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![2 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima
advocating for the abandonment of nuclear power. Later, in an editorial on 2nd
August, the paper proposed that Japan should rule out the construction of any
new plants, gradually decommission existing reactors per their respective levels of
risk, and ‘move towards promptly putting an end’ to the nuclear fuel cycle. Sub-
sequently, the paper has continued to call for an end to nuclear power generation
frequently. The Tōkyō Shimbun also began to articulate an anti-nuclear position
from this time clearly. Indeed, the paper’s anti-nuclear position came to be rec-
ognized as constituting an important part of its identity, leading to a subsequent
increase in sales figures (Ikegami 2015). In summary, what these three papers
share in common is that they did not halt at covering the Fukushima disaster
but problematized Japan’s nuclear power regime itself, promoting different paths
towards a ‘zero nuclear’ society.
Newspapers and other major media entities are not the only groups that have
expressed anti-nuclear positions in the aftermath of the Fukushima Nuclear Dis-
aster. Many books have also been published which call nuclear power into ques-
tion. Meanwhile, many of Japan’s leading intellectuals have lent their respective
voices to the cause of abandoning nuclear power. For example, the sociologist
Ōsawa Masachi claimed that ‘The Fukushima Daiichi incident is the worst nuclear
disaster since Chernobyl; indeed, it is even worse than Chernobyl, the worst in
human history’ (Ōsawa 2012: 3–4). He further argued that ‘Japan must have as
its goal the complete elimination of nuclear power’ (Ōsawa 2012: 10). Similarly,
the noted religious anthropologist Nakazawa Shinichi stated that ‘regardless of
how the events [of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster] unfold, there is one clear fact
which we can say at this point in time. This is the fact that Japanese civilization
must now treat this incident as a turning point for undertaking a fundamental
transformation’ (Nakazawa 2011: 9). Nakazawa adds: ‘We must abandon nuclear
power as a technology for securing our energy needs as soon as possible’ (Naka-
zawa 2011: 143). The well-known philosopher Karatani Kōjin also asserted that
‘Once it was determined that a nuclear disaster occurred following the earth-
quake of 11th March, the world changed’ (Karatani 2011: 22). Karatani would
go on to participate in an anti-nuclear power demonstration held in Shiba Park in
Tokyo, a month after the disaster. He noted that this was his first time participat-
ing in a demonstration in around 50 years since the days of the 1960s and the
campaign against the Japan–US Security Treaty.2
On the official site for the public
lectures that he instructed, Karatani stated: ‘Given the present situation, I believe
that it is of the utmost importance to expand demonstrations against nuclear
power’. As well as postponing his lectures, he called attendees to participate in the
demonstrations.3
In justification for taking this step, Karatani asserted that it was
essential that the ‘citizens of Japan fight to bring about the complete abolition of
nuclear power’. In his view, public resistance was the only means through which
this outcome could be achieved (Karatani 2011: 27).
Accordingly, the aftermath of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster has seen the
abolition of nuclear power become a major point of debate within the nation’s
media and intellectuals. Such is the scale of this shift that we might even refer to
it as a ‘nuclear debate renaissance’. However, although ten years have now passed](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-19-2048.jpg)
![8 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima
However, as I have already noted, the situation rapidly changed in the after-
math of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster in March 2011. Many media figures and
journalists began to call for an end to Japan’s reliance on nuclear power. Simulta-
neously, vigorous anti-nuclear advocacy also spread amongst scientists and intel-
lectuals. I note that, rather than researchers in the hard sciences, the intellectuals
who took the lead were predominantly those with a background in the humani-
ties and social sciences. Many famous Japanese intellectuals added their voice to
the anti-nuclear chorus, including the aforementioned Ōsawa Masachi, Karatani
Kōjin, and Nakazawa Shinichi.
Karatani himself frankly confessed that ‘until the [Fukushima] disaster occurred;
I had not seriously considered the danger represented by nuclear power’ (Kara-
tani 2011: 24). Indeed, most intellectuals from backgrounds in the humani-
ties had not engaged with the question of nuclear power before the disaster.
Is there some difference between these intellectuals and the scientists – such as
Takagi and Koide – who had taken the lead in speaking out against nuclear power
before Fukushima? Moreover, can we identify some kind of topological difference
between the post-Fukushima arguments advanced primarily by intellectuals from
the humanities and social sciences, on the one hand, and the pre-Fukushima dis-
course that centred on scholars from the hard sciences, on the other hand?
I also note that before Fukushima, criticisms of nuclear power in the media
were restricted to mediums such as left-wing magazines. Furthermore, those
writing anti-nuclear articles in such magazines were largely freelance journalists
like Hirose Takashi or Kamata Satoshi. As indicated, however, after Fukushima,
the major newspapers of Japan, such as Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun, and
Tōkyō Shimbun, changed their position, arguing forcefully against nuclear power.
Following Fukushima, television stations, including both NHK and commer-
cial broadcasters, have continuously run huge volumes of programmes critical
of nuclear power. What differences can we identify between those critical of
nuclear power before Fukushima, that is, freelance journalists writing for left-
wing magazines, and those at major newspapers and TV stations which only came
out against nuclear power following the disaster? Other questions we may con-
sider concern those filmmakers, activists, and musicians who took an anti-nuclear
stance before Fukushima: How did their activities change and develop following
the disaster? Moreover, can we identify any points of contact between their activi-
ties and Japan’s intelligentsia and media?
In summary, while before Fukushima only a minority of individuals advanced
an anti-nuclear position, after Fukushima, it became a major topic that was cham-
pioned by a majority of intellectuals and media figures. Simultaneously, the con-
tents of the arguments also became more diverse. However, the typical historical
approach, deployed to shed light on ‘the myth of safe atomic energy’ and the pro-
motion of nuclear power in Japan, does not provide us with answers to the kinds
of questions asked earlier. Hence the present book carefully considers the anti-
nuclear arguments and ideas which have proliferated within Japanese society in
the decade since Fukushima.](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-25-2048.jpg)
![12 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima
nuclear power. Considering this debate, I suggest, may also offer us a vantage
point for surveying the prospects for a more mature, inclusive democracy.
Post-catastrophe ‘disaster culture’: the visibility
of socio-political contradictions
The first question to ask is a straightforward one: Why did so many of Japan’s news-
papers and TV stations, and its scientists and intellectuals, suddenly change their
stance following the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster? That is, why did these organiza-
tions and individuals suddenly shift from promoting or accepting nuclear power
to calling for its end? The simple answer is that they were compelled by the scale
of the catastrophe that the nation faced. The 2011 earthquake had the strongest
moment magnitude ever recorded in Japan. Furthermore, the subsequent Fuku-
shima Nuclear Disaster was ranked as a level 7 on the International Nuclear Event
scale, putting it alongside Chernobyl as one of the worst nuclear disasters in human
history. In this book, I will historically contextualize the response to the Fukushima
disaster by Japan’s media and intelligentsia as an example of the so-called ‘disaster
culture’, where the normal hegemonic structures of permissible social discourse are
rendered problematic, and openly called into question. Indeed, as we shall see, this
is not the first time that such a ‘disaster culture’ has emerged in Japan.
In 1923, a little over 90 years before the Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami and
the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, the Great Kantō Earthquake left over 100,000
people dead in the Tokyo region. Several important social and cultural movements
emerged in the aftermath of the earthquake, including waves of avant-garde art
and aesthetic literature (spearheaded by Tanizaki Junichirō, Edogawa Ranpo, and
others). What I wish to draw attention to here, however, is the so-called ‘theory
of divine punishment’ (Tenkenron), which was advocated for by figures such as
Shibusawa Eiichi and Uchimura Kanzō. In their view, the catastrophe that had
struck Japan ought to be interpreted as a kind of revelation (i.e. divine punish-
ment, or an apocalypse in the biblical sense), a trial that offered an opportunity
for society to reflect upon its course and that required a moral response. I suggest
that there is a degree of similarity between this theory and some of the responses
that emerged following the Fukushima disaster.
Directly after the Great Kantō Earthquake, Shibusawa Eiichi, a leading indus-
trialist at that time, asserted that the disaster was no mere misfortune. Instead,
it was linked in some manner to what he viewed as the political, economic, and
cultural disorder that had spread through Japan since the time of the Meiji Res-
toration in 1868. ‘It is not only an unprecedented natural disaster (ten-sai; lit.
a disaster from the heavens)’, Shibusawa wrote, ‘at the same time it is a divine
punishment (ten-ken)’ (Yorozu Chōhō, 13th September 1923). The Christian
thinker Uchimura Kanzō was sympathetic to Shibusawa’s pronouncement, com-
paring it to ‘the whispering of [ones] conscience’ (Ohara 2012: 32). The writer
Ikuta Chōkō, who was also known as a translator of Nietzsche’s works, simi-
larly argued that the earthquake was punishment for the profligacy that he saw
as spreading within Japanese culture. Addressing the Japanese people, himself](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-29-2048.jpg)
![14 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima
At the time, the moderator of the symposium, the literary critic Kawakami
Tetsutarō, stated that ‘I myself still do not know if this conference was a success
or not. Yet, a truth which cannot be concealed is that it was created during the
mental shudder of that year [following] the beginning of the war’ (Kawakami
1979: 166). Kawakami’s expression here, of a ‘mental shudder’ experienced in
the year following ‘the beginning of the war’, serves to convey how the sympo-
sium and the resultant special edition publications were the product of the serious
impact of the catastrophe that was the pacific war. What I would like to suggest
is that the anti-nuclear debates of Japan’s journalists and intellectuals in the wake
of the Fukushima disaster can similarly be read as a ‘mental shudder’. Therefore,
comparing this reaction with the ‘overcoming modernity’ symposium of the war
years could be illuminating.
In summary, I have listed three cases of ‘disaster culture’ from the past hundred
years of Japanese history: the ‘theory of divine punishment’ that appeared within
popular discourse after the Great Kantō Earthquake; the ‘overcoming moder-
nity’ symposium that took place following the outbreak of war in the Pacific;
and the anti-nuclear debate of this past decade following the Fukushima disaster.
What kinds of similarities and differences can we identify when comparing these
cases? To date, no research has attempted to answer such a question in detail.15
There are other related questions which are also surely worthy of closer investiga-
tion. For example, why did the ‘theory of divine punishment’ flourish after the
Great Kantō Earthquake? And what kind of tension existed between this trend
of thought and the nationalism of Japan as it headed towards the Second World
War? To date, a comprehensive examination of such questions has also not been
undertaken. As they are beyond the scope of the present book, I cannot devote
serious attention to them at this juncture. However, by investigating the nature
of post-Fukushima anti-nuclear discourse amongst Japan’s journalists and intel-
lectuals, I suggest that we may make an important general contribution to this
field of investigation. Namely, we may render a visible part of the general pat-
tern according to which post-catastrophe ‘disaster culture’ in Japan changes the
hegemonic rules of social discourse.
To clarify the nature of post-Fukushima anti-nuclear discourse, we cannot sim-
ply treat the debates and ideas that took place within that discourse as isolated
elements. Instead, we need to attempt a reading of this discourse from a macro-
perspective such as ‘disaster culture’. Globally, it is increasingly understood that it
is important to investigate the trends of thought that the media and intelligentsia
create when they come face to face with a catastrophic situation. For example,
Yale University sociologist Kai Erikson has conducted field research in numerous
regions of the globe to clarify how their communities responded to the various
disasters and catastrophes of the twentieth century. Erikson has thereby arrived at
some new and important insights (Erikson 1995). Be they conceived of as ‘cities
of comrades’, ‘democracies of anguish’, ‘post-disaster utopias’, or ‘altruistic com-
munities’, scholars had tended to argue that catastrophes brought about utopian,
altruistic collectives rooted in the ‘innate goodness’ of human beings.16
However,
what Erikson observed was something different. Based on his investigation of](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-31-2048.jpg)
![Introduction 15
many societies that had met with disaster, he reached the following conclusion
about trauma:
The Experience of trauma, at its worst, can mean not only a loss of con-
fidence in the self but a loss of confidence in the scaffolding of family and
community, in the structures of human government, in the larger logics by
which humankind lives, and in the ways of nature itself.
(Erikson 1995: 242)
Erikson argues that a catastrophe opens up the cracks that were inherent in the
previous community and exposes socio-cultural contradictions while fragmenting
them. The result is the so-called ‘corrosive communities’ form, which, in turn,
spread a kind of ‘toxicity’ within the broader society (Erikson 1995: 236).
When a catastrophe occurs, cracks can appear in the usually sealed surface of
a community, from which underlying ‘toxicity’ can rear its head. Or, catastro-
phes can expose and make visible the social contradictions or discord that usu-
ally remains concealed. We can refer to this development as ‘disaster culture’.
Gregory Button, the original proposer of the concept of ‘disaster culture’, argued
that when a disaster occurs, the media and its narratives ‘reveal the true social
arrangements of our culture and [its] asymmetric power relations’ (Button 2010:
151). Thus, what is exposed is ‘the underlying cultural logic that reinforces the
hegemonic forces in our society’ (Button 2010: 155). First, the language and
symbols deployed by the media and intellectuals plays an important role in ‘disas-
ter culture’ (Pantti et al. 2012: 5). Second, such language and symbols take on a
different character when compared with the situation before a disaster.
The first major ‘disaster culture’ of the twenty-first century was arguably cre-
ated in the aftermath of the simultaneous terrorist attacks that occurred in the
United States on 11th September 2001. These attacks had a significant impact
that the use of phrases such as ‘since 9/11’ has become commonplace in daily
American life ever since (Altheide 2010: 16). Jeffrey Melnick (2009) argues that
‘9/11 and its cultural and political fallout have functioned as the answer to count-
less questions of social import’ (Melnick 2009: 3). Therefore, Melnick stresses
that ‘“9/11” is a language. It has its own vocabulary, grammar and tonalities’
(Melnick 2009: 6). Tom Pollard, who studied Hollywood films in the post-9/11
era, noted that they overflowed with feelings of shock, grief, horror, rage, venge-
ance, and paranoia. In comparison, films from before the attacks seem practically
naïve (Pollard 2011: 2).
The interpretative perspective of ‘disaster culture’ is of particular value while
considering the Fukushima nuclear disaster. Pantti, Wahl-Jorgensen, and Cottle
stated that the 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami and subsequent nuclear
disaster bore a level of significance that matched that of the Great Lisbon earth-
quake of 1755 (Pantti et al. 2012: 3). This is because the Japanese disaster ‘also
accentuates the fact that disasters invariably become infused with diverse cul-
tural meaning and political discourses that exceed the disaster itself’ (Pantti et al.
2012: 3). We can see how this interpretation fits with the case of the recent](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-32-2048.jpg)
![Introduction 17
is theoretically capable of a nuclear weapons programme. Thus, as has been fre-
quently stated, the ‘peaceful use’ of atomic power conceals beneath it the thirst
for its ‘military use’.17
The promotion of the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ was a US policy, first
announced in a speech to the United Nations in December 1953 by President
Eisenhower. Ostensibly, the plan was for nuclear power and uranium to be placed
under international supervision. The uranium would be distributed to the vari-
ous nations of the world (for non-military use). The proposed campaign went
under the name of ‘Atoms for Peace’. Surprisingly, at around that time (in Janu-
ary 1955), a member of the US House of Representatives, Congressman Sidney
Yates, even proposed that a nuclear power plant should be built in Hiroshima.
He reasoned that Hiroshima was the first place in the world to have been the
target of atomic bombing. Hence, it would be a symbolically suitable place for
the ‘peaceful’ use of atomic power (Arima 2012: 15–18).
However, Congressman Yates wished to do more than simply promote the
‘peaceful’ use of atomic power. He anticipated that if the United States helped
establish nuclear power in Japan, then that nation would be able to secure a
supply of plutonium and, on that basis, build its nuclear armaments. If Japan
could possess even one deployable nuclear weapon, then (so long as it remained
on the US side), it would contribute to the overall military strength of the ‘free’
(i.e. non-communist) Asian nations. Conversely, in Yates’s view, even if Japan
were to turn communist and align with the Soviet Union, its limited nuclear
capability would not have a serious impact on the military balance between East
and West (Arima 2012: 23).18
As Arima Tetsuo has stated, what is important
here is that the United States thought of Japan’s nuclear power programme as
tied to a future nuclear armaments programme (Arima 2012: 23).
We should note that it was not only the United States which anticipated Japan
having a nuclear programme in the future. The situation was much the same on
the Japanese side. Kishi Nobusuke – the Prime Minister who actively promoted
the establishment of nuclear power in Japan – was firmly aware that nuclear
power facilities would give the nation the potential to create nuclear armaments
in the future. In an address given in the 1960s, Kishi made the following remarks:
The difference between peaceful use and military use is paper-thin. Some
people say it is even less than paper-thin. Needless to say, the various uses for
nuclear power that we have today were all a side-product of the development
of nuclear bombs. Even if we speak of a peaceful use [of atomic power], that
does not mean that one day we might not use that [same technology] for
military ends.
(Kishi 1967: 13)
It is possible to create a nuclear weapon with 8 kg of plutonium. The nuclear
fuel re-reprocessing facility in Rokkasho village, Aomori prefecture, creates eight
tons of plutonium every year. A simple calculation tells us that this is the equiva-
lent volume needed for creating 1,000 warheads per year (Suzuki Saruta 2016:](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-34-2048.jpg)
![Introduction 19
The author and critic Kasai Kiyoshi has argued that the Fukushima disaster
was not the result of a ‘natural disaster’ but was very much a ‘human disas-
ter’. In Kasai’s view, the disaster was the result of general cultural failings: the
mental life of the nation fundamentally lacked personal responsibility, a problem
which remained fundamentally unchanged since the days of pre-war nationalism.
Kasai refers to the mental life of modern Japanese people as ‘Nippon ideology’.
By ‘Nippon ideology’, Kasai means a common driving force that has led Japan
to make serious mistakes in both the pre- and post-war periods. In the pre-war
period, it manifested as a failure to correctly read the global situation due to a lack
of historical understanding, with the result that Japan eventually began a hope-
less war in the Pacific. In the post-war period, this ideology manifested as a form
of self-deception that pursued ‘peace and prosperity’ without concern for the
underlying causes of the war, or for who was ultimately responsible. Kasai argues
that abandoning nuclear power would be a step in the direction of overcoming
the intellectual deception of ‘Nippon ideology’ and awakening the Japanese to
the reality of their nation (Kasai 2012: 30). We can see how Kasai’s perspective
speaks to how Japanese ‘disaster culture’ is characterized by a reflective question-
ing of Japanese modernity in the face of catastrophe.
It is important to note that, when the anti-nuclear advocacy of journalists and
intellectuals gathered momentum after Fukushima, pro-nuclear arguments also
became more visible. This was because the conservative proponents of nuclear
power had been placed on the defensive. The resultant clash of positions led to an
increase in debates about developing and possessing nuclear weapons, a topic that
had been rarely directly addressed. For example, Ishiba Shigeru, ex-Secretary-
General of the Liberal Democratic Party and the leading candidate for succeed-
ing Prime Minister Abe Shinzō, made the following remarks during a television
appearance following the Fukushima disaster.
In the first place, nuclear power was designed to build nuclear-powered sub-
marines. So, apart from Japan, all nations which pursued nuclear power poli-
cies did so together with nuclear weapon policies. They formed a set. However,
I do not think that Japan ought to have nuclear weapons. However, be that
as it may, if we ever did want to make them, we could do so at any time. We
could make them within a year. This is a kind of deterrence. As to whether
it is OK to entirely do away with [that capability], a serious debate is neces-
sary. I don’t think we should abandon [this capability]. This is because, in our
vicinity, there is Russia, there is China, there is North Korea, and there is the
United States of America [Disregarding] whether or not a nation is an ally; we
are surrounded by nuclear powers. And, we should certainly never forget that
all of these nations have ballistic missile technology (Mutō 2011: 73).
From such comments, we can readily imagine that Japan’s political leaders,
in general, are very much aware of the latent potential that ‘peaceful’ atomic
power has for being turned to military use. Moreover, we can see why this fact
was not openly debated until now. To directly take it up for discussion would
mean to admit that key premises of post-war Japan, be it the three anti-nuclear](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-36-2048.jpg)
![32 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima
17 We also see concern in the United States about the potential for Japan to develop
its own nuclear weapons program. In a 2016 interview for PBS, then Vice-
President Biden revealed that during a conference with China’s President Xi Jin-
ping, he had told Xi that ‘Japan could go nuclear tomorrow’, asking him ‘what
would you do?’ if this were to eventuate. According to Biden, Japan could secure
nuclear weaponry ‘virtually overnight’ (Sankei Nyūsu, 23rd June 2016). I have
also noted how Kishi Nobusuke suggested that the possession of nuclear power
technology was also important because it allowed for Japan to potentially develop
its own nuclear weapons program if it so desired. Similar statements have been
made by other prominent figures in Japan. For example, in an interview given
for the Asahi Shimbun on 19th July 1971, the famous author and later conserva-
tive right-wing politician Ishihara Shintarō, who would eventually become mayor
of Tokyo, stated the following: ‘without (nuclear weapons), Japan’s diplomatic
efforts have finally become quite feeble. We are losing the right to speak [on the
world stage]. . . . So even just having a single warhead would suffice. If [some
would] feel worried about what the Japanese might do, then in my opinion that
means the world would actually listen to what Japan has to say. Interestingly, the
famous French demographer and family anthropologist Emmanuel Todd has said
that he is in favour of Japan arming itself with nuclear weapons (Asahi Shimbun
30th October 2006. In an interview with Wakamiya Yoshibumi). For Todd, the
ubiquity of nuclear weaponry constitutes a mutual threat that can actually con-
tribute to regional stability. A situation where China was the only nuclear power
in East Asia was conversely an unstable one. For this reason, it was desirable for
Japan to also become a nuclear power.
18 However, while the Eisenhower administration in the United States promoted
their campaign for the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’, they were nevertheless
initially opposed to assisting Japan in building nuclear reactors. This was because
nuclear reactors produce plutonium, the raw material needed for nuclear weapons
(Arima 2012: 94).
19 This argument has been advanced by a range of different parties. In the mass
media it is newspapers such as Yomiuri Shimbun which have frequently asserted
that nuclear power was a method for reducing CO2
emissions. An editorial of that
paper, from 5th June 2016, states the following: ‘The international framework
established in December last year for [combatting] global warming, the ‘Paris
Agreement’, is extremely important due to the fact that all the world’s nations are
signatories. Nuclear power generation can contribute significantly to the reduction
of greenhouse emissions. In 2015, there was also a scenario that the percentage of
energy generated via nuclear power could exceed that generated via hydroelectric
power’. Yomiuri Shimbun has also argued that, to deal with global warming, it was
not only necessary for Japan to re-start its nuclear reactors, it was also necessary
to build more of them. For example, an editorial from 9th March 2016 states
that: ‘[given] nuclear power does not generate CO2
, it is an extremely important
energy source when it comes to global warming countermeasures. [Therefore]
we ought to proceed not only with steadily re-starting those reactors which have
been confirmed to be safe, but also with the construction of new plants’. An edi-
torial from the 2nd May 2015, meanwhile, similarly reads: ‘[We] need to re-start
nuclear power plants that have had their safety verified, and going forward [we
need to] proceed with the construction of new plants’. Then there is an edito-
rial from 10th June 2015, which states: ‘Given that they do not produce CO2,
it is imperative that we re-start our nuclear power plants and also build more of
them’. We can see that their position on this point has remained consistent over
recent years. Conversely, Yomiuri Shimbun has claimed that: ‘Renewable energy](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-49-2048.jpg)
![A topology of the mainstream media 35
that time defended Ōkuma’s articles, emphasizing ‘the necessity of nuclear power
generation’. The paper’s ‘Nuclear Power and the Media’ series revealed this inter-
nal state of affairs (Asahi Shimbun, 5th January 2012). Another revelation was
that Japan’s electric power companies distributed Ōkuma’s book to the regional
media organizations belonging to the so-called reporters clubs (kisha kurabu) of
Japan’s various prefectural offices. Indeed, according to the testimony of journal-
ists who were at the paper, the power companies even made bulk purchases of the
book. In short, in this series of articles, Asahi Shimbun unsparingly laid out its
own negative history, a history where Japanese power companies used material
written by the paper’s reporters to promote nuclear power to the public and sup-
press discourse in the media that was sceptical of nuclear power.
