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We remember

Today is the second anniversary of the triple disaster

 

We remember the 15,850 men, women and children who died that terrible day

 

those carried away in the icy waters,

those crushed under collapsing buildings,

 

those who starved to death in the days that followed,

because nobody could hear their cries for help

 

We remember the 3,287 people who are still declared missing,

the 6,011 who suffered injuries,

the 1,580 children who lost one or both parents

 

We remember the 260,000 people still living in temporary homes,

the 150,837 evacuated from the nuclear exclusion zone

unable to return to their towns, perhaps forever

 

We remember

that behind each of these statistics

there is a human life

 

We remember those countless people that the statistics have forgotten

 

Those who lost family

Those who lost friends

Those who lost their livelihoods

Those who took their own lives because they saw no hope

Those who go on living, but who have lost their will to live

 

We remember all who remain in the exclusion zone,

those who remain illegally to feed stray animals

those who work legally at the gates of hell

 

We remember all who must live with the constant fear of radiation

the children, whose playtime is curtailed

the parents, who worry for their children

 

To every one of you

May your God go with you,

wherever you may be

 

 

We remember the beautiful coastland,

the hundreds of thousands of proud trees,

so lastingly and brutally violated that day

 

We remember the soil and the sea,

the wildlife and the sea life

poisoned by radioactivity,

the domestic animals, abandoned to their fate

 

We remember a people whose relationship to nature changed forever that day

 

We remember a country we know as a friend,

changed forever that day

 

We remember so that the people, the soil, the sea, the trees,

may feel a little less alone

We remember so that we should not forget

We remember, so that we should not repeat our mistakes

 

But not only

 

We remember, we remember

 

Because we cannot do otherwise

 

 

The best writing that I have seen about the Friday protests in Tokyo comes from our friend Jacinta Hin. We published Jacinta’s previous piece at this link. Here’s the follow up.

Photograph: Kjeld Duits

Japanese translation of this piece is available here.

 

The Accidental Protester (Jacinta Hin)

 

It’s Friday, late afternoon.  Time to shut down the computer and join my friends for the weekly evening protest.

For the past few months I’ve been attending the Friday demonstrations in front of the Prime Minister’s official residence.  Also known as the Ajisai (Hydrangea) movement, we’re protesting against both the restarting of the Oi Nuclear Plant, and nuclear energy in general.  A newbie no more, I now have the routine firmly under my belt.

Kokkai Gijidomae Station, exit 4, turn right and walk around the block to one of the demonstration lines still open for late-comers.  Friendly policemen along the route point us in the right direction. We know the drill, and losing our way is not an option: nothing is left to chance.  Police and organizers work side by side to lead the masses to narrow protest lines, restricted to two-thirds of the pedestrian walkways, the rest zoned-off for regular pedestrians, and protesters leaving early.  Some might balk at our orderly behavior, but I appreciate the determined unstoppable peaceful predictability of it.  For me, this is Japan at its best.

6 pm.  The protest begins.  A little hesitant at first, like an orchestra tuning its instruments, the voices in the crowd soon find one another and unite in the common, familiar rhythm that will continue for the next two hours.  I’m shouting like the best of them, my voice surprisingly loud for the soft-spoken person I am.  We know our lines well.  They’re embedded in our souls and carried in our hearts.

I feel at home among my fellow protesters.  It’s here, at the protests, that I’ve become more grounded in my anti-nuclear stance. I only have to look around me.  What I see is not a group of protest radicals, but the faces of the people of Japan. Parents, and grandparents, worried for the future of their offspring; young people, some who might be ready to start their own families; salary workers, students, company owners, housewives, Buddhist monks.  The list goes on.  Even the occasional policeman chants along now and then, as an observant friend noticed one evening (albeit, for obvious reasons, with lips moving ever so slightly).

6.30 pm.  The atmosphere is positive and peaceful, almost festive.  A middle-aged office worker arrives, still in his business suit.  He takes out a self-made banner from his briefcase: a couple of sheets of A4-sized copy paper which he has stapled together.  On the banner, an anti-nuclear slogan carefully written out in typical white board colors: blue, red and black.  I imagine that perhaps only this afternoon, on the spur of the moment, he decided to join today’s protest.  Wanting to contribute something, he put together what he could with the limited materials on hand.

