The Sovereign Seven

I saw a picture hanging on the wall. In it stood a line of nine - seven men and two women - with smiles as pressed as the creases in their suits. They stood with unflinching rigidity in front of the famous orange ‘Floating Torii Gate’ on the shore of Miyajima island. Whilst everyone took pictures of themselves in front of the gate, it was only this picture of nine strangers that was for sale in various gift shops at the north-western tip of the island. Included in the nine pictured were the leaders of the US, the UK, France, Canada, Germany, Italy and Japan. This was the G7 who had met in Hiroshima only a few months prior. So, after grabbing a handful of steamed, grilled or deep-fried Miyajima oysters, you could grab a commemorative image of the leaders of the free world who had stood in the very spot you were just standing in. How exciting! Justin Trudeau chose to visit the same attractions as you when he visited Japan. Perhaps the deer that stole a bite of your okonomiyaki was also a deer stroked by Joe Biden. Maybe, like you, Olaf Scholz was feeling a bit queasy on the ferry ride over and had thrown up over the side. Needless to say, the G7 visit had become the latest tourism drawcard for Hiroshima - the city not having enough reasons already for tourists to visit.

Hiroshima, of course, has the Peace Park and museum near the hypocentre of the atomic bomb explosion. Thousands of origami cranes donated from schools around the world spilled over the children’s memorial. The fractured remains of the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, these days referred to as the Atomic Bomb Dome, remains as a rusted steel and concrete eyesore in an otherwise green and pleasant park. The sites of destruction and memorials have not changed that much since I visited Hiroshima as a child. The museum exhibition has had a bit of an upgrade, dedicating a more sombre atmosphere to an already solemn exhibit. The stories of the bomb and its lingering effects continued to confront the thousands of visitors that pass its doors every day.

One thing, however, was noticeably different in Hiroshima this time. After confronting the atrocities of humankind, I exited the main museum building, walked a short distance to the conference centre, passed by two security guards, took two escalators down to the lower basement and was greeted by a polite Japanese lady standing across from conference room B. She pointed me into a room - the G7 exhibition. The room was small and in the late morning only seemed to have a couple of Japanese tourists, though it appeared that domestic tourists were the main audience for the exhibition.

Inside the exhibit not only did I see the exciting image I had seen for sale on Miyajima, but also a range of G7-related paraphernalia. There were additional pictures of the leaders at the memorial and pictures of their spouses. There were photographs of other country’s leaders, including Australia’s, who, despite not being part of the G7, decided to come anyway. There were letters signed by presidents and prime ministers. You could even take a picture of yourself in front of a large picture of the leaders at their table, making it seem like you were there with them. However the main drawcard of the exhibit was the roundtable. You could get very close to, but not touch, the very table that the G7 sat at in Hiroshima two months prior. You could observe, but not touch, the nameplates of each representative. You could stare at, but not touch, the very cushion where Emmanuel Macron’s buttocks had rested for an afternoon.