Even after the Chernobyl disaster of 1986, when surveys showed a reversal of
public support for nuclear power, Ōkuma argued in an editorial for Asahi Shim-
bun that ‘only via a thorough enhancement of the safety of nuclear power plants
can [the public’s] concern be resolved’ (Asahi Shimbun, 31st August 1986).
One by one, Asahi Shimbun’s ‘Nuclear Power and the Media’ series provided an
account of these inconvenient facts, examining its nuclear power reporting his-
tory. As the series reached its conclusion, the contributing writer Jōmaru Yōichi
compared the paper’s history of nuclear power reporting with its history of com-
plicity with the war. He wrote:
Japan was completely defeated in the war. Journalism was also defeated.
If this was its first defeat, then the second defeat for newspaper journalism was
its inability to break through the nuclear power ‘safety myth’ and propose that
we move away from nuclear power before this accident occurred. Freedom of
expression may be protected in post-war Japan. Yet journalism was defeated by
the ‘monster’ it had helped create, [the ‘monster’] known as nuclear power.
(Jōmaru 2012: 446)
Television stations also began to show signs after Fukushima that they were
engaging in some critical reflection about their past treatment of nuclear power.
For example, Katō Hisaharu, who had directed numerous news programmes
for Nippon TV since the 1960s, made the following comments: ‘[Television
until now] functioned to create “the myth of safe atomic energy” by continu-
ously claiming that nuclear power was safe, secure, stable, and inexpensive’. He
added: ‘If decent nuclear power reporting and nuclear power programs had been
broadcast on TV, then perhaps the Fukushima nuclear disaster may have never
occurred’ (Katō 2012: 3–4).
In this manner, in the wake of Fukushima, newspapers and television stations
reflected upon their past with some degree of repentance and self-reproach.
These two forms of mainstream media – newspaper companies, in particular –
made significant changes to their official editorial positions on nuclear power,
with some favouring the end of nuclear power in Japan. Television stations also
broadcast a large volume of special programmes on nuclear power. This chapter](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/18666719-250606081945-1f83ba16/75/Japanese-Media-And-The-Intelligentsia-After-Fukushima-Disaster-Culture-Katsuyuki-Hidaka-52-2048.jpg)
Japanese Media And The Intelligentsia After Fukushima Disaster Culture Katsuyuki Hidaka
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- 6. Japanese Media andthe Intelligentsia after Fukushima How and why does a catastrophic disaster change public discourse and social narratives? This is the first book to comprehensively investigate how Japanese newspapers, TV, documentary films, independent journalists, scientists, and intellectuals from the humanities and social sciences have critically responded to the Fukushima nuclear disaster over the last decade. In Japan, nuclear power consistently had more than 70% support in opinion polls. However, the Fukushima disaster of 2011 has caused a shift in public opinion, and the majority of the population now desires an end to nuclear power in Japan. Alternative energy and countermeasures against climate change have thus become hot-button issues in public discourse. Moreover, topics previously left undiscussed have become common talking points among journalists and intellectuals: Concealed power structural dynamics that work upon Japan’s politics, bureaucracy, industry, academia, and media; Japan’s peculiar, strong support for nuclear power despite being a nation subjected to the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and its latent ability to develop nuclear weapons by utilizing the plutonium generated by its power plants; and Japan’s dependence on the US nuclear umbrella. These discussions have often evolved into macro- level controversies over ‘Japan’ and its ‘modernity’. In this book, Hidaka critically evaluates how the Fukushima disaster has shaken hegemonic public discourse and compares it to the impact of previous moments of ‘disaster culture’ in modern Japanese history, such as The Great Kanto Earthquake and the Pacific War. Offers vital insights into contemporary Japanese culture and social discourse for students and scholars alike. Katsuyuki Hidaka is Professor and Vice Dean of the College of Social Sciences, Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto, Japan. He is also a professorial research associate at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, from which he received his Ph.D. degree. His publications include Japanese Media at the Beginning of the 21st century: Consuming the Past (Routledge 2017), a winner of the Japan Communication Association Best Book Award.
- 7. Routledge Contemporary JapanSeries 5 Avant-Garde and Nondominant Thought in Postwar Japan Image, Matter, and Separation Kenichi Yoshida 6 Wildlife, Landscape Use and Society Regional Case Studies in Japan Ken Sugimura 7 Women and Political Inequality in Japan Gender Imbalanced Democracy Mikiko Eto 8 Somaesthetics and the Philosophy of Culture Projects in Japan Satoshi Higuchi 9 Japan’s Nationalist Right in the Internet Age Online Media and Grassroots Conservative Activism Jeffrey J. Hall 10 Zainichi Koreans and Mental Health Psychiatric Problem in Japanese Korean Minorities, Their Social Background and Life Story Kim Taeyoung 11 Japanese War Orphans Abandoned Twice by the State Jiaxin Zhong 12 Japanese Media and the Intelligentsia after Fukushima Disaster Culture Katsuyuki Hidaka For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/Routledge- Contemporary-Japan-Series/book-series/SE0002
- 8. Japanese Media and theIntelligentsia after Fukushima Disaster Culture Katsuyuki Hidaka
- 9. First published 2022 byRoutledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business © 2022 Katsuyuki Hidaka The right of Katsuyuki Hidaka to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-032-10167-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-10168-2 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-21400-7 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003214007 Typeset in Galliard by Apex CoVantage, LLC
- 10. Acknowledgementsvi Prefacevii Notes on Japanesenames and the Romanization of Japanese wordsxi Introduction: the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster ten years on 1 1 A topology of the mainstream media: newspapers and television34 2 Scepticism and resistance: scientists and independent journalists77 3 The struggle for ‘Japan’: the intellectuals of the humanities and social sciences 116 4 Documentary films and nuclear power: grassroots movements, democracy, and opposition to the mainstream media 158 Conclusion 191 Bibliography204 Index213 Contents
- 11. As stated inthe Preface, the Fukushima nuclear disaster in March 2011 prompted massive amounts of discourses and ideas about the disaster in the Japanese media. The particular perspective of ‘disaster culture’ came to me quite early after the Fukushima nuclear disaster because I noticed how these arguments expose the social toxicity that usually remains concealed in times of peace. However, it was a daunting task to complete the manuscript because it covers a wide range of genres and subjects, and the amount of data is huge. Nevertheless, I am glad that despite the COVID-19 pandemic, the safe completion of the manuscript coincided with Tokyo Olympic Games in July 2021, and it was published as a ten-year comprehensive review of Japanese media and the intelligentsia following Fukushima. (This work was supported by JSPS KAKENHI (Grants-in-Aid for Scientific Research) (Grant Number: JP17K18467).) While writing this book, I had several opportunities to deliver research pres- entations at numerous academic conferences and workshops. I would especially like to thank all the people who made valuable comments at the following con- ferences; annual conferences at International Association for Media and Com- munication Research, International Communication Association, European Association for Japanese Studies, Japan Communication Association, Japan Asso- ciation for Media, Journalism and Communication Studies, and Japan Society for the Study of Great Eastern Japan Earthquake. Several universities have invited me as a guest speaker for their workshops, and I am grateful to them; the School of Oriental and African Studies at University of London, University of Heidelberg, University of Kyoto, and University of Nagoya. I would also like to thank my colleagues and students at Ritsumeikan University. I express my sincere thanks to Isolde Standish, who always encouraged me to complete this book project. I am most grateful to Simon Bates, Shubhayan Chakrabarti, and other editorial staff at Routledge for their commitment to the book project and staying with me along the way to the completion. I would also like to thank Editage for English lan- guage editing. Finally, I would like to give special thanks to my parents, Yoshiyuki and Toshiko. My deep gratitude goes on to my wife, Yoshiko. I also thank my ten-year-old son, Shōgo, for consistently reminding me where my priorities lie. Acknowledgements
- 12. An unprecedented volumeof publications and intellectual opinion on nuclear power emerged after the Fukushima nuclear disaster in March 2011. As a Japa- nese media and journalism scholar living in Japan, I first thought of making a comprehensive list of resources presenting this discourse. I made detailed notes and collected relevant newspaper and magazine articles, books, TV programmes, documentary and fictional films, and so on. The notes reached a considerable amount in three or four years. If I had edited them in a more straightforward manner, I might have published a book earlier. However, I did not do that because I thought it was necessary to investigate the public discourse from meta- and interrelated perspectives to seriously consider how and why various argu- ments overflowed after the historical catastrophe. After the Fukushima disaster, a few major European countries like Germany, Italy, and Switzerland decided to eliminate nuclear power. The Ethics Commis- sion on Nuclear Power contributed to Germany’s decision to phase out its nuclear power. When Chancellor Angela Merkel sought advice, the Ethics Commission recommended that Germany switch to an energy mix that does not depend on nuclear power, and indicated that all nuclear reactors should be shut down by 2021. Ulrich Beck was one of the 17 members of the Ethics Commission. He is Germany’s leading sociologist and is known for his theory on risk society. Beck is said to have harshly criticized the power industry representatives at a government hearing on how hard it would be to explain to their children the fact that they had continued to operate nuclear power plants even after the Chernobyl accident (Wakisaka 2012: 74). The nuclear energy policies of European countries differ considerably. In the United Kingdom, one of the most pro-nuclear power countries after France in Europe, where 15 nuclear power reactors were in operation at the time of writ- ing, it was surprising that the public opinion poll in August 2011, several months after the Fukushima disaster, showed that the approval ratings for nuclear energy were higher than those before the accident. The British newspaper The Guard- ian wrote that the reason for this was, albeit speculative, that the Fukushima disaster did not cause any direct deaths (The Guardian, 9th September 2011). In April 2012, a year after the Fukushima disaster, then British Prime Minister David Cameron visited Japan and attended a nuclear seminar. After expressing Preface
- 13. viii Preface his sympathyto those affected by the Fukushima nuclear disaster and the Great East Japan Earthquake, Cameron said that he was proud that Britain did not respond hysterically after Fukushima. He then enthusiastically spoke about Brit- ain’s nuclear power policy (Wakisaka 2012: 55). Britain’s leading sociologist Anthony Giddens devoted himself to research on climate change and published a book titled, The Politics of Climate Change, in 2009. This book received a lot of attention because former US President Bill Clinton posted an endorsement on its front cover. Clinton wrote, ‘A landmark study in the struggle to contain climate change, the greatest challenge of our era. I urge everyone to read it’. In this book, Giddens wrote in favour of conceding nuclear energy to prioritize the resolution of climate change and global warming. In the 2012 revised edition of The Politics of Climate Change, comments on the Fukushima disaster were added. However, Giddens noted that there was no need to change the attitude of defending the nuclear power plant even if we con- sider the catastrophic consequences of Fukushima: because, according to him, the main cause of the disaster was that the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant was an outdated and dilapidated nuclear power plant that was built over 40 years ago and that the radiation dose emitted in Fukushima was less than one-tenth of that emitted in the 1986 Chernobyl accident although Giddens did admit that the long-term effects were still unknown (Giddens 2011: 133–134). He criticized the shift in policy to denuclearization after the Fukushima accident as seen in Germany, arguing that this political change was unfortunate from the perspective of reducing carbon emissions (Giddens 2011: 133). Although most of Giddens’ books have been translated into Japanese and pub- lished in Japan, the book that was recommended by a top celebrity, namely former US President Bill Clinton, remains unpublished. This may have been the result of one of two reasons: either that Japanese publishers would not have accepted the arguments positively, given that Japan had experienced a major nuclear calamity, or that there was no one who wanted to translate it into Japanese. I pursued my master’s and doctoral degrees in the United Kingdom. After Fukushima, I was blessed with the opportunity to live and study in London again when I took a one-year sabbatical from September 2014 onward. In Octo- ber 2014, I was informed that Giddens was going to deliver a lecture on climate change in London. I attended his lecture, where he energetically emphasized the aforementioned opinion while touching on the accident in Fukushima. Giddens is British and Beck is German. Both sociologists have advocated the theory of ‘reflexive modernity’, co-authored books, and should have a close rela- tionship. It was, therefore, interesting to me that the two people have opposite views on nuclear power and energy and that their views are in line with the energy policies of their respective countries. In February 2015, three months after Gid- dens’ lecture, I heard that Beck, who lived in Germany, was going to deliver a lecture in London. I wanted to listen to him and, after the lecture, ask him what he thought of Giddens’ idea. However, Beck never came to London. On New Year’s Day in 2015, he suddenly died of a myocardial infarction. What did Beck actually think of Giddens’ idea? We will never know.
- 14. Preface ix Although Beckand Giddens arrived at different conclusions, they considered things from a range of perspectives, particularly taking into account various risks. In the aforementioned book, Giddens coined the concept of ‘the percentage principle’. According to him, there are various risks in the world, but not all of them can be completely eliminated. There should be no choice but to strike and optimize a balance among them. He noted that the data show that climate change and global warming are the most important and urgent of all risks. There- fore, Giddens concluded that the world should take the lead in addressing climate change over other risks. His argument is convincing. However, as the ‘probability principle’ is a relative evaluation, it is possible that a conclusion different from the one Giddens intended could be drawn even from the same perspective. Beck may have done so. During my sabbatical in London, I had the opportunity to speak with Chan- tal Mouffe, a political theorist who is widely known for her radical democracy theory and whose words I have cited several times in this book. Having been inspired by the thoughts of Mouffe and her partner Ernesto Laclau, I wanted to ask Mouffe for her views on nuclear power policy. After telling her about the situ- ation in Japan and explaining that public opinion had reversed to the point that anti-nuclear power sentiments were high after the Fukushima accident, I asked her what she thought the future energy policy of Japan should be. Mouffe said, ‘Think through the context. I suppose that there is no absolute correct answer. What is Japan’s context? You must know it. Everything relates to the context. Keep thinking. Otherwise, we will not arrive at an appropriate conclusion . . .’. Mouffe gave me one of her typical answers. Giddens’ ‘probability principle’, Mouffe’s ‘context’, and Beck’s theory on risk society are all motivated by rationalism and strong correlative thinking. While writing this book, I often considered these words and thoughts, and the concept of ‘meta-political justice’ as coined by Nancy Fraser (2008) and used them as guidance. The reason it took so long for me to complete the book is that I revised and recontextualized what I had repeatedly written by paying attention to a range of related concepts and perspectives. Another reason is that I intended to approach the Fukushima nuclear accident from the perspective of ‘disaster culture’ and position it historically. Why is the ‘disaster culture’ perspective important? The first reason is that it is worthwhile to think of Fukushima in the macro framework considering the history of modern Japanese catastrophes like the Great Kanto Earthquake and the Second World War. The second reason is that I had the experience of being enlightened in vari- ous ways by reading many books on the media and culture after the 9/11 attacks on the United States in 2001. When Japan’s public discourse was activated after Fukushima, I remembered the books that dealt with the US catastrophe. I came up with the idea of considering a post-Fukushima media and intellectual discourse from a meta-approach that sees it as a peculiar culture caused by the catastrophe. The lack of similar books with respect to Fukushima helped me realize my goals. This book is an adaptation of my Japanese book Hangenpatsu no Media Gen- setsu shi: 3.11 Igo no Hen’yo (Hidaka 2021). Although based on the content of the
- 15. x Preface Japanese book,the English version focuses on another concept because I have significantly revised and recontextualized it from the perspective of ‘disaster cul- ture’. In this book, I position the Fukushima disaster not only in the issue of nuclear policy but also in the history of ‘disaster cultures’ generated after catas- trophes like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and the Haiti Earthquake. The COVID-19 pandemic began when I was still writing this book. Japan was in a peculiar situation: the Olympic Games and Paralympics were to be held in Tokyo in summer 2020. Although these events were postponed to 2021, Japa- nese public opinion was divided on the pros and cons of hosting the Olym- pic Games during the COVID-19 pandemic. On 26th May 2021, the liberal/ left-wing newspaper Asahi Shimbun surprised its readers as it published an edito- rial without prior indication that called for the cancellation of the Tokyo Olympic Games because of the pandemic. On the other hand, on the following day, the conservative/right leaning newspaper Yomiuri Shimbun published an editorial that supported and encouraged the hosting of the games. Eventually, the Tokyo Olympics and Paralympics Games were held in summer 2021. However, during the events, the number of people infected with corona- virus increased. The number of infected people continued to reach record highs day after day in August 2021. At the same time, the approval ratings of the Suga Cabinet in the public opinion poll fell below 30%, and it continued to hover around that number. In the beginning of September 2021, Prime Minister Suga suddenly announced his resignation. The mainstream media such as newspapers and television, as well as doctors, scientists, and intellectuals, have been criticizing the government’s measures towards containing the spread of COVID-19. The sheer volume of discourse on the COVID-19 pandemic in Japanese newspapers, magazines, and television pro- grammes is extremely unusual. This critical activation of public discourse is also an important example of ‘disaster culture’. I hope that the detailed investigation of public discourse on Fukushima and the perspective of ‘discourse culture’ in this book will help examine and understand another public discourse concerning the global catastrophe caused by the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. Katsuyuki Hidaka Kyoto, September 2021
- 16. Japanese names appearin the modern Japanese format of family name (surname) followed by the given/first name. As regards the Romanization of Japanese words in the text, macrons indicate a long vowel. However, macrons are not inserted in words commonly used in English (e.g. Tokyo, Osaka). All translations from the original Japanese are my own unless there are explanatory notes. All titles of Japanese films have also been translated by me unless they have been released along with English titles in foreign countries or on DVD. Notes on Japanese names and the Romanization of Japanese words
- 18. DOI: 10.4324/9781003214007-1 The riseof anti-nuclear sentiment following the disaster On 11th March 2011, a powerful earthquake occurred in the Pacific Ocean, off the northeast coast of Japan’s main island. The seismic activity and resultant tsunami which struck the so-called Tōhōku (northeast) region helped trigger the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Disaster, where multiple reactor core meltdowns resulted in the release of radioactive material over a broad area. This disaster has had a profound and lasting impact on the environment, food supplies and human health, the many residents who had to evacuate the region, the economy, and Japanese society. It is not surprising, therefore, that a significant amount of research has been conducted into these impacts over the intervening years. However, although 2021 marks the tenth anniversary of the disaster, how much attention has been paid to investigating and recording the anti-nuclear debates advanced by Japan’s media or by individual journalists, scientists, and intellectuals? Directly following the disaster, Japan’s prime minister at that time, Kan Naoto, indicated that he was concerned about the risks posed by nuclear power. By July 2011, he began to make somewhat more concrete statements, includ- ing proposing of a policy to require tests to be conducted on all nuclear power plants before their reactivation. On 13th July, the prime minister further stated that Japan ought to gradually phase out its reliance on nuclear power, working towards the eventual goal of becoming a nuclear-free society. Although this state- ment was only the expression of his personal view and not an official announce- ment, it marked the first time that a sitting prime minister had spoken in favour of ending Japan’s reliance on nuclear power. Simultaneously, Japan’s three major newspapers, the Asahi Shimbun, the Main- ichi Shimbun, and the Tōkyō Shimbun (Chūnichi Shimbun) released editorials that favoured abandoning nuclear power. On 13th July 2011, Asahi Shimbun took the particularly unusual step of simultaneously publishing six editorials under the heading ‘Our Proposal: “A Nuclear Free Society”’. In these editorials, the paper decisively broke with the ‘yes but’ style toleration for nuclear power that it had maintained since the 1970s. That is to say, Asahi Shimbun explicitly advocated for abandoning nuclear power as its official position.1 , In an editorial on 14th July, the Mainichi Shimbun similarly revealed that it was now also leaning towards Introduction The Fukushima Nuclear Disaster ten years on
- 19. 2 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima advocating for the abandonment of nuclear power. Later, in an editorial on 2nd August, the paper proposed that Japan should rule out the construction of any new plants, gradually decommission existing reactors per their respective levels of risk, and ‘move towards promptly putting an end’ to the nuclear fuel cycle. Sub- sequently, the paper has continued to call for an end to nuclear power generation frequently. The Tōkyō Shimbun also began to articulate an anti-nuclear position from this time clearly. Indeed, the paper’s anti-nuclear position came to be rec- ognized as constituting an important part of its identity, leading to a subsequent increase in sales figures (Ikegami 2015). In summary, what these three papers share in common is that they did not halt at covering the Fukushima disaster but problematized Japan’s nuclear power regime itself, promoting different paths towards a ‘zero nuclear’ society. Newspapers and other major media entities are not the only groups that have expressed anti-nuclear positions in the aftermath of the Fukushima Nuclear Dis- aster. Many books have also been published which call nuclear power into ques- tion. Meanwhile, many of Japan’s leading intellectuals have lent their respective voices to the cause of abandoning nuclear power. For example, the sociologist Ōsawa Masachi claimed that ‘The Fukushima Daiichi incident is the worst nuclear disaster since Chernobyl; indeed, it is even worse than Chernobyl, the worst in human history’ (Ōsawa 2012: 3–4). He further argued that ‘Japan must have as its goal the complete elimination of nuclear power’ (Ōsawa 2012: 10). Similarly, the noted religious anthropologist Nakazawa Shinichi stated that ‘regardless of how the events [of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster] unfold, there is one clear fact which we can say at this point in time. This is the fact that Japanese civilization must now treat this incident as a turning point for undertaking a fundamental transformation’ (Nakazawa 2011: 9). Nakazawa adds: ‘We must abandon nuclear power as a technology for securing our energy needs as soon as possible’ (Naka- zawa 2011: 143). The well-known philosopher Karatani Kōjin also asserted that ‘Once it was determined that a nuclear disaster occurred following the earth- quake of 11th March, the world changed’ (Karatani 2011: 22). Karatani would go on to participate in an anti-nuclear power demonstration held in Shiba Park in Tokyo, a month after the disaster. He noted that this was his first time participat- ing in a demonstration in around 50 years since the days of the 1960s and the campaign against the Japan–US Security Treaty.2 On the official site for the public lectures that he instructed, Karatani stated: ‘Given the present situation, I believe that it is of the utmost importance to expand demonstrations against nuclear power’. As well as postponing his lectures, he called attendees to participate in the demonstrations.3 In justification for taking this step, Karatani asserted that it was essential that the ‘citizens of Japan fight to bring about the complete abolition of nuclear power’. In his view, public resistance was the only means through which this outcome could be achieved (Karatani 2011: 27). Accordingly, the aftermath of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster has seen the abolition of nuclear power become a major point of debate within the nation’s media and intellectuals. Such is the scale of this shift that we might even refer to it as a ‘nuclear debate renaissance’. However, although ten years have now passed
- 20. Introduction 3 since theFukushima disaster, there has been no comprehensive research into this broader social response. In the final days of the Second World War, in August 1945, the United States dropped atomic bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Following this experience, Japan banned the use of nuclear armaments in the post-war period. Simultaneously, the construction of nuclear power plants and the development of nuclear power for peaceful ends were pursued as a national policy and even became an important part of the post-war national identity of Japan. The miracu- lous economic development of post-war Japan was linked in popular discourse with the so-called ‘dream of atomic energy’ and the ‘myth of safe atomic energy’. Consequently, for an extended period, nuclear power stood as an icon of post-war Japan. Japan is not the only place where nuclear power has been tied to national ide- ology and culture. In such cases, the media play an important role. Gamson and Modigliani explained this role by way of the concept of ‘media packages’: ‘media discourse can be conceived of as a set of interpretive packages that give meaning to an issue. A package has an internal structure. At its core is a central organizing idea, or frame, for making sense of relevant events, suggesting what is at issue’ (Gamson Modigliani 1989: 3). Gamson and Modigliani suggested that post- war American politics and media created a package that tied nuclear power to ‘progress’. They noted: ‘This package frames the nuclear power issue in terms of the society’s commitment to technological development and economic growth’. At the same time, as pointed out by Paul Boyer, the development of nuclear power in the United States constituted an important part of the process accord- ing to which Americans forgot the unsavoury memory of their country dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki (Boyer 1985: 127). The situation in Japan was the opposite to that in the United States. For Japa- nese people, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was far from something to be forgotten. Rather, these events were imbued with socio-historical importance to ensure that they remained a key part of the collective memory of the nation. Thus, as noted by Glen D. Hook, post-war Japan’s ‘victim’s perspective on the bomb’ – that is, the perspective from ‘below’ or of the weak and subjugated – helped drive strong opposition to nuclear weapons amongst the general public (Hook 1984a, 1984b). The public sentiment against nuclear weapons was so strong that it became an impediment to consecutive pro-American conservative LDP governments who aimed at re-arming the country in alignment with the wishes of the United States (Hook 1987: 41). Yet, in response to this opposi- tion, politicians and the media emphasized the so-called ‘peaceful use’ of atomic energy in the form of nuclear power, as something that was not only entirely dif- ferent from its ‘military use’ in the form of nuclear weapons, but even its antith- esis. Thus, the ‘dream of atomic energy’ and the ‘myth of safe atomic energy’ that were added to the package of ‘progress’ have continued to enjoy a particular significance in Japan. This helped enable the promotion of the construction of nuclear power plants. As Dominic Kelly stated, such an undertaking came to be accepted as ‘part of the “common sense” of Japanese technonationalism’, which
