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Will Japan learn its lesson from Fukushima nightmare?

Life in Japan has changed in many ways since the earthquake-tsunami disaster struck on 11 March 2011. (Reuters photo)
Life in Japan has changed in many ways since the earthquake-tsunami disaster struck on 11 March 2011. (Reuters photo)

By Nick Jones

A tightened fist grips the hair of a freshly decapitated head, blood still gushing from the neck. The waxen, puffy eyed face is unmistakably that of former Japanese Prime Minister Naoto Kan, who was in charge of the country on March 11 last year, when one of the most powerful earthquakes ever recorded triggered a series of massive waves that deluged large swathes of Japan's northeast Pacific coastline, including the Fukushima No. 1 nuclear power plant.

This award-winning painting on display at an art museum near where I live in suburban Tokyo is part of a larger collection titled "Fukushima" by Japanese artist Kazumasa Chiba. Inspired by Dante's "Inferno," the works depict charred, apocalyptic landscapes dotted with corpses and mythological beasts.

As Japan reflects on the events of the past year, many in the country will share the anger that obviously fuelled Chiba's artworks. It's hardly surprising. The previous 12 months have shattered any kind of confidence the population may have had in government while revealing to the world the sordid ties among bureaucrats, politicians and industry that have been at the heart of Japanese society for decades.

When I think back on those first few days after the blackened torrents of water roared ashore, I recall the gnawing anxiety I felt from the moment I woke up from an aftershock-punctuated sleep each morning. As growing numbers of people began to leave Japan or head out of Tokyo, it felt like we were hurtling towards a widespread panic, fanned by a troupe of foreign reporters fixated by the prospect of a careering-making story.

Swapping information and useful website links with friends and colleagues, I desperately tried to school myself in the rudiments of nuclear power and radiation. While radioactive isotopes spewed from the Fukushima site, a cloud of scepticism settled over the country and the Internet became saturated with accusations of a cover-up by the government and Tepco (Tokyo Electric Power Company), which runs the crippled plant.

Dressed in their blue "battle" uniforms, government and Tepco officials appeared overwhelmed, shockingly incompetent and unused to such scrutiny during press conferences. With foreign governments, scientists and the media demanding clear information, those in charge remained oblivious to the need to keep the world informed of exactly what was going on. There was a growing sense that things were out of control, reinforced by "last-stand" scenes of fire engines and helicopters dumping water on reactors.

Finally, on my daughter's fifth birthday, I boarded a bullet train with my family. We were bound for my wife's hometown in western Japan and what I hoped would be some respite from staring at grainy images of mangled reactor buildings.

Picture of paralysis

Unfortunately, we now know that we all had good reason to be concerned. Recently released documents and a report by an independent panel paint a startling picture of confusion, miscommunication and a complete paralysis of leadership among those in government in the first few weeks. It has also been revealed that officials, including Kan, were genuinely worried about the possibility of a series of meltdowns that would lead to the evacuation of Tokyo.

Takuya Hattori, president of the Japan Atomic Industrial Forum, told me at the time that the blatant inability to deal with the crisis was inevitable. "The fact is Japan has had no experience in these last 50 or 60 years of war," he said. "We have no crisis management experience. We have had earthquakes, but those have been relatively small compared with this."

This failure to effectively lead in a constantly evolving and unpredictable situation will be of little surprise to those who have lived in Japan. Decision making in this ordered society is about reaching a consensus through a measured process of careful deliberation.

But once a decision is made, progress can be swift. This was evident in the cleanup of the communities ravaged by the tsunami. With the help of thousands of volunteers who headed north at weekends or for extended periods and a staggering amount of donations of money and supplies from across Japan and abroad, the millions of tons of debris left behind by the ocean were cleared.

That story, though, has been overshadowed by Fukushima, a word that has come to stand for contamination and destroyed livelihoods. It also represents the colossal failure by those in charge to secure public confidence in the food chain.

Rather than introducing sweeping bans on produce from plainly contaminated areas, the government, desperate to support local farmers, gave the all-clear on some foodstuffs, only to find out later that tainted food had been sold nationwide and, in some cases, abroad.

The damage was done. Countries, including Singapore, banned the import of certain items, sales of produce from across this large farming region plummeted and Japanese began seeking out food from western parts of the country and even overseas. Now, checking where vegetables and meat are from when shopping has become instinctive for families everywhere.

It's hard to see how the prefecture of Fukushima can recover. The lack of transparency from early on in the crisis, combined with the government's aim to give the area an appearance of normalcy as quickly as possible, has deepened the public's distrust of authority. This is illustrated by the number of independent and citizen-led groups that have started offering food-screening services. And yet thousands of farmers in Fukushima who have been stripped of their means of sustenance remain uncompensated.

Then there are the health uncertainties for those people still living the prefecture, particularly those nearer the 20-kilometer evacuation zone. The fact is scientists don't know enough about the long-term effects of radiation to declare with any certainty where is safe to live. Sadly, we are only likely to find out when the first cases of cancer and related illnesses occur in the years ahead.

Political mistrust

For decades, the Japanese placed their trust in governments and behemoth power companies to formulate the best—and safest—energy policy for a seismically volatile nation. Maybe they were willing to tolerate the safety oversights (Japan had experienced a number of serious problems at its nuclear plants in the past), cronyism and vested interests so long as the lights remained on.

Speaking late last year, maverick opposition Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) politician Taro Kono called the entire power industry corrupt. "Staff from the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry get jobs after they retire with power companies. Although they're supposed to be regulating, they're not really regulating," said the longtime anti-nuclear campaigner.

"LDP politicians get a lot of political contributions from the power companies. The Democratic Party of Japan gets a lot of votes from the power companies' labour unions. University professors get lots of R&D research fees…and the media get a lot of money for commercials," he added.

Certainly, the Japanese media had been failing the public for years. Their dictate seemed to have been to preserve the status quo rather than investigate and ask tough questions. While they contentedly reproduced press releases, nobody bothered asking why Japan, as a world leader in geothermal technology, was exporting the majority of its hardware, rather than using it at home. With all but two of the country's 54 nuclear reactors offline and the government spending vast amounts on importing fossil fuels, alternative sources of energy are belatedly being taken more seriously.

Even Hattori, a man who has spent his working career in the nuclear industry, questioned whether Japan should possess the energy source. "Many people talk about a nuclear renaissance, but we have to be careful about which countries operate nuclear power," he said. "Is Japan the proper country to operate nuclear power? That's the big question."

What the events of the past year have done is awaken Japan's politically passive public. Democracy has been spurred into life through nationwide protests against nuclear power and a greater willingness by people to question official decisions and policies. Many have come to realise that they can no longer rely on those who wield power to look after their interests.

Meanwhile, in the north, where many of the towns are now bare patches of earth and concrete, the future is unclear. The central government and local municipalities have not agreed on a path ahead in terms of reconstruction. In a rapidly greying country, where rural communities are being hollowed out, do all those decimated towns need to be reconstructed? One astute commentator noted that planners need to remember to build for the region's grandchildren, not grandparents.

Some believe that the cataclysm is an opportunity for reform in a country that favours incremental revisions over abrupt improvements. Japan has used previous periods of upheaval, such as World War II and the forced opening of the country by the Americans and Europeans in the 19th century, to accelerate development.

What may ensue over the coming months and years is a showdown between the protectors of the status quo and those looking for fundamental change in everything from the economy to education to energy policy. What most ordinary Japanese will, no doubt, hope is that something positive emerges from the terrible events of March 11.

Nick Jones is a magazine editor in Tokyo.