This year marks another solemn anniversary of the atomic bombings—80 years since the U.S. dropped nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Over 120 national representatives gathered in Hiroshima this year to solemnly declare their pro-peace positions. Among them will be delegates from Israel and, for the first time, Palestine. The irony could not be starker: in just the past 20 months, Israel has dropped six times more explosives on Gaza than the U.S. dropped on Japan in 1945.
But unlike the preserved black-and-white images of Hiroshima, the scenes from Gaza are not historical—they are part of our daily reality. And if we dare to compare, the number of victims is not so different: those in 1945 mostly died instantly (along with those who endured agony before their last breath); those in Gaza die slowly—by bombs, bullets, starvation, or while trying to get some food.
The official American justification for the atomic bombings has never held up to serious scrutiny. We are told the bombs were necessary to force Japan’s surrender and end World War II. But even then—and certainly now—it is clear that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were test sites, chosen to showcase U.S. supremacy to the world. Richard Falk puts it rightly: “This use of atomic bombs against defenceless, densely populated cities remains the greatest single act of state terror in human history, and had it been committed by the losers in World War II surely the perpetrators would have been held criminally accountable and the weaponry forever prohibited.” The message was unmistakable: we are the masters of life and death. Other powers soon joined the nuclear club. The nuclear arms spiral never stopped.
If Hiroshima and Nagasaki were sacrificed in the name of ending one world war, what, then, are the people of Gaza—and now the West Bank—being destroyed for? The beginning of the next? Actually, some people believe we are already in a global war nightmare, but we are in denial.
A schoolboy in Hiroshima—great-grandson of a survivor—guides foreign visitors through the city’s tragic history. On camera, he says something deeply moving: The most dangerous thing is to forget what happened long ago. What he doesn’t say—but what many of us adults whisper—is this: the danger is here. The memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are fading and they have become ceremonial symbols in front of which today’s war criminals—from Washington to Tel Aviv—shed crocodile tears.
Have we forgotten the horrors of nuclear weapons? Recent events suggest yes. Two global figures—Donald Trump and Dmitry Medvedev—flex their nuclear machismo on social media, leading to submarine deployments and heightened tensions near Russia.
But even more alarming are two events that could take us from theatrics to tragedy: Ukraine’s “Spiderweb” operation, targeting Russian nuclear facilities, and U.S. and Israeli attacks on Iran’s civilian nuclear infrastructure. The first was a provocation—dangerous, reckless, and left unanswered only thanks to restraint in Moscow. The second confirms a disturbing logic: if a country wants to avoid being bombed, it must possess a nuclear deterrent. This is precisely the reasoning embraced by North Korea—and increasingly, Iran. Some experts already describe Iran as an undeclared nuclear state. Its strategic priority now seems clear: build a bomb. But indeed the U.S. attack on Iran has made the most compelling case for nuclear proliferation.
Just months before Hiroshima’s global commemoration, the Doomsday Clock ticks closer to midnight. And yet—what is the point of commemorations, speeches, and rituals when genocide unfolds in real time?
The horror of 2025 is not nuclear, but no less apocalyptic. Without dropping a single atomic bomb, a people can be tortured, starved, erased—with full impunity. In Gaza, the killing is not indiscriminate; it is deliberate, systemic, and unapologetic. In such a world, Palestine does not need just sympathy. It demands outrage, including immediate trade/economic embargo, sanctions and intervention.
Let’s remember a precedent the West proudly cites: In 1999, NATO, led by the U.S., launched a military intervention against the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia—ostensibly to protect civilians in Kosovo. The action violated the UN Charter, yet was later reframed as a moral necessity. Chomsky coined the concept of new military humanism. Under that logic, NATO helped draft a new constitution and lay the groundwork for Kosovo’s statehood.
From this emerged the UN-supported doctrine of Responsibility to Protect (R2P)—a vision of global order where sovereignty could be overridden to stop atrocities. It was the West’s post-Westphalian blueprint for humanitarian intervention.
So where is R2P now? As a professor, I could list countless books and papers lauding this doctrine. Yet today, not a single Western power dares to invoke it for Gaza.
Quite the opposite: you can kill civilians, destroy cities, and pursue a “final solution” with conventional weapons—and the world looks away. Governments remain silent, although I suspect most ordinary people (outside of Israel) do not support this slaughter.
Between Hiroshima’s ceremonies and the upcoming UN General Assembly, there is renewed talk of recognizing Palestine as an independent state. For a moment, it seems conscience stirs in the West, unable to stomach the daily horrors resembling Auschwitz or Hiroshima. But even this appears to be political theatre. By September, the bombing will likely continue—with no sanctions, no accountability, no end.
And let’s not forget: over 170 countries already recognize Palestine. So what? If they cannot enforce sanctions or intervene diplomatically—or even humanely—what good is recognition?
In truth, the global order cares more about trade, tech, and territorial alliances than it does about people being systematically erased. Even among Arab states, Palestinians are treated as a burden—an inconvenience to regional deals and diplomatic normalization.
The dead of Hiroshima and Nagasaki—and the few survivors who still bear witness—can never rest while Gaza looks like it has suffered six Hiroshimas, and nearly a million people face starvation beyond return. What is a Palestinian state worth if there are no Palestinians left?
And what does it say about the Israeli state and military—armed, protected, and celebrated in the West—that it can bomb, starve, and invade neighboring countries without consequence?
As the anniversaries of August 6 and 9 pass, the global chorus will echo once more: “Never again.”
But the truth is sobering: The world has learned nothing from the most horrifying crime against humanity in modern history.
Hiroshima horrors still live in the cries from Gaza.
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This article was produced by Globetrotter. Biljana Vankovska is a professor of political science and international relations at Ss. Cyril and Methodius University in Skopje, a member of the Transnational Foundation of Peace and Future Research (TFF) in Lund, Sweden, and the most influential public intellectual in Macedonia. She is a member of the No Cold War collective
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