I’ve been visiting Japan, where even a square of paper can become something beautiful. I admire the Japanese art of origami, although I’m rather suspicious of any instructions describing making a bird out of a tiny piece of paper as 'simple'.

I’ve been visiting Japan, where even a square of paper can become something beautiful. I admire the Japanese art of origami, although I’m rather suspicious of any instructions describing making a bird out of a tiny piece of paper as 'simple'.
In the Peace Park of Hiroshima, paper birds have a deeper meaning. There’s a monument inspired by a girl called Sadako. She was two on that ominous day when the skies of Hiroshima were turned a blinding white before black rain fell. Ten years later, Sadako became seriously ill. In the hope of getting well, she folded paper cranes - birds with long necks and elegant wings.
Her classmates wanted her twelve years of life to be remembered. They helped launch the campaign for that peace monument: a girl holding a golden crane above her head.
I didn’t learn about Sadako at school. Now, decades after my own schooldays, her friends have introduced me to this schoolgirl, with brothers, a sister, friends and plans for growing up. One person’s story helps me understand something that otherwise feels too big to take in.
But listening isn’t always easy. Sometimes I don’t know enough. Sometimes what I hear is painful. Sometimes my own concerns fill the available space.
God says in the Quran, the Book Muslims turn to for guidance: ‘We have honoured the children of Adam.’ I understand that to mean every person has a dignity that comes from God. I can’t know every child’s story. But I believe each one is known to God, and none is ever forgotten. Sadako’s life mattered long before I knew her name.
Sadako’s classmates found a way to help me and many others remember. People around the world still fold paper cranes and send them to Hiroshima. Each one takes time and care.
Back home, I’ll be caught up in the usual things. But I hope Sadako’s story will stay with me when I hear about children facing great hardship. Each has a name, friends, plans for growing up. And as I pray for them alongside my own children, I’ll remember those cranes, carrying a hope for peace.
I can join in that prayer.
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