In September 2025, two very different journeys—one across the Pacific to Japan, the other deep underground in Moscow—brought new urgency to the world’s ongoing reckoning with nuclear weapons. Both experiences, though separated by continents and contexts, offered sobering reminders of the catastrophic power that shaped the last century and continues to shadow the present.
On the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombings that ended World War II, a group from Marquette University traveled to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Led by Vice President for Mission and Ministry Rev. John Thiede, S.J., and joined by faculty, staff, and students, their pilgrimage was more than a historical tour—it was a profound encounter with survivors, known as hibakusha, and a deep dive into the lived realities of nuclear devastation. According to Marquette Today, the group’s aim was to become "pilgrims for hope," engaging with the past to inspire a more peaceful future.
For many in the group, including theology associate professor Dr. Alexandre Martins, the visit was transformative. "Talking with local residents, listening to reflections offered by bishops and scholars who accompanied us, and above all, hearing the testimonies of victims of the bombings offered a very different perspective on how to understand these events," Martins reflected. The hibakusha, who have been recognized with the Nobel Peace Prize for their activism, shared stories that went far beyond textbook summaries.
Student William deGuzman recalled, "This was a part of the story I never learned growing up in the United States, and it was far more brutal than any textbook ever conveyed." The experience shifted his view from distant observer to someone who feels "an overwhelming responsibility to help ensure something like this doesn’t happen again." For deGuzman and others, the trip challenged them to take active roles in peacebuilding and nonviolence.
Emotional moments abounded. Jane Oberlies, another student, described arriving in Japan and being struck not just by the tragedy memorialized there, but by the warmth and forgiveness of the Japanese people. "Although the sorrow and pain within the museums were consuming, I watched Japanese families use these opportunities to connect with their loved ones," Oberlies said. She was deeply moved by the "immense faith and strength" that underpinned the Japanese approach to forgiveness, and resolved to study and practice this nonviolent approach in her own life.
The pilgrimage was also an opportunity for dialogue and friendship. Students from Marquette joined their peers from Sophia University and Nagasaki Junshin Catholic University, sharing meals, stories, and aspirations for a peaceful future. Oberlies noted, "We spent our time together discussing our hobbies, schoolwork, favorite movies and families. We listened to these stories, helped one another to recall all the details, and held each other accountable to share these stories with our friends and family when we returned home."
For Dr. Martins, the concept of friendship took on new meaning. "Being friends means listening with both heart and mind open to learn. I connected with many people simply by listening to them and reading the stories of victims," he said. The bonds formed during the trip, he suggested, were about more than camaraderie—they were about a shared commitment to justice, reconciliation, and a world without nuclear weapons.
Dr. Terry Rynne, a co-founder of Marquette’s Center for Peacemaking, was a featured scholar at an academic symposium in Hiroshima. His remarks focused on how the Catholic Church should critically reassess its stance on nuclear weapons in today’s complex geopolitical and religious landscape. As reported by Marquette Today, Rynne observed that Catholic social teaching is moving "from nuclear deterrence to nuclear abolition," a shift echoed by civil society, church leaders, and activists who increasingly recognize nonviolence as central to resolving conflict and building peace.
Meanwhile, half a world away, a different kind of nuclear pilgrimage was taking place beneath the streets of Moscow. As reported by Free Malaysia Today, the Bunker-42 Cold War Museum—once a top-secret military installation—now offers visitors a chillingly immersive look at the realities of nuclear war. Built in the early 1950s, the 7,000 square-metre bunker sits 65 meters below ground and was designed to house up to 600 staff for 30 days in the event of a nuclear strike.
The journey to the bunker is an experience in itself: visitors descend 18 flights of stairs, greeted by a guide in full Soviet regalia, before passing through fortified tunnels and checkpoints. The museum’s exhibits include radio and communications equipment from the Cold War era, as well as a simulated nuclear launch facility. Here, guests can try their hand at manning the control panel for a nuclear counter-attack—a sobering exercise that underscores the terrifying speed with which such devastation could be unleashed.
Perhaps most harrowing is the museum’s focus on the R-36M missile, nicknamed "Satan" by NATO. This weapon, the guide explains, is capable of carrying a warhead 1,000 times more powerful than the "Fat Man" bomb dropped on Nagasaki in 1945. The demonstration is a stark reminder of just how much more destructive nuclear arsenals have become since those first bombs fell on Japan.
At one point, visitors are herded into a locked tunnel as alarms blare overhead, simulating what it would feel like to shelter during a nuclear attack. Emerging once again into the sunlight, the experience leaves many reflecting on the fragility of human existence and the urgent need for peace. "The entire process of firing inter-continental ballistic missiles and razing a whole city to dust takes only a few minutes," the Free Malaysia Today article notes, "a stark reminder of the destructive potential of nuclear power in the wrong hands, and the fragility of human existence in the absence of peace."
Both the Marquette pilgrimage and the Moscow museum visit serve as powerful calls to action. The former, rooted in faith and cross-cultural friendship, challenges participants to live out the Gospel call to be peacemakers and to work towards a world free of nuclear weapons. The latter, through its visceral simulations, confronts visitors with the horrifying reality of nuclear war and the thin line that separates peace from annihilation.
"Ultimately, what I brought home from Japan is a deeper conviction that peace is not a distant ideal. It is something we build together in the way we live, speak, and act," deGuzman said, echoing a sentiment that resonates across borders and generations. As the world marks eight decades since Hiroshima and Nagasaki, these journeys—one of remembrance and reconciliation, the other of warning and reflection—underscore the imperative that the lessons of the past must not be forgotten, and that the work of peace remains as urgent as ever.
