian struggle at a heavy price, Japan had long occupied my imagination.

Hiroshima was particularly triggering, though it might shock people to know that it also provides me with some comfort. You see, the city stands as proof to people’s unbreakable desire to rise from the ashes despite the US’ devastating atomic bombing of 1945.

My experience at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum felt cathartic, because for Palestinians, annihilation is not a historical event that is acknowledged, studied and commemorated. It is both historical and ongoing. There’s been no reckoning, no accountability, no space to remember, grieve and rebuild—only a permanent struggle for survival.

Experts suggested in October 2025 Israel’s bombardment of Gaza as equivalent to more than 13 Hiroshimas, dropped on a territory a fraction its size, but more populated.

And yet, Gaza has no memorials, no vow of “never again,” no consensus on the crime, and no naming or accountability.

Instead, criminals are being rewarded.

During my visit, the news was filled with the scene of Donald Trump addressing a Hanukkah reception at the White House, claiming: “I signed off the rights to the Golan Heights over to Israel,” and indicating that the illegal annexation made Israel richer by “trillions of dollars!”

Japan’s “Peace-washing”

My invitation to Japan also exposed the contradictions of the country itself. Israeli ambassadors’ annual participation in Hiroshima’s memorial to represent “the message that Israel seeks peace” normalises a state founded on the dispossession and genocide of Palestinians, that also refuses to respect basic international nuclear weapons protocols.

It is a betrayal to the lessons that should be learned from “the mistakes of the past”, as Hiroshima’s Cenotaph reminds us.

Nonetheless, it was comforting to attend a nearby weekly vigil where I met solidarity activists who consistently protested Japan’s complicity in Israeli crimes, including calling for a comprehensive military embargo in light of Japanese Robotics Company FANUC’s link with Israel’s largest weapons manufacturer, Elbit Systems.

Amongst the dedicated activists, I had the honour of meeting Aoe Tanami, a scholar in Palestinian culture speaks fluent Arabic. She informed me that she had known my late art teacher Fathi Ghaben, a celebrated artist from Jabalia Refugee Camp who died of cancer in 2024 after Israel rejected his family’s pleas for his medical evacuation.

Tanami and I sang Unadikom (I call on you) at the vigil. It was one of the most refreshing and unforgettable moments. It reminded me that our struggles and histories are deeply interconnected, and our humanity transcend all borders.

The US was never held responsible for its crimes against humanity in Japan, or its devastating direct and indirect military interventions that followed elsewhere. Impunity became a precedent that openly lives on, including in Palestine.

While figures like Trump, Netanyahu, and others responsible for trying to wipe out Gaza use words like “uninhabitable” or “wasteland,” Hiroshima stands as a living rebuke to that lie, and Gaza could rise—if we were able to rebuild it.

Dr. Shahd Abusalama is a Palestinian academic, writer and artist, born and raised in Jabalia Refugee Camp, northern Gaza. After a decade of studing and working in the UK, she relocated in 2024 to Barcelona to support her recently-displaced family from Gaza. In Spring 2025, her book Between Reality and Documentary was published by Bloomsbury and SOAS Palestine Studies, exploring historical representations of Gaza refugees in colonial, humanitarian and Palestinian documentary film.

Follow Shahd on X: @ShahdAbusalama

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Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.