Sera Koulabdara: War doesn’t end with a ceasefire. Ukraine needs real disarmament, not a checkbox.

Sept. 21 was International Day of Peace. In the days leading up to it, I found myself reflecting on the theme for 2025, “Act Now for a Peaceful World,” while flying home from Japan. August marked 80 years since the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Japan’s subsequent surrender to the Allied forces. This is also the 50th year since the end of the U.S. wars in Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam.

As a Laotian American, I carry a deep connection to these histories ‒ events that took place long before I was born but continue to shape the world around me.

I grew up in Laos, a country deeply entwined with both Japan and the United States. During World War II, Japan occupied Laos. Decades later, the United States launched a covert carpet bombing campaign across the country, making it the most heavily bombed nation per capita in history.

My grandparents lived through both of these painful chapters. My parents grew up surrounded by the echoes of falling bombs. The history that they passed down to me were stories of survival, loss and resilience.

War’s devastation doesn’t end when the smoke clears

I recently traveled to Japan as a 2025-26 delegate of the U.S.-Japan Leadership Program. While there, I visited the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, a place that preserves the memory of the atomic bombings and the resilience of those who lived through them.

One of the most moving experiences was meeting Koko Kondo, a peace activist and survivor. She spoke with compassion about the day she chose to forgive the copilot who helped drop the bomb that devastated her city. Her strength and grace will stay with me for the rest of my life.

The legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki continues. Survivors and their descendants still face illnesses caused by radiation exposure ‒ cancers, chronic conditions, emotional trauma. These scars, often invisible, remind us that the impact of war doesn’t end when the smoke clears. It lingers in bodies, memories and communities for generations.

Japan, shaped by these experiences, has become a global leader in peacebuilding and disarmament. It supports international frameworks like the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and invests in clearing unexploded ordnance in war-impacted regions. Recently, Japan pledged $1.3 million to support mine and ordnance clearance in Cambodia and continues to lead efforts through triangular partnerships with countries like Ukraine and Cambodia by providing demining equipment and training.

Like Japan, Southeast Asia continues to bear the heavy burden of war. During the U.S. wars in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia five decades ago, about 13 million tons of bombs were dropped. Between 10% to 33% of the bombs failed to detonate, leaving a deadly legacy beneath the soil. Millions of gallons of toxic dioxins, including Agent Orange, were sprayed across forests and farmland. In Vietnam, more than 3 million people have suffered health effects linked to Agent Orange exposure ‒ birth defects, cancers and lifelong illnesses.

Reflecting on this history, we see that disarmament must extend beyond the absence of nuclear weapons. It must include cleaning up deadly remnants of war, restoring ecosystems and supporting communities that have been harmed. Humanitarian demining, chemical remediation and environmental recovery are all essential forms of post-war justice.

In burning fields of Ukraine, patterns of suffering repeat

As we work to address the past, we are confronted by new forms of suffering.

In Ukraine, the use of incendiary weapons has surged in recent years. More than 150 surface-fired incendiary attacks have been documented since 2022, including the use of drones and rockets that scatter burning compounds across fields, forests and neighborhoods.

Survivors, often civilians and children, suffer from severe burns, respiratory injuries and psychological scars that might never heal.

Fires ignited by these attacks have destroyed cropland and homes, displacing entire communities. Toxic residues left behind make recovery nearly impossible. These weapons are designed not just to kill, but to ensure that suffering endures.

International law has failed to keep pace. Protocol III of the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons is meant to regulate incendiary weapons, but it is riddled with loopholes. It treats air-dropped and ground-launched incendiaries differently, even though both are equally destructive. It also exempts weapons like white phosphorus if they are not “primarily” intended to start fires ‒ leaving space for continued use and devastation.

Standing in the quiet, dark halls of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, I couldn’t help but draw a painful connection. From the ruins of 1945 to the jungles of Southeast Asia and now to the burning fields of Ukraine, the patterns repeat. The weapons may change, but the human cost remains heartbreakingly familiar.

The long-term impact of war does not end with ceasefires or treaties. It lingers in contaminated land, in poisoned bodies and in communities struggling to heal.

Disarmament must be more than a diplomatic checkbox. It must be a moral commitment to prevent future harm, to close legal loopholes, to ban weapons that burn and to help rebuild what war destroys.

We must center humanitarian needs in all conversations about conflict and recovery. On this International Day of Peace, let us remember that solidarity is not just a feeling but a responsibility. It means more than bearing witness; it means standing up, speaking out and stepping in. It means refusing to accept the inevitability of generational suffering.

We know what these weapons do. We know how long their shadows last. The only question now is whether we will let that knowledge move us ‒ not just to mourn, but to act. Peace is not the silence after war or just a dream ‒ it is a choice we make, again and again, until it takes root in the world.

Sera Koulabdara, CEO of Legacies of War, is a delegate of the U.S.-Japan Leadership Program, Class of 2025-26.