I had three questions before attending the Mapping Nuclear Legacies Symposium at Northwestern University. First, why do we still care about nuclear weapons? While I understand their significance during the Cold War era, they seem distant and irrelevant to my daily life. Second, if nuclear weapons still matter, why focus on cities that are passing nuclear weapons policy? Is it not primarily the responsibility of national governments or international treaties to address this issue? Finally, if cities are indeed important in the politics of nuclear weapons, what roles do they play?

I attended the symposium seeking answers to these questions, initially skeptical that municipal governments and local activists could make a difference. However, by the end of the event, the panels answered my questions in ways I had not anticipated. I came away with a deeper understanding that nuclear weapons are not solely about geopolitical deterrence between nations. They are also about the communities we love and the futures we seek to protect. While nations may have the power to launch nuclear weapons, cities possess something even more significant: the proximity to people and the ability to foster peace from the ground up.

Why Nuclear Weapons Still Matter

I grew up in South Korea under the constant threat of North Korea’s nuclear program. I remember participating in military drills to prepare for potential threats. In school, we would nervously joke about where we would hide if an atomic attack hit Seoul. The reality of nuclear war always felt terrifyingly close yet far away; it often served more as a political drama than an

actual threat. Nevertheless, this threat shaped my perspective. Unlike many younger Americans, I lived under the shadow of nuclear dangers. 

Before attending the symposium, I often felt that nuclear disarmament was an issue of the past. The Cold War was over; today, we seem more focused on climate change, housing, and AI regulation. However, during the symposium, Alexandra Bell, the president of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, reminded us that “the nuclear problem is more problematic and in many ways more dangerous than it has ever been.” She told us we are 89 seconds to midnight on the Doomsday Clock, which is a metaphor illustrating the proximity of humanity to its own end, driven by nuclear weapons. This shocking statement made me realize that, as Bell emphasized, “every second counts,” and we must act quickly to roll that clock back. 

Panelists like Seth Sheldon from the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) helped me understand why this is an urgent matter. He pointed out that “cities and their populations are uniquely vulnerable to nuclear weapons,” not just because they are targets, but due to the hidden costs they bear, such as uranium contamination, nuclear waste, and the billions of dollars spent on them that could have been used elsewhere. 

Sheldon reminded us that nuclear weapons are “not just a foreign policy issue. Rather, they are embedded in our cities’ soil, air, and history.” His words helped me rethink the nuclear problem, not just as a diplomatic issue but as an urban issue rooted in inequality, local governance, and collective memory.

Why Cities? 

So, why focus on cities? This was the second question I had before attending the symposium. What role can cities play if nations and international treaties govern nuclear weapons? Are they even relevant to our discussion?

What I learned is that cities are not just passive victims; they are active agents of change. They might be the only institutions close enough to people like me. Mayor Shiro Suzuki of Nagasaki emphasized that, as the mayor of a city historically affected by nuclear war, he feels a “mission” to advocate for past and future generations like mine. His words affected me greatly, especially as someone who often reflects on what it would mean for Seoul to become the next Nagasaki. Pain continues to be part of these places and the people who live in them. Cities, therefore, carry memories; they remember what national governments often forget. 

Chicago Alderwoman Maria Hadden brought this issue even closer to home. She shared how her youth advisory committee passed a “Back from the Brink” resolution, calling for nuclear disarmament after discovering that Chicagoans indirectly contribute over $800 million a year to atomic weapons development. “What could we spend that money on instead?” she asked. That question was not rhetorical; it was a call for budgetary justice. As a political science student focused on urban equity, this fiscal perspective helped me see nuclear disarmament not merely as a matter of morality but as an issue of redistribution. Imagine what a great world we could create if that money could fund housing, mental health services, and sustainable transportation. 

Daniel Biss, the mayor of Evanston, framed the issue in another way: “Violence is violence.” Whether it is gun violence, environmental degradation, or the violence of nuclear war, cities are tasked with keeping people safe. “If we work on that in our neighborhoods,” Biss argued, “it gives us both the license and the responsibility to advocate for peace globally.” His words resonated with me because, in South Korea, we often assume that safety comes from military strength. But what if safety could also be achieved through trust, care, and dialogue? 

What Could Cities Do?

What struck me most throughout the symposium was that local resolutions can create tangible changes, even if they are often viewed as symbolic. Mayor Biss dismissed the notion that city leaders writing resolutions were merely “writing letters to Santa Claus.” He argued that municipal action is the first step in initiating grassroots movements. “When neighbors talk to each other, they engage with their city council, which then passes a resolution. Eventually, this collective voice becomes impossible to ignore.” 

I found this statement particularly inspiring. I have often felt discouraged by the overwhelming scale of nuclear politics at the national level. I may have been asking the wrong question. Instead of asking, “Can cities eliminate nuclear weapons on their own?” the more appropriate question is, “What kind of political culture are cities fostering?” As Bell reminded us, military elites did not achieve the Cold War arms control victories; engaged citizens like me drove them. Peace is not always implemented from the top down; it often begins with people like us. 

This perspective is especially relevant today, as nuclear policy is seldom discussed in public debate. Bell pointed out, “There is a community that would be perfectly happy to keep the broader public out of the conversation.” Cities offer platforms where people’s fears, hopes, and histories can be expressed and brought to life. 

Conclusion 

When I entered the Mapping Nuclear Legacies Symposium, I had many questions. The nuclear issue felt too distant, and cities seemed too small to make a difference. However, I left with a new understanding rooted in proximity, humanity, and the potential for collective change. 

Cities now matter because they are not national governments. They are closer to people, more responsive to local pain, and uniquely capable of forming connections across borders. I heard the stories of the sister-city relationship between Nagasaki and St. Paul, Minnesota. I saw it in the divestment efforts from cities like Madison, Wisconsin. And I heard it in the voices of those who believe that peace must be built one conversation at a time. 

As someone from a place that lives daily under the threat of nuclear weapons, I left the symposium with a renewed sense of responsibility. It is not only my role to critique power but also to organize hope. Nuclear weapons are a global problem, yes, but the solutions begin at the local level. And perhaps that is truly the point.