Jump to ContentJump to Main Navigation
Transnational Japan in the Global Environmental Movement$

Simon Avenell

Print publication date: 2017

Print ISBN-13: 9780824867133

Published to Hawaii Scholarship Online: September 2017

DOI: 10.21313/hawaii/9780824867133.001.0001

Show Summary Details
Page of

PRINTED FROM HAWAII SCHOLARSHIP ONLINE (www.hawaii.universitypressscholarship.com). (c) Copyright Hawaii University Press, 2021. All Rights Reserved. An individual user may print out a PDF of a single chapter of a monograph in HSO for personal use.date: 25 June 2021

Pacific Solidarity and Atomic Aggression

Pacific Solidarity and Atomic Aggression

Chapter:
(p.148) Chapter 5 Pacific Solidarity and Atomic Aggression
Source:
Transnational Japan in the Global Environmental Movement
Author(s):

Simon Avenell

Publisher:
University of Hawai'i Press
DOI:10.21313/hawaii/9780824867133.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter traces the emergence and evolution of a transnational movement opposing the planned dumping of Japanese radioactive waste material in the Pacific Ocean near the Mariana Trench. With its growing stockpile of radioactive waste from nuclear power plants, in the 1970s Japanese officials hatched plans to dump radioactive material in steel canisters in the Pacific. In response, activists on islands in Micronesia mobilized in staunch opposition in the late 1970s. They were joined by Japanese antinuclear groups who brought Pacific activists to Japan to give speeches and lobby officials. The chapter explores how this transnational struggle was able to force a postponement and ultimately the abandonment of the ocean dumping plan. As with movements opposing industrial pollution export in the 1970s, this mobilization opened Japanese activists’ eyes to the nuclear victimization of Pacific peoples and, in turn, forced a reconsideration of Japan as the only victim of radiation worldwide.

Keywords:   radioactive waste, ocean dumping, Micronesia, Japanese antinuclear movement

If we remain silent now, little by little we will become “atomic aggressors.”

Japanese antinuclear activist (1981)1

Just what kind of place is one that can’t be accessed for twenty-four thousand years? What kind of life is there?

Belauan antinuclear activist, Roman Bedor, Tokyo (1981)2

“A house with no toilet” is one of the less flattering ways critics have described commercial nuclear power in Japan since its beginnings in the 1960s.3 Indeed, not only in Japan but worldwide, the disposal of radioactive waste from nuclear power plants has been the Achilles heel of this industry, and as much as proponents speak of a nuclear fuel “cycle,” the reality is a nuclear dead end of radioactive waste material that continues to accumulate and, in some cases, will remain toxic to human beings essentially forever. As early as 1951, the eminent chemist and Harvard University president James B. Conant even predicted that humanity would eventually turn away from nuclear power not because of the inherent dangers of nuclear fission but because of the conundrum of radioactive waste disposal.4 Some countries did subsequently abandon nuclear power but over half a century later there are still hundreds of commercial nuclear power reactors operating worldwide and the issue of safe management and disposal of radioactive waste remains unresolved. According to a Japanese Cabinet Office report of March 8, 2011, in 2009 Japan had in its possession some 1,692 canisters of high-level radioactive (p.149) waste and a startling 1,616,910 steel drums (fifty-three-gallon/200-liter capacity) of low-level waste, which is provisionally stored at nuclear power plants and various other facilities throughout the archipelago.5 Low-level waste, it should be noted, does not mean radioactive material harmless to humans. On the contrary, some of this material is so radioactive it must be shielded with lead. All of it must be stored for varying periods ranging from tens to hundreds of years until it is no longer toxic to humans and other life on earth. Since the 1990s, the Japanese government has planned to permanently bury most of this material, but critics question the wisdom of this method in a country where the ground is predisposed to seismic disruptions. Furthermore, few communities are willing to accept a radioactive graveyard in their backyard regardless of how deeply and securely the waste is buried. The bitter reality—as the “no toilet” metaphor implies—is that there is no easy method to flush this material away, at least not within the terrestrial borders of the archipelago.

That Japan has a ballooning radioactive waste dilemma today because of its enthusiastic embrace of nuclear power over the past half century or so is a self-evident fact.6 As long as the country’s nuclear reactors are producing electricity, the mountain of radioactive waste in need of storage continues to grow, in the case of low-level waste on average at a rate of about 110,000 canisters per year.7 A lesser-known aspect of this situation, however, is that the amount of low-level radioactive waste material in need of storage would be considerably less today had it not been for a highly successful transnational mobilization in the early 1980s involving Japanese antipollution export groups, local communities opposing nuclear power plant construction, anti–atomic weapons organizations, and protesters from island nations throughout the Pacific Ocean. Just as the United States, the United Kingdom, and nuclearized states throughout Eu rope had done from the earliest days of the post–World War II era, during the early 1960s Japanese nuclear officials began to devise plans to dump up to 60 percent of the low-level radioactive waste from nuclear facilities (mainly future power plants) into the Pacific Ocean.8 They realized that doing so would help mitigate if not solve many of the problems they faced at the so-called back end of the nuclear fuel cycle, such as terrestrial storage costs and disputes over location. Moreover, they assumed no one would care about waste dumped into the Mariana Trench, one of the deepest areas of the Pacific Ocean some 560 miles (900 kilo meters) from Tokyo.