- 21. 4 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima is understood as an important means by which the country can compete with the technological capacity of the west (Kelly 2013: 836). Before the Fukushima disaster, Japan had a total of 55 nuclear power plants, which together generated over 30% of the nation’s electricity. This made the country one of the world’s leading generators of nuclear power. Thus, up until the Fukushima disaster, nuclear power enjoyed the support (or at least the accept- ance) of the majority of the public. According to a Cabinet Office and a public opinion survey, for over 30 years – from the second half of 1970 until directly before the Fukushima disaster – around 70% of the population supported nuclear power, while around half wished to see its use increase.4 However, public opinion changed rapidly after the disaster. Various public opinion surveys indicated that a majority of the population either were opposed to nuclear power, in general, or wished for Japan to end its reliance on nuclear power. When it comes to the mat- ter of restarting the nuclear power plants that were shut down after the Fukush- ima disaster, the number of people who stand opposed continues to outnumber those who are in favour.5 However, despite this situation, Japan has yet to adopt a policy platform of abandoning nuclear power formally. Meanwhile, several European nations have taken concrete political steps directly after Fukushima to end their reliance on nuclear power. Four months after the disaster, on 8th July 2011, the German federal parliament passed a law to close down all domestic nuclear power generation. The adoption of this law followed cabinet approval of a policy to close all 17of the nation’s nuclear power stations by 2022 and shift power generation towards renewable energy. In June 2011, Italy conducted a national referendum on whether or not to restart the nation’s nuclear power plants. As the majority of the citizens were opposed to nuclear power, the government rejected plans to restart the power stations, putting the country on the path to a nuclear-free future. Meanwhile, Switzerland, although dependent on nuclear power for a third of its electricity needs, similarly decided upon a policy of abandoning nuclear power in the wake of the Fukushima disas- ter. A referendum was held in May 2017, with the result that it was decided to gradually increase the use of renewable energy while phasing out nuclear power. Hans Kepplinger and Richard Lemke have conducted an analysis of media report- ing around the world following the disaster of 11th March 2011. They indicated that France’s and Britain’s reporting primarily focused on the earthquake and tsunami, with considerably less attention given to Fukushima. Conversely, report- ing in Germany and Switzerland placed more importance on Fukushima than the earthquake while also tending to draw connections with their own nuclear power industries’ problems. They concluded that there was a clear mutual relationship between a country’s nuclear power policy and how the country’s media reported on the disaster (Kepplinger Lemke 2016). As noted, the trigger for the aforementioned nations deciding to abandon nuclear power was the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster. However, although Japan is where the disaster took place, it has nevertheless failed to arrive at a policy for bringing about an end to its reliance on nuclear power. This is also despite the fact that, like the European nations mentioned, a majority of Japan’s population
- 22. Introduction 5 desires anuclear-free future. Why then does Japan still lack a clear path to its nuclear-free future? Is there some difference between Japan and these nations concerning how the mass media and educated opinion have debated the topic of nuclear power? Questions of this nature are quite important. However, to date, critical investigations on this topic have been lacking. Prior literature concerning Fukushima A significant amount of scholarly and non-scholarly literature has been published concerning nuclear power in the wake of the Fukushima disaster. Generally speak- ing, we can categorize such research and discussion into four main topics. First, there is the cause of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster. Why did the earthquake and resultant tsunami of 2011 lead to multiple reactor meltdowns and the release of radioactive material? Why was this disaster not prevented from happening in the first place?6 We can also include literature here that seeks to reveal the ‘con- cealed’ causes of the accident within this category. Second, the impact of the disaster is multifaceted. Literature has discussed matters including the amount of radioactive material that was released, the dan- ger that it poses to human beings, and the potential for contamination of the food supply. There has also been some discussion on the impacts experienced by residents and evacuees, including, as a result of the creation of the evacuation zone, a circle with a 20-km radius extending from the off-limits Fukushima Dai- ichi power plant to the general population. Of course, the literature on how to help revive the Fukushima Prefecture overlaps with this topic. Here, we can also include discussions on matters such as the mental health problems of residents, increases in suicide, and financial or reputational damage caused by misinforma- tion or harmful rumours. These have been important subjects in the years follow- ing the disaster.7 Third, the disaster triggered a discussion on future energy policy, including whether or not Japan ought to continue to rely upon nuclear power. This topic includes discussion on alternative energy sources (such as solar power, wind power, wave, and tidal power, hydroelectricity, geothermal power, and biogas) as well as discussion on nuclear policy trends in other nations. There is a significant volume of relevant literature in this area.8 Fourth, there have been macro-level, critical attempts at thinking through the issue of Japan’s use of nuclear power from a historical perspective, focusing on the post-war period in particular. Questions raised from this perspective are characterized by a concern with trends in policy, industry, and media in Japan and the United States. An important example of this line of questioning consid- ers the contrast between the tragic experience of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings and the birth of the ‘myth of safe atomic energy’ in the post- war period. How did nuclear power plants come to be built across the nation? Indeed, how was nuclear power able to become a symbol of Japan’s post-war eco- nomic boom?9 Research into this topic might appear to be somewhat close to the present book’s area of concern: the development and expression of anti-nuclear
- 23. 6 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima sentiment within the Japanese media and intelligentsia. However, the perspective and point of emphasis are different. Research on this topic is strongly character- ized by a concern to interrogate the ‘myth of safe atomic energy’. Furthermore, much of this research focuses exclusively upon the history of the promotion of nuclear power in Japan and does not consider post-Fukushima society. Hence, this topic differs significantly from the present work, which is singularly con- cerned with the reaction of Japan’s mass media, its journalists, scientists, and intellectuals, in the years following the Fukushima disaster. These are four broad categories within which we may locate the bulk of pre- ceding scholarly and non-scholarly literature on nuclear power in Japan in the post-Fukushima era. However, as well as being primarily written in Japanese, past literature does not examine the area that is the focus of this book: the anti-nuclear arguments expressed by Japan’s journalists, scientists, and intellectuals in the post- Fukushima era. Certainly, although limited in number, previous research that considers how literature, manga, theatre, photography, music, and so forth exists, which have recounted and engaged with the topic of the Fukushima Nuclear Dis- aster.10 There is also literature that examines post-Fukushima citizen movements, such as the anti-nuclear demonstrations, and seeks to situate them alongside the Arab Spring or Occupy Wall Street as examples of a global democratic strug- gle.11 Concerning the media, several works consider what kind of information was transmitted by journalists or social media users directly after the disaster.12 Nev- ertheless, we cannot identify any other literature which seeks to comprehensively examine how Japan’s journalists, scientists, and intellectuals have responded to Fukushima, let alone those which attempt to survey the entire decade following the disaster. Anti-nuclear debates: their diversity and transformations Although ten years have now passed since the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, there is a reason why I suggest it is more important than ever to investigate the issues outlined. Put simply, after Fukushima, there has been a sudden change in how intellectuals or members of the media discuss nuclear power, and the arguments which they present are incredibly diverse. As noted, during the Second World War, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Following this experience, after the war, Japan distinguished the use of atomic science for military means and the use of atomic science for peaceful means. This distinction allowed Japan to ban the use of nuclear weapons, on the one hand, while pursuing a national policy of developing nuclear power, on the other hand. The ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ would go on to function as an important part of Japan’s national iden- tity in the post-war era. Accordingly, until the occurrence of the Fukushima disaster, the majority of the population either supported or at least accepted the use of nuclear power. Conversely, before Fukushima, the journalists or intel- lectuals who argued against nuclear power were restricted to a small minority. The number of scientists was particularly small. Some examples include the
- 24. Introduction 7 physicist TaketaniMitsuo, who was involved in the establishment of the 1975 Citizens’ Nuclear Information Centre (CNIC), and the citizen scientist Takagi Jinzaburō. Following the Three Mile Island nuclear accident of March 1979, the arguments of such peripheral scientists were primarily delivered to the pub- lic via magazines. These, in turn, were largely ‘left-leaning’ publications such as Sekai, Asahi Jānaru, Gekkan Sōhyō, Gijutsu to Ningen, Kikan Kuraishisu, Gendai no Me, 80 Nendai, and Bessatsu Takarajima (Suga 2012: 237). The vast majority of magazines, not to mention newspapers and television stations, seldom gave space to anti-nuclear debates. In pre-Fukushima Japan, the only time the nation’s mass media and journalis- tic community seriously engaged with the problem of nuclear power would be directly following the Chernobyl disaster of 1986. Hirose Takashi published a book that drew attention to the wide-ranging impact of the radiation released from Chernobyl. Titled Kiken na Hanashi (Dangerous Talk), it would become a best seller. The book convincingly argued that the Soviet government had concealed information about the Chernobyl accident and that the actual degree of radioactive contamination was far more severe than had been let on. By suc- cessfully turning nuclear power into a problem that was relatable for the average citizen – it was particularly popular among housewives – Hirose’s work contrib- uted to the autonomous emergence of a movement known as the ‘anti-nuclear power new wave’. Anti-nuclear songs would also be produced by well-known musicians and bands such as Imawano Kiyoshirō, Sano Motoharu, Nakajima Miyuki, Ozaki Yutaka, Bakufū Suranpu, and The Blue Hearts. Their contributions linked the ‘anti-nuclear power new wave’ to musical subcultures and counter cultures, increasing its broader social appeal. However, once we enter the 1990s, the ‘anti- nuclear power new wave’ would gradually decline alongside the fading of the memory of Chernobyl. Hence it is difficult to take issue with the conclusion that the movement was only ‘something transient’ (Hasegawa 2011: 189). Although there continued to be people who called for an end to nuclear power, including citizens, activists, musicians, and documentary filmmakers, they never amounted to more than a minority. Meanwhile, before Fukushima, the nation’s newspapers, TV stations, and other forms of media were in alignment with the broader trend of public opinion in consistently supporting or at least accepting the need for nuclear power. No major media companies took an anti-nuclear stance. The situation in the aca- demic world was much the same. As Hasegawa Kōichi notes, before Fukushima the researchers who committed themselves to the anti-nuclear movement were restricted to only a few individuals who ‘had left university, or who operated inde- pendently’ (Hasegawa 2011: 186). These were largely researchers in the physical sciences, such as the previously mentioned Taketani Mitsuo or Takagi Jinzaburō. There was also the ‘Kumatori 6-Man Group’, which included individuals such as Koide Hiroaki and Imanaka Tetsuji of the Kyoto University Research Reac- tor Institute (now, the Kyoto University Institute for Integrated Radiation and Nuclear Sciences).
- 25. 8 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima However, as I have already noted, the situation rapidly changed in the after- math of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster in March 2011. Many media figures and journalists began to call for an end to Japan’s reliance on nuclear power. Simulta- neously, vigorous anti-nuclear advocacy also spread amongst scientists and intel- lectuals. I note that, rather than researchers in the hard sciences, the intellectuals who took the lead were predominantly those with a background in the humani- ties and social sciences. Many famous Japanese intellectuals added their voice to the anti-nuclear chorus, including the aforementioned Ōsawa Masachi, Karatani Kōjin, and Nakazawa Shinichi. Karatani himself frankly confessed that ‘until the [Fukushima] disaster occurred; I had not seriously considered the danger represented by nuclear power’ (Kara- tani 2011: 24). Indeed, most intellectuals from backgrounds in the humani- ties had not engaged with the question of nuclear power before the disaster. Is there some difference between these intellectuals and the scientists – such as Takagi and Koide – who had taken the lead in speaking out against nuclear power before Fukushima? Moreover, can we identify some kind of topological difference between the post-Fukushima arguments advanced primarily by intellectuals from the humanities and social sciences, on the one hand, and the pre-Fukushima dis- course that centred on scholars from the hard sciences, on the other hand? I also note that before Fukushima, criticisms of nuclear power in the media were restricted to mediums such as left-wing magazines. Furthermore, those writing anti-nuclear articles in such magazines were largely freelance journalists like Hirose Takashi or Kamata Satoshi. As indicated, however, after Fukushima, the major newspapers of Japan, such as Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun, and Tōkyō Shimbun, changed their position, arguing forcefully against nuclear power. Following Fukushima, television stations, including both NHK and commer- cial broadcasters, have continuously run huge volumes of programmes critical of nuclear power. What differences can we identify between those critical of nuclear power before Fukushima, that is, freelance journalists writing for left- wing magazines, and those at major newspapers and TV stations which only came out against nuclear power following the disaster? Other questions we may con- sider concern those filmmakers, activists, and musicians who took an anti-nuclear stance before Fukushima: How did their activities change and develop following the disaster? Moreover, can we identify any points of contact between their activi- ties and Japan’s intelligentsia and media? In summary, while before Fukushima only a minority of individuals advanced an anti-nuclear position, after Fukushima, it became a major topic that was cham- pioned by a majority of intellectuals and media figures. Simultaneously, the con- tents of the arguments also became more diverse. However, the typical historical approach, deployed to shed light on ‘the myth of safe atomic energy’ and the pro- motion of nuclear power in Japan, does not provide us with answers to the kinds of questions asked earlier. Hence the present book carefully considers the anti- nuclear arguments and ideas which have proliferated within Japanese society in the decade since Fukushima.
- 26. Introduction 9 For thesake of inclusive democracy The anti-nuclear arguments of Japan’s media and its intellectuals following the Fukushima disaster are also important to consider from the perspective of foster- ing a more inclusive democracy. It should be noted that the pursuit of nuclear power as an energy policy has a close connection with inclusive democracy. From before the disaster, several conflicting perspectives on nuclear power have reached different conclusions about potential advantages and disadvantages. First, there is the problem of the degree of risk presented by having a nuclear power plant in close vicinity to a community. Second, there are the various problems that may be unique to the region where a power plant will be constructed and impact upon the decision to accept the construction of the new plant or protest against it. In other words, communities are faced with the problem of either objecting to the burden of risking future harm in the case of a nuclear accident or, depending on the location, prioritizing the potential for revitalizing a depopulated region using grants awarded under power source siting laws.13 In the case of the earlier problems, we can identify a deep relationship with inclusive democracy. When it comes to the topic of nuclear power and energy, it is easy for certain groups of people to be excluded. For example, residents might oppose the siting of a nuclear power plant in their area. However, once it has been decided that the construction will go ahead, they are suppressed and treated as an insignificant minority. Furthermore, while the energy produced by nuclear power plants in regional Japan is mostly consumed in major cities such as Tokyo and Osaka, the residents of these metropolises are sheltered from much of the risk due to their distance. If a serious nuclear disaster occurs, then the residents will suffer the most. According to Japan’s Reconstruction Agency, in 2019, a full eight years after the 2011 Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami and the subsequent Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, the number of displaced persons remained at over 50,000 individuals (Nihon Keizai Shimbun, 31st May 2019). This fact is illus- trative of the striking degree of asymmetry and inequality which exists between regions that host nuclear power plants and those which do not. The minorities formed as a result of such asymmetry may be thought of as constituting an ‘oppo- sitional public sphere’. However, as Saitō Junichi states, the members of such a ‘sphere’ are ‘excluded from the ruling public sphere’ (Saitō 2000: 65). I further note that Japan’s nuclear power policy was developed on the basis of a collaboration between the public and private sectors, with priority given to work- ing with the energy companies of each region. This means that there is a certain affinity in the industry for neoliberal style politics. According to Susan Himmel- weit, an important aspect of neoliberal ideology is that it functions to have people accept and internalize the undercutting of their standards of living that had been developed over time (Adachi 2019: 234). We can see how this aspect is at play in the case of Japan’s nuclear power industry. A remote location, suffering from depopulation, may become a candidate for a future nuclear power plant. If this location is chosen, then the residents are not only pressured into bearing the risk
- 27. 10 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima of any future accident, they are also made to internalize and accept the undermin- ing of the very living standards that they depend upon as human beings. Needless to say, if a major nuclear disaster like Fukushima occurs, then these same residents are forced to evacuate or work on decontamination projects. In any case, nuclear power’s very existence is intimately linked to exclusion, disparity, and inequality, through how it threatens to curtail the basis for human life. The critical theorist Nancy Fraser discussed the ‘meta-political justice’ perspec- tive, capable of accounting for a diversity of variables (Fraser 2008). Fraser’s con- cept of ‘meta-political justice’ is useful for considering the subject of inclusive democracy. Fraser argued that justice theories took a Keynesian, Westphalia style national framework as self-evident until recently. Therefore, debates would focus entirely on the ‘what’ of justice. It was assumed that a state’s citizens consti- tuted the ‘who’, with no sense that this assumption required further question- ing (Fraser 2008: 20–21). However, Fraser noted that this older understanding is insufficient for dealing with more recent problems relating to areas such as globalization, multinational corporations, global warming, the spread of HIV/ AIDS, international terror, migration, and the unilateralism of superpowers (Fraser 2008). Rather than only considering the framework of the nation-state (Westphalian sovereignty), the issues confronting humanity in the present age require that we adopt a diverse number of perspectives, including local (com- munity), regional (cross-border), and global (cosmopolitan) (Fraser 2008: 21). If we take this approach, then whether a point of debate concerns distribution or whether it concerns recognition, it is not only the ‘what’ that occupies our attention. Instead, we are suddenly called upon to consider ‘who’ is involved and ‘which’ communities are related to the issue. With the conventional understand- ing of justice, ‘what’ and ‘who’ are considered to be givens and do not become a point of debate. We live in an unjust age in which many victims are created because either the parameter of ‘what’ or ‘who’ is confused, causing blind spots that prevent people from being recognized as targets for distribution or recogni- tion. However, with an unorthodox approach to justice, we can hopefully reach a turning point with ‘meta-political justice’. Fraser wrote: According to this radical democratic interpretation of the principle of equal moral worth, justice requires social arrangements that permit all to partici- pate as peers in social life. Overcoming injustice means dismantling institu- tionalized obstacles that prevent some people from participating on a par with others, as full partners in social interaction. (Fraser 2008: 16) The perspective of ‘meta-political justice’ is becoming ever more important in the present day to resolve such problems. I suggest that we need to adopt such a perspective when it comes to the earlier problem of nuclear power and inclusive democracy. In the present age, it is of increasing importance that we do not allow for people, regions, or important aspects of our collective lives to be abandoned or sacrificed simply. Accordingly, we must carefully consider how we might go
- 28. Introduction 11 about removing‘exclusion’ itself from our body politic. We may regard such a process as constituting an important trial that we must pass through to build a more mature, inclusive democracy. However, problems of exclusion, disparity, and inequality were insufficiently debated within Japan before the Fukushima disaster. Moreover, these are not the only problems to consider when it comes to fostering an inclusive democ- racy. As I shall explain, nuclear power is closely tied to several other sets of prob- lems of quite different dimensions. For example, nuclear power has the latent potential for supporting the development of nuclear weapons programmes. It is also connected to problems associated with responding to climate change. Before Fukushima, it was rare for such issues to be directly addressed in the media or intellectual discourse. As stated, the ideology of nuclear power as a ‘peaceful’ tool had become an important part of Japan’s national identity in the post-war years. To problematize nuclear power was, therefore, practically taboo. However, to repeat an earlier point, nuclear power is an important problem when considering meta-political justice and inclusive democracy, which, in turn, is connected to a diverse range of related variables, such as nuclear weapons and climate change. Behind the various social taboos of modern Japan is the peculiar history of the pre- and post-war periods. A division exists between these periods, with the end of the war serving as the starting point for a ‘long post-war’ that has continued in the realm of discourse (Gluck 1993). Many Japanese mentally erased the ‘evil past’ of the pre-war era and saw the post-war moment as the starting point for democracy, peace, and prosperity; as the American historian Carol Gluck writes, ‘Clinging to the postwar expressed contentment with the status quo’ (Gluck 1993: 93). For that reason, the term ‘post-war’ has functioned in Japan as a kind of amulet that saves the entire system from collapse. Slogans such as the ‘dream of atomic energy’ or the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ have similarly continued to function as important amulets for the Japanese people. The ‘amulet-like’ post-war paradigm has functioned as a powerful ideology, hindering any real confronta- tion with Japan’s various contradictions and problems, rendering the status quo subconsciously acceptable. Hence, while ‘critically adhering to the recent past’, the Japanese have come to hold an intermingling ‘of complex feelings and sen- timents’ towards their society, including ‘regret, discontent, introspection and nostalgia’ (Hidaka 2017: 151). However, due to the existence of various taboos, there has been a lack of opportunities for directly confessing to such ‘complex feelings and sentiments’. This fact has helped conceal the various problems of modern Japanese democracy. If we consider this typical state of affairs, we can see how the ‘nuclear debate renaissance’ within the media and among the nation’s intellectuals is critical. It represents the opening up of a special space, within which various subjects that had been left concealed or unconsidered could be publicly raised and discussed. In a sense, the ‘nuclear debate renaissance’ has acted as something of a mirror on modern Japanese democracy. Hence, a detailed investigation of this debate may serve to tell us more than simply what different people have had to say about
- 29. 12 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima nuclear power. Considering this debate, I suggest, may also offer us a vantage point for surveying the prospects for a more mature, inclusive democracy. Post-catastrophe ‘disaster culture’: the visibility of socio-political contradictions The first question to ask is a straightforward one: Why did so many of Japan’s news- papers and TV stations, and its scientists and intellectuals, suddenly change their stance following the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster? That is, why did these organiza- tions and individuals suddenly shift from promoting or accepting nuclear power to calling for its end? The simple answer is that they were compelled by the scale of the catastrophe that the nation faced. The 2011 earthquake had the strongest moment magnitude ever recorded in Japan. Furthermore, the subsequent Fuku- shima Nuclear Disaster was ranked as a level 7 on the International Nuclear Event scale, putting it alongside Chernobyl as one of the worst nuclear disasters in human history. In this book, I will historically contextualize the response to the Fukushima disaster by Japan’s media and intelligentsia as an example of the so-called ‘disaster culture’, where the normal hegemonic structures of permissible social discourse are rendered problematic, and openly called into question. Indeed, as we shall see, this is not the first time that such a ‘disaster culture’ has emerged in Japan. In 1923, a little over 90 years before the Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami and the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, the Great Kantō Earthquake left over 100,000 people dead in the Tokyo region. Several important social and cultural movements emerged in the aftermath of the earthquake, including waves of avant-garde art and aesthetic literature (spearheaded by Tanizaki Junichirō, Edogawa Ranpo, and others). What I wish to draw attention to here, however, is the so-called ‘theory of divine punishment’ (Tenkenron), which was advocated for by figures such as Shibusawa Eiichi and Uchimura Kanzō. In their view, the catastrophe that had struck Japan ought to be interpreted as a kind of revelation (i.e. divine punish- ment, or an apocalypse in the biblical sense), a trial that offered an opportunity for society to reflect upon its course and that required a moral response. I suggest that there is a degree of similarity between this theory and some of the responses that emerged following the Fukushima disaster. Directly after the Great Kantō Earthquake, Shibusawa Eiichi, a leading indus- trialist at that time, asserted that the disaster was no mere misfortune. Instead, it was linked in some manner to what he viewed as the political, economic, and cultural disorder that had spread through Japan since the time of the Meiji Res- toration in 1868. ‘It is not only an unprecedented natural disaster (ten-sai; lit. a disaster from the heavens)’, Shibusawa wrote, ‘at the same time it is a divine punishment (ten-ken)’ (Yorozu Chōhō, 13th September 1923). The Christian thinker Uchimura Kanzō was sympathetic to Shibusawa’s pronouncement, com- paring it to ‘the whispering of [ones] conscience’ (Ohara 2012: 32). The writer Ikuta Chōkō, who was also known as a translator of Nietzsche’s works, simi- larly argued that the earthquake was punishment for the profligacy that he saw as spreading within Japanese culture. Addressing the Japanese people, himself
- 30. Introduction 13 included, hewrote: ‘Well? Have you learned your lesson now? Or does even this fail to wake you?’ (Ikuta 1936). How do such reactions compare with what happened 90 years later when another massive earthquake and tsunami triggered the Fukushima Nuclear Disas- ter? Following the disaster, the governor of Tokyo at that time, Ishihara Shintarō, attracted criticism for comments made at a press conference. He had stated that there was a tendency for ‘politics to be pursued in a populistic manner due to selfishness’ and that it was ‘necessary to make use of the tsunami to rinse out this selfishness’. Ishihara added that ‘this is, I think, definitely a kind of divine punishment’.14 Putting aside any judgement on the appropriateness of these comments, I sug- gest that they are reflective of a broader tendency within Japanese society to interpret the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster as something like a kind of divine punishment. For example, Ōsawa Masachi has claimed that the tragedy of the Fukushima disaster had a certain ‘theological significance about it’ (Ōsawa 2012: 152). Moreover, while differing somewhat to claims that Fukushima is a kind of religious revelation, there have also been more than a few commentators who have adopted a broad perspective – such as that of human ‘civilization’ – to argue that the experience of disaster ought to be taken in a didactic manner, that is, as a morally instructive lesson. For example, the astrophysicist Ikeuchi Satoru has asserted that after Fukushima, Japan had entered a ‘civilizational turning point’ (Ikeuchi 2014). The philosopher Tsurumi Shunsuke has meanwhile stated that ‘I hope that as refugees of civilization, the Japanese reach a level of self-awareness about their existence in this place, and turn to call out to civilization itself’. More- over, as I noted, Nakazawa Shinichi has argued that ‘Japanese civilization’ must treat the Fukushima disaster as a turning point for ‘undertaking a fundamental transformation’ (Nakazawa 2011: 9). For another example of post-catastrophe ‘disaster culture’ in Japan, we may consider the case of a symposium held in 1942, following the outbreak of the Pacific War. The symposium in question was titled Overcoming Modernity (kindai no chōkoku). Participants included several leading Japanese intellectuals, includ- ing Kawakami Tetsutarō, Kobayashi Hideo, Kamei Katsuichirō, Miyoshi Tatsuji, and Nakamura Mitsuo. Transcriptions of the symposium appeared in special edi- tions of the literary magazine Bungakukai, published in September and October of that year (the discussions that appeared in the October edition are particu- larly well known and to this day are frequently engaged with by scholars). The symposium served as a venue for Japan’s intellectuals to react to the catastrophe of the Pacific War. Praising the traditional culture of ‘Asia and Japan’, the speak- ers sought to redefine its significance vis-à-vis Western modernity. Forming the broader context to this attempt was the contemporary intellectual need to justify the Pacific War as part of a broader historical development: the liberation of Asia from Western modernity. Although the symposium concluded without a more in-depth, sustained consideration of these ideas, what is of significance for us in the context of our discussion is that it constituted an attempt at re-considering Japanese modernity in direct response to the crisis of war.
