Atomic testament: Yoshito Matsushige and the first photos of Hiroshima’s nuclear toll

By David A. Wargowski | August 6, 2025

Photojournalist Yoshito Matsushige, in front of the first image he took at Miyuki-bashi Bridge, a little over two hours after the United States dropped a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima. He took a total of 5 images, the only recorded evidence of that day that changed history. (Photo by John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images)

In the late morning hours of August 6, 1945, a single shutter clicked in Hiroshima and recorded what no camera had ever captured before, and none has again: the immediate, lived aftermath of a city annihilated by nuclear weapons.

Equipped with one camera and two rolls of film, totaling just 24 possible exposures, Yoshito Matsushige, then a 32-year-old photojournalist, ventured toward the city that morning to report for duty. Fires blocked access to his office, so he turned back and reached Miyuki Bridge (about 2,300 meters from ground zero) where he encountered the unfathomable: charred schoolgirls, civilians with melted skin, and a landscape of human agony.

He could barely bring himself to document it. But his five surviving images—the only known photographs of Hiroshima’s destruction on the day of the bombing itself—are among the most harrowing visual records of the nuclear age.

A Witness with a Camera

Born in 1913 in Kure, Hiroshima Prefecture, Matsushige joined the Geibinichinichi Newspaper Corporation in 1941, and later worked for the Chugoku Shimbun after a wartime media consolidation. He also held a secondary role as a military press officer at the Chugoku Regional Army Headquarters.

On the morning of August 6, he was at home in Midori-cho, about 1.7 miles from the bomb’s hypocenter, just outside the radius of complete destruction. Though his home was damaged, Matsushige survived relatively uninjured.

Over the next 10 hours, emotionally paralyzed by the suffering and fearful of provoking survivors’ ire, he pressed his camera shutter just seven times. Lacking clean water and darkroom resources, Matsushige was unable to develop the film immediately. He waited 20 days before processing the images outdoors, at night, using a radioactive stream to rinse them. Two of the exposures were ruined.

The other five stark and unflinching photographs—presented here with Matsushige’s own recollections and other early images included in his 1996 book, Atomic Bomb Photo Testament—are now considered iconic evidence of the Hiroshima bombing and the unimaginable consequences of nuclear war.

David A. Wargowski

David A. Wargowski is a retired scientist and independent researcher focused on the history of nuclear science, Cold War deterrence policy,... Read More

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The five photographs:
Yoshito Matsushige’s account of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima

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Mushroom cloud photographed from Kanda Bridge, Furuichi-cho, Asa-gun, located about 7,000 meters from the hypocenter. (Photo by Mitsuo Matsushige)

“I had finished breakfast and was getting ready to go to the newspaper when it happened. There was a flash from the indoor wires as if lightning had struck. I didn’t hear any sound, how shall I say, the world around me turned bright white. And I was momentarily blinded as if a magnesium light had lit up in front of my eyes.

Immediately after that, the blast came. I was bare from the waist up, and the blast was so intense, it felt like hundreds of needles were stabling me all at once. The blast grew large holes in the walls of the first and second floor. I could barely see the room because of all the dirt.

Mushroom cloud photographed from Kanda Bridge, Furuichi-cho, Asa-gun, located about 7,000 meters from the hypocenter. (Photo by Mitsuo Matsushige)

Y. Matsushige as army and newspaper photographer just before the A-Bomb. (Photo by John van Hasselt/Sygma via Getty Images)

I pulled my camera and the clothes issued by the military headquarters out from under the mound of the debris, and I got dressed. I thought I would go to either the newspaper or to the headquarters. That was about 40 minutes after the blast.

Near the Miyuki Bridge, there was a police box. Most of the victims who had gathered there were junior high school girls from the Hiroshima Girls Business School and the Hiroshima Junior High School No.1. They had been mobilized to evacuate buildings and were outside when the bomb fell.

Having been directly exposed to the heat rays, they were covered with blisters, the size of balls, on their backs, their faces, their shoulders and their arms. The blisters were starting to burst open and their skin hung down like rugs. Some of the children even have burns on the soles of their feet. They'd lost their shoes and run barefoot through the burning fire.

When I saw this, I thought I would take a picture and I picked up my camera. But I couldn't push the shutter because the sight was so pathetic. Even though I too was a victim of the same bomb, I only had minor injuries from glass fragments, whereas these people were dying. It was such a cruel sight that I couldn't bring myself to press the shutter.

Perhaps I hesitated there for about 20 minutes, but I finally summoned up the courage to take one picture.

Yoshito Matsushige took his first photograph on August 6, 1945, between 11:00 and 11:30 a.m. local time, approximately three hours after the atomic bomb was dropped (8:15am) on Hiroshima. The image was captured at the west end of Miyuki Bridge, about 2.3 kilometers (1.43 miles) from the bomb’s hypocenter. It depicts police officers tending to severely burned junior high school students, using cooking oil as an improvised treatment.

Then, I moved 4 or 5 meters forward to take the second picture.

Even today, I clearly remember how the viewfinder was clouded over with my tears. I felt that everyone was looking at me and thinking angrily, "He's taking our picture and will bring us no help at all." Still, I had to press the shutter, so I harden my heart and finally I took the second shot. Those people must have thought me duly cold-hearted.