Actually, there were many people living on surrounding Pacific Ocean islands who cared immensely, and it is their opposition movement (p.150) in solidarity with Japanese groups that I investigate in this chapter. Different from the industrial pollution export of the 1970s, which was often camouflaged beneath the image of corporate Japan bestowing the light of industrial progress on developing Asian nations, there was really no credible justification for dumping radioactive waste beyond the country’s borders other than the simple fact that no Japanese wanted the material in their backyard—in other words, another undeniable case of NIMBY logic. Nowhere was this more conspicuous than in government officials’ inability to answer a question posed again and again by Pacific activists: If the material was as safe as they claimed, then why not dump it in Japanese coastal waters or, as one protester acerbically put it, “in the moat at the Tokyo Palace”?9

In this chapter I look closely at the rise of this protest movement among Pacific island nation activists and its uptake and resonance among Japanese antipollution and antinuclear communities in the early 1980s. The movement is interesting for two reasons. First, it evidences the continuing and, indeed, expanding transnational involvement of Japanese environmental groups led by rooted cosmopolitan activists in the early 1980s—now in concert with antinuclear groups and involving nuclear issues in the Pacific. Activists and political leaders from Guam, Saipan, Tinian, and elsewhere found Japanese allies with extensive transnational experience and a shared worldview, such as the ILP network, the Antipollution Export Information Center (AEIC), and the Pacific Asia Resource Center (PARC), publisher of the influential AMPO: Japan-Asia Quarterly Review. Activists in these Japanese organizations subsequently connected the Pacific protesters to anti-A-bomb movements in Japan such as Gensuikin (Japan Congress Against A- and H-Bombs), the Genshiryoku Shiryō Jōhōshitsu (Citizens Nuclear Information Center, CNIC), and even local struggles against nuclear power like the one at Kubokawa in Kōchi Prefecture. To invoke Keck and Sikkink’s terminology again, this transnational alliance managed to “boomerang” sufficient pressure back on to Japanese nuclear officials such that they were forced to halt and eventually abandon their ocean dumping plan.

Second, ideationally, the protest speaks to the ongoing potency of environmental injustice as a motivational factor within Japanese environmental activism in the early 1980s—but with interesting twists. Activists in the ILP, AEIC, and PARC supported the Pacific activists’ movement because it resonated with their own struggle against environmental injustice, initially in the domestic crisis of the 1960s and later in the anti–pollution export movements of the 1970s. In this sense, the movement against radioactive (p.151) waste disposal represented an extension and elaboration of their vision of environmental injustice. Social movement scholars have referred to this phenomenon as “narrative fidelity”—in other words, the ways in which an issue “strikes a responsive chord” and “rings true with extant beliefs, myths, folktales, and the like.”10 “The more central or salient the espoused beliefs, ideas, and values of a movement to the targets of mobilization”—in this case to the Japanese groups—“the greater the probability of their mobilization.”11

But two aspects of this transnational mobilization distinguish it somewhat from the iterations of environmental injustice I have explored in earlier chapters. The first is the commanding presence of Pacific activists in relaying their experience of injustice—environmental and historical—in Japan. Different from public protests and publications of the early 1970s, in which Japanese activists largely spoke for their overseas allies, in this mobilization Pacific voices permeated the discourse in speeches, newspaper reports, essays, and protests. The influence of these (potential) Pacific victims cannot be underestimated in the context of a postwar Japanese movement culture animated by the condition of victimhood.

The other distinguishing factor of this mobilization was the way it blended—sometimes uncomfortably—notions of environmental injustice, nuclear power, and atomic victimization. Pacific protesters came to Japan primarily to advance their own agenda, but in the process of building a transnational movement, they encouraged the Japanese groups involved (including anti-A-bomb groups like Gensuikin) to rethink the nuclear issue—in much the same way pollution export to Thailand, South Korea, and elsewhere in the 1970s stimulated Hirayama Takasada, Inoue Sumio, and other activists to question notions of victimhood in earlier antipollution protests. The radioactive waste dumping controversy complicated the victim consciousness animating antinuclear protest in postwar Japan. Opponents of nuclear weapons in particular had based their ideology on the victimhood of residents in Hiroshima and Nagasaki at war’s end and, later, of Japanese fishermen exposed to radioactive fallout after the US hydrogen bomb test at Bikini Atoll on March 1, 1954. In the anti–nuclear power plant movement gathering steam from the late 1970s, local communities forced or other wise cajoled to accept nuclear power plants in their backyards were also portrayed as victims of the nuclear power industry in Japan.