 

I’m moved by his action.  People like him inspire me, remind me why I am here.  As does the 93-year old man who never misses a Friday, and the foreign nun I spot later that evening, holding her anti-nuke banner up high in the air, talking in between her devoted shouts with everyone around her.  Or the blind couple who keep coming back week after week.  In fact, I salute every single person at the protest, first-timers and veterans alike, each one of them showing up because they have something to say and because they believe their presence matters.

If we don’t come out to be seen and heard, we won’t be noticed.  If we remain silent, we will not be counted.  But we will be just as accountable: keeping quiet will determine our future just as much as will speaking up.

 

The Friday protests are making a difference in the anti-nuclear movement as a whole.  In between the large demonstrations, supporters keep the momentum going, and encourage everyday people, whenever they’re ready, to find their voice and to speak up: to vent their anger, and express their desires and hope.

These are indeed revolutionary times in Japan, nothing less than a movement of awakening.  The anti-nuclear demonstrations are altering the country’s political landscape.  Media is no longer ignoring the protests.  Following recent public hearings on future energy policy, the government was even forced to acknowledge that most Japanese now want to phase out nuclear energy to zero.

The once silent majority is not so silent anymore.  People are becoming aware of the total costs of electricity.  The price of Fukushima is too high.  Few people believe that in earthquake-prone Japan accidents like Fukushima cannot happen again.  Many, if not most people are now deeply distrustful of government, nuclear bodies and plant operators.

 

8 pm.  The protest ends.  A final shout and we are off.  I bump into a Japanese friend who tells me there is a second demonstration against the controversial appointment of Shunichi Tanaka as the chairman of the new nuclear regulatory commission.  An hour later I find myself firmly planted between my friend and a young Japanese woman, our hands locked in a human chain around one of the ministries.

It’s late.  My arms hurt.  I am hungry and thirsty, but utterly content.  I am right where I want to be.

 

 

The article below was written by our friend Jacinta Hin and first published on the excellent Dianuke site.

In Tokyo each Friday evening, many tens of thousands of people are taking to the streets around the parliament buildings and Prime Minister Noda’s residence, to protest against the decision to restart operations at the Ooi nuclear plant. These weekly demonstrations are building in number and intensity, and are spreading to other cities. Jacinta, who has lived in Japan for the past 23 years, relates why she was moved to join the Friday demonstrations.

I chose to accompany Jacinta’s text with the composite kanji 前登 (zentou), which means something like “go forward, overcoming the obstacles in your way”. It is my hope for all those whose lives were changed forever by the triple disaster; those who were most directly affected, who lost family, friends, homes, livelihoods, any sense of certainty. But also those like Jacinta, who have understood that “their voice matters” in shaping a new society post March 11…. May they all go forward, overcoming the obstacles in their way.

 

Hydrangea Fridays: Voices from the Heart (Jacinta Hin)


I have not participated in a demonstration for over 30 years, nor in any other form of active social engagement. Over the past decades, the closest I have come to any form of protest was the occasional opinion shared over the dinner table or a glass of wine with friends, mostly for entertainment or for the purpose of honing my debating skills.

And even when the initial post 3/11 anti-nuclear demonstrations in Japan started to gain ground, I joined once or twice only, when nothing else was on my schedule and an enthusiastic friend would take the lead in getting a group together.

But then the Tokyo Friday protests against the restart of the Oi Nuclear Plant started and something changed for me.

I now have it on my weekly agenda and everything else makes place for the time and place. Fed up with my own half-hearted engagement, one Friday evening I just went by myself, which, for the rather shy person that I am, not really at ease in groups and crowds, took a little courage.

That first Friday, some weeks ago, standing alone in the rain among my fellow protesters, reluctantly joining the peaceful shouting, something shifted for me. I was no longer voicing my opinion. I was uniting my voice with those of thousands of others.

