IWAKI, Fukushima Prefecture -- Few people would consider themselves lucky to live in the shadow of a post-meltdown nuclear power plant, but that's exactly what John Loynes calls himself.
IWAKI, Fukushima Prefecture -- Few people would consider themselves lucky to live in the shadow of a post-meltdown nuclear power plant, but that's exactly what John Loynes calls himself.
The 33-year-old English teacher and father of two young boys sees his 12 years living in Iwaki, Fukushima Prefecture, as nothing but fortunate, in spite of the nuclear crisis that flared a year ago at the Fukushima No. 1 nuclear plant, just 35 kilometers from his home.
He resents the negative press that his adopted home has received since the incident.
"I think living next to a nuclear power plant that's in the process of being decommissioned is one of the best places to live," he says. "It's in cold shutdown and they're not restarting it. It's a shame some people have left. I think (they have done so) needlessly."
While many parents avoid Fukushima groceries and keep their children indoors, Loynes buys locally produced food and allows his two young boys -- Dan, 5, and Ray, 3 -- to play outside. Neither he nor his wife Mieko are swayed by what he calls the "scaremongering" of some scientists and media outlets touting health risks. They prefer to believe those who say that current radiation levels pose no health risks.
"The motto here in Iwaki was 'Hope for the best, and be ready for the worst,'" he says of the days and weeks following the nuclear crisis. "We packed our bags and we put some money and passports in them, but we never used them."
Around 80,000 residents within 20 km of the plant were evacuated in the days following the March 11 quake and tsunami, which wiped out the plant's power supply, leading to a meltdown in three of its reactors and three hydrogen explosions that scattered radioactive fallout. Residents in Fukushima and surrounding prefectures left in droves, and even some Tokyo residents headed south or abroad to avoid exposure.
Loynes sat tight. He watched news reports and asked his mother to do the same in England while he slept. He admits he found the first few days after the quake nerve-wracking.
"It was the Saturday and Sunday, when they were scrambling to control the reactors -- the image of them resorting to dumping water from helicopters was scary," he says. He recalls his mother phoning at 3 a.m. to say that the coolant had boiled dry, leaving the fuel rods at the nuclear plant exposed. It was later found that the reactors had gone into meltdown.
"My father-in-law turned on the TV for a bit and was like 'Meh,' and went back to sleep," he says.
Loynes describes his wife's family as "resigned" to the possibility that the plant might blow up -- his brother-in-law said there was little point in moving elsewhere in Japan as an explosion would affect the whole country -- while his own parents were unruffled by what they saw as the "sensationalist" coverage in the English press.
None of his family put pressure on him to leave and, although he received plenty of concerned messages, none of his friends criticized his decision.
Loynes, who constantly checked radiation levels on the local government's website for the first few months, never saw any reason to panic. Iwaki avoided the worst of the radioactive fallout due to favorable wind and rain patterns, and also suffered less damage from the tsunami than other areas due to its position on the coast, according to Loynes.
Background radiation in Iwaki now hovers around 0.1 microsievert, which is double pre-disaster levels, but still half of the international average for urban areas. Loynes points out that some areas of Britain, such as Cornwall, have elevated radiation levels and have seen few observable effects.
He sees his experiences in Japan as a string of serendipitous circumstances that led to where he is now, and counts Iwaki's relatively low radiation as another piece of good luck.
In 2000, he landed a place on the JET program, a government-sponsored teaching initiative, after another candidate pulled out. He was placed in Iwaki, where he felt instantly at home; the rolling green hills, expansive golf courses and tight-knit community had echoes of his home in England's Lake District.
"I don't know if I would still be here if I was in a different part of the country," he says when asked what he likes about Japan. "Just the people here and the ability to do whatever you like -- if you're into hiking (there are mountains), or if you surf there's the ocean," he says. "Two hours west and you're in Aizu, with the snowboarding and everything and the beautiful mountains."
Loynes is deeply involved with his local community: he regularly takes part in local festivals and has put on a series of events called "Phoenix," including a beach festival with bands, DJs and volleyball games attended by 4,000 people. Most of his friends are Japanese, and he can't envisage returning to England.
He says his luck continued after the disaster, too. Neither his home nor his school were damaged by the tsunami, although it came within 500 meters of the latter, and the family were one of the few in the area not to lose running water. They had a full tank of gas and had enough food to go around.
Fukushima -- which, ironically, literally means "lucky island" -- was not so fortunate. Loynes is saddened by the impact of the nuclear disaster on his home prefecture.
"The infamy of the disaster has really been really damaging," he says. "You hear reports from people who say, 'I loved Fukushima peaches, but I won't be buying one for 30 years.'"
Loynes and his wife have long stopped checking the provenance of their food, believing the current radiation monitoring to be sufficient. Last year, rice, beef, tea and other food products contaminated beyond government safety limits did reach consumers, exacerbating the stigma against produce from Fukushima.
"I wish to God they hadn't stuffed up on the beef," he says. "I think the accumulation in the food chain is worrying. But, again, it's being monitored -- and if things need to be brought in, then they will be. They don't want to take the risk, because the world is watching so closely."
Loynes doubts that farmers and fishermen want contaminated produce to be sold. Likewise, he doesn't believe there is any malign explanation for the government's failure to release information about the plant or radiation levels.
Among the criticisms leveled at the government is that it did not release data showing the projected path of the radioactive plume, leaving evacuees in some towns exposed to high levels of radiation without their knowledge. Iwaki was not one of the affected communities.
"They don't want to kill us," he says. "One of the biggest criticisms aimed at the Russian government (after the Chernobyl disaster in 1986) was that they kept it a secret for four days or so. I don't believe the Japanese government would do that, I don't think they'd dare."
The government has taken steps to make testing more rigorous and to reassure citizens that food on sale is safe. Each school cafeteria has its own device for measuring levels in ingredients, while playgrounds boast solar-powered Geiger counters.
Some parents, however, have not been reassured by their presence. Two of Loynes' foreign acquaintances left Iwaki for good immediately after the earthquake, abandoning their possessions, while five Japanese families have scattered to Tokyo, Kyoto and as far south as Okinawa Prefecture.
"The saddest thing, for me, is that they've all left the fathers here, because they can't leave their jobs," he says. Loynes believes such separations, and the quarantining of children indoors, are tragic and unnecessary.
"I think the paranoia that everyone's been left with is really sad. Everyone's so jumpy," he says. "There are some mothers that are just as panicky as the kids, so their kids are terrified as well."
On the other hand, he has been impressed by Japanese people's stoicism in the face of the tsunami.
"I hate to say it, but if it was going to happen to a nation ... It is so level-headed and efficient and (good at) getting stuff done," he says. "There isn't a country that can 'gaman' (persevere) like Japan. They're a tough bunch."
Loynes did pack a bag in the tense days following the disaster last March, but says thoughts of leaving are now far from his mind.
"I liked Iwaki so much that I stayed here," he says.