Pacific activists complicated both of these narratives. People in Hiroshima and Nagasaki were certainly victims of the two American bombs, but residents of Micronesia had been victimized by close to seventy atomic and (p.152) hydrogen weapons tests in the 1940s and 1950s alone. Some had lost their homes (their islands and atolls were vaporized) and many were made sick by radioactive fallout and their offspring struck down with lymphatic cancers, leukemia, and genetic defects. On top of this, radioactive waste from nuclear power plants in Japan was now to be dumped into their waters. Clearly the Japanese were not the only victims of the nuclear age and, even worse, their nuclear power industry now threatened to make them “atomic aggressors” in the Pacific.12 Just as pollution export had made some Japanese activists think about Japan’s troubled place and history in Asia, this Pacific iteration of environmental injustice opened the eyes of many antinuclear advocates to the ways Pacific activists connected the radioactive waste issue to a longer struggle for independence and the obliteration of nuclear neocolonialism or, as the prime minister of Vanuatu, Walter Lini, labeled it in 1983, “nuclearism.”13 The dumping controversy and transnational movement against it exposed a cycle of nuclear discrimination and injustice that began with the extraction of uranium—often on indigenous peoples’ lands—continued with enrichment and power production in local communities in Japan, and ended with the disposal of radioactive waste material at sea. To the extent Japanese antinuclear activists failed to comprehend this cycle and to reposition their individual struggles within it, they remained open to criticisms of hypocrisy and complicity in Pacific nuclearism.

Radioactive Waste: The Pacific Solution

The Japanese government’s plan to ocean dump low-level nuclear waste in the early 1980s drew on long-established practices among other nuclearized nations.14 From 1946 to 1970, the United States dumped close to ninety thousand canisters of low-level waste near the Farallon Islands off the coast of San Francisco in Northern California and in the Atlantic Ocean near the states of Massachusetts and Texas, in what became a “fairly routine” process by the 1950s.15 As Alley and Alley explain, dumping operations “did not always run smoothly”: some canisters were carelessly dumped outside of designated disposal sites, while others resurfaced in unexpected places, sometimes in fishermen’s nets or, in one instance, floating two hundred miles off the coast of New York City. Canisters that did not sink were sprayed with bullets until they did.16 US dumping slowed considerably—although it did not stop—in June 1959 when the New York Times ran a story with a map showing radioactive dumping sites “off every major seaport region from (p.153) Boston to Corpus Christi, Tex.”17 People living in cities such as Boston were incensed to learn that radioactive materials had been dumped in shallow areas close to shore that were known breeding grounds for lobsters and other sea life. In October 1980 Jackson Davis, a biologist at the University of California at Santa Cruz, reported to a House of Representatives subcommittee on the environment that at least one-third of the 47,500 canisters dumped off the Northern California coast were leaking “extremely high level” radiation, some of which he had detected in fish samples.18 Davis’s findings directly contradicted the generally accepted assumption that any discharged radiation would be diluted to insignificant levels in the ocean rather than concentrating locally. As we will see, Davis and his research later became important factors in the movement against planned Japanese waste dumping on the other side of the Pacific.

European countries also enthusiastically discarded their radioactive wastes at sea. Under the supervision of the European Nuclear Energy Agency (ENEA), beginning in 1967 the Netherlands, Belgium, France, the United Kingdom, and West Germany dumped low-level radioactive waste, mostly in the Atlantic Ocean.19 In 1960, the French Atomic Energy Agency even toyed with the idea of dumping waste into the Mediterranean Sea, but this plan was scrapped after a major public outcry led by Prince Rainier of Monaco and the famed conservationist and marine photographer, Jacques-Yves Cousteau.20 Like the US dumping, the ENEA-supervised process was often a messy and dangerous business. In 1976, for example, the specialist disposal vessel Topaz was contaminated and its crew exposed to radiation when canisters on board were damaged en route to a dumping site.21 Along with the media, the Soviet Union loudly criticized the United States and its Western allies for this dumping and contamination of the ocean, but even this criticism turned out to be a hollow deceit: the Soviet Union and later Russian Federation actually dumped twice the amount of all other countries combined during this period.22

As early as 1955, Japan was a player in the shady global practice of ocean dumping. Even before the commencement of commercial nuclear power generation in the country in 1966, Japanese officials were concerned about the buildup of radioactive waste material from medical and research facilities. In 1954 the Nihon Hōshasei Dōigensō Kyōkai (Japan Radioisotope Association, JRA), then responsible for the import, distribution, and management of radioactive byproducts, consulted with the government’s Kagaku Gijutsu (p.154) Chō (Science and Technology Agency, STA), which advised that there was really no domestic or international regulatory framework in place and that standard international practice was to ocean dump low-level radioisotopes in concrete-filled canisters.23 Low-level radioactive waste dumping commenced soon after, in July 1955, when twenty-seven makeshift