I also felt it really mattered that I was there. If all of us would just continue to show up every week, eventually we would be heard. Eventually it would catch some influential media’s attention and make some important politician’s agenda (and it did!). More importantly, we would touch other people’s hearts, encouraging them to join, the same way I had been touched and been inspired to stand up and be counted, and the movement would grow, or lead to the next thing, and make a difference.

Looking around I realized I was not the only amateur protester. A lot of people, many of whom like me who had come alone, looked as if they were first-timers, whispering rather than shouting, slowly getting used to the routine. Protest newbies who had been propelled to come out on a rainy Friday for a reason probably similar to mine.

I think many of us in Japan are not only angry (and overwhelmed) with what has happened in Fukushima and establishment’s – government and old-school industry – decisions and style of handling things. We are also angry with ourselves for having been so blissfully ignorant all those years of comfortable welfare. And tired of feeling powerless, overwhelmed and believing that we cannot change anything anyway. We are at a turning point, not necessarily as individuals (although many people here in Japan are) but as a society. We realize that we belong to a bigger group, not just our core family. And the group, our fellow Japanese and, for some (like me), the world en large, is asking us to speak up for nothing less than a fundament of our world.

The lines we keep repeating at the Friday demonstrations sum it all up. We want our fields back, we want our food back, and we want Fukushima back (the way it was). We want to protect life, and we want to protect our children. We don’t need nuclear energy and we are against the restart of Oi and any nuclear plant.

Our message in the end,really is as simple as that. You can make it as complex as you want, but in its essence it is really simple. How do we want to live? What do we want our common ground to be? What is most important? To bring debate back to core questions that simplify perspective and can help any individual, government officials and TEPCO executives included, regain clarity on what really matters most. At least that is what I choose to believe.

At the Friday protests (and all the post 3/11 protests and anti-nuclear initiatives) we are asking for a renewed outlook on safe living and proposing a new starting point for decision-making. We are asking people, country leaders and citizens alike, to find it in themselves to stand up for something larger than mere self-interest.

And that is why we are there, every Friday, rain or no rain. To speak, from the heart, about how we want life to be, not just for ourselves but for everyone.

For me, the Friday protests are a movement of the heart. We are not a bunch of angry people enjoying the thrill of a mass demonstration. We are simply regular people who are finding and expressing their voice. Many of us have never have participated in group protests. We are Japanese, foreign residents, parents, grandparents, teenagers, young adolescents, business people and so on.

Regular folks, from all walks of life, who are learning that our voice matters and that we can make a difference, especially when we unite in the name of past, present and future.

(Jacinta Hin)

 

Nuclear Ginza

In 1995, Britain’s Channel 4 broadcast this 30 minute documentary about life for the so-called “nuclear gypsies”, the casual labourers working in Japan’s “Nuclear Ginza” – fifteen reactors lined up alongside each other along the Japan Sea coast.

The filmmaker Nicholas Rohl followed Japanese photographer Kenji Higuchi, as he interviewed both the suffering workers and their bereaved families.

For Kenji Higuchi, a chance encounter with the hidden truth behind Japan’s nuclear industry twenty years earlier changed his life. For the past forty years he has been documenting the struggles of radiation victims, and has written nineteen books, including “The Truth About Nuclear Plants” and “Erased Victims”. Respect to him.

 

Nuclear Ginza (part one)

 

Nuclear Ginza (part two)

 

Nuclear Ginza (part three)

 

 

 

The Challenge (English subtitles)

 

This episode from the film Stories from Fukushima by Alain de Halleux tells the story of the Kowata family from Minami Soma, a town at the very edge of the 20km exclusion zone.

Seiko Kowata has moved with her two children to Yamagata, while her husband remains in Minami Soma, working and guarding the family home. Son Kento dreams of returning to Minami Soma and playing football with his friends. Daughter Yuko wants never to return….

 

日本語

Today is Children’s Day (こどもの日) in Japan. It is a day set aside to respect children’s personalities, to celebrate their happiness and to express gratitude to their mothers. Carp shaped koinobori flags are raised to celebrate the day. According to Chinese legend, the carp that swims upstream becomes a dragon: when the flags wave in the wind it is as though the carp are swimming. The black carp represents the father, the red the mother. A further carp is added for each child.