The second photograph, taken within the same time frame as the first, presents a closer perspective to more vividly capture the devastating effects of the atomic bomb, shredded clothing, severe burns, and peeling skin, on the junior high school children. The six survivors shown in the foreground were later identified.

A destroyed streetcar near Hatchobori, photographed on August 10 just a few blocks from the similar scene Matsushige came upon in Kamiya-cho. (Satsuo Nakata / Kyodo News / Hiroshima University Research Institute for Radiation Biology and Medicine)

Then, I saw a burnt streetcar which had just turned the corner at Kamiya-cho. There were passengers still in the car. I put my foot onto the steps of the car and I looked inside. There were perhaps 15 or 16 people in front of the car. They laid dead one on top of another. Kamiya-cho was very close to the hypocenter, about 200 meters away. The passengers had stripped them of all their clothes.

They say that when you are terrified, you tremble and your hair stands on end. And I felt just this tremble when I saw this scene.

I stepped down to take a picture and I put my hand on my camera. But I felt so sorry for these dead and naked people whose photo would be left to posterity that I couldn't take the shot. Also, in those days we weren't allowed to publish the photographs of corpses in the newspapers.

After that, I walked around, I walked through the section of town which had been hit hardest. I walked for close to three hours. But I couldn't take even one picture of that central area. There were other cameramen in the army shipping group and also at the newspaper as well. But the fact that not a single one of them was able to take pictures seems to indicate just how brutal the bombing actually was.

The third photograph was taken around 2:00 p.m. Hiroshima local time, approximately six hours after the detonation. It shows Yoshito Matsushige’s wife, Sumie, wearing a helmet, clearing rubble from their combined barbershop and residence, located about 2.7 kilometers (1.6 miles) from the hypocenter.

The fourth photograph, taken around the same time as the third, depicts the remains of the four-story wooden fire station situated across the street from the Matsushige barbershop window.

The fifth photograph was taken near Miyuki Bridge at a tram stop approximately 2.4 kilometers (1.5 miles) from the hypocenter. Captured around 5:00 p.m. Hiroshima local time, about nine hours after the detonation, it shows a wounded policeman, his head wrapped in bandages, distributing rice ration certificates to atomic bomb survivors.

I don't pride myself on it, but it's a small consolation that I was able to take at least five pictures.”

From Censorship to Global Impact

In the aftermath of the bombing, US occupation authorities confiscated most newspaper and film documentation of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings. Matsushige’s negatives survived the sweep, but the images were little seen until after the occupation ended in 1952.

That year, on the seventh anniversary of the bombing, the Japanese magazine Asahi Gurafu published Matsushige’s photographs in a special issue titled “First Exposé of A-Bomb Damage.” The issue struck a nerve, selling out within hours and requiring four reprints. Total circulation reached approximately 700,000 copies. That same month, Life magazine published two of his images under the headline “When Atom Bomb Struck – Uncensored.” The photographs, once withheld from the world, quickly became central to the global understanding of what had happened in Hiroshima.

Matsushige took this photograph in early September, about a month after the bombing. The wrecked Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall (right) and Aioi Bridge (left), with the wreckage of the Japanese Red Cross Society building can be seen between them. Located just a few hundred feet from the bomb's hypocenter, the ruins of the Industrial Promotion Hall remain standing today as the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, better known as the Atomic Bomb Dome. (Yoshito Matsushige / Chugoku Shimbun / Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum)

From Journalist to Peace Activist

After retiring from Chugoku Shimbun in 1969, Matsushige dedicated the remainder of his life to peace advocacy. He authored multiple photo essays and books chronicling the bombing’s aftermath, and spoke both in Japan and internationally, including before the United Nations General Assembly. In 1978, he helped found the Association of Photographers of the Atomic Bomb Destruction of Hiroshima, a group that included other Hiroshima photographers and the families of those who had died since 1945. Matsushige was also a member of the Atomic Photographers Guild. He remained active in preserving the photographic legacy of that day until his death in 2005 at the age of 92.

Photographer Yoshito Matsushige's wife Sumie shows the third of five photos he took on August 6, 1945. She is seen cleaning her barbershop, which was heavily damaged by the atomic bomb a few hours earlier. (John van Hasselt / Sygma via Getty Images)

In 2005, sixty years after the bombing, Matsushige's nephew Motoki Oya stands in the barbershop displaying his uncle's photograph with the same view. Oya kept the family business running for many years. (Photo by John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images)

Matsushige’s five photographs are not simply historical records. They are moral documents etched in celluloid and seared into collective memory. They continue to confront us with the real human cost of nuclear warfare. Through his restraint, pain, and perseverance, Matsushige ensured that Hiroshima’s suffering would never be forgotten.

“Those of us who experienced all these hardships, we hope that such suffering will never be experienced again by our children and our grandchildren. Not only our children and grandchildren, but all future generations should not have to go through this tragedy. That is why I want young people to listen to our testimonies and to choose the right path, the path which leads to peace.”

The images captured by Matsushige and the other photographers who witnessed the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki remain indispensable tools in the global struggle for nuclear disarmament. In capturing, with quiet courage, what should never happen again, Matsushige and his fellow photographers left behind something stronger than words, a visual testament to the necessity of peace.

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