- 31. 14 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima At the time, the moderator of the symposium, the literary critic Kawakami Tetsutarō, stated that ‘I myself still do not know if this conference was a success or not. Yet, a truth which cannot be concealed is that it was created during the mental shudder of that year [following] the beginning of the war’ (Kawakami 1979: 166). Kawakami’s expression here, of a ‘mental shudder’ experienced in the year following ‘the beginning of the war’, serves to convey how the sympo- sium and the resultant special edition publications were the product of the serious impact of the catastrophe that was the pacific war. What I would like to suggest is that the anti-nuclear debates of Japan’s journalists and intellectuals in the wake of the Fukushima disaster can similarly be read as a ‘mental shudder’. Therefore, comparing this reaction with the ‘overcoming modernity’ symposium of the war years could be illuminating. In summary, I have listed three cases of ‘disaster culture’ from the past hundred years of Japanese history: the ‘theory of divine punishment’ that appeared within popular discourse after the Great Kantō Earthquake; the ‘overcoming moder- nity’ symposium that took place following the outbreak of war in the Pacific; and the anti-nuclear debate of this past decade following the Fukushima disaster. What kinds of similarities and differences can we identify when comparing these cases? To date, no research has attempted to answer such a question in detail.15 There are other related questions which are also surely worthy of closer investiga- tion. For example, why did the ‘theory of divine punishment’ flourish after the Great Kantō Earthquake? And what kind of tension existed between this trend of thought and the nationalism of Japan as it headed towards the Second World War? To date, a comprehensive examination of such questions has also not been undertaken. As they are beyond the scope of the present book, I cannot devote serious attention to them at this juncture. However, by investigating the nature of post-Fukushima anti-nuclear discourse amongst Japan’s journalists and intel- lectuals, I suggest that we may make an important general contribution to this field of investigation. Namely, we may render a visible part of the general pat- tern according to which post-catastrophe ‘disaster culture’ in Japan changes the hegemonic rules of social discourse. To clarify the nature of post-Fukushima anti-nuclear discourse, we cannot sim- ply treat the debates and ideas that took place within that discourse as isolated elements. Instead, we need to attempt a reading of this discourse from a macro- perspective such as ‘disaster culture’. Globally, it is increasingly understood that it is important to investigate the trends of thought that the media and intelligentsia create when they come face to face with a catastrophic situation. For example, Yale University sociologist Kai Erikson has conducted field research in numerous regions of the globe to clarify how their communities responded to the various disasters and catastrophes of the twentieth century. Erikson has thereby arrived at some new and important insights (Erikson 1995). Be they conceived of as ‘cities of comrades’, ‘democracies of anguish’, ‘post-disaster utopias’, or ‘altruistic com- munities’, scholars had tended to argue that catastrophes brought about utopian, altruistic collectives rooted in the ‘innate goodness’ of human beings.16 However, what Erikson observed was something different. Based on his investigation of
- 32. Introduction 15 many societiesthat had met with disaster, he reached the following conclusion about trauma: The Experience of trauma, at its worst, can mean not only a loss of con- fidence in the self but a loss of confidence in the scaffolding of family and community, in the structures of human government, in the larger logics by which humankind lives, and in the ways of nature itself. (Erikson 1995: 242) Erikson argues that a catastrophe opens up the cracks that were inherent in the previous community and exposes socio-cultural contradictions while fragmenting them. The result is the so-called ‘corrosive communities’ form, which, in turn, spread a kind of ‘toxicity’ within the broader society (Erikson 1995: 236). When a catastrophe occurs, cracks can appear in the usually sealed surface of a community, from which underlying ‘toxicity’ can rear its head. Or, catastro- phes can expose and make visible the social contradictions or discord that usu- ally remains concealed. We can refer to this development as ‘disaster culture’. Gregory Button, the original proposer of the concept of ‘disaster culture’, argued that when a disaster occurs, the media and its narratives ‘reveal the true social arrangements of our culture and [its] asymmetric power relations’ (Button 2010: 151). Thus, what is exposed is ‘the underlying cultural logic that reinforces the hegemonic forces in our society’ (Button 2010: 155). First, the language and symbols deployed by the media and intellectuals plays an important role in ‘disas- ter culture’ (Pantti et al. 2012: 5). Second, such language and symbols take on a different character when compared with the situation before a disaster. The first major ‘disaster culture’ of the twenty-first century was arguably cre- ated in the aftermath of the simultaneous terrorist attacks that occurred in the United States on 11th September 2001. These attacks had a significant impact that the use of phrases such as ‘since 9/11’ has become commonplace in daily American life ever since (Altheide 2010: 16). Jeffrey Melnick (2009) argues that ‘9/11 and its cultural and political fallout have functioned as the answer to count- less questions of social import’ (Melnick 2009: 3). Therefore, Melnick stresses that ‘“9/11” is a language. It has its own vocabulary, grammar and tonalities’ (Melnick 2009: 6). Tom Pollard, who studied Hollywood films in the post-9/11 era, noted that they overflowed with feelings of shock, grief, horror, rage, venge- ance, and paranoia. In comparison, films from before the attacks seem practically naïve (Pollard 2011: 2). The interpretative perspective of ‘disaster culture’ is of particular value while considering the Fukushima nuclear disaster. Pantti, Wahl-Jorgensen, and Cottle stated that the 2011 Japanese earthquake and tsunami and subsequent nuclear disaster bore a level of significance that matched that of the Great Lisbon earth- quake of 1755 (Pantti et al. 2012: 3). This is because the Japanese disaster ‘also accentuates the fact that disasters invariably become infused with diverse cul- tural meaning and political discourses that exceed the disaster itself’ (Pantti et al. 2012: 3). We can see how this interpretation fits with the case of the recent
- 33. 16 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima nuclear disaster. Debates relating to nuclear power were often seen as taboo in Japan before Fukushima. However, the disaster triggered vitalization of debate on nuclear power, as though a scalpel had cut through the surface that usually covered over the issue. An important space for discourse has been created, one which rendered visible the ‘toxicity’ that had until now been kept invisible. As an examination of what this means for Japanese society, this book can be located alongside similar works that have investigated society and culture in the wake of other major modern catastrophes, such as Hurricane Katrina or the Septem- ber 11 terrorist attacks. Similarly, we can anticipate that, after the Coronavirus pandemic, we will see socio-cultural research occur throughout the world on the effects of this crisis. Here, too, the findings of the present research into post- Fukushima ‘disaster culture’ will surely make a valuable contribution. When it comes to post-Fukushima Japan, what is particularly deserving of attention from the earlier-outlined perspective of ‘disaster culture’ is how intel- lectuals and members of the media engaged in a discussion that brought to the surface numerous socio-cultural contradictions that had been left unquestioned in the post-war period. Four such cases are particularly significant: First, we have seen reflection on the contradiction inherent in Japan’s enthusiastic support for nuclear power in the post-war period despite being a nation that was subjected to nuclear bombing; second, there has been recognition of the fact that while Japan is a state without nuclear weapons, the plutonium produced by its nuclear power programme means that it maintains a latent capacity for developing them; third, there has been some discussion of the dissatisfaction and anguish felt by the loss of Japan’s autonomy due to its political and military subordination to the United States; fourth, we have seen some debate concerning how, despite the Fukushima disaster, Japan could nevertheless continue to export nuclear power technology to developing countries. In summary, ‘disaster culture’, post-Fukushima intellec- tual discourse, and discussion in the media led to the exposure of numerous prob- lems that had remained ‘concealed’ during more peaceful times. In this sense, ‘disaster culture’ can be read as a unique space within which vigorous debate about such problems could occur. It is for this reason that it is important to have a better understanding of what has happened. Nuclear power and nuclear armaments One of the most important cases of ‘toxicity’ that intellectuals and journalists drew attention to after Fukushima was the close relationship that exists between nuclear power and nuclear weapons. In the post-war period, the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ was deeply established as part of Japan’s identity as a nation that had been subjected to nuclear bombing. It is because of this mental distinction between the ‘peaceful’ and ‘military’ use of atomic power that it was possible to construct nuclear power plants throughout the country. In reality, however, behind the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ as nuclear energy lies the potentiality for uranium enrichment and the extraction of plutonium from spent fuel repro- cessing. In other words, a nation with a nuclear power programme is one that
- 34. Introduction 17 is theoreticallycapable of a nuclear weapons programme. Thus, as has been fre- quently stated, the ‘peaceful use’ of atomic power conceals beneath it the thirst for its ‘military use’.17 The promotion of the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ was a US policy, first announced in a speech to the United Nations in December 1953 by President Eisenhower. Ostensibly, the plan was for nuclear power and uranium to be placed under international supervision. The uranium would be distributed to the vari- ous nations of the world (for non-military use). The proposed campaign went under the name of ‘Atoms for Peace’. Surprisingly, at around that time (in Janu- ary 1955), a member of the US House of Representatives, Congressman Sidney Yates, even proposed that a nuclear power plant should be built in Hiroshima. He reasoned that Hiroshima was the first place in the world to have been the target of atomic bombing. Hence, it would be a symbolically suitable place for the ‘peaceful’ use of atomic power (Arima 2012: 15–18). However, Congressman Yates wished to do more than simply promote the ‘peaceful’ use of atomic power. He anticipated that if the United States helped establish nuclear power in Japan, then that nation would be able to secure a supply of plutonium and, on that basis, build its nuclear armaments. If Japan could possess even one deployable nuclear weapon, then (so long as it remained on the US side), it would contribute to the overall military strength of the ‘free’ (i.e. non-communist) Asian nations. Conversely, in Yates’s view, even if Japan were to turn communist and align with the Soviet Union, its limited nuclear capability would not have a serious impact on the military balance between East and West (Arima 2012: 23).18 As Arima Tetsuo has stated, what is important here is that the United States thought of Japan’s nuclear power programme as tied to a future nuclear armaments programme (Arima 2012: 23). We should note that it was not only the United States which anticipated Japan having a nuclear programme in the future. The situation was much the same on the Japanese side. Kishi Nobusuke – the Prime Minister who actively promoted the establishment of nuclear power in Japan – was firmly aware that nuclear power facilities would give the nation the potential to create nuclear armaments in the future. In an address given in the 1960s, Kishi made the following remarks: The difference between peaceful use and military use is paper-thin. Some people say it is even less than paper-thin. Needless to say, the various uses for nuclear power that we have today were all a side-product of the development of nuclear bombs. Even if we speak of a peaceful use [of atomic power], that does not mean that one day we might not use that [same technology] for military ends. (Kishi 1967: 13) It is possible to create a nuclear weapon with 8 kg of plutonium. The nuclear fuel re-reprocessing facility in Rokkasho village, Aomori prefecture, creates eight tons of plutonium every year. A simple calculation tells us that this is the equiva- lent volume needed for creating 1,000 warheads per year (Suzuki Saruta 2016:
- 35. 18 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima 32). We can see from these numbers that, concerning access to plutonium at least, Japan easily has the potential to develop its own nuclear weapons programme. Of course, it goes without saying that at the present moment, Japan does not have nuclear weapons. Indeed, they are outlawed. When Japan signed the Okinawa Reversion Agreement in November 1971, the national Diet also passed a resolu- tion recognizing three anti-nuclear principles as government policy. These three anti-nuclear principles state that Japan will not create nuclear weapons, will not possess nuclear weapons, and will not permit other nations (such as the United States) to bring nuclear weapons inside its borders. (It should be noted that the United States continued to secretly store nuclear weapons in Japan until 1972, particularly in Okinawa.) Hence, to this day, it has remained taboo to openly talk about the possibility of Japan developing or possessing nuclear weapons. Accord- ingly, before the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, the topic was only rarely touched upon by the nation’s journalists and intellectuals. This problem is related to the theory of ‘media frames’. ‘Media frames’, according to Gitlin, ‘largely unspoken and unacknowledged, organize the world both for journalists who report it and, in some important degree, for us who rely on their reports’ (Gitlin 1980: 7). In Japan, nuclear power is restricted to the media frame of ‘energy’. Therefore, when being discussed by journalists or intellectuals, it has historically been treated as something altogether separate from nuclear weapons. However, the situation changed significantly following the shock of the Fuku- shima disaster. Journalists and intellectuals began to openly speak out against nuclear power, while at the same time frequently bringing up the related topic of nuclear weapons. An editorial in Asahi Shimbun (10 August 2014) stated that, while publicly espousing a policy of moving away from nuclear power, the Abe administration was continuing with the policy of extracting plutonium from spent nuclear fuel for re-use. The editorial raised the question of what was to be done with the 40 tons of plutonium that were already in storage, and for which no concrete plans for use had been established. It further expressed concern over the fact that domestic and international anti-nuclear weapons groups were beginning to wonder whether Japan intended to begin its nuclear weapons programme. When Japan’s leading intellectuals now speak out against nuclear power, they also tend to look closer at the particular issues surrounding the possession and development of nuclear weapons. For example, the literary critic Katō Norihiro, well-known for his essay titled A Treatise on the Post-Defeat Era, gives his argu- ment for why Japan ought to abandon nuclear power. In his view, Japan needs to reflect upon its post-war contradiction of having promoted nuclear power despite the experience of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Resolving this contradiction would console the spirits of the victims of the nuclear bombing (Katō 2011: 112–113). Here, Katō further proposes that the possibility of creating nuclear weapons from spent nuclear fuel needs to be reduced to zero. For this purpose, it is first neces- sary to bring an end to the nuclear fuel cycle that makes the shift between nuclear power to nuclear weaponry possible. In this manner, current twenty-first-century debates are linking the catastrophe of Fukushima to the memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, re-defining their relationship and mutual significance. This is an important part of the post-Fukushima ‘disaster culture’.