Please have a good thought today for all the children whose lives were changed forever by the events of March 11; Those who lost their lives, those who were bereaved, those whose health is suffering and whose daily activities are curtailed by radiation….

May they all swim upstream and become dragons

 

 

I cannot accept that the authorities treat us like children who are unable to understand. It’s a lack of respect. People must be informed, so that they can make decisions about their future based on known facts. Some parents refuse to inform their children. Sometimes because they themselves are not informed, but often because they think that the children will not be able to understand. That’s a mistake. Children understand. (Sachiko Sato).

 

Fukushima, the island of happiness (English subtitles)

 

Alain de Halleux is a Belgian filmmaker who made the critically acclaimed Chernobyl 4ever, which looks back on the consequences of the Chernobyl twenty five years after the nuclear accident.

In Stories from Fukushima, Alain de Halleux looks at the situation in Japan post March 11. The film, comprising a series of eight episodes, was broadcast recently on Arte (French-German TV channel).

This episode, Fukushima, the island of happiness includes interviews with Sachiko Sato and Seiichi Nakate of Kodomo Fukushima Network.

I will post other episodes from this important film. Respect to Alain de Halleux

 

福の島 (日本語, Japanese version)

 

 

“It was an awkward feeling to enter the reactor. Cherry blossoms blooming and birds flying high while you’re hiding behind a mask.” (Katsuhiro Akimoto)

 

Katsuhiro Akimoto was one of twenty workers at the Fukushima Daiichi plant who were interviewed and photographed by the photojournalist Kazuma Obara. The workers interviewed range in age from 25 to 68 years. Their testimonies appear in Reset – Beyond Fukushima, which was recently published with bilingual Japanese-English text by the renowned Lars Mueller Publishers

I wrote about Kazuma Obara in August last year. He’s the photojournalist from Iwate who gave up his salaryman status at Mitsubishi Lease & Finance three days after the tsunami, to pursue his passion of telling stories through photographs. In August, he became the first photojournalist to gain unauthorized access to the Fukushima Daiichi plant. The photographs which he was able to take covertly inside the plant feature in this book, together with other works from his time spent visiting the sites and people affected by the tsunami and nuclear accident.

I was fortunate enough to meet Kazuma Obara recently in Osaka. He’s a really good guy, doing a great job in ensuring that the voices of these “inconvenient”, nameless people are heard.  I recommend his book unreservedly.

The video below (Japanese only, but recommended to all) is a TV report about the work of Kazuma Obara. Links to other related information can also be found below.

 

 

Kazuma Obara website

Link to Reset – Beyond Fukushima

Links to press articles about Kazuma Obara

Nameless People: In support of finger pointing man and the workers at Fukushima Daiichi

 

 

This note was written by Marika Yoshida, a resident of Fukushima. We would like to translate and share her words in as many languages as possible. Thank you to Gina for making Marika-san’s words available in Spanish.

 

Escribí el comentario que figura a continuación el 12 de enero, el día en que se cumplían 10 meses desde el desastre en la planta nuclear. Inicialmente lo compartí solo con grupos de gente en concreto. Pero ya que bastantes de ellos lo quieren compartir, he decidido editarlo en forma de nota y así hacerlo accesible de manera generalizada.

He decidido mantenerlo en formato de nota porqué quise plasmar el sentimiento genuino que pude sentir ese momento, hasta tal punto que yo misma dudé en mostrarla y publicarla tal cual en mis páginas de redes sociales.

Sobre la idea de mostrarlo como una nota, me gustaría añadir unas cuantas cosas.

Esto es un documento sobre mis sentimientos personales. Como he escrito arriba, no tengo la intención de representar a nadie ni a nada.

Vivo en Fukushima, pero en un área con niveles de radicación relativamente bajos. Estoy segura que hay mucha gente que escogió o se vio forzada a escoger permanecer en lugares mucho más peligrosos. A propósito de esta nota, habrá gente que se sienta ofendida porqué pensarán que vivo en un área bastante “segura” y estoy “dramatizando”. En ese caso, por favor, simplemente borren mi nota.

