Hiroshima Day and the story of a thousand paper cranes

A piece of paper. A few folds. And from those folds, a crane is born. Not one, not two—a thousand cranes. In Japanese society, a traditional belief connects these thousand cranes with the fulfilment of wishes. But after World War II, that folk belief was transformed into a symbol of world peace.

At the centre of this story is a 12-year-old girl: Sadako Sasaki—a girl whose life was cut short by radiation from the atomic bomb, but whose dream of peace never stopped. Today, that unfinished dream lives on through the hands of children and youth in Bangladesh.

On 6 August this year, marking Hiroshima Day, students from various educational institutions in Dhaka crafted a thousand paper cranes to remember the tragic Japanese tale from seventy-one years ago. Through this commemoration, the Liberation War Museum has been keeping the unfinished wish of Japanese girl Sadako Sasaki alive for the past thirty years. Generation after generation of Bangladeshis are coming to understand the horrors of war and genocide, as well as the eternal message of peace.

In ancient Japan, people believed that cranes could live for a thousand years. Consequently, in the country’s folklore, the crane became a symbol of longevity, good fortune, and hope. Japanese legend dictates that if a person diligently crafts one thousand paper cranes, their inner wish will be granted. In Japanese, this set of a thousand cranes is called “Senbazuru”. The art technique of folding paper is known as origami. While this traditional Japanese craft is now globally recognised, the history of paper cranes is not merely about aesthetics; it is deeply intertwined with belief, prayer, hope, and the desire for peace.

In ancient times, paper was scarce in Japan, so people used large tree leaves to create various shapes. Later, paper arrived in Japan from China, spreading through Buddhist monks. Over time, paper became accessible to the general public. During the Edo period, along with the commercial expansion of traditional Japanese paper called “washi”, origami carved out a place in the daily lives of ordinary people. However, this ancient belief surrounding cranes took on a new meaning after World War II, it evolved beyond good fortune or longevity to become a symbol of world peace.

It was 6 August 1945. Local time, 8:15 AM. The United States dropped the atomic bomb “Little Boy” on the city of Hiroshima, Japan. Within seconds, the devastating explosion flattened vast areas of the city. Fire and intense heat took countless lives. Many who did not die instantly later suffered from various diseases due to atomic radiation exposure. Little Sadako Sasaki was a silent witness to that horror in Hiroshima.

She was only two years old when the bomb exploded. Her home was located about two kilometers from the epicentre of the blast. Although many people nearby perished, Sadako survived. It seemed as though the devastation of the bomb had left her untouched. She grew up just like any other child—going to school, playing with friends, and developing a special passion for relay races. Lively and joyful, she held many dreams for the future. Yet, the shadow of nuclear radiation was secretly lingering inside her body.

In 1955, while studying in the seventh grade, Sadako suddenly felt sick after a relay race at school. She felt dizzy and extremely weak. A few days later, the same symptoms resurfaced. After medical examinations, doctors revealed that Sadako was suffering from leukemia. Due to radiation exposure, many children in Hiroshima were contracting this disease at the time. Among the residents of Hiroshima, it became known as the "atomic bomb disease". Sadako was admitted to the hospital. The girl who once ran in open fields began spending her days confined to a hospital bed.

One day, Sadako’s friend Chizuko came to visit her in the hospital, carrying a small paper crane. It was from Chizuko that Sadako heard the ancient Japanese legend: if a person folds one thousand cranes, the Creator will grant their wish. A glimmer of hope was reignited in Sadako’s mind. She believed that if she could fold a thousand paper cranes, she might recover. Thus began her task of folding cranes.

Lying on her hospital bed, Sadako folded paper relentlessly. Crane after crane came into being. Despite her weak body and tired eyes, her hands did not stop. After completing five hundred cranes, she felt that she might actually get well, and she indeed started feeling a bit better. Doctors temporarily allowed her to go home. But that joy was short-lived. As her health deteriorated once again, Sadako returned to the hospital.
Life stopped after 644 cranes

Even from her hospital bed, Sadako did not stop making paper cranes. Her mother, siblings, friends, and classmates surrounded her. Between her frail hands, paper folded into cranes—one, two, ten, a hundred. Her dream was to reach a thousand, but that number was never completed. After crafting 644 paper cranes, Sadako fell asleep one day—a sleep from which she never woke up. On 25 October 1955, at just 12 years old, Sadako Sasaki passed away. A child's life ended, but her dream did not.

Sadako’s death deeply moved her classmates. They decided to complete her unfinished task and folded the remaining cranes to reach one thousand. Later, they initiated a campaign to build a monument not just in memory of Sadako, but to honour all children killed by the atomic bomb. They appealed to students across various schools in Japan, and children nationwide raised funds.

Through those collective efforts, the Children''s Peace Monument was established in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.
Standing atop a granite pedestal is a statue of Sadako with her arms outstretched, holding a golden crane. Engraved beneath the statue are the words:  "This is our cry, this is our prayer; peace in the world." A monument dedicated to a single child became a global call for peace for all humanity.

Sadako's story is no longer just Japan's story; it is an anti-war story of humanity. It is a silent protest against nuclear weapons, a story of the desire to live, and a dream of peace. In Bangladesh, the hands of thousands of children and youth have joined this narrative. Initiated by the Liberation War Museum, Bangladeshi children have been commemorating Sadako Sasaki for nearly three decades. They fold paper to make cranes—one after another, reaching a thousand. Each crane stands as a small pledge toward Sadako’s unfinished wish. The journey to fulfil the dream of the child who could not complete her thousand cranes continues today through the hands of children in Dhaka.

Why does Bangladesh remember Sadako? What connects a girl from Hiroshima to Dhaka? Bangladesh, too, has witnessed war. Bangladesh, too, has heard the cries of children. In 1971, genocide took place on this land—villages were burned, families were torn apart, countless children lost their parents, and innumerable infants died in refugee camps. Japan and Bangladesh have distinct histories, but human suffering knows no geographical boundaries. The tears of the child who died in Hiroshima and the cries of the child orphaned in 1971 share the same language. Driven by this, the Liberation War Museum has cherished Sadako Sasaki's memory for the past thirty years since its inception.

A paper crane appears very small. It carries no weapons and holds no power. Yet, attached to that tiny crane is a massive dream—a dream of peace. Sadako wanted to live. Her friends wanted to fulfill her dream. Today, children across various nations hear this story and pray that no child’s life is consumed by the fires of war again, and no city is destroyed by bombs. Yet, wars have not stopped, nor has destruction. Even today, the cries of Sadakos echo in the air of Ukraine, Myanmar, Palestine, and Iran.

The thousand cranes crafted by the children and youth of Bangladesh are therefore not merely paper handicrafts. Within every fold lies the memory of history; on every wing rests a longing for peace. Sadako’s life ended at age 12, but her dream did not. From Hiroshima to Dhaka—on the wings of tiny paper cranes, that dream continues to soar today. Not war, but peace. Not destruction, but life. A safe world for every child—let this be the final message of the story of a thousand cranes.