Historically, only a very limited number of airplanes have been such a mixture of the controversial, fascinating, and ethical question-raising as the Enola Gay, a B-29 Superfortress bomber that made the first atomic bomb drop on Hiroshima. Eventually, apart from being the main cause for the downfall of the Second World War, the bomb release on the Japanese city also marked the beginning of the nuclear era and thus laid the subject of a scattered debate subject still arising among historians, military people, and the public.
The Enola Gay was far from an ordinary B-29 produced in 1945. It was part of a special category of planes that were specially modified in the “Silverplate” program to carry the enormous atomic bomb. Some of the weight-saving measures included the removal of armor plates, elimination of remote-controlled gun turrets, and the maintenance of only a tail gun for defense, explains Dr. Jeremy Kinney of the Air and Space Museum.
These alterations were made to accommodate Little Boy, the 10,000-pound uranium bomb that would change history. Originally just No. 82, the plane was chosen specifically by Colonel Paul Tibbets, commander of the 509th Composite Group, on the evening of the mission. As a personal gesture, he had painted his mother’s name, Enola Gay, on the fuselage, forever linking the plane to his own life.
By mid-1945, when the Pacific war was still raging, President Harry S. Truman had dire choices to make. Traditional bombing was already killing terrible numbers of non-combatants, a full invasion of Japan guaranteed genocidal loss of life on both sides, and a demonstration of the bomb could fail but not guarantee surrender. Having weighed all their options, Truman and his generals concluded that a direct attack would be the most expedient means of ending the war.
Early on August 6, 1945, Tibbets and his eleven-man crew left Tinian Island, the largest airbase ever constructed for Japanese bombing operations. Their crew had practiced in earnest with “pumpkin bombs,” duplicating Little Boy’s weight and size. Major Thomas Ferebee dropped the bomb at 8:15 a.m. It exploded 1,800 feet above Hiroshima with a power equivalent to 15,000 tons of TNT.
Ground temperatures rose above 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit, burning tens of thousands on the spot and reducing everything in the area to rubble. In the coming weeks and days, there were many more casualties from radiation poisoning. The Enola Gay itself was well beyond the distance, having a crew that saw the legendary mushroom cloud form, fully aware of the untested device they had unleashed upon the earth.
Three days later, a second atomic bomb obliterated Nagasaki, and on August 15, Emperor Hirohito signed Japan’s surrender, ending the war. Even from the very start, however, the use of the atomic bombs was morally questionable. Some, among them some of the men on the Enola Gay crew, argued that the bomb had saved lives by preventing the much bloodier invasion of Japan. Others believed that killing entire cities with this level of force was unnecessary and wrong.
The Enola Gay was dismantled and warehoused for decades after the war before at last being reconstructed and displayed at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The exhibit was a lightning rod for controversy during the 1990s when curator Gregg Herken attempted to place it into a fuller historic context, including Japanese perspectives and civilian death tolls.
Political pressure and protests from veterans’ groups led to a less aggressive display that centered on the restoration of the plane itself, not on the greater implications of the bombing.
Today, the Enola Gay provokes passionate and polarized views. Some believe that the human cost of Hiroshima is not adequately represented, but others view the plane as a symbol of technological achievement and wartime resolve. Its existence in the museum continues to provoke thought on how war is commemorated by nations and how strategic necessity is balanced against the price of human lives.
The Enola Gay is more than an exceptional aircraft; it is a powerful reminder of how technology can redefine war and a constant provocation to inquire into the actual meaning of victory, responsibility, and the price of peace.