De todas maneras, a pesar de que la gente dice que mi área es “segura”, yo sigo asustada. Y enfadada. Y preocupada. Probablemente no es solo cuestión del nivel de radiación, sino que  mi miedo, enfado y preocupación son causados porque la información proporcionada como “hechos” ha sido manipulada y cambiada demasiadas veces. Esos sentimientos honestos se encuentran dentro de mi, no importan las maneras en que la gente trate negarlos. Solo después de reconocerlos, creo que podremos superar y ver de otra manera esta experiencia.

…….

 

Vivir en Fukushima

Mi vida en Fukushima

Vivir en Fukushima, para mí

 

Significa, no poder abrir la ventana y respirar profundamente una bocanada de aire cada mañana

Significa, no poder tender o lavar la ropa en el exterior

Significa, desechar las verduras cultivadas en nuestro jardín

Significa, sentir remordimientos al ver a mi hija irse de casa con la máscara y el medidor de radiaciones puestos, incluso sin que se lo haya pedido

 

Significa, no poder tocar esta nieve tan blanca

Significa, a veces sentirme  ligeramente irritada cuando oigo el slogan “Contiuen luchando, Fukushima

Significa, darme cuenta de que mi respiración ha empezado a ser superficial

Significa, contarle a alguien que vivo en Fukushima y no ser capaz de evitar añadir “pero la radiación de nuestra área es aún es baja”

Significa, sentir que ahora existe 福島 (Fukushima en caracteres chinos) y FUKUSHIMA

 

Significa, ponerme furiosa cuando alguien nos dice de quedarnos y aguantar  y sentir “qué pensáis de nuestras vidas?” y enfadarme cuando alguien nos dice de “huir” “No lo digáis con tanta facilidad! No es tan simple”

Significa, preocuparme por si mi hija de 6 años se podrá casar en un futuro

Significa, sentirme como si estuviera renunciando a mis responsabilidades por haber escogido quedarme a vivir en Fukushima

Significa, renovar cada mañana, para mis adentros, una profunda concienciación de que nuestras vidas cotidianas se sostienen en una seguridad frágil, que es mantenida a base de los sacrificios y esfuerzos de otros.

Significa, que cada noche pienso que quizá deberé abandonar esta casa mañana y marcharme lejos.

Significa, aún rezar cada noche para que podamos vivir en esta casa mañana

Primero y más importante, rezo por la salud y felicidad de mi hija

No puedo olvidar ese humo negro

Quiero que la gente  entienda que a pesar de todo, aún vivimos más o menos felices, no obstante

Me siento furiosa, cada día

Rezo, cada día

 

Mi intención no es representar Fukushima. Esto es lo que vivir en Fukushima significa para mí, solo para mi.

Hoy es se cumplen diez meses para Fukushima.

 

 

The translation below was kindly offered by zenbu.cz as part of the Collaborative Translation project entitled Planting Seeds Together – inspired by Haruki Murakami’s prizegiving speech for the Catalunya International Prize, 2011.

To read a message from the translators, please click here

 

Jako naivní snílek

Projev Haruki Murakamiho při převzetí ceny Premi Internacional Catalunya za rok 2011

V Barceloně jsem byl naposledy na jaře před dvěma lety. Zúčastnil jsem se zde autogramiády svých knih a překvapilo mne, kolik čtenářů stálo frontu na můj podpis. Podepsat se jim všem mi zabralo více jak hodinu a půl, protože mnoho čtenářek mě chtělo políbit. To celé trvalo poměrně dlouho.

Zúčastnil jsem se autogramiád v mnoha jiných městech po celém světě, ale jen v Barceloně se našly ženy, které mne chtěly líbat. Už jen proto na mě Barcelona zapůsobila jako neobvyklé místo. Jsem velmi rád, že jsem opět zde v tomto nádherném městě s bohatou historií a úžasnou kulturou.

Ale je mi líto, že dnes budu muset mluvit o něčem závažnějším, než jsou polibky.

Jak jistě víte, 11. března v 14:46 zasáhlo severovýchodní část Japonska obrovské zemětřesení. Síla tohoto zemětřesení byla tak velká, že zrychlila pohyb Země kolem své osy a zkrátila tím den o 1,8 miliontin sekundy.

