Fukushima writings
10 years after the Fukushima disaster it seemed appropriate to read some of the literature that tried to respond to the events. I read March was made of yarn, a literary anthology, that aimed to raise money for the reconstruction efforts; and I read Bending Adversity, a book length survey of Japanese society in the wake of the earthquake, by the journalist David Pilling.
March was made of yarn was somewhat uneven as all anthologies tend to be. The first thing one notices are the well-known Japanese authors who contributed, amongst less well-known ones.
There is Ryu Murakami who writes a personal essay weaving together his own experience cleaning up a tree in his garden, a summary of a book he was reading on the Second World War, and some commentary on the reconstruction efforts. It is reasonable successful, if a little random, with the kind of self assured writing style one expects from a renowned author. He touches on some themes which one finds often in writings on Fukushima: the deprivation and distance of northern Japan, the rare deployment of the self-defence force en masse, and hope.
Murakami talks about how the local mayor wanted to use local contractors, to build things up again themselves. A few years later Pilling also highlighted the kind of grassroots mentality that the earthquake both brought out and emphasised. He writes about the sheer quantity of volunteers, and the general feeling that Tokyo was distant and had left them behind. There is a story about a plan to send wood from tsunami-destroyed trees to Kyoto for a ceremony. The wood was rejected, and the plan overturned due to radiation paranoia, an example of the insular attitude for which Kyoto is known.
In his essay, Murakami mentions the war, and how disorganised and ineffective the army had been. Pilling talks about how in the wake of the Kobe earthquake in 1995 the government hesitated on using the Self Defence Force for fears of backlash. But both emphasised how effective and fast the response had been this time around. This time there was no fear or hesitation about deploying armed forces in a civilian population. Japan has for various reasons become more comfortable with its own military, even as it has expanded and developed since the war. Pilling mentions how the army participate in the Sapporo ice festival where they make snow sculptures — one of many attempts to normalise the military in Japanese life.
Around the earthquake, one finds by expressions of by turns despair and hopefulness. Haruki Murakami, and John Dower both wondered if the earthquake would shock the population into change. If it would stimulate the kind of activity that spurred the post war regeneration, or the economic heights of the 70s and 80s. Arguably Abenomics, the radical economic policy of Shinzo Abe has tried to be such a stimulus, although its results are as yet unclear.
One highlight of the anthology was Mitsuyo Kakuta’s Pieces. It reminded me in content and style of John Updike — subtlety, ageing, ennui, extra-marital affairs, all on a backdrop of comfortable affluence. It was however slightly marred by its translation, that made some questionable word choices, leading to some jarring notes in the otherwise lyrical text.
There is nice variety to the book, there was poems, essays, short stories, even some manga. Overall, the pieces that stayed closest to reality felt the strongest. Hideo Furukawa’s piece starts with a reverie on roof tiles and ends with a consideration of the longest lasting of Fukushima’s effects. But Tetsuya Akikawa’s story about reproducing boxes was also a highlight. Equal parts whimsical and touching, it had little discernible connection to the earthquake but was strong nonetheless.
Perhaps the strongest piece came from Natsuki Ikezawa. A simple human story of volunteers in the reconstruction efforts, reminiscent of the short fiction of Raymond Carver. It ends with the narrator sinking into a despairing stupor as he listens to the romanticism of his companion. It felt the most real, and the most connected to the events, amongst the diverse array.
This polarising tone also characterises much of the nuclear debate, then and now. Nuclear advocates point to the fact that no one died of radiation, and that many of the reports are overblown, or undercut by poor science. The debate around radiation is awash with misinformation, often relying on statistical generalisations to calculate theoretical death figures, that bear little relation to reality. The safety measures worked in this sense, and it is true that most of the feared effects of radiation were avoided, or were non-existent all-along.
However critics point to how close it was to going wrong. The reactor itself didn’t break, what if it had? Or what if the earthquake had been more powerful, like the one predicted to hit Japan in the next 30 years? Most importantly of all, how did things get to this point anyway? The Fukushima disaster was pronounced in the official report as a man-made disaster, the product of a culture of complacency and corruption. It was foreseeable, but a company with strong political ties, in a culture of kick-backs and pure regulation, didn’t see the obvious danger signs.
For many therefore it comes down to a simple question of how far we as citizens trust our trust our government and our corporations with such a technology. It is so difficult to weigh such polarising arguments, emotional against rational, a massive danger against a minute possibility. Often for the public that decides, it comes down to how freshly they remember, even ten years on, that sense of fear, as they watched radiation spread across the map.
