Families, farmers, entrepreneurs. These are the people of Fukushima today: those who never left and those who cannot return. The stories of people building a future after all these long years.
The people living in the prefecture of Fukushima are motivated, resourceful and ready to get back on their feet. They are not gripped by despair or abandonment. While the rest of the world cannot forget the images of the explosions at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant and continues to fear the spread of radiation through the air and sea, most residents are more focused on the future. A journey to Fukushima to meet farmers, food producers and restaurateurs years on from the earthquake, the tsunami and the nuclear disaster that shook Japan in March 2011.
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The real concern for the people of Fukushima today is the appeal of their own produce, regardless of whether the safety risks are real or not. The presence in the soil and water of radioactive substances such as caesium-137, caesium-134 and iodine-131 poses serious health problems, including a higher risk of developing cancer. But local people are sending a reassuring message: inspections are systematic and radiation levels do not exceed the limits set by Japanese law. One kilogram of generic food (excluding specific products such as infant formula) may not contain more than 100 becquerels (Bq) of caesium-137, whereas in the European Union the limit is 600 and in the United States it is 1,200.
Beyond the controversies over how the disaster could have been avoided, the unhealthy relationship between the Japanese energy authority and Tepco (the company that operates the Fukushima Daiichi plant), and the anger of some citizens at the government's determination to continue investing in nuclear power, there are the people. Courageous, resourceful people who work hard not just to survive a tragedy, but also to build something new from the ashes of the disaster. Here are some of them.
There are more than 150 hot springs in Fukushima, known as "onsen" in Japanese. Tourism is no longer as important a slice of the prefecture's economy as it was before the earthquake, yet towns such as Nihonmatsu still attract researchers who inspect radiation levels. We are 50 kilometres from Fukushima Daiichi, just outside the evacuation zone, where north-westerly winds carry radiation from the plant. Here you can enjoy the warm and generous hospitality of local farmers, such as Tatsuhiro and Miwako Ono.
The Onos used to grow mushrooms, but had to stop because of contamination. They showed us photographs of the bumper harvest of March 2011 that they were forced to throw away: the tower of plastic bags is reminiscent of the sacks of contaminated soil piled up all across Fukushima (around 10 million in total). These sacks represent the government's commitment to reducing radiation levels in open spaces to 1 millisievert (mSv) per year — under normal conditions we are exposed to twice that amount of radiation — by removing the topsoil. What will become of all the collected earth has yet to be decided.
Much has changed since 2011. The Onos now grow tomatoes in greenhouses on a hillside behind the house and rice in the paddy fields in front. At the edges of the rice paddies there is zeolite, a mineral that detoxifies the soil of heavy metals, and potassium chloride, which is absorbed by the plants in place of caesium. Thanks to an agreement among local farmers, all produce is grown organically, as is that from the adjacent plots. Solar panels cover the roof, and the Onos are keen to point out that they would like to achieve energy independence — an understandable aspiration for the people of Fukushima, whose livelihoods were destroyed by the radioactive fallout from the plant.
The NGO supports the Onos and other farmers in Nihonmatsu in developing organic agriculture and small family-run guesthouses, embodying the community spirit that binds many of Fukushima's residents together. The government is required by law to decontaminate areas where radiation levels exceed 20 mSv per year, but otherwise communities are left to fend for themselves, with the option of filing a claim against Tepco. Radiation has touched the lives of every resident in the prefecture, yet not everyone receives the same level of government support, which will be suspended next year. An invisible and arbitrary line divides those who can file c