Škody způsobené samotným zemětřesením byly samy poměrně rozsáhlé, ale tsunami vyvolaná zemětřesením způsobila mnohem větší zkázu. Na některých místech dosahovala vlna výšky až 39 metrů. Ani desáté patro obyčejných budov by neposkytlo ochranu těm, kteří se ocitli v cestě této obrovské vlně. Lidé žijící blízko pobřeží neměli vůbec čas na útěk a tak jich kolem 24 000 přišlo o život – z toho asi 9 000 je stále nezvěstných.

Velká vlna, která prorazila zátarasy, je odnesla pryč, a dosud se nám nepodařilo najít jejich těla. Mnoho z nich se nejspíš ztratilo v ledových hlubinách moře. Když se nad tím zamyslím a představím si, že i já sám jsem mohl čelit tak hroznému osudu, sevře se mi hruď. Mnoho přeživších ztratilo své rodiny, přátele, obydlí, majetek, komunity a samotné základy svých životů.

Celé vesnice byly zcela zničeny. Mnoho lidí tak ztratilo veškerou naději na život.

Myslím si, že být Japoncem znaména žít s přírodními katastrofami. Od léta do podzimu prochází přes velkou část Japonska tajfuny. Každý rok způsobí rozsáhlé škody a zmaří mnoho životů. Ve všech regionech je mnoho aktivních sopek. A samozřejmě je zde i mnoho zemětřesení. Japonsko se dosti nešťastně nachází současně na čtyřech tektonických deskách východního cípu asijského kontinentu. Je to, jako bychom bydleli na samém hnízdě zemětřesení.

Umíme předvídat čas příchodu a trasy velkých i malých tajfunů, ale neumíme předpovědět kdy a kde dojde k zemětřesení.

Jediné, co víme, je, že toto nebylo poslední velké zemětřesení, a že k dalšímu zcela jistě dojde v blízké budoucnosti. Mnozí odborníci předpovídají, že další zemětřesení o síle 8 stupňů magnituda udeří v Tokiu v horizontu dvaceti až třiceti let. Může se to stát za deset let, nebo může zemětřesení přijít zítra odpoledne. Nikdo nemůže ani s nejmenší jistotou předvídat rozsah škod v případě, že by zemětřesení ve vnitrozemí udeřilo na tak hustě zalidněné město, jakým je právě Tokio.

Navzdory této skutečnosti prožívá jen v tokijské oblasti své “obyčejné” životy 13 miliónů lidí. Dojíždějí do svých kanceláří přeplněnými vlaky a pracují v mrakodrapech. Dokonce ani po tomto zemětřesení jsem zatím neslyšel, že by se počet obyvatel Tokia začal snižovat.

Proč? Můžete se ptát. Jak může tolik lidí i nadále žít své životy na tak strašném místě? Nezblázní se strachy?

V japonštině máme slovo “mujo (無常)”. Znamená, že vše je pomíjivé. Všechno zrozené do tohoto světa se mění a nakonec zmizí.

Neexistuje nic, co by se dalo považovat za trvalé nebo neměnné. Tento pohled na svět je odvozen z buddhismu, ale samotná podstata “mujo” je do japonské duše vpálena za hranice náboženského kontextu, neboť má kořeny  ve společném etnickém povědomí z prastarých dob.

Myšlenka, že všechny věci jsou pomíjivé, je výrazem odevzdání. Věříme, že neexistuje žádný důvod jít proti přírodě. Naopak, Japonci našli v tomto odevzdání pozitivní vyjádření krásy.

Uvažujeme-li na příklad přírodu, tak obdivujeme třešňové květy na jaře, světlušky v létě a červené listy na podzim. Pro nás je přirozené je se zaujetím pozorovat, hromadně a tradičně. Během jednotlivých období je obtížné najít volný hotelový pokoj v blízkosti nejvyhlášenějších míst kde kvetou třešně, objevují se světlušky, nebo se červenají listy, protože taková místa se bez vyjímky hemží návštěvníky.

Proč tomu tak je?

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