- 36. Introduction 19 The authorand critic Kasai Kiyoshi has argued that the Fukushima disaster was not the result of a ‘natural disaster’ but was very much a ‘human disas- ter’. In Kasai’s view, the disaster was the result of general cultural failings: the mental life of the nation fundamentally lacked personal responsibility, a problem which remained fundamentally unchanged since the days of pre-war nationalism. Kasai refers to the mental life of modern Japanese people as ‘Nippon ideology’. By ‘Nippon ideology’, Kasai means a common driving force that has led Japan to make serious mistakes in both the pre- and post-war periods. In the pre-war period, it manifested as a failure to correctly read the global situation due to a lack of historical understanding, with the result that Japan eventually began a hope- less war in the Pacific. In the post-war period, this ideology manifested as a form of self-deception that pursued ‘peace and prosperity’ without concern for the underlying causes of the war, or for who was ultimately responsible. Kasai argues that abandoning nuclear power would be a step in the direction of overcoming the intellectual deception of ‘Nippon ideology’ and awakening the Japanese to the reality of their nation (Kasai 2012: 30). We can see how Kasai’s perspective speaks to how Japanese ‘disaster culture’ is characterized by a reflective question- ing of Japanese modernity in the face of catastrophe. It is important to note that, when the anti-nuclear advocacy of journalists and intellectuals gathered momentum after Fukushima, pro-nuclear arguments also became more visible. This was because the conservative proponents of nuclear power had been placed on the defensive. The resultant clash of positions led to an increase in debates about developing and possessing nuclear weapons, a topic that had been rarely directly addressed. For example, Ishiba Shigeru, ex-Secretary- General of the Liberal Democratic Party and the leading candidate for succeed- ing Prime Minister Abe Shinzō, made the following remarks during a television appearance following the Fukushima disaster. In the first place, nuclear power was designed to build nuclear-powered sub- marines. So, apart from Japan, all nations which pursued nuclear power poli- cies did so together with nuclear weapon policies. They formed a set. However, I do not think that Japan ought to have nuclear weapons. However, be that as it may, if we ever did want to make them, we could do so at any time. We could make them within a year. This is a kind of deterrence. As to whether it is OK to entirely do away with [that capability], a serious debate is neces- sary. I don’t think we should abandon [this capability]. This is because, in our vicinity, there is Russia, there is China, there is North Korea, and there is the United States of America [Disregarding] whether or not a nation is an ally; we are surrounded by nuclear powers. And, we should certainly never forget that all of these nations have ballistic missile technology (Mutō 2011: 73). From such comments, we can readily imagine that Japan’s political leaders, in general, are very much aware of the latent potential that ‘peaceful’ atomic power has for being turned to military use. Moreover, we can see why this fact was not openly debated until now. To directly take it up for discussion would mean to admit that key premises of post-war Japan, be it the three anti-nuclear
- 37. 20 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima principles, or the slogan of the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’, were in effect a façade. This would lead to a negation of the ‘protective amulet’ of the ‘post- war’ concept itself. As it happens, the situation changed significantly with the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster. Since Fukushima, the anti-nuclear arguments of journalists, scientists, and intellectuals have frequently touched upon the problem of Japan possessing and developing nuclear weapons. What kinds of positions do they take in such cases? As Andō Takemasa states, in Japan, arguments against nuclear weapons and nuclear power have traditionally been kept separate. These dynamics stem from a history of attempts to prevent the public, which is against nuclear weapons, from recognizing the connection with nuclear power (Andō 2019). What kind of changes do we see on this front since Fukushima? We have yet to see research that engages with this topic as well. Responding to the increasingly critical threat of climate change Along with the development and possession of nuclear weapons, another impor- tant problem linked to nuclear power is climate change (i.e. global warming). Nuclear power has taken on a new significance in the context of this problem as a potential method for reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Year after year, we read reports that indicate the seriousness of the threat presented by climate change. In a 2012 report, the World Bank warned that because current measures to halt global warming were insufficient, we are on track to witness an increase in global average temperatures of 4 ℃ by the end of the century, threatening the loss of whole ecosystems and biological diversity, and placing lives at risk due to sea-level rises. Even a ‘best case scenario’ may see a sea-level increase of 1–2 meters, sub- merging several island nations such as the Maldives and Tuvalu. The World Bank estimated that coastal areas around the world would face significant inundation, including Ecuador, Brazil, and the Netherlands, much of the state of California, the North-Eastern United States, South Asia, and East Asia (Klein 2014: 15). While it might be tempting to think of such outcomes as still lying in the distant future, in truth, the effects are already with us. According to the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), 2015 and 2016, were, respectively the hottest summer temperatures ever measured since records began in 1880. These temperatures are already having a serious impact on our health. As just one example, heatwaves in 2015 claimed 3,000 lives in India and 800 in Pakistan (Asaoka 2015: 75). In October 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) released a report arguing that emissions of CO2 would need to fall by about 45% from their 2010 levels by 2030, reaching ‘net zero’ around 2050. In August 2021, the IPPC issued a new report that shows temperatures rising more quickly than expected and show the long-term effects of increased carbon dioxide in the air. As Naomi Klein points out, ‘climate change has become an existential crisis for the human species. The only historical precedent for a crisis of this depth and scale was the Cold War fear that we were
- 38. Introduction 21 heading towardnuclear holocaust, which would have made much of the planet uninhabitable’ (Klein 2014: 16). After Fukushima, there have been many members of the mass media, jour- nalists, scientists, and intellectuals who have argued for the abolition of nuclear power in Japan. However (although anti-nuclear groups disagree), nuclear power has had a history of being regarded as ‘clean energy’ from the standpoint of reducing greenhouse gas emissions. It is important to note that before the disas- ter of March 2011, nuclear power provided for over 30% of Japan’s energy needs. Given the nation’s heavy reliance on nuclear power, any move to abandon this source of energy raises a new problem: what will replace it? As Japan is the world’s fifth largest emitter of carbon dioxide, how this problem is dealt with has broad ramifications. However, when United Nations Secretary General António Guterres asked each nation to announce more ambitious emis- sion reduction targets at the 2019 UN Climate Action Summit, Japan declined to cooperate. It did not announce a 2050 zero-emission target. The world’s environmental groups have strongly criticized Japan for continuing to rely upon coal-fired power generation, which is a serious contributor to climate change (Nihon Keizai Shimbun, 4th December 2019). A major reason why Japan will not embrace concrete targets for reducing carbon dioxide emissions, and why it continues to rely upon coal-fired power generation, is that many of its nuclear power plants have remained shut down since the Fukushima disaster. If Japan is to close down its nuclear power stations going forward, then the question of what energy source will replace them is all the more pressing given the need to reduce global emissions this century significantly. Before Fukushima, political leadership in Japan was held by a pro-nuclear camp, which asserted that nuclear power was a ‘clean energy’ that did not pro- duce greenhouse gas emissions. As politicians, business leaders, and bureaucrats were united in favouring nuclear power, voices that were less favourably disposed were sometimes suppressed and excluded from public forums. However, it is important to note that when journalists, scientists, and intellectuals advocate for the abandonment of nuclear power after Fukushima, they also propose a wide diversity of ideas for alternative energy sources. In summary, like the problem of nuclear power, alternative energy is also an important part of post-Fukushima discourse as ‘disaster culture’. Newspapers such as Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun, and Tōkyō Shimbun also have, respectively, advanced proposals for renewable energy sources that could replace the nation’s nuclear power plants, including wind power, solar power, and geothermal energy. That said, as I shall explain in more detail in a subsequent chapter, the perspective and focus of each paper is quite different. We should also note that the views of Japan’s scientists and intellectuals are not uniform on this matter. Conducting quantitative calculations and applying other methodologies, scientists have advanced various positions on the future develop- ment of renewable energy. Economists, meanwhile, have carried out comparative analyses of costs of nuclear power with those of other energy sources. As I outline in a later chapter, some scientists, such as Taketani Mitsuo and Takagi Zinzaburō,
- 39. 22 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima have developed their particular proposals for Japan’s energy problem that are based on a combination of specialist knowledge in the sciences and thought from the humanities and social sciences. However, if we look beyond the positions of scientists and economists, we can see that anti-nuclear arguments are even more diverse. The author Hirose Takashi, a charismatic founder of the anti-nuclear power movement, has rejected global warming driven by carbon emissions as a fiction, claiming that coal and oil will continue to remain highly valuable (Hirose Akashi 2011: 232). Although Hirose argues firmly for the abolition of nuclear power, he fiercely criticizes solar panels and wind turbines, regardless of the support they might receive from newspapers and other media. In his view, these alternative energy sources amount to ‘nothing but the fantasies of schoolgirls’ and will lead to further destruction of the natural environment. For Hirose, Japan’s major source of power in the future would be from new forms of natural gas such as coalbed methane, tight sand gas, shale gas, or methane hydrates (Hirose Akashi 2011: 230). There is also the example of the religious anthropologist Nakazawa Shinichi, who argues for the rejection of nuclear power on the basis that it is fundamentally destructive of the ecosphere, which, in turn, reflects the fact that it is a prod- uct of Western monotheistic, capitalist culture. Nakazawa thus situates his anti- nuclear position within a much broader framework, asserting that Japan needs to transition towards being a more fully non-Western, non-capitalistic civiliza- tion. For Nakazawa, the Japanese people as a whole must abandon their current attachment to lives of consumption and greed and radically shift to a simple, Buddhist-style life of self-sufficiency (Nakazawa 2011: 66–67). We can see here that Nakazawa’s contrasting of ‘Eastern’ and ‘Western’ culture and civilization, and his hope that a return to the ‘Eastern’ could lead to a national revival, has similarities with the general orientation of the intellectuals who participated in the ‘overcoming modernity’ symposium of 1942. In the earlier manner, even when intellectuals or members of the media argue against nuclear power, this does not mean that their views are uniform. The perspectives of anti-nuclear thinkers are not only diverse, and they are some- times even sharply antithetical to each other. I suggest that we may regard their fierce debates as themselves an important part of the post-Fukushima ‘disaster culture’. Furthermore, these debates are significant beyond the borders of Japan. As an example of a developed nation that is attempting to move beyond nuclear power, it represents a case study of the challenges that other nuclear power-reliant nations may face moving into the future, from which valuable lessons might be learned. The focus of the present book So far, I have outlined how the subject of nuclear power and energy policy is intertwined in a complex manner with other difficult issues such as nuclear weapon development and climate change. This complexity, combined with the strength of the ‘amulet-like’ post-war paradigm, has meant that the discussion of
- 40. Introduction 23 various problemssurrounding nuclear power was somewhat taboo. Before Fuku- shima, therefore, the difficulty of the topic itself was rendered hard to recognize or was made hard to speak about. This is an important part of Japan’s modern history. However, with the occurrence of the Fukushima disaster, nuclear power and energy were turned into an important part of the nation’s political agenda in an unprecedented manner. Anti-nuclear arguments that have since appeared in the nation’s media have the potential to help reveal and dissolve the complex distortions surrounding the issue. This is, therefore, an important realm of politi- cal discourse, one which may contribute to ensuring Japan’s democracy becomes more mature and more inclusive. Proceeding from the earlier understanding, in this book, I will address the fol- lowing key questions. First, in what manner have Japan’s journalists, scientists, and intellectuals present anti-nuclear arguments and ideas? What have they achieved so far? Or, how have these efforts contributed to suppressing or restraining the usual promotion of nuclear power in Japan? To analyse the anti-nuclear thinking that appears in the media and within intellectual discourse, I will draw upon the work of Alain Touraine. Touraine (1978) argues that, after the 1960s, new actors appeared on the political stage, ones which would confront technocracy. These he referred to as ‘new social movements’, which differed to the labour movements of the past. Along with such movements as the feminist movement, the environmen- talist movement, and the peace movement, the anti-nuclear movement is among ‘new social movements’, where diverse subjects involved in the movements could relate to each other. Anti-nuclear proponents are not always activists. They may be general citizens, journalists, or intellectuals. Indeed, the point of conflict, or the central entity around which people organize, is not necessarily clearly defined as is traditionally the case with labour movements. Touraine understands social movements as having three constitutive elements: the ‘subject’, the ‘adversary’, and the ‘topic of dispute’. He asserts that if we seek to clarify the nature of these ‘new social movements’, in particular, then it is necessary to pay attention to these three elements. In other words, by ‘subject’, we want to know who is involved in the movement. By ‘adversary’, we want to know who stands opposed to the movement. Finally, by ‘topic of dispute’, we want to know what is the point of conflict between the subject and the adversary (Touraine 1978). I suggest that this is a fruitful approach for clarifying the similarities and differences that exist between the diversity of anti-nuclear arguments that engage with the problem of nuclear power and energy policy. To address the first key question – in what manner have Japan’s journalists, sci- entists, and intellectuals presented anti-nuclear arguments and ideas? I will deploy Touraine’s approach to clarify the following three points. The first point concerns the ‘subject’ – the problem of the ‘who’. That is to say, what kinds of similarities and differences can we identify if we compare the anti-nuclear arguments and ideas that occur within the nation’s media landscape? Anti-nuclear arguments have appeared in various forms of media, from newspapers, TV stations, and magazines to books, documentary films, and social media. I seek to clarify the nature of the relationship between these arguments and the characteristics of
- 41. 24 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima the individual forms of media in which they appear. I also seek to elucidate the kind of interactivity that exists between these different forms of media. I further suggest that this examination will illuminate how the various forms of media con- front the important political problems of the present, and what kind of contribu- tion they are capable of making to the future maturation of democracy in Japan. I suggest that Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of the ‘field’ is also relevant to the first point. A ‘field’ is, according to Bourdieu (1984), a setting in which agents and their social positions are located. For Bourdieu, each ‘field’, being relatively autonomous from the others, has its own specific rules; habitus; and social, eco- nomic, and cultural capitals. Bourdieu argued for the existence of a large num- ber of so-called fields from the differentiation that is occurring today within the total social space (Bourdieu 1984). According to Bourdieu, there is a diversity of such fields in modern society, from the political, economic, legal, and religious to scientific learning, the university, or journalism (Bourdieu 1984). If we were to divide the positions of the anti-nuclear power advocates considered in this book according to Bourdieu’s concept of the ‘field’, then we would arrive at something like the following broad fields: journalism, including as mediated by newspapers or TV stations; the physical sciences, such atomic physics, or theoretical physics; the humanities and social sciences; documentary films; and freelance journalism. We can surmise that anti-nuclear advocates advance their positions based on the values and habitus that are particular to their respective fields, drawing upon fields’ symbols and symbolic systems to conduct so-called symbolic struggles internally (with other members of the same field) and externally (with members of other fields). I will consider this interpretative framework of Bourdieu’s field theory within this book. The second point concerns the ‘adversary’; the problem of who or what stands opposed to the movement. In other words, what do anti-nuclear arguments take up as the target that needs to be overcome? The third point concerns the ‘topic of dispute’; the problem of what is the point of contention. That is to say, within what kind of context or framing are anti-nuclear statements and ideas made? One of the most important functions of media relating to politics is its ability to set the agenda for public discussion (McCombs Shaw 1972). For this reason, if we are to consider nuclear power and energy policy at a meta-level, it is necessary to carefully investigate what kind of framing different forms of media use to advance anti-nuclear positions. In summary, to address the first key question, I will draw upon the theorizing of Touraine to proceed with a consideration of the respective points of positionality, antagonism, and topic framing. The second key question that this book addresses is: how has post-Fukushima anti-nuclear discourse contributed more broadly to the maturation of debates about Japanese democracy? In addressing this question, I will deploy the concept of ‘inclusivity’ as an ‘auxiliary line’, as it were, to assist in my analysis. To repeat what I have stated earlier, the national pursuit of nuclear power does not impact all citizens equally. Instead, when it comes to the matter of where those power plants are built, that is, in what regions they are located, the politics of disparity and exclusion are inescapably at play. Metropolitan citizens are not exposed to the
- 42. Introduction 25 same risksor confronted with the same economic choices, as those in depressed hinterland areas. Moreover, there is the fact that Japan promoted the use of nuclear power despite being the only nation that suffered nuclear bombing. This was achieved by creating a distinction between the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ and the ‘military use of atomic power’. From the outset, this state of affairs has been intertwined with Japan’s subordinate relationship with the United States in the post-war era, as the Japan-United States Atomic Agreement demonstrates. Furthermore, Japan has a history of showing enthusiastic support for exporting nuclear power technology to developing nations. The earlier issues are closely connected to the fragility – even the fictitiousness – of nuclear power’s raison d’être. Recently, a growing awareness of this point has led to some viewing the continued existence of nuclear power as a parameter of the maturity of democ- racy in Japan. This is because of how nuclear power stands as a roadblock to the politics of ‘inclusivity’. As Carol Gluck has argued, Japan has remained stuck in a ‘long post-war’, clinging to it as an expression of ‘contentment with the status quo’ (Gluck 1993: 93). This climate has fostered a general aversion towards exposing socio-political contradictions. From this perspective, the appearance of frank discussion follow- ing the flowering of a ‘disaster culture’ in the post-Fukushima period has been a precious development. Accordingly, this book examines and clarifies how objec- tions to nuclear power have prioritized greater ‘inclusivity’ within Japanese soci- ety and how these objections have thereby contributed to (or failed to contribute to) the maturity of democracy in Japan. This is an important point, and the third, fourth, and fifth questions later are each closely tied to it. The third key question I shall engage with in this book is how anti-nuclear discourse has connected (or failed to connect) the topic of nuclear power to that of nuclear weapons. To repeat, if we look at the matter historically, we can see that on the surface, the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’ pursued in Japan has been presented as an anti-thesis to the ‘military use of atomic power’ in the form of nuclear weapons. However, if we look beneath the surface, we can see that the relationship between the ‘peaceful’ and ‘military’ use of this technology can be characterized as akin to two sides of the same coin. Hence, we cannot neglect an investigation of the extent to which anti-nuclear discourse has connected the problem of nuclear power to that of nuclear weaponry. Recent years have seen a heightened recognition at the international level of the inhumanity of nuclear weapons. The push to abolish such weapons has accordingly grown in strength. In 2009, US President Obama spoke of the need to seek ‘a world without nuclear weapons’. Some progress on this front was made in the following year, 2010, when the United States and Russia signed the New START Treaty (the New Strategy Arms Reduction Treaty). Some years later, in May 2016, President Obama visited Hiroshima. He was the first US President to do so. President Obama argued that as the first nation to develop nuclear weapons, the United States needed to have the bravery to push for a nuclear-free world. However, not all the signs are positive. At the May 2015 Review Confer- ence for the Non-Proliferation Treaty, the United States refused to ratify the final
- 43. 26 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima draft document out of consideration for Israel. This failure to reach an agreement led to the conference ending without an acceptance of the final document. Later, at the 1st Committee of the United Nations General Assembly, held in October 2016, a resolution was passed to commence negotiations for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. However, concerned that this treaty would impact the effectiveness of the nuclear deterrents of NATO and the nations of the Asia-Pacific region, the United States requested that allied nations submit documents protesting the resolution. Because both the United States and Russia – the world’s first nuclear powers – are strongly opposed, it is now extremely unclear whether this resolution will lead to any future effective action. When we consider the earlier facts, we can conclude that, out of the confronta- tion between those seeking the complete abolition of nuclear weapons, on the one hand, and those seeking to maintain a nuclear deterrence on the other hand, it is the proponents of nuclear deterrence who have strengthened their position. We cannot ignore the fact that Japan also aligned itself with the United States in objecting to the aforementioned resolution of October 2016, for commencing negotiations for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. Given its his- tory as the only nation to be subjected to nuclear bombing, Japan understandably has a history of calling for the abolition of nuclear weapons. Nevertheless, it has continued to rely upon the so-called Nuclear Umbrella provided by the United States’. This reliance has placed Japan in a dilemma concerning nuclear abolition. The domestic politics of this issue is further complicated by the aforementioned existence of major political figures such as Asō Tarō or Ishiba Shigeru, who wish to preserve Japan’s latent capacity for developing their nuclear weapon capabili- ties. Given this state of affairs, in this book, I do not treat the arguments and ideas of anti-nuclear advocates in isolation. Instead, I consider these arguments and ideas alongside the associated problem of nuclear weapons, focusing on how these topics have been linked together. The fourth key question I will address relates more specifically to the topic of replacing nuclear power: when arguments are made for the abandonment of nuclear power in Japan, what kind of energy source is suggested as an alternative to replace it? Furthermore, how does this proposed alternative energy assist in dealing with the problem of global warming? To repeat the point made earlier, as the most significant problem facing the planet at the outset of the twentieth century, the problem of how to prevent global warming has been a subject of debate both at the level of the United Nations and within individual countries. It is in this context that nuclear power has frequently been promoted by some parties as ‘clean energy’, with the claim that it is an effective method for reducing carbon dioxide emissions.19 After Fukushima, however, Japan’s media and intelli- gentsia increasingly began to turn against this claim, arguing that it amounted to no more than an excuse by parties who were already pro-nuclear, to begin with. There are also anti-nuclear advocates such as the previously mentioned Hirose Takashi, who reject the theory of anthropogenic global warming itself as fiction (Hirose Akashi 2011: 232). Furthermore, among the various positions held by post-Fukushima anti-nuclear intellectuals, we find the attempt to situate the
- 44. Introduction 27 problem withinthe broader context of Japanese modernity itself, as something which needs to be brought into question and overcome. Kasai Kiyoshi, for exam- ple, argues from such a position when linking together the history of nuclear power with the development of nuclear weaponry. Of course, some are merely anti-nuclear, without consideration for how Japan ought to tackle the threat of climate change, or what alternative energy ought to be used. In summary, the anti-nuclear debates that have appeared in the media after Fukushima have a complicated relationship with nuclear power and climate change and calls for detailed examination. The fifth key question I address in this book regards how we ought to situ- ate the anti-nuclear arguments advanced by the media and intelligentsia after Fukushima. More specifically, how do these arguments sit within the broader context of post-catastrophe thought in modern Japan? To address this question, I will place these post-Fukushima arguments alongside other significant examples of disaster culture, such as the ‘theory of divine punishment’ (tenkenron) that emerged after the Great Kantō Earthquake, and the ‘overcoming of modernity’ (kindai no chōkoku) symposium that occurred following the outbreak of the Pacific War. This approach will allow for a comparative analysis of commonalities and differences. Following the Great Kantō Earthquake and the outbreak of the Pacific War, Japan’s media figures, journalists, and intellectuals (especially those of the humanities and social sciences) reacted to the reality of catastrophe by actively engaging in diverse forms of social discourse. Meanwhile, turning to the twenty- first century and the catastrophe of the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, we can gain insight into how this nation’s dominant social discourse has manifested, and how it has transformed, by focusing our attention on the kinds of resilience displayed in the language used by Japan’s media and the intelligentsia, and the mixture of resilient and catastrophic sentiment contained therein. The composition of the present book To conclude, 2021 marks the tenth anniversary of the Fukushima nuclear disas- ter. Deploying the earlier noted disaster-culture problematic, this book will be the first to comprehensively investigate the enormous volume of anti-nuclear arguments and ideas that have been advanced by newspapers, TV stations, docu- mentary filmmakers, scientists, intellectuals, and independent journalists over the ten years that have passed since Fukushima. In the following section, I will give an outline of the contents that will be handled in each of the respective chapters. Chapter 1 examines the anti-nuclear arguments advanced by Japan’s news- papers and television stations. After the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, many of Japan’s newspapers adopted explicitly anti-nuclear positions, announced in their editorials. This chapter compares the anti-nuclear arguments made in three major papers: Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun, and Tōkyō Shimbun. TV stations, meanwhile, broadcast an unprecedented number of programmes relating to nuclear power following the disaster. Of these, the author considers some special programming from the national broadcaster NHK, including the ETV special
- 45. 28 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima feature, and three major documentaries produced by commercial broadcasters: NNN Dokyumento by the NNN group, Terementarī by the ANN group, and Hōdō no Tamashii by TBS. Through this investigation, this chapter shows how arguments and ideas found in newspapers and TV stations have changed in con- tent, from the early days of nuclear power in Japan to the Fukushima disaster and the present day. The result was the post-Fukushima emergence of various argu- ments which were sceptical of nuclear power. Nevertheless, the author concludes that the discussion has gradually weakened, and, on the whole, both newspa- pers and television stations have not undergone any serious shift after Fukushima regarding matters of justice or similar meta-political concerns. Chapter 2 turns to the limited number of individuals who were consistent in warning of the dangers of nuclear power from before the Fukushima disaster. To consider the arguments of these individuals, this chapter focuses the attention on several more broadly known scientists and independent journalists, includ- ing Taketani Mitsuo, Takagi Jinzaburō, Koide Hiroaki, Hirose Takashi, Kamata Satoshi, and Tahara Sōichirō. The author shows how several Japanese scientists presented the most comprehensive and thorough arguments among those calling for an end to nuclear power after Fukushima. To advance their respective posi- tions, these scientists combined their specialist scientific knowledge with ideas from the social sciences (e.g. the critique of instrumental rationality as advanced by Frankfurt school figures such as Horkheimer or Adorno, or economic depend- ency theory). On the other hand, Japan’s scientists and independent journalists have been just as fiercely critical of the mainstream media as they have been of politicians and the government. This is because they understand that, while both newspapers and television stations have adopted a more sceptical stance towards nuclear power following Fukushima, these forms of media nevertheless continue to function as part of the political structural mechanics of Japan’s pursuit of pro- nuclear national policies. Chapter 3 examines the post-Fukushima anti-nuclear arguments of intellec- tuals affiliated with the humanities and social sciences. Prior to the Fukushima disaster, almost no intellectuals from such backgrounds made critical public com- ments about nuclear power. We may, therefore, state that such intellectuals are relative ‘newcomers’ within the history of anti-nuclear discourse in Japan. This chapter takes up some of the more prominent figures for consideration: the reli- gious anthropologist Nakazawa Shinichi, the literary critic Katō Norihiro, the literary critic Kasai Kiyoshi, the sociologist Oguma Eiji, the economist Yasutomi Ayumi, and the philosopher Azuma Hiroki. The author clarifies how the nuclear power arguments of Japan’s intellectuals of the humanities and social sciences differ markedly from what we might observe in other quarters. This difference is due to how they draw upon perspectives from their respective areas of speciality while engaging in macro-level discourse on the problems of Japanese modernity. Because these ‘symbolic struggles’ over ‘Japan’ constitute macro-level intellectual discourse, they often fail to offer any kind of concrete contribution to debates on national policy. This chapter also shows that in constituting macro-level discourse questioning Japanese modernity, the arguments of intellectuals after Fukushima
- 46. Introduction 29 have somesimilarities to the earlier discourse of this nature in modern Japanese history. Chapter 4 considers the anti-nuclear themes that are treated within docu- mentary films. Following the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster, a countless number of documentary films on nuclear power were produced. Chapter 4 limits the scope to considering directors such as Kamanaka Hitomi, Funahashi Jun, Sōda Kazuhiro, Mori Tatsuya, Matsubayashi Yōju, and Iwai Shunji, who produced works that were either highly regarded or seen as problematic. A principle con- cern here is to identify the manner in which the specific genre of the documen- tary film critically and stylistically engages with the topic of nuclear power. The author suggests that there are three broad characteristics which we can identify when considering post-Fukushima documentary films. First, there are works which show a concrete commitment to a region and a close connection with civic movements through independent screening events. Kamanaka’s films are representative of this approach. Second, there are works which are highly con- scious of documentary films as a medium, or which seek to explore their expres- sive potential. Films by Funahashi and Sōda belong to this category. Third, there are works which engage in an essential and self-referential thematization of the nature of visual media. Amongst such films, we would include those by Mori and Matsubayashi. The Conclusion conducts a comprehensive overview of the different anti- nuclear arguments. The Fukushima disaster led to the birth of diverse debates with anti-nuclear arguments of various kinds flourishing to a degree previously unseen in Japan. Newspaper journalists, television personalities, scientists, intel- lectuals, independent journalists, and documentary filmmakers have engaged with this catastrophe based on the particular categories, values, ‘habitus’, and con- tended principles of their respective domains. Examining this situation from the perspective of disaster culture, evidently, catastrophe has served to clearly accen- tuate the points of contention between these different positions. The Conclu- sion situates the response of the post-Fukushima arguments of Japan’s media and intelligentsia within the historical context of modern Japanese disaster culture. On the other hand, although they may hold scepticism towards nuclear power in common, their arguments nevertheless vary quite significantly concerning the frameworks they deploy and their places of emphasis. The observations lead us to the conclusion that the situation regarding Japan’s media and intellectuals differs significantly when compared with their counterparts in Germany, where, after Fukushima, an agreement was reached to adopt a policy of ending nuclear power. The book’s conclusion considers the differences between the two countries, while also suggesting what unresolved tasks confront Japan going forward. Notes 1 Apart from one instance, the remaining five editorials were publishing on the opinion pages as special editorials. 2 Karatani Kōjin Official Website, www.kojinkaratani.com/jp/essay/post-64.html DOA: 17th December 2016.
