In 1994, while living in Japan, I spent a few days in Hiroshima with old friend and then budding Tex-Mex troubadour Mike Takasaki. (My favourite Takasaki aphorism: “In the desert of grudges I am a camel.”) As required by any visit to the city we lingered around the Peace Park and its many memorials for the better part of an afternoon, which both Mike and I described as a strangely underwhelming experience.

Mike recently pointed me to this article by Ron Rosenbaum over at Slate (Welcome to the Hotel Hiroshima) which we agree jibes pretty well with our feelings about visiting Hiroshima. Looking back, I’m not sure what we expected—some serenely Zen, post-atomic fantasia, I suppose, rather than the fairly typical modern Japanese city that exists today. Regarding the park, Rosenbaum points out the ubiquitous “Peace Clutter”—74 different memorializing objects/installations and counting—that makes the strolling the landscaped riverside greenery a bizarrely kitschy if democratic encounter.

Being at Hiroshima also prompts Rosenbaum to think about 9/11 and the ego-fraught politics of memorializing what happened at the World Trade Center, which I hoped he’d pursued further. It will be interesting to see what does eventually cover over the wound in the earth and more importantly the story that it tells.