Atomic bombing of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945
Eighty years ago this week, the United States dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, ending the deadliest war in human history. For decades since, some have revisited that decision with regret, offering calls for apology and handwringing about American power. What few have offered, however, is a sober reckoning with the full truth: those bombs saved lives. And perhaps even more remarkably, they were never used again.
The Manhattan Project, the effort to build the bomb, remains one of the most extraordinary achievements of science, strategy, and logistics the world has ever seen. In less than four years, American engineers, physicists, and military planners, many of them immigrants fleeing totalitarian regimes, developed a weapon that could end a war in seconds. They did so in secrecy, racing not against Japan, but against Nazi Germany, which had been pursuing the same technology.
By mid-1945, Germany had fallen. But Japan, despite having lost nearly all its Pacific holdings, refused to surrender. Their fanatical military leaders demanded death before dishonor. Civilians were being trained with bamboo spears. Kamikaze pilots still crashed into American ships.
The Japanese home islands, if invaded, promised to become a blood-soaked graveyard. General Douglas MacArthur’s staff projected about 105,000 U.S. casualties in the first 90 days of Operation Olympic, the planned invasion of Kyushu in southern Japan. One figure often cited in internal discussions was 500,000 to 1,000,000 American dead and wounded to secure the entire country – along with untold millions of civilian deaths from fighting and mass ritual suicide.
This harrowing possibility was the future President Harry S. Truman faced. So, he made the most agonizing, yet morally sound, decision available: he dropped the bomb.
Hiroshima was destroyed on August 6. Nagasaki followed on August 9. Japan surrendered days later. The war was over.
Critics insist that Japan was already beaten or that an offshore demonstration might have sufficed. But that analysis fails to account for the full gravity of the situation. Japan didn’t surrender after Hiroshima. It didn’t surrender after the firebombing of Tokyo. It surrendered only after the second bomb and the quiet intervention of Emperor Hirohito, who broke with his war council and accepted unconditional surrender. Only the destructive power of the bombs could break through to the Japanese leadership.
In the end, an estimated 210,000 Japanese died from the initial atomic blasts and subsequent radiation sickness. As horrific as that tally was, it pales in comparison to what a conventional ground war on the home islands would have cost.
Second Lieutenant Paul Fussell was just 21 when he received orders while in Europe to prepare to join the first wave to invade Japan. When he heard the bomb had been dropped and the invasion was canceled, he wept with joy. “We were going to live. We were going to grow to adulthood after all. The killing was all going to be over, and peace was actually going to be the state of things,” he recalled.
His tears weren’t unique. They were shared by thousands of American boys who were spared machine-gun fire and mass suicide charges on Japanese beaches.
And yet, the significance of the bomb goes far beyond 1945. For 80 years since, no nuclear weapon has been used in war. Not once. Despite decades of Cold War brinkmanship, regional conflicts, proxy wars, and provocations, the United States—the only nation ever to use such weapons—has shown extraordinary restraint.
This is not how empires behave. Historically, great powers use great weapons. Rome used its legions. Britain, its navy. The Soviets crushed uprisings with tanks. But America? We built the most fearsome arsenal in history, and we put it in a lockbox. That speaks volumes about who we are.
The American people don’t seek conquest. We don’t glorify destruction. We value peace, not pacifism; strength, not savagery. The same nation that created the bomb also chose not to use it again despite provocation, despite opportunity, and despite military superiority. That’s not cowardice. That’s character.
Too often, Hiroshima and Nagasaki are miscast as monuments to American guilt. In truth, they are monuments to American resolve. They remind us of what it takes to win a war and what real moral leadership looks like. Modern Japan stands today as a testament to both destruction and resilience. Its skyline is full of life. Its streets are safe and orderly. Its people, once taught to hate Americans, are now among our closest allies. Japan’s transformation from a militaristic empire to a peaceful, prosperous democracy further demonstrates that dropping those two bombs was the correct decision, even if it was a horrific one.
That’s a legacy worth solemn commemoration. The bomb is not something to celebrate, but the peace it secured, and the restraint we’ve shown since, is something to admire. It reflects a national character rooted in strength, responsibility, and the conviction that American power should serve a higher purpose.
That character is not just a relic of the past. It’s the foundation we must draw from to confront the rising threats of today. China’s aggression, Russia’s revanchism, and Iran’s nuclear ambitions demand more than diplomacy and wishful thinking. They require the same resolve and clarity that brought World War II to a close. President Donald Trump recently exemplified that kind of leadership in striking at the heart of Iran’s nuclear program to destroy a looming threat to peace. Trump reminded the world that America will use its arsenal to stop greater bloodshed if necessary.
It will take courage and character again to stand tall as we face future challenges. So today, remember a world in flames before August 1945. And thank God it was America that first built the greatest superweapon in human history – and that we have had the restraint to only deploy it in the most dire of circumstances.
W.J. Lee has served in the White House, NASA, on multiple political campaigns, and in nearly all levels of government. In his free time, he enjoys the “three R’s” – reading, running, and writing.
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