- 47. 30 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima 3 Nagaike Lecture Official Website, http://web.nagaike-lecture.com/DOA: 17th December 2016. 4 Details on previous public opinion surveys can be found in Cabinet Office ‘Gen- shiryoku Hatsuden ni Taisuru Seron Chōsa’. However, for information on how the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster influenced public opinion in Japan, see: Iwai, N. and Shishido, K. (2013) ‘Higashi Nihon Daishinsai to Fukushima Daiichi Genshiryoku Hatsudensho no Jiko ga Saigai Risuku no Ninchi oyobi Genshiry- oku Seisaku he no Taido ni Ataeta Eikyō’, Shakaigaku Hyōron, vol. 64, no. 3, pp. 420–438. 5 For example, according to the public opinion survey published by the Asahi Shimbun in February 2019, in response to the question: ‘Do you approve or oppose the restarting of nuclear power stations that are currently shut down’, 32% approved, 56% opposed, and 12% responded with other/cannot say (see: Asahi Shimbun, 18th February 2019). 6 Although there are an extremely large number of related articles when it comes to newspapers and magazines, the following list represents the core of the books on the topic: Ino, H. (2011) Fukushima Genpatsu Jiko wa Naze Okitaka, Fuji- wara Shoten; Fuchigami, M., Kasahara, N. and Hatamura, Y. (2012), Fukushima Genpatsu wa Nani ga Okotta ka Seifu Jiko Chō Gijutsu Kaisetsu, Nikkan Kōgyo Shimbunsha, et al. 7 As the number of related newspaper and magazine articles is extremely exten- sive, I will focus my attention on the following books: First, for works which are principally concerned with harm from radiation, see: Honma, M. and Hata, A. (ed.) (2012) Fukushima Genpatsu Jiko no Hōshanō Osen, Sekai Shisōsha; NHK ETV Special Feature News Crew (2012) Hotto Supotto: Netto Wāku de Tsukuru Hōshanō Osen Chizu, Kōdansha. et al. For works that consider the impact of the Fukushima disaster on evacuees and local residents, see: Kansai Gakuin University Disaster Recovery Institution Research Center (ed.) (2012) Genpatsu Hinan Hakusho, Jinbunshoin; Yama- moto, K., Takaki, R. and Yamashita, Y. (2015) Genpatsu Hinansha no Koe wo Kiku: Fukkō Seisaku no Nani ga Mondai ka, Iwanami Shoten, et al. For works which focus on the economic impacts of the Fukushima disaster and how to recover from them, see: Goto, N., Morioka, K., Ikeda, K., Naka- tani, T. and Hirohara, M. (2014) Katasutorofī no Keizai Shisō: Shinsai, Genpatsu, Fukushima, Shōwadō; Yokemoto, M. and Watanabe, T. (2015) Genpatsu Saigai wa Naze Fukintō na Fukkō wo Motarasu no ka: Fukushima Jiko kara ‘Ningen no Fukkō’, Chiiki Saisei he, Minerva Shobō, et al. Concerning the impact of the disaster on mental health, including stress, there are many works which focus on the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster and the Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami. Major works include the following: Miyaji, N. (2011), Saigai Torauma to Fukkō Sutoresu, Iwanami Shoten; Aritsuka, R. and Sudō, Y. (2016) 3.11 to Kokoro no Saigai: Fukushima ni Miru Sutoresu Shōkogun, Ōtsuki Shoten, et al. 8 The following are major works on this topic: Koide, H. (2011) Genpatsu no Uso, Fusōsha; ibid (2014) Genpatsu Zero, Gentōsha; Hirose, T. and Akashi, S. (2011), Genpatsu no Yami wo Abaku, Shūeisha; Katō N., 3.11 Shigami ni Tsukitobasareru, Iwanami Shoten, et al. For works which discuss the topic of nuclear power as it relates to alternative energy, see: Miyadai, S. and Iida, T. (2011) Genpatsu Shakai kara no Ridatsu: Shizen Enerugī to Kyōdotai Jichi ni Mukete, Kōdansha, et al. For works which question the benefits of nuclear power from the perspective of cost, see: Ōshima, K. (2011) Genpatsu no Kosuto: Enerugī Tenkan he no Shiten, Iwanami Shoten et al.
- 48. Introduction 31 9 Asthe number of publications is also exceedingly large in this case, I will limit my focus here to monographs, and only list major works. See: Kainuma, H. (2011) ‘Fukushima’ Ron: Genshiryoku Mura wa Naze Umareta no ka, Seidosha; Yosh- ioka, H. (2011) Shinhan, Genshiryoku no Shakai-shi: Sono Nihon-teki Tenkai, Asahi Shimbun Shuppan; Yamaoka, J. (2011) Genpatsu to Kenryoku: Sengo kara Sakanoboru Shihaisha no Keifu, Chikuma Shōbō; Kawamura, M. (2011) Gen- patsu to Genbaku ‘Kaku’ no Sengo Seishin-shi, Kawade Shobō Shinsha; Yoshimi, S. (2012) Yume no Genshiryoku: Atoms for Dream, Chikuma Shōbō, et al. 10 For example, see: Kawamura, M. (2013) Shinsai Genpatsu Bungakuron, Tokyo: Inpakuto Shuppankai; Bohn, T. M., Feldhoff, T., Gebhardt, L. and Graf, A. (eds.) (2015) The Impact of Disaster: Social and Cultural Approaches to Fukushima and Chernobyl, Berlin: EB-Verlag; Barbara Geilhorn, Kristina Iwata-Weickgenannt (eds.) (2016) Fukushima and the Arts, Oxford: Routledge; Genkai, K. et al. (2017) Higashi Nihon Daishinsai Bungakuron, Tokyo: Nan’undo; Dinitto, R. (2019) Fukushima Fiction: The Literary Landscape of Japan’s, Triple Disaster, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press), et al. 11 For example, see: Gonoi, I. (2012) ‘Demo’ to wa Nanika; Itō, M. (2012) Demo no Media-ron, Chikuma Shōbō; NHK Publishing, Andō, T. (2013) Nūrefuto Undō to Shimin Shakai, Sekai Shisōsha; Oguma, E. (2017) Shusho Kantei no maede, Tokyo: Shueisha; Brown, A. (2018) Anti-nuclear Protest in Post Fukushima Tokyo: Power Struggles, Oxford: Routledge; Ando, T. (2019) Datsugenpatsu no Undoshi, Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, et al. 12 For example, see: Ito, M. (2013) Terebi wa Genpatsu Jiko o do tsutaetanoka, Tokyo: Heibonsha; Niwa, Y. and Fujita, M. (eds.) (2013) Media ga furueta: Terebi, Rajio to Higashinihon Daishinsai, Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai; Kepplinger, H. M. and Lemke, R. (2016) ‘Instrumentalizing Fukushima: Comparing Media Coverage of Fukushima in Germany, France, the United Kingdom, and Switzer- land’, Political Communication, vol. 33, pp. 351–373; Okumura, N., Hayashi, K., Igarashi, K. and Tanaka, A. (2019) ‘Japan’s Media Fails Its Watchdog Role: Les- sons Learned and Unlearned from the 2011 Earthquake and the Fukushima Dis- aster’ Journalism, first published online 9 December 2019, pp. 1–17.; Valaskivi, K., Rantasila, A., Tanaka, M. and Kunelius, R. (2019) Traces of Fukushima: Global Events, Networked Media and Circulating Emotions, London: Palgrave, et al. 13 After the disaster, a questionnaire survey was issued to residents of the municipal- ity of the Fukushima plant, asking for their evaluation of the (then) Democratic Party of Japan’s handling of the issue of nuclear power. The questionnaire results showed that residents employed in the nuclear power industry were more likely to give a positive evaluation. Another result of the survey was that a respondent’s involvement in the nuclear power industry was determinative for their attitude towards nuclear power policy before the disaster. I further note that these survey results show that gender was also a major factor in determining a respondent’s attitude towards pre-disaster nuclear power policy. Knowledge of nuclear power, however, did not function as a major factor. See: Miyawaki, K. (2014) ‘Seifu no Genpatsu Jiko Taiō to Genpatsu Ricchi Jichitai Jūmin no Genpatsu Taido ni Kan- suru Kōsatsu’, Seikei Kenkyū, vol. 50, no. 3, pp. 681–717. 14 Press conference, 14th March 2011. 15 Works such as Fukushima, R. (2013), Fukkō Bunka-ron: Nihon-teki Sōzō no Keifu, Seidosha, touch upon the broader cultural situation in Japan following the Great Kantō Earthquake and the Second World War. However, they do not concretely examine the contemporary situation following the Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsu- nami and the Fukushima Nuclear Disaster. 16 For example, see: Solnit, R. (2009) A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster, New York: Penguin, Et al.
- 49. 32 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima 17 We also see concern in the United States about the potential for Japan to develop its own nuclear weapons program. In a 2016 interview for PBS, then Vice- President Biden revealed that during a conference with China’s President Xi Jin- ping, he had told Xi that ‘Japan could go nuclear tomorrow’, asking him ‘what would you do?’ if this were to eventuate. According to Biden, Japan could secure nuclear weaponry ‘virtually overnight’ (Sankei Nyūsu, 23rd June 2016). I have also noted how Kishi Nobusuke suggested that the possession of nuclear power technology was also important because it allowed for Japan to potentially develop its own nuclear weapons program if it so desired. Similar statements have been made by other prominent figures in Japan. For example, in an interview given for the Asahi Shimbun on 19th July 1971, the famous author and later conserva- tive right-wing politician Ishihara Shintarō, who would eventually become mayor of Tokyo, stated the following: ‘without (nuclear weapons), Japan’s diplomatic efforts have finally become quite feeble. We are losing the right to speak [on the world stage]. . . . So even just having a single warhead would suffice. If [some would] feel worried about what the Japanese might do, then in my opinion that means the world would actually listen to what Japan has to say. Interestingly, the famous French demographer and family anthropologist Emmanuel Todd has said that he is in favour of Japan arming itself with nuclear weapons (Asahi Shimbun 30th October 2006. In an interview with Wakamiya Yoshibumi). For Todd, the ubiquity of nuclear weaponry constitutes a mutual threat that can actually con- tribute to regional stability. A situation where China was the only nuclear power in East Asia was conversely an unstable one. For this reason, it was desirable for Japan to also become a nuclear power. 18 However, while the Eisenhower administration in the United States promoted their campaign for the ‘peaceful use of atomic power’, they were nevertheless initially opposed to assisting Japan in building nuclear reactors. This was because nuclear reactors produce plutonium, the raw material needed for nuclear weapons (Arima 2012: 94). 19 This argument has been advanced by a range of different parties. In the mass media it is newspapers such as Yomiuri Shimbun which have frequently asserted that nuclear power was a method for reducing CO2 emissions. An editorial of that paper, from 5th June 2016, states the following: ‘The international framework established in December last year for [combatting] global warming, the ‘Paris Agreement’, is extremely important due to the fact that all the world’s nations are signatories. Nuclear power generation can contribute significantly to the reduction of greenhouse emissions. In 2015, there was also a scenario that the percentage of energy generated via nuclear power could exceed that generated via hydroelectric power’. Yomiuri Shimbun has also argued that, to deal with global warming, it was not only necessary for Japan to re-start its nuclear reactors, it was also necessary to build more of them. For example, an editorial from 9th March 2016 states that: ‘[given] nuclear power does not generate CO2 , it is an extremely important energy source when it comes to global warming countermeasures. [Therefore] we ought to proceed not only with steadily re-starting those reactors which have been confirmed to be safe, but also with the construction of new plants’. An edi- torial from the 2nd May 2015, meanwhile, similarly reads: ‘[We] need to re-start nuclear power plants that have had their safety verified, and going forward [we need to] proceed with the construction of new plants’. Then there is an edito- rial from 10th June 2015, which states: ‘Given that they do not produce CO2, it is imperative that we re-start our nuclear power plants and also build more of them’. We can see that their position on this point has remained consistent over recent years. Conversely, Yomiuri Shimbun has claimed that: ‘Renewable energy
- 50. Introduction 33 such assolar power, while not emitting greenhouse gases, cannot easily func- tion as a substitute for nuclear power due to its instability’ (Editorial from 17th January 2015). When anti-nuclear proponents argue that Japan can move away from nuclear power, a basic and popular proposition is that renewable energy can function as a substitute for nuclear power. Yomiuri Shimbun has been cautious regarding such claims.
- 51. DOI: 10.4324/9781003214007-2 1 A topologyof the mainstream media Newspapers and television Transformation and self-reflection The Fukushima nuclear disaster served as a major inflexion point for the Japanese mainstream media, forcing it to reflect upon its role in promoting or defending the nuclear power industry. For example, from October 2011 to December 2012, the Asahi Shimbun printed a total of 306 articles as part of a series titled: Nuclear Power and the Media. This series included a self-critique of the paper’s own past actions and generated a significant public response.1 In the second half of the 1970s, Asahi Shimbun shifted from simple advocacy and acceptance of nuclear power to a conditional ‘Yes, But’ policy. Yet, even after a series of domestic nuclear accidents in the 1980s, the paper effectively made no special changes regarding its stance. However, with its post-Fukushima series of articles, the paper engaged in candid self-reflection about its contribu- tion to establishing the ‘myth of safe atomic energy’, thoroughly examining its record of articles and editorials from the 1970s onward. What is especially noteworthy about this Asahi Shimbun series is that it introduces individual man- agers, editors, and journalists from this period, who (under their real names) voiced their regret about what happened. In some cases, it even attempted a harsh criticism of these individuals, who were once the bosses or colleagues of the paper’s present-day staff. In the context of the Japanese media, such actions are, indeed, rare. As one example, Asahi Shimbun closely examined the writings and comments of Ōkuma Yukiko, repeatedly singling her out for criticism. As a science depart- ment journalist and editorial writer, Ōkuma had taken a leading role in nuclear power reporting at the paper from the 1970s through the 1980s. In 1976, she wrote a 48-article series under the title Nuclear Fuel, which explained nuclear power technology to a general audience while also incorporating comments from technologists involved in Japan’s burgeoning nuclear power industry. For her work on this series, Ōkuma was awarded the position of chief editor (Asahi Shim- bun, 26th December 2011). ‘Nuclear Fuel’ was also published in a book form (Ōkuma 1977), which was widely read and discussed. ‘Nuclear fuel’ consistently presented nuclear power technology as cutting-edge and perfectly safe. While some readers were sceptical of this treatment, the paper’s science department at
- 52. A topology ofthe mainstream media 35 that time defended Ōkuma’s articles, emphasizing ‘the necessity of nuclear power generation’. The paper’s ‘Nuclear Power and the Media’ series revealed this inter- nal state of affairs (Asahi Shimbun, 5th January 2012). Another revelation was that Japan’s electric power companies distributed Ōkuma’s book to the regional media organizations belonging to the so-called reporters clubs (kisha kurabu) of Japan’s various prefectural offices. Indeed, according to the testimony of journal- ists who were at the paper, the power companies even made bulk purchases of the book. In short, in this series of articles, Asahi Shimbun unsparingly laid out its own negative history, a history where Japanese power companies used material written by the paper’s reporters to promote nuclear power to the public and sup- press discourse in the media that was sceptical of nuclear power. Even after the Chernobyl disaster of 1986, when surveys showed a reversal of public support for nuclear power, Ōkuma argued in an editorial for Asahi Shim- bun that ‘only via a thorough enhancement of the safety of nuclear power plants can [the public’s] concern be resolved’ (Asahi Shimbun, 31st August 1986). One by one, Asahi Shimbun’s ‘Nuclear Power and the Media’ series provided an account of these inconvenient facts, examining its nuclear power reporting his- tory. As the series reached its conclusion, the contributing writer Jōmaru Yōichi compared the paper’s history of nuclear power reporting with its history of com- plicity with the war. He wrote: Japan was completely defeated in the war. Journalism was also defeated. If this was its first defeat, then the second defeat for newspaper journalism was its inability to break through the nuclear power ‘safety myth’ and propose that we move away from nuclear power before this accident occurred. Freedom of expression may be protected in post-war Japan. Yet journalism was defeated by the ‘monster’ it had helped create, [the ‘monster’] known as nuclear power. (Jōmaru 2012: 446) Television stations also began to show signs after Fukushima that they were engaging in some critical reflection about their past treatment of nuclear power. For example, Katō Hisaharu, who had directed numerous news programmes for Nippon TV since the 1960s, made the following comments: ‘[Television until now] functioned to create “the myth of safe atomic energy” by continu- ously claiming that nuclear power was safe, secure, stable, and inexpensive’. He added: ‘If decent nuclear power reporting and nuclear power programs had been broadcast on TV, then perhaps the Fukushima nuclear disaster may have never occurred’ (Katō 2012: 3–4). In this manner, in the wake of Fukushima, newspapers and television stations reflected upon their past with some degree of repentance and self-reproach. These two forms of mainstream media – newspaper companies, in particular – made significant changes to their official editorial positions on nuclear power, with some favouring the end of nuclear power in Japan. Television stations also broadcast a large volume of special programmes on nuclear power. This chapter
- 53. 36 Japanese Mediaand the Intelligentsia after Fukushima shall examine this newfound scepticism towards nuclear power that newspapers and TV stations display. Self-reflection and manifestos: newspapers after Fukushima While countless newspaper articles on Fukushima appeared following the disas- ter, in this chapter, I focus on editorials that can be regarded as straightforward reflections of a paper’s official editorial position. What makes such editorials an important source to consider? As I shall outline later, after the nuclear disaster, several leading newspapers adopted the ending of nuclear power in Japan as their official editorial position. These papers include Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shim- bun, and Tokyo Shimbun.2 Since that time, these papers’ editorials have continued to serve as a primary stage through which they have outlined their perspective on nuclear power. Indeed, several media scholars have commented on the impor- tance of editorials. As Karin Wahl-Jorgensen notes, editorials form the core of a newspaper’s identity (Wahl-Jorgensen 2004: 59, 2008: 70). Roger Fowler states that editorials comprise one of the few clear expressions of the ‘voice’ of news- papers, which tend to understand themselves as aiming at ‘objective reporting’ (Fowler 1991: 209). Brian McNair highlights that editorials are also written to influence a nation’s politics, as they are often read by members of the government or the ruling party (McNair 1995: 13). When Asahi Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun, and Tokyo Shimbun clearly announced their advocacy for ending nuclear power in Japan within a few months of the Fukushima nuclear disaster, it was a major transformation of their official edito- rial positions. It also constituted an important development within these papers’ history and the history of Japanese media coverage on nuclear power, in general. Therefore, the transformation is particularly important when we situate it in the context of post-Fukushima ‘disaster culture’. Let us now examine the process according to which these three major papers reached the point of fully advocating for the end of nuclear power. In the period directly after the 11th March disaster, the three papers acted in a manner similar to other Japanese newspapers, emphasizing articles that speedily reported the unfolding emergency. It was not until after April that attention was given to the problem of nuclear power’s continued existence in Japan. Initially, Fukushima was not regarded as a disaster of a seriousness comparable with Cher- nobyl. However, in the middle of April, Japan’s Nuclear and Industrial Safety Agency and its Nuclear Safety Commission recognized that the disaster was a level 7 on the International Nuclear Event Scale – as was Chernobyl. From that point on, each of the three newspapers began to strike a more sceptical stance regarding nuclear power. On 13th April 2011, a day after the announcement that the disaster consti- tuted a level 7 event, an Asahi Shimbun editorial raised the following question: ‘The burden shouldered by people living in the vicinity of nuclear power plants had now been made clear. The problem now is to what extent the citizenry as
- 54. A topology ofthe mainstream media 37 a whole can shoulder that burden’. Meanwhile, under the headline, ‘Preventing a Renewal of the “Worst Case” Level 7’, a Mainichi Shimbun editorial for the same day called for steps to be taken to prevent the disaster from becoming even more severe than Chernobyl. Tokyo Shimbun’s editorial for 18th April similarly expressed concern in response to the level 7 evaluation, stating, for example, that the authorities needed ‘to take greater action in comprehensively releasing information’. Two days later, on 20th April, Asahi Shimbun released an editorial titled: What Is to Be Done about Nuclear Power? Bring an End to Dependence! Using the words ‘End to Dependence’, the paper had reached a position that was only a step away from calling for the total end to nuclear power in Japan. The body of the editorial included the following statement: ‘The present disaster must be taken as a lesson. We may have no choice but to use some of the country’s nuclear power plants, on the basis of thorough safety control. Yet can we not use the latest earthquake research to sort out which plants are too exposed to pos- sible accidents, and plan for their decommissioning?’ In short, this was a call for reactor decommissioning based on risk assessment. However, it is important to note that the major newspapers’ shift was in align- ment with the Kan Naoto administration’s new stance. Asahi Shimbun’s 20th April editorial alluded to a response Prime Minister Kan had made two days earlier to the Budget Committee of the upper house of the Diet. Within that response, the prime minister stated: ‘It is necessary for us to set aside our old preconceptions, and fundamentally examine why it is that the disaster occurred’. On 7th May, Asahi Shimbun also ran an editorial under the title: The Hamaoka Nuclear Power Plant: Towards ‘Shutting it Down if it’s Dangerous’. In this case, too, the editorial reflected an action already being taken by Prime Minister Kan, who had ordered the Chubu Electric Power Company to take steps at the Hamaoka Nuclear Power Plant, including the halting of reactors 4 and 5. Similarly, on 12th May, the paper issued an editorial titled Energy Plan: Taking the Path towards Ending Dependence on Nuclear Power. Again, directly prior, at a press conference, Prime Minister Kan announced that Japan would rectify its dependence on nuclear power. Around June, editorials began to appear that referred to the overseas trend of ending nuclear power. At this time, the Fukushima nuclear disaster’s political impact was felt in various countries with nuclear energy industries. In Germany, for example, the cabinet decided to adopt a policy of ending nuclear power by gradually closing all of its plants by 2022. Meanwhile, Italy decided against re- starting its plants via a national referendum. The abandonment of nuclear power by other developed nations also became news in Japan. Consequently, there was an increase in editorials suggesting that Japan might learn something from nations such as Germany and Italy when it came to future energy policy, now that the end of nuclear power in Japan had become an actual possibility. On 8th June, the Asahi Shimbun released an editorial titled Germany’s Deci- sion: The Resolute Challenge of Ending Nuclear Power. According to this editorial, Japan ‘needed to take especially seriously’ the fact that the Fukushima disaster had helped push Germany towards abandoning nuclear power. On the same day, Tokyo Shimbun published an editorial under the title What to Do: The Serious
- 55. Another Random ScribdDocument with Unrelated Content
- 56. supposition to thecontrary, the traffic receipts of the steamship and railway companies do not indicate anything like a generous patronage of this ideal land for a present-day sentimental journey. Normandy stands to-day as it stood in the middle ages, with many memorials and reminiscences of its feudal pomp and glory, with here and there a monument to Rollon, William the Conqueror, or Richard the Lion- hearted. As it was three centuries or more ago, teeming with many a monument, cathedral, abbey, fortress, and château, so Normandy is to-day, except for the ruin wrought by the bloody hand of revolution. In spirit Normandy is still mediæval, and here and there are evidences of the even more ancient Roman or Celtic remains. History gives the facts, and the guide-books conventional information. The most that the present work attempts is to recount the results of more or less intimate acquaintance with the land and its people, now and again bringing to light certain matters not to be met with in a briefer sojourn. CHAPTER II. THE ROADS OF FRANCE ONE of the joys of France to-day, as indeed it ever has been, is travel by road. The rail has its advantages, but it also has its disadvantages, whereas the most luxurious traveller by road, even if he be snugly tucked away in a sixty-horse royal Mercédes, is nothing more than an itinerant vagabond, and France is the land above all others for the sport. As an industry to be developed and fostered, France early recognized the automobile as a new world-force, and the powers that be were convinced that the way should be smoothed for those who would, with the poet Henley, sing the song of speed. With their inheritance of magnificent roadways, this was not difficult; for the French and mine host—or his French counterpart, who is really a more up-to-date individual than he is usually given the credit of being— rose gallantly to the occasion as soon as they saw the return of that trade
- 57. which had grownbeautifully less since the passing of the malle-poste and the diligence. The paternalism of the French government is a wonderful thing. It not only stands sponsor for the preservation and restoration of historical monuments,—great churches, châteaux, and the like,—but takes a genial interest in automobilism as well. Hills have been levelled and dangerous corners straightened, level crossings abolished or better guarded; and, where possible, the dread caniveaux—or water-gullies—which cross the roadway here and there have been filled up. More than all else, the execrable paved road, for which France has been noted, is fast being done away with. It is perhaps worth mentioning that the chief magistrate himself is not an automobilist; which places him in practically a unique position among the rulers of Europe. At Bayeux, at Caen, at Lisieux, and at Evreux, in Normandy, one is on that great national roadway which runs from Paris to Cherbourg through the heart of the old province. This great roadway is numbered XIII. by the government, which considers its highways a national property, and is typical of all others of its class throughout France. The military roads of France are famous, and automobilists and some others know their real value as a factor in the prosperity of a nation. It is not as it was in 1689, when Madame de Sévigné wrote that it took three days to travel from Paris to Rouen. Now one does it, in an automobile, in three hours. From Pont Audemer she wrote a few days later to Madame de Grignan: “We slept yesterday at Rouen, a dozen leagues away.” Continuing, she said: “I have seen the most beautiful country in all the world; I have seen all the charms of the beautiful Seine, and the most agreeable prairies in the world.... I had known nothing of Normandy before.... I was too young to appreciate.”
