Why One Thousand Cranes?
In Japanese culture, the origami crane represents a truly magical creature. It’s a bird of peace and happiness and legend says they can live for 1000 years.
It’s believed that if someone folds 1000 origami cranes, they’ll be granted a wish or a long and happy life. And so, this is my family connection to One Thousand Cranes, and also … my wish for you.
The story
Hiroshima beyond the bomb
My family and one thousand cranes
My love for the paper crane and all of its symbolism is embedded in my Japanese heritage. My grandmother, Mitsuko, lived through the bombing of the town of Hiroshima, Japan in 1945.
Grandmother Mitsuko is now 95 years old. She recalls that when the atomic bomb was dropped there was an initial flash of light, followed by a tremendous explosion, then a gigantic mushroom cloud, shadowed by disintegration of everything. A menacing darkness engulfed the land, filling the sky with pollution and turning the air toxic. Then came the black ash-filled radioactive rain that burned the skin and after, the long-term effects of cancer-causing radiation.
Two years after the bombing, my grandmother Mitsuko had my mother, Kazumi, and raised her on her own. Food scarcity, insecurity and poverty made life relentlessly difficult for my grandmother and mother. Yet, there are countless joyful stories dotted throughout this early life, like the time they won an on-radio singing competition together, or their first TV purchased to celebrate Kazumi’s success at school.
Love in the tropics
When my mother was a teenager, my grandmother met and married an Australian ex-soldier in Japan and later moved with him to Papua New Guinea. Eventually old enough to choose for herself, Kazumi decided to go to PNG too, rather than stay in Japan.
The tropical paradise of PNG is a land wrapped in legend and myth. My mother tells the delightful story of being worshipped as an angel by an elderly indigenous bushman who came to town one day (the first time he had ever ventured to town in his life). This bushman had never seen such long straight hair before, and upon seeing my mother, assumed that she must surely be an angel. He danced around her, singing and stroking her long straight glossy black hair. What a blessing! I can imagine the smile that would put on anyone’s face to be revered as an angel.
My mother and father met in PNG. James, my father, was born in Victoria, Australia, descendent from a growing line of Aussies dating back to the first fleet. A coalminer’s son and a country boy, his father died suddenly and far too soon when James was just 14 years old. As a young adult he became a plumber and was sent to PNG to help boost infrastructure. He and my mother married two years after they met.
An Australian-Japanese connection
Eventually, my parents moved to Victoria, Australia. Some years later, my grandmother followed and she has stayed in Australia ever since. When my sister and I were children, my grandmother made onigiri for us (rice balls), taught us how to make sushi, and told us culturally-significant stories (although most of them were terrifying and, quite frankly, not age-appropriate!).
Most importantly, grandmother Mitsuko taught us how to fold origami cranes. It was long ago when I first learned, but I still remember the sense of wonder that a piece of paper could be transformed into a mythical creature. To this day, I continue to be captivated by the beauty and precision of paper cranes.
Learning more about the past
My mother and I visited Hiroshima when I was in my 20s. We took a nostalgic tour of the landmarks of her childhood and went to places of broader cultural significance. The Hiroshima Peace Museum both paralysed and unlocked me. I saw the immeasurable grief laid bare, and felt how respectfully sorrow was held in one place. Most of all, I remember the cranes. Sometimes the stories and photos in the museum overcame me and when that happened, I thought of the cranes. They perched in my consciousness and reminded me of my personal and family connections to places and stories.
The story
Sadako and the 1000 paper cranes
Perhaps one of the most famous stories of Hiroshima, is that of Sadako Sasaki. She was just two years old when the bomb was dropped, and got caught in the radioactive black rain. Ten years later, she was diagnosed with leukaemia, a cancer that soon claimed her life. She had so much faith that she could outlive the cancer, she set a goal to fold 1000 origami cranes in the belief they could heal her. But as the illness took hold, she acknowledged the inevitability of her death, and changed her wish to that of world peace. So committed to her noble wish, she kept on folding well after the 1000th crane. At the time of her death, she had folded over 1300 origami cranes (not 644 as the popular children’s novel portrays). Her statue in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park remains adorned with strings of origami cranes sent constantly from all over the world.
Origami cranes today
Folding a paper crane is a meditative experience. It cannot be done with haste, or with lack of care or presence. It requires calm, patience, precision, and a conscious honouring of its spiritual significance.
My grandmother, Mitsuko, has folded many origami cranes in her life. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s folded more than 1000. Maybe that’s why she’s such a healthy 95-year-old!
To me, the origami crane is a symbol of all that we hope for. If it’s true that folding 1000 origami cranes grants a wish, then I wish 1000 origami cranes for you all.
