Areas Of Northern Japan May Be Off-Limits For Years Six months after the accident at the Fukushima nuclear plant, the Japanese government has declared eight areas near the reactors as potential no-go zones for the next two decades. Many residents remain homeless. Beyond the hot zone, many people have decided to stay, but are worried about elevated radiation levels.

Areas Of Northern Japan May Be Off-Limits For Years

  • Download
  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript


OK. It's been six months now since Japan was hit by a devastating earthquake, which triggered a tsunami and nuclear meltdown at the Fukushima Dai-ichi power plant. The Japanese government has now declared eight areas too dangerous to live in for the next two decades. Outside the evacuation zone, most people have decided to stay, but many still worry about elevated radiation levels. NPR's Frank Langfitt reports on what life is like for those who have made that decision, and for those who can't go home.

FRANK LANGFITT: Miyo Tatebayashi has just returned from a government-organized trip to the radiation zone. She wanted to see her house, which stood about three miles from the nuclear plant.

MIYO TATEBAYASHI: (Through translator) When I got out of the bus with my daughter, we were smiling and like, yeah, it's there. But when we actually saw our place, I thought, oh, there is no way.

LANGFITT: The tsunami had washed her home away, and the meltdown had irradiated her land. So much so, the government says parts of Tatebayashi's hometown, Futaba, may be off-limits for 20 years. Tatebayashi says she now realizes her life as she has known it, is over.

TATEBAYASHI: (Through translator) Now I've given up. I've finally accepted it.

LANGFITT: Tatebayashi lives in an abandoned high school outside Tokyo. She shares the evacuation center with 900 other nuclear refugees. One of them, Yutaka Yoshioka, ran a cosmetics and clothing shop near the reactors. This evening, he's picking up his boxed dinner - fried ham, a dumpling, bottled water. He says life here is excruciatingly dull.

YUTAKA YOSHIOKA: (Through translator) In the morning, boxed meal. Boxed meal for lunch, boxed meal for dinner. Since I have no job, I'm just being lazy, lying around, watching TV.

LANGFITT: Yoshioka shares a high school athletic room with 40 people. There's no privacy. Young women dress behind cardboard boxes. Yoshioka marks the days by the movies he watches.

YOSHIOKA: (Speaking foreign language) one, two, three, four (speaking foreign language). (Through translator) Yesterday, I watched "Rocky 3." I've watched "Rocky"s 1, 2, 3, 4. And next Monday will be "Rocky 5."

LANGFITT: The government has closed most of the major evacuation centers, and resettled people in apartments and temporary homes. When his center closes, Yoshioka doesn't know what he'll do. At 63, he doubts he can find a job.

YOSHIOKA: (Through translator) I'm too old, so it's impossible. I can't adapt to a place like here.

LANGFITT: People who lived a safer distance from the reactors have returned to their routines. In Fukushima City, about 40 miles from the nuclear plant, schools are open, people go to work. But just below the surface, there's uncertainty - and some fear. The local government has decontaminated many schools. Radiation levels are down but still higher than normal. Seiichi Ishizaka works in the construction business and has an 8-year-old daughter. He's thought about leaving.

SEIICHI ISHIZAKA: (Through translator) I thought it might be dangerous for my child, but there are so many people living here. So I'm kind of watching the situation.

LANGFITT: Ishizaka's wife, Hiroko, wants out.

HIROKO ISHIZAKA: (Through translator) I think the government isn't doing enough. I would leave Fukushima if I could, but I have a house and a job.

LANGFITT: The couple is spending this warm afternoon indoors, at a community center. They don't want their daughter, Chitose, exposed to the higher radiation levels outside. So Chitose runs around by herself. A small, pink box swings from a cord around her neck. It's one of 26,000 radiation monitors the Fukushima government gave students recently. The devices will measure radiation exposure for each child over the next several months. But parents are confused. The government still hasn't said what it considers a safe level of radiation for students.

ISHIZAKA: (Through translator) I just don't know what this is useful for. Even if I'm told your kid had this level of radiation, I can't see whether it means it's safe or not.

LANGFITT: I'm here at Fukushima City Hall, looking at a radiation monitor. And it says that just outside, there's 1.09 microsieverts per hour of radiation. Using a Geiger counter, I found similar levels around town. A microsievert is a dose of radiation. But what danger, if any, does it pose?

STEVE SIMON: One microsievert per hour, in my view, is not terribly large.

LANGFITT: Steve Simon is a radiation physicist at the U.S. National Institutes of Health. He says one microsievert isn't dramatically higher than the level of radiation that occurs naturally, and he says it's never been shown to cause cancer.

SIMON: We're only talking about a few times background radiation, whereas all studies that have been done where they found effects, were hundreds or thousands or ten thousands of times.

LANGFITT: Would Simon feel safe living in Fukushima City?

SIMON: I would not have any hesitation about staying there, based on that single bit of information. That radiation level would not frighten me.


LANGFITT: At the Tomioka Town Joint Temporary School, teachers gather each morning to meet students as they get off the bus. The greeting is unusually warm because this is an unusual school. The students used to live in the town of Tomioka, which is near the nuclear plant - and now a no-go zone because of radiation. Teachers spent the summer creating a replacement school here in the town of Miharu, about 30 miles from the reactors. Most Tomioka students have scattered since the meltdown, but 75 have returned.


LANGFITT: The school is housed in an auto parts factory that's soon to be abandoned. Workers are still putting in walls.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN: I like baseball, but I don't like volleyball.

LANGFITT: This is seventh-grade English. The students - there are only eight - are reciting their lessons. The girls wear the school uniform: a navy blue skirt, and sailor's blouse with a neckerchief.

YUKIO NISHIYAMA: My name is Yukio Nishiyama.

LANGFITT: Yukio is a skinny 13-year-old. He says after the disasters last spring - earthquake, tsunami, meltdown - it's nice to be with kids he knows from home.

NISHIYAMA: (Through translator) Very simply: I'm so glad. We are back together again, studying together.

LANGFITT: Maziku Zagara(ph) serves as one of the school's principals. He says after the students lost their homes to radiation, he wanted to give them a connection to the lives they once led.

MAZIKU ZAGARA: (Through translator) The fact that we reopened the school here will give emotional support to the kids scattered by the disaster. The fact that the school exists for the kids to return to is meaningful because this is the place where children's hearts can always come back.

LANGFITT: The months following the meltdown have been marked by uncertainty and fear. But at the Tomioka School, there is some sense of continuity - and something that looks like a new beginning. Frank Langfitt, NPR News.

Copyright © 2011 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.