- 58. Certainly this isquite true of Normandy, now as then, and to travel by road will demonstrate it beyond doubt. The roads in France were, for several centuries after the decline and fall of the Roman power, in a very dilapidated state, as the result of simple neglect. Louis XIV., in the latter part of the seventeenth century, made some good roads in the vicinity of Paris; but it was not until the end of the eighteenth century (1775) that the real work of road-making throughout the country began. It was in the time of Napoleon I. that most of the great national roads, which run through the country in various directions, were constructed. These roads were made largely for military purposes, and connect the chief towns and the French frontiers with Paris. Besides the leading roads, there are also many other roads varying in degrees of importance, classed as follows: (1) Routes Nationales. Constructed and maintained by the national government. (2) Routes Départmentales. Constructed and maintained by the several departments at national expense. (3) Chemins Vicinaux de Grande Communication. Passing through and connecting two or more communities, maintained and served by them, aided by government grant. (4) Chemins Vicinaux de Moyenne Communication. Similar to Class III., but of less importance, and maintained at the cost of the people, but controlled by the department. (5) Chemins de Petite Communication. Of still less importance, maintained by the communities separately under the supervision of government engineers. (6) Chemins Ruraux. Roads of the least importance, and wholly controlled and maintained by the people without any interference from the government officials. The art of road-building in France is only excelled by that of the Romans, and they unfortunately lived before the days of high-speed traffic and rubber-shod wheels. The great national roads, usually tree-bordered, average but three in one hundred grade, the departmental roads four in one hundred, and the
- 59. Chemins de GrandeCommunication five in one hundred. In all except very hilly districts, where of course there are deviations, this is the rule. Napoleon’s idea was that these national highways were essentially a military means of communication, and as such they were laid out with a certain regularity and uniformity. Formerly they were largely paved with stone blocks. Who, among those who have travelled extensively by road in France, does not know the execrable pavements of the populated neighbourhoods through which these highways run? To-day these are largely disappearing. The roads in France suffer more from drought than from wet. They dry quickly after rain, and, in order to shade and protect the surface from the dry heat of summer, the planting of trees on the sides of the roads has been largely adopted. As showing the importance that has been attached to this matter, royal decrees were formerly passed, determining the manner of planting, the kind of trees to be used, and the penalties to be imposed on those who injured them. Most of the roads of France, even the national roads, cross the railways on the level instead of over bridges. There are gate-keepers and gates for the protection of the public. At many of them the signalling is of a very primitive kind, and yet there are few accidents. The history of the roads of France is the history of the nation since the conquest of ancient Gaul by the legions of Cæsar. The Voie Auguste was the first, and bound Lyons with Italy by the Col du Petit St. Bernard, which to-day is actually National Road No. 90. Agrippa made Lyons the centre of four great diverging roads; the first by the valley of the Rhine and the Meuse; the second by Autun to the port of Genosiacum, to-day Boulogne-sur-mer; the third by Auvergne toward Bordeaux; and the fourth by the valley of the Rhône to Aix and Marseilles. From the decadence of the Western Empire and the invasion of the Barbarians, these fine roads were practically abandoned. Many good bridges were destroyed, and the work of road-building ceased completely, the people finding their way about by mere trails. With the advent of Christianity in Gaul there was a partial renaissance of these Roman roads, thanks to great fairs and pilgrimages. The monastic orders became in a way the parents and protectors of bridges and roads, with St. Bénèzet at their head, who in the twelfth century constructed the wonderful Pont d’Avignon, which still stands.
- 60. The general systemof the present-day national roads follows largely the old Roman means of communication, as well as those traced by nature, along the banks of rivers and on the flanks of mountains and in the valleys lying between. The great national roads of France form a class by themselves, independent of the departmental and communal roads. They approximate forty thousand kilometres, and run at a tangent from the capital itself and between the chief cities of the eighty odd departments which make up modern France. In general, the designation of the road, its number, and classification are indicated on the kilometre marks with which every important road in France is marked. The national roads, having their origin at Paris, have their distances marked from Notre Dame, and certain of the secondary cities are taken for the point of departure of other great roads. A ministerial decree, put forth in 1853, decided that the national roads should have their distances marked from their entrance into each department, a regulation which has been followed nearly everywhere, except that distances are still reckoned from Paris on most of the great highroads of Normandy and Brittany. Guide-posts are placed at all important cross-roads and pattes-d’oie (a goose-foot, literally). An iron plaque, painted white and blue, beside the road, shows without any possibility of mistake the commune in which it is situated, the next important place in either direction, and frequently the next town of considerable proportions, even though it may be half a hundred kilometres distant.
- 61. French roads areindeed wonderfully well marked; and these little blue and white plaques, put up by the roadside or fastened on the wall of some dwelling at the entrance or the exit of a village or town, must number hundreds of thousands. In these days of fast-rushing automobiles a demand has sprung up for a more striking and legible series of special sign-boards along certain roads, in order that he who runs may read. And so the Touring Club of France, on the great road which runs from Paris through Normandy, to Havre and Dieppe, for instance, has erected a series of large-lettered and abbreviated sign-boards, which are all that could be desired. Besides these, there are other enigmatical symbols and signs erected by paternal societies of road users which will strike a stranger dumb with conjecture as to what they may mean. They are all essentially practical, however, as the following tableau will show. It is very important indeed for an automobilist or other road user to know that a railway-gate (like enough to be shut) awaits him around a sharp curve, or that a steep hill is hidden just behind a bank of trees.
- 62. Still another classof signs met with by road users in France is most helpful. They, too, shoot out a warning which one may read as he rushes by at high speed; printed in great staring letters, one, two, or three words which one dare not, if he values his life, ignore. Truly one who goes astray or contravenes any law of the road in France has only himself to blame. The chief national roads crossing Normandy are as follows: No. 192 and —Paris to Havre, by the right bank of the Seine, passing Poissy, Melun, La Roche-Guyon, Les Andelys, and Rouen. 14. 190. —Paris to Rouen and Honfleur, by the left bank of the Seine. 182. 180. 13.—Paris to Cherbourg, via Evreux and Caen. 26.—Paris to Fécamp by Yvetot.
- 63. 14.—Paris to Dieppe. 14,—bis. Paris to Tréport. 155.—Paris to St. Malo, via Mayenne. 24,—bis.Paris to Granville by Verneuil. 13. and —Paris to Coutances by Bayeux and St. Lô. 172. 10. —Paris to Vannes, via Ploërmel. 12. 24. 166. 10. —Paris to Quimper, via Rennes and Lorient. 12. 24. 165. 10.—Paris to Brest, via Versailles, Alençon, 12.—Laval, Rennes, and St. Brieuc. 10.—Paris to Nantes and Paimbœuf, via Versailles, Chartres, Le Mans, Angers, and Nantes. 23. After the fall of the Roman Empire the magnificent roadways which threaded Gaul in every direction all but disappeared, and for a time the horse was employed only with the saddle, the more or less indolent nobles travelling mostly by vehicles drawn by oxen. By the middle ages the horse had come to be admired as a noble animal by virtue of his usefulness in war; but the routes of communication were hardly more than simple tracks and by no means replaced the great rivers, which Pascal had called “ces chemins qui marchent.” Indeed the “coches d’eau” had not entirely disappeared from the waterways of France until 1830. The first carriages at all approaching the modern fashion were imported from Italy in the sixteenth century, doubtless by the Medicis. In 1550 there were three, only, in Paris, but under Louis XIV. the roads became more carefully guarded and increased greatly in number.
- 64. The great carrossesand calèches of the early days were ponderous affairs, a calèche known as a litière, the precursor of the modern sleeping- car, it would seem, having a weight of 2,500 kilos. The following lines well describe it: “C’est un embarras étrange, Qu’un grand carrosse dans la fange, C’est presque un village roulant....” Under Louis XV. the carrosse became lighter and the chaise on two wheels came in. Then followed cabriolets, berlines, and the poste-chaise, and finally the malle-poste and the diligence. The most familiar of all, to those of a few generations ago, and to readers of travel literature, is the diligence. These great carriages apparently had a most respectable lease of life, many having been in service for a great many years. To-day they have mostly disappeared, and in Normandy and Brittany practically exist not at all, so far as the tourist traveller is concerned, though once and again they may be useful on a cross-country road in order to connect with the railroad. It was only as late as 1760, however, that a public service of these diligences was established. At that time the coaches left Paris on stated days and travelled with unwonted regularity. The diligence to Rennes, in the heart of Bretagne, was timed for four days’ travelling, and five days was employed for the journey to the old Breton capital of Nantes, on the Loire. These great carriages, commonly known as “Royales,” were hung on springs and drawn by eight horses. They did not travel as quickly as the malle-poste, but their rates were somewhat less, and they performed the common service before the advent of steam and the rail.
- 65. There was nothingvery luxurious or grand about them, but they were majestic and picturesque, and they sometimes carried a load, including passengers and luggage, of five thousand kilos. Closely allied with roads is the general topography of a country as shown by its maps. No country has such a marvellous series of maps of its soil as has France. The maps of the Minister of the Interior and the Etat Major are wonders of the art, and no traveller in Normandy or Brittany, or indeed any other part of France, should be without them. They are obtainable at any bookseller’s in a large town, and the prices are remarkably low; ranging from thirty centimes a sheet for the map of the Etat Major, printed only in black, to eighty centimes a sheet for the map of the Minister of the Interior, printed in colours. The following conventional signs will show the extreme practicability of the maps of the Etat Major, which are made on four different scales, the most useful being that of 1-80,000. The maps of the Minister of the Interior are made only on the scale of 1-100,000. Now and then on these great highroads of France, of which those of Normandy and Brittany are representative, one passes a headquarters or a barracks of the gendarmerie, those servitors of the law, the national police, an organization which grew up out of the men-at-arms or gens d’armes of Charles VII. These great barracks are veritable monasteries, where the religion of faithful duty to the public and the nation reigns supreme. One never passes one of these impressive establishments without a full appreciation of the motto of the knightly Bayard, so frequently graven over their doors: “Sans peur et sans reproche.”
- 66. The Assembly, in1790, first instituted this almost perfectly organized police force, and Napoleon himself thought so highly of them that he wrote to Berthier in 1812: “Take not the police with you, but conserve them for the guarding of the country-side. Two or three hundred soldiers are as nothing, but two or three hundred police will assure the tranquillity and good order of the people at large.” To-day, in times of peace, twenty-seven legions of police assure the security of the country-side; an effective force of about twenty-five thousand men and 725 officers, of whom a comparative few only are mounted. A colonel or a lieutenant-colonel is placed at the head of a legion, a company being allotted to each department. The company is commanded by a major; then comes the district, placed under the orders of a captain or a lieutenant; the section, commanded by a junior officer; and finally a squad with a non-commissioned officer or corporal at its head. Independent of crime and its details, the police are responsible as well for the maintenance of order in general. The pay for all this, it is to be regretfully noted, is not at all commensurate. An unmounted policeman receives but 2 fr. 81 c. per day, and if he is mounted but 3 fr. 23 c. per day.
- 67. CHAPTER III. THE FORESTSOF FRANCE THE forests of France are a source of never-ending interest and pride to the Frenchman, of whatever station in life. They are admirably preserved and cared for, and a paternal ministerial department guards them as jealously as a fond mother guards her children. No cutting of trees is allowed, except according to a prescribed plan; and, when a new road is cut through,—and those superlative roadways of France run straight as the crow flies through many of the finest forest tracts, —as likely as not an old one is replanted. The process of replanting goes on from day to day, and one sees no depleted forests of a former time, which are to-day a graveyard of bare stumps. If there is any regulation as to tree-planting in these great forests, it would seem, to a casual observer, to be that where one tree has grown before two are to be made grow in its place. There is a popular regard among all travellers in France for Fontainebleau, Versailles, and perhaps Chantilly, but there are other tree- grown areas, quite as charming, little known to the general traveller: Rambouillet, for instance, and Villers-Cotterets, of which Dumas writes so graphically in “The Wolf Leader.” Normandy has more than its share of these splendid forests, some of them of great extent and charm. Indeed, the forest domain of Lyons, in Upper Normandy, one of the most extensive in all France, is literally covered with great beeches and oaks, surrounding small towns and hamlets, and an occasional ruined château or abbey, which makes a sojourn within its confines most enjoyable to all lovers of outdoor life. Surrounding the old Norman capital of Rouen are five great tracts which serve the inhabitants of that now great commercial city as a summer playground greatly appreciated. Game of various sorts still exists; deer in plenty, apparently, together with smaller kinds; and now and then one will hear tales of bears, which are, however, almost unbelievable.
- 68. In some regions—theforests of Louviers, for instance—the wild boar still exists. The chase for the wild boar, with the huntsmen following somewhat after the old custom (with a horn-blower, who is most theatrical in his get-up, and his followers, armed with lances and pikes in quite old- time fashion), is, as may be imagined, a most novel sight. The forests of Roumare and Mauny, occupying the two peninsulas formed by the winding Seine just below Rouen, are remarkable, and are like nothing else except the other forests in France. There are fine roadways crossing and recrossing in all directions, beautifully graded, with overhanging oaks and beeches, and as well kept as a city boulevard. Deer are still abundant, and the whole impression which one receives is that of a genuine wildwood, and not an artificial preserve. In the picturesque forest of Roumare is hidden away the tiny village of Genetey, which has for an attraction, besides its own delightful situation, an ancient Maison de Templiers of the thirteenth century, a well of great depth, and a chapel to St. Gargon, of the sixteenth century, built in wood, with some fine sculptures and paintings, which was at one time a favourite place for pious pilgrims from Rouen. Not far away is Henouville, with a sixteenth-century church, lighted by five great windows of extraordinary proportions. The choir encloses the remains of Legendre, the almoner of Louis XIII., who was curé of Henouville, and whose fame as a horticulturist was as great as that brought him by his official position. The near-by Château du Belley and its domain is now turned into a farm. La Fontaine, a hamlet situated directly on the Seine bank, is overshadowed by a series of high rocks of most fantastic form, known as the chair, or pulpit, of Gargantua. The forest of La Londe, of 2,154 hectares, on the opposite bank of the Seine from Rouen, is a remarkable tract of woodland, its oaks and beeches quite reminiscent of Fontainebleau. The trees as a whole are the most ancient and grand of those of any of the forests of Normandy. Two which have been given names are known respectively as Bel-Arsène, a magnificent beech of eleven great branches, planted in 1773, and the Chêne de la Côte Rôtie, supposed to have the ripe old age of 450 years; and it looks its age.
- 69. The forest ofLonde is what the French geographer would describe as pittoresque et accidentée. It is all this would lead one to infer; and, together with the forest of the Rouvray, exceeds any other in Normandy, except the forest domain of Lyons. At the crossing of the Grésil road is the Chêne-à-la-Bosse, having a circumference of three and a half metres; and, near by, one sees the Hêtre-à- l’Image, a great beech of fantastic form. Amid a savage and entirely unspoiled grandeur is a series of caves and grottoes, of themselves of no great interest, but delightfully environed. Near Elbeuf, on the edge of the forest of Londe, are the Roches d’Orival, a series of rock-cut grottoes and caverns,—a little known spot to the majority of travellers in the Seine valley. Practically the formation begins at Elbeuf itself, onward toward Rouen, by the route which follows the highroad to the Norman capital via Grand Couronne. At Port du Gravier, on the bank of the Seine, is a sixteenth-century chapel cut in the rock, like its brethren or sisters at St. Adrien on the opposite bank, and at Haute Isle, just above Vernon. At Roche-Foulon are numerous rock-caverns still inhabited, and at the Roche du Pignon begins a series of curiously weathered and crumbled rocks, most weird and bizarre. On a neighbouring hill are the ruins of Château Fouet, another of those many riverside fortresses attributed to Richard Cœur de Lion. The forest domain of Lyons is the finest beech-wood in all France, and its 10,614 hectares (rather more than thirty thousand acres) was in the middle ages the favourite hunting-ground of the Dukes of Normandy. It is the most ample of all the forests of Normandy. There are at least three trips which forest-lovers should take if they come to the charming little woodland village of Lyons-le-Forêt. It will take quite two days to cover them, and the general tourist may not have sufficient time to spare. Still, if he is so inclined, and wants to know what a really magnificent French forest is like to-day, before it has become spoiled and overrun (as is Fontainebleau), this is the place to enjoy it to the full. The old Château of Lyons, and the tiny hamlets of Taisniers, Hogues, Héron, and the feudal ruins of Malvoisine, are a great source of pleasure to those who have become jaded with the rush of cities and towns.
- 70. The château ofthe Marquis de Pommereu d’Aligré, in the valley of the Héron, can be seen and visited, or rather the park may be (the park and château together are only thrown open to the public on the fête patronale— the first Sunday of September). Croissy-sur-Andelle is another forest village, and the Val St. Pierre, a sort of dry river-bed carpeted with a thick undergrowth, is quite as fine as anything of the kind at Fontainebleau. At Petit Val is a magnificent beech five and a half metres in circumference, and supposed to be four hundred years old. At Le Tronquay there is a great school, over whose entrance doorway one reads on a plaque that it is— “Commemorative de la délivrance des paroissiens du Tronquay admis à porter la fierté de St. Romain de Rouen, le 5 mai, jour de l’ascencion, de l’anne 1644.” At the end of a double row of great firs, lie the ruins of the Château de Richbourg, built by Charles IX. La Fenille is a small market-town, quite within the forest, where one may get luncheon for the modest price of two francs, cider and coffee included, if he wanders so far from Lyons-le-Forêt as this.
- 71. Lyons-le-Forêt Here there arethe remains of some of the dungeons and the brick walls of a château built by Philippe-le-Bel. The tiny church dates from 1293, and in the cemetery is a sculptured cross of the time of Henri IV. In the canton of Catelier are found the most remarkable trees of the whole forest. One great trunk alone, which was recently cut down, gave over thirty stères of wood; which means nothing as a mere statement, but which looked, as it was piled by the roadside, to be a mass of timber great enough to fill the hold of a ship. At the source of the Levrière, a limpid forest stream, is the manor-house of the Fontaine du Houx, of the sixteenth century, belonging to a M. Hebert. If one is diplomatic he may get permission to enter to view the bedroom of Agnes Sorel, that royal favourite of other days whose reputation is a bit higher than those of some of her contemporaries. The doorkeeper will gladly accept a tip, so the visitor need have no hesitancy in making the demand, though he will have to choose his words.
- 72. The old manoris a fine representative of a mediæval house, surrounded by a great moat and garnished with a series of turrets. The chief features, outside of the apartment in which slept the gentle Agnes, are a fine staircase, a tower with a drawbridge over the moat, and, in the vestibule, a fine tapestry from the Château de la Haie. The Château de Fleury, at Fleury la Forêt, is a fine structure, dating from 1645, and at Croix-Mesnil is the Château Louis XIII., which formed the dwelling of the grand master of rivers and forests in that monarch’s time. By no means are these all of the interesting attractions of this great national forest, but it ought to be sufficient to inspire the true forest-lover to seek out other beauties for himself. The road of the Gros Chêne, called also the “Chêne de la Londe,” and “l’Homme Mort,” and aged perhaps four hundred years, leads to the Carrefour des Quatre Cantons, near which is the Chapelle Ste. Catherine; a famous place of pilgrimage where, according to popular belief, any young girl who brings a bouquet to the shrine, and says a mass, is assured of marrying within a year. After this there is another act of devotion to be gone through—or is it a superstition in this case? She must bring thither the pins from her marriage veil. The Abbey of Mortemer, founded in 1134 by the monks of the order of Citeux, is another architectural monument with a remarkably picturesque woodland site. The living-rooms (seventeenth century) have been restored, but the church, of three centuries before, is quite in a ruinous condition, though a great open-ended transept remains, as well as a fine rose window and some of the beautifully arched walls of the old cloister.
- 73. Chapelle Ste. Catherine TheFerme des Fiefs, and the Château de Rosay, situated in a charming park, where the Lieure falls in a series of tiny cascades, about completes the list of the forest’s attractions; but its hidden beauties and yet undiscovered charms are many. Perhaps some day the forest domain of Lyons will have an artist colony, or a number of them, such as are found in the encircling villages of the forest of Fontainebleau, but at present there are none, though it is belief of the writer that the aspect of nature unspoiled is far better here than at the more popular Fontainebleau.
- 74. CHAPTER IV. A TRAVELCHAPTER TO those upon whom has fallen the desire to travel amid historic sights and scenes, no part of France offers so much that is so accessible, so economically covered, or as interesting as the coasts and plains and river valleys of Normandy. If possible they should lay out their journey beforehand, and if time presses make a tour that shall comprise some one distinct region only; as the Seine valley from Havre to La Roche-Guyon; the coast from Tréport to Caen, or even Granville, or Mont St. Michel; or following a line which runs more inland from Rouen by Lisieux, Falaise, and the valley of the Orne, to the famous Mont on the border of Brittany. They may indeed combine this last with a little tour which should take in the north Breton coast and even cross to the Channel Isles; but if it is the Normandy coast or the Norman
- 75. country-side of theSeine valley which they desire to know fully, and if time be limited, they should confine themselves to either one route or the other. Normandy divides itself topographically into the three itineraries mentioned: “The Coast,” “The Seine Valley,” and the “Inland Route.” They may be combined readily enough, or they may be taken separately; but to nibble a bit at one, a little at another, and still less at a third, and then rush on to Paris and its distractions, or to some seaside place where brass bands and a casino form the principal attractions, is not the way to have an intimate, personal, and wholly delightful experience of “la belle Normandie.” A skeleton plan of each of these itineraries will be found, and further details of a practical nature also, elsewhere in this book. One’s expenses may be what they will. By rail, twelve to fifteen francs a day will amply pay the bill, and by road, on bicycle or automobile, they can be made to approximate as much or as little as one’s tastes demand; nor will the quality of the accommodation and fare vary to an appreciable degree in either case. Even the automobilist with his sixty-horse Mercédes, while he may be suspected of being a millionaire American or an English lord, will not necessarily be adjudged so, and will be charged according to the tariff of the “Touring Club,” or other organization of which he may be a member. If he demands superior accommodation, a sitting-room as well as a bedroom, or a fire and a hot bath, he will pay extra for that, as well as for the vin supérieur which he may wish instead of the ordinaire of the table d’hôte, or the café which he drinks after his meal. The old simile still holds good. The franc in France will usually purchase the value of a shilling in England. There is not much difference with respect to one shilling; but an appalling sum in a land of cheap travel, when one has let a thousand of them pass through his hands. The leading hotels of the great towns and cities of Rouen, Havre, and Cherbourg rise almost to the height of the charges of those of the French capital itself; and those of Trouville-Deauville or Dieppe to perhaps even higher proportions, if one requires the best accommodation. The true peripatetic philosopher, however, will have naught to do with these, but will seek out for himself—unless some one posts him beforehand—such humble, though excellent inns as the “Trois Marchands,” or the “Mouton d’Argent.”
- 76. These are thereal hotels of the country, where one lives bountifully for six to eight francs a day, and eats at the table d’hôte with an informative commercial traveller, or a keenly mindful small landholder of the country- side, who, if it is market-day, will as like as not be dressed in a black blouse. One criticism may justly be made of many of the hotels in Normandy, though mostly this refers only to such tourist establishments as one finds at Dieppe or Trouville. It is that the table wine is often charged for at two francs a bottle, while it ought to be served without extra charge, and is elsewhere in France. In many commercial hotels this is not the custom, but too frequently it is so, and, considering that the hôteliers of Normandy buy their wine in a much more favourable market, by reason of its cheap transport by sea, than their brethren of Lozère or the Cantal, where wine is never thought of as an extra, it seems somewhat of an imposition to one who knows his France well. The beef and mutton of Normandy is of most excellent quality, coming from fine animals who are only used if they are in the best condition. This statement is made with a knowledge based upon some years’ residence, to allay the all too prevalent opinion that French meat is of inferior quality, and is only palatable because well disguised in the cooking. This is a fetish which ought long ago to have been burned. The fish one gets in Normandy is always fresh and remarkably varied, as well as the shell- fish (crevettes, meaning usually shrimp or prawns). The oysters are of course famous, for no one ever heard of a Courseulles bivalve which had typhoid tendencies. The railway has proved a great civilizer in France, and everywhere is found a system of communicating lines which are almost perfect. The great artery of the Western Railroad reaches out through all Normandy and Brittany, and its trunk lines to Dieppe, Havre, Cherbourg, and Brest leave nothing to be desired in the way of appointments and expedition. The only objection, that the economical traveller can justify, is that second and third class tickets are often not accepted for distances under a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilometres; and, accordingly, he is forced to wait the accommodation train, which, truth to tell, is not even a little
- 77. brother of theexpress-train. If it is any relation at all, it is a stepchild merely. At all events, the railway service throughout France is well systematized and efficient, and Ruskin’s diatribe against railways in general was most unholy. Lest it may have been forgotten, as many of his ramblings have, and should be, it is repeated here. “Railways are to me the loathsomest form of devilry now extant, animated and deliberate earthquakes” (we know what he thought of bicycles, and we wonder with fear what may have been his strictures on the automobile had he lived a few years longer), “destructive of all wise, social habits and possible natural beauty, carriages of damned souls on the ridges of their own graves.” This, from a prophet and a seer, makes one thank Heaven the tribe was blind. Travel by rail is a simple and convenient process in Normandy, as indeed it is in all France. There is no missing of trains at lonesome junctions, and the time-tables are admirably and lucidly planned. In the larger towns all the stations have a bureau of information which will smooth the way for the traveller if he will not take it upon himself to consult that almost perfect series of railway time-tables found in every café and hotel throughout France. He registers his baggage and gets a receipt for it, like the “checks” of the American railways, by paying two sous; or he may send it by express (not by freight, for there is too little difference in price), or as unaccompanied baggage, which will ensure its being forwarded by the first passenger-train, and at a most reasonable charge. The economical way of travelling in France, and Normandy in particular, is third class; and the carriages, while bare and hard-seated, are thoroughly warmed in winter, and are as clean as those of their kind anywhere; perhaps more so than in England and America, where the stuffy cushions harbour much dirt and other objectionable things. Second class very nearly approaches the first class in point of price, and is very nearly as luxurious; while first class itself carries with it comparative exclusiveness at proportionately high charges. More important, to the earnest and conscientious traveller, is the fact that often, for short distances between near-by places, a convenient train will be found not to carry third-class passengers; and to other places, a little less widely separated, not even second class; although third and second class passengers are carried by the same train for longer distances. This is about
- 78. the only inconvenienceone suffers from French railways, and makes necessary a careful survey of the time-table, where the idiosyncrasies of individual trains are clearly marked. Excursion trains of whatever class are decidedly to be avoided. They depart and return from Paris, Trouville, Dieppe, or some other popular terminus at most inconveniently uncomfortable hours, and are invariably overcrowded and not especially cheap. The attractions of Normandy for the traveller are so many and varied that it would be practically impossible to embrace them all in any one itinerary without extending its limit of time beyond that at the disposal of most travellers. From Tréport, on the borders of Picardy, to Arromanches, near Bayeux, is an almost uninterrupted line of little and big seashore towns whose chief industry consists of catering to summer visitors. From Arromanches to Mont St. Michel, the seaside resorts are not so crowded, and are therefore the more enjoyable, unless one demands the distractions of great hotels, golf-links, and tea-rooms. In the Seine valley, beginning with La Roche-Guyon, on the borders of the ancient royal domain, down to the mouth of the mighty river at Havre, is one continuous panorama of delightful large and small towns, not nearly so well known as one might suppose. Vernon with its tree-bordered quays; Giverny, and its artists colony; Les Andelys with their “saucy castle” built by Richard Cœur de Lion; Pont de l’Arche with the florid Gothic church dedicated to Our Lady of the Arts; the riverside resorts above Rouen; Elbeuf with its busy factories, but picturesque and historic withal; Rouen, the ancient Norman capital; La Bouille-Molineux; the great abbeys of Jumièges, St. Wandrille and St. Georges de Boscherville; Caudebec-en- Caux; Lillebonne; Harfleur; Honfleur, and Havre form a compelling array of sights and scenes which are quite irresistible. On the northeastern coast are Etretat, famed of artists of generations ago; Fécamp with the associations of its ancient abbey; Dieppe; the Petites Dalles; St. Valery-en-Caux; Eu with its château; and Tréport and its attendant little seashore villages. Inland, and southward, through the Pays-de-Caux, are Lyons-le-Forêt, which, as its name bespeaks, is a little forest-surrounded town, quite unworldly, and eight kilometres from a railway; Gournay; Forges-les-Eaux,
- 79. a decayed seaporttown; Gisors; and the charming little villages of the valleys of the Andelle and the Ept. Follow up the Eure from its juncture with the Seine at the Pont de l’Arche, and one enters quite another region, quite different from that on the other side of the Seine. The chief towns are Louviers, a busy cloth-manufacturing centre with an art treasure of the first rank in its beautifully flamboyant church; and Evreux with its bizarre cathedral, headquarters of the Department of the Eure; while northward and westward, by Conches and Beaumont-le-Roger to Caen and Bayeux, lies a wonderful country of picturesque and historic towns, such as Lisieux; Bernay, famous for its horse-fair; Falaise, the birthplace of William the Conqueror; and Dives, where he set sail for England’s shores,—names which will awaken memories of the past in a most vivid fashion. Westward of the valley of the Orne lies the Cotentin, with the cathedral towns of Avranches, Coutances, and St. Lô, and Mont St. Michel, which of itself is a sort of boundary stone between Normandy and Brittany. The monumental curiosities of the province and the natural attractions are all noted in the plans which are here given; and from them, and this descriptive outline, one should be able to map out for himself a tour most suitable to correspond to his inclinations. There is this much to say of Normandy, in addition: it is the most abundantly supplied of all the ancient French provinces with artistic and natural sights and curiosities, and above all is compact and accessible. There is one real regret that will strike one with regard to the journeyings in the valley of the Seine. There is no way of making the trip by water above Rouen. From Havre to Rouen, one may journey in a day on a little steamer, a most enjoyable trip; and at Rouen one finds the little “fly- boats,”—reminiscent of the bateaux mouches of Paris,—which will take one for a half a dozen miles in either direction for astonishingly low fares. Pont de l’Arche, however, and Muids, and that most picturesquely situated of all northern French towns, Les Andelys, onward to Tosny, and still up-river, by Port Mort to Vernon, there is no communication by water for the passenger, though the great barges and canal-boats pass and repass a given point scores of times in a day, carrying coal, wine, cotton, and other merchandise, through the very finest scenery of the Seine.
- 80. A few wordson the French language are inevitable with every author of a book of French travel, and so they are given here. There is a current idea that English is the language for making one’s way about. Try it in Normandy or Brittany, in the average automobile garage, the post-office, or the railway station, or on the custodian of some great church or château, and you will prove its fallacy. At Rouen, Havre, or Dieppe, and at the great tourist hotels it is different; but in the open country seldom, if ever, will you come across one who can speak or understand a single word of English; save an occasional chauffeur who may have seen service on some titled person’s motor-car in England, and knows “all right,” “pretty soon,” and “go ahead” to perfection. The writer notes two exceptions. Doubtless there may be others. At the quaint little Seine-side town of Vetheuil, near La Roche-Guyon, which fits snugly in the southeast corner of Normandy, one enters the tobacco-shop to buy a picture post-card, perhaps, of its quaint little church, so loved by artists, and there he will find an unassuming little man who retails tobacco to the natives and souvenir postal cards to strangers while chatting glibly in either tongue. At the Hôtel Bellevue in Les Andelys is a waitress who speaks excellent English; though you may be a guest of the house for months and talk in English daily with your artist-neighbour across the table, and not know that she understands a word of what you say,—which surely indicates great strength of mind on the part of this estimable woman, though the circumstance has proved embarrassing. In this connection it is curious to note the influx of English words into the Gallic tongue. Most of these words have been taken up by the world of sport and fashion, and have not yet reached the common people. One can, if he is ingenious, carry on quite a conversation with a young man about town, whom one may meet at table d’hôte or at a café, either at the capital or in the larger towns, without knowing a word of French, and without his realizing that he knows English. “Gentleman,” “tennis,” and “golf”; “yacht,” “yachting,” and “mail- coach”; “garden-party,” “handicap,” and “jockey,”—all these are equally well-known and understood of the modern Frenchman. “Very smart” is heard once and again of a “swell” turnout drawn by a pair of “high- steppers.”
- 81. For clothing theFrenchman of fashion affects “waterproofs,” “snow- boots,” “leggings,” and “knickerbockers,” and he travels in a “sleeping-car” when he can afford their outrageously high charges. When it comes to his menu—more’s the pity—he too often affects the “mutton-chop” and the “beefsteak” in the “grill-room” of a “music-hall.” The fact is only mentioned here as showing a widespread affectation, which, in a former day, was much more confined and restricted. In the wine country, in Touraine and on the coast, you will hear the “black rot” talked of, and in Normandy, at Havre, you will see a crowd of “dockers” discussing vehemently—as only Normans can—the latest “lockout.” All this, say the discerning French, is a madness that can be cured. “Allons, parlons français!” that is the remedy; and matters have even gone so far as to form an association which should propagate the French tongue to the entire exclusion of the foreign, in the same way as there is a patriotic alliance to prevent the “invasion étrangère.” The Norman patois is, perhaps, no more strange than the patois of other parts of France. At any rate it is not so difficult to understand as the Breton tongue, which is only possible to a Welshman—and his numbers are few. The Parisians who frequent Trouville revile the patois of Normandy; but then the Parisian does not admit that any one speaks the real French but he and his fellows. In Touraine they claim the same for their own capital. Henry Moisy claims the existence, in the Norman’s common speech of to-day, of more than five thousand words which are foreign to the French language. The Normandy patois, however, is exceedingly amusing and apropos. The author has been told when hurrying down a country road to the railway that there is plenty of time; the locomotive “hasn’t laughed yet,” meaning it had not whistled. Again at table d’hôte, when one has arrived late, and there remains only one small fish for two persons, you may be told that you will have to put up with “œufs à la coque” instead, as there is only “une souris à treize chats.” It is not an elegant expression, but it is characteristic. Victor Hugo had the following to say concerning Norman French: “Oh, you brave Normans! know you that your patois is venerable and sacred. It is a flower which sprang from the same root as the French.
- 82. “Your patois hasleft its impress upon the speech of England, Sicily, and Judea, at London, Naples, and at the tomb of Christ. To lose your speech is to lose your nationality, therefore, in preserving your idiom you are preserving your patriotism.” “Yes, your patois is venerable and your first poet was the first of poètes français: “Je di e dirai ke je suis Wace de Jersuis.” The following compilation of Norman idioms shows many curious and characteristic expressions. The definitions are given in French, simply because of the fact that many of them would quite lose their point in translation. Amuseux.—Fainéant, qui muse: “C’est pas un mauvais homme, seulement il est un brin amuseux.” Annuyt.—Aujourd’hui. “J’aime mieux annuyt qu’à demain.” Andouille à treize quiens (chiens).—Petit héritage pour beaucoup d’héritiers; on dit aussi “une souris à treize cats (chats).” Apanage.—Possession embarrassante; “Ma chère, c’est tout un apanage de maison à tenir.” Chibras.—Paquet, monceau, fouillis, amas de choses en désordre. Se trouve dans Rabelais. Quant et.—En compagnie de, “j’m’en vais à quant et té.” A queutée.—Rangée à la queue leu leu, “une à queutée de monde.” Assemblée.—Fête villageoise. Assiette faîtée.—Assiette dont le contenu s’élève au-dessus, en faîte, littéralement en forme de faîte: “C’est un faim-vallier, il ne mange que par assiettes faîtées.” Du feur.—Fourrage, vieux mot d’origine Scandinave, d’où vient le fourrier. D’s’horains.—Mot honfleurais; dans l’ancien langage des marins de Honneur, on appelait des horains les plus gros câbles des navires. Par image, le mot est entré et resté dans le langage usuel, pour amarre. D’où la très jolie locution honfleuraise, dont quelques vieilles gens font encore usage, sans trop en savoir le vrai sens original. “Il a queuq’horain.” Il est amoureux, il a quelques fortes attaches. Et simplement: “Chacun a ses horains.”—Chacun a ses habitudes (en mauvaise part). Crassiner.—Pleuvoir d’une petite pluie fine qui a nom crassin ou crachin et ressemble à du crachat qui encrasse les objets. I’s ont té el’vés commes trois petits quiens dans un’ manne auprès du feu.
- 83. I’li cause.—D’un amoureux,il lui fait la cour. I’s parle.—Se dit d’un paysan qui cherche à parler le langage de la ville. Le temps est au conseil.—Jolie expression maritime pour dire que le temps est incertain.—Le “conseil” délibère s’il fera beau ou vilain. Se démenter.—Se donner du trouble d’esprit, pour quelque chose. A Villerville, les pêcheurs sont tous des maudits monstres et des maudits guenons, termes d’amitié.—Les femmes sont des “por’ti cœurs.” Pouchiner.—Caresser un enfant comme une poule son poussin. Adirer.—Perdre, égarer. Espérer quelqu’un.—Attendre. Capogner.—Chiffonner avec force, déformer. Se chairer.—S’asseoir en prenant toute la place, se carrer. Mitan.—Le milieu, le centre (tout au mitan). Le coupet.—Le sommet (au fin coupet de l’arbre). Binder.—Rebondir. Patinguet.—Saut. Un repaire.—Se dit d’un homme vicieux. “Ne me parlez pas de celui-là, c’est un repaire.” Atiser, ratiser.—Corriger par des coups: “j’t’ vas ratiser.” Atourotter.—Enrouler autour; “l’serpent l’atourottit et l’étouffit.” Attendiment.—En attendant que; “soigne le pot au feu, attendiment que j’vas queri du bois.” A c’t’heure.—Maintenant: A cette heure, vieux français employé dans Montaigne. D’aveuc.—Avec. Barbelotte.—Bête à bon Dieu, coccinelle. Bavoler.—Voler près de terre; “i va ché d’qui (il va tomber quelque chose), les hirondelles bavolent.” Qu’ri.—Quérir, chercher. D’la partie.—En partant de là, depuis; “d’la partie de Pont-l’Evêque, j’sommes venus à Honfleur.” A l’enrait.—A cet endroit. Piler.—Fouler aux pieds; “ne m’pile pas su le pied.” S’commercer sur, s’marchander sur.—Faire des affaires; “i s’marchande su’ les grains.” Aloser.—Louanger, dire du bien de. Allouvi.—Avoir une faim de loup: “j’sommes allouvis.” Détourber.—Déranger, détourner. Crépir.—“I’s’crépit d’su’ses argots.” Se dit d’un coq. A ses accords.—A ses ordres. “Si tu cré que j’sis à ses accords.”
- 84. A ses appoints.—Mêmesens. Demoiselle.—Petite mesure de liquide. Ce qu’une demoiselle peut boire d’eau-de-vie ou de cidre. Dans par où.—Laisser tout dans par où; commencer un ouvrage sans l’achever. Goublain.—Revenant, fantôme, diable des matelots; ils apparaissent en mer sous la forme des camarades noyés. En passant “sous Grâce” ou quand on fait le signe de la croix, le goublain se jette à l’eau; Kobold des conteurs du Nord. Décapler.—S’en aller, mourir. “Le pauvre bougre est décaplé.” Terme maritime. Itou.—Aussi. Une bordée.—Compagnie nombreuse. Eclipper.—Eclabousser. C’est un char de guerre.—Se dit d’une personne brutale. Même signification que Cerbère, porte de prison. La terre est poignardée.—La terre est corrompue. Le monde tire à sa fin.—Pour exprimer l’étonnement d’un fait rare, extraordinaire, une découverte. Où Dieu baille du train, il donne du pain.—Dieu protège les nombreuses familles. Cramail.—Le con, “prendre au cramail.” La belle heure.—“Je ne vois pas la belle heure de faire cela!” Ce ne sera pas commode. J’va pas voulé ça.—Oh! mais non, par exemple. Pièce.—“J’nai pièce:” je n’en ai pas. Heurer.—“Il est heuré pour ses repas.” Il a ses heures régulières. Heurible.—Précoce. Un pommier “heurible.” Ingamo.—“Avoir de l’ingamo,” avoir de l’esprit. Cœuru.—Qui a du cœur, dru, solide. Faire sa bonne sauce.—Présenter les choses à son avantage. Pas bileux.—Qui ne se fait pas de bile. D’un bibet il fait un eléphant.—Il exagère tout. En cas qu’ça sé.—En cas que cela soit, dubitatif ironique, pour: cela n’est pas vrai. Cousue de chagrin.—Une fille cousue de chagrin, elle ferait pleurait les cailloux du chemin. Suivez le cheu li.—On dit que c’est un brave homme; avant de le croire, suivez-le chez lui. Dans l’intimité, l’on se montre ce qu’on est. Plus la haie est basee, plus le monde y passe.—Plus vous êtes malheureux, moins on a d’égards pour vous. Les filles, les prêtres, les pigeons, No sait ben d’où qu’i viennent. No n’sait point où qu’i vont.
- 85. N’y a côqu’sé à ses noces.—Il n’est rien de tel que soi-même pour veiller à ses intérêts. L’ergent ça s’compte deux fé.—L’argent se compte deux fois. Veux-tu être hureu un jour? Saoule té! Veux-tu être hureu trois jours? Marie té! Veux-tu être hureu huit jours? Tue tan cochan! Veux-tu être hureu toute ta vie? Fais té curé! With the English tourist, at least, the Norman patois will not cause dissension, if indeed he notices it at all—or knows what it’s all about, if he does notice it. Every intelligent person, of course, is fond of speculating as to the etymology of foreign words and phrases; and in France he will find many expressions which will make him think he knows nothing at all of the language, provided he has learned it out of school-books. Many a university prize-winner has before now found himself stranded and hungry at a railway buffet because he could not make the waiter understand that he wanted his tea served with milk and his cut of roast beef underdone. French colloquialism and idiom are the stumbling-blocks of the foreigner in France, even if he is college bred. The French are not so prolific in proverbs as the Spanish, and the slang of the boulevards is not the speech of the provincial Frenchman. There are in the French language quaint and pat sayings, however, which now and then crop up all over France, and as an unexpected reply to some simple and grammatically well- formed inquiry are most disconcerting to the foreigner. A Frenchman will make you an off-hand reply to some observation by stating “C’est vieux comme le Pont Neuf,” meaning “it’s as old as the hills,” and “bon chat, bon rat,” when he means “tit for tat,” or “sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” If you have had a struggle with your automobile tire, or have just escaped from slipping off the gangplank leading from a boat to the shore, you might well say in English, “That was warm work.” The Frenchman’s comment is not far different; he says, “L’affaire a été chaude.” “Business is business” is much the same in French, “Les affaires sont les affaires,” and “trade is bad” becomes “Les affaires ne marchent pas.” “He is a dead man,” in French, becomes, “Son affaire (or son compte) est fait.” The Frenchman, when he pawns his watch, does not “put it up” with his uncle, but tells you,
- 86. “J’ai porté mamontre chez ma tante.” “Every day is not Sunday” in its French equivalent reads, “Ce n’est pas tous les jours fête.” “He hasn’t an idea in his head” becomes “Il a jeté tout son feu,” and, paradoxically, when one gets a receipt from his landlord that individual writes, “pour acquit.” A fortune, in a small way, awaits the person who will evolve some simple method of teaching English-speaking people how to know a French idiom when they meet with it. Truly, idiomatic French is a veritable pitfall of phrase.
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