At exactly 08:15 on August 6, 1945, as the atomic bomb “Little Boy” plummeted toward Hiroshima, Lee Jung-soon, then a young schoolgirl, was on her way to class. Now 88, she struggles to recount the moment that would shape the rest of her life.

“My father ran back from work and told us to run,” she recalls, motioning as if brushing away the trauma. “The streets were full of bodies… I just cried and cried.”

Lee is among the thousands of Korean survivors who were in Hiroshima when the bomb exploded, instantly killing around 70,000 people and causing an estimated 140,000 total deaths. The true devastation, however, extended far beyond Hiroshima — and across generations.

The Forgotten Victims

While the world often remembers the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as the grim climax of World War II, less acknowledged is the fact that about 20% of Hiroshima’s immediate victims were Koreans.

At the time, Korea had been under brutal Japanese colonial rule for 35 years. Many of the estimated 140,000 Koreans living in Hiroshima had been forced into labor or migrated under colonial pressure. Those who survived the blast, like Ms. Lee and others, bore not only physical scars but also generational trauma, poverty, and government neglect.

Shim Jin-tae, 83, now leads the Hapcheon branch of the Korean Atomic Bomb Victims Association. “No country takes responsibility,” he laments. “Not the one that dropped the bomb. Not the one that ruled us. Not even the one we call home.”

Today, Hapcheon — a rural South Korean county — is known as “Korea’s Hiroshima” due to the concentration of survivors who resettled there.

Lingering Pain, Across Generations

Lee’s suffering didn’t end with her own health struggles, which now include skin cancer and Parkinson’s disease. Her son, Ho-chang, suffers from kidney failure and relies on dialysis. “I believe it’s linked to radiation exposure, but proving that is nearly impossible,” he says.

The South Korean Ministry of Health and Welfare collected genetic data from 2020 to 2024 and plans further studies through 2029, but says it will only consider recognizing second- and third-generation victims if the results are “statistically significant.”

Meanwhile, families like the Lees live in limbo — burdened by symptoms with no official acknowledgment of their cause.

Second-Class Citizens in Hiroshima

Back in Hiroshima, Koreans were often forced into the most dangerous and degrading jobs. Shim’s parents, for example, worked in a munitions factory and nailed ammunition crates.

After the bomb, it was Koreans who were made to collect the dead. “There were too many bodies,” Shim recalls. “They had to use dustpans and burn the corpses in schoolyards.”

Their lack of local connections meant Koreans couldn’t evacuate easily. Many remained exposed to radiation with little medical help, contributing to a Korean death rate of 57.1% — significantly higher than the overall 33.7% for bomb survivors.

Outcasts in Their Own Country

When the war ended and about 23,000 Korean survivors returned home, they were not met with sympathy but suspicion. They were seen as diseased or cursed — much like lepers — and faced social exclusion.

“People treated survivors like monsters,” Lee says. “Some had faces so burned that only their eyes could be seen. They were avoided, rejected in marriage, left in poverty.”

Shame and silence became survival tactics. But health problems persisted — often in the form of heart disease, cancer, or unknown conditions.

Inherited Trauma

Han Jeong-sun, a second-generation survivor, suffers from avascular necrosis, dragging her legs as she walks. Her first son was born with cerebral palsy.

“My in-laws told me I was cursed,” she says. “They asked if I came to destroy their family.”

Studies have found second-generation victims face significantly higher risks of disease and mental health issues. Yet, they still struggle for recognition.

“My son’s disability is proof. My illness is proof,” Han says. “But the government demands more. So are we supposed to just die unseen?”

Delayed Recognition and Hollow Apologies

It wasn’t until 2019 that South Korea officially acknowledged its own victims with a fact-finding report — decades too late for many.

And in July 2025, Japanese officials made their first-ever visit to Hapcheon to lay flowers at a memorial. But no apology followed.

“Peace without apology is meaningless,” says Japanese activist Junko Ichiba. “Korean victims are still invisible in textbooks and policy.”

A memorial hall in Hapcheon displays 1,160 wooden tablets, each bearing the name of a Korean killed in Hiroshima. For many, it’s the only recognition they’ve ever received.

The Fight for Memory

Shim Jin-tae believes the battle is not only about compensation but dignity. “We need the world to remember,” he says. “Our bodies remember. If our stories die with us, it will all happen again.”

As time passes, the urgency grows. Survivors are aging. Their children carry the legacy. And the justice they’ve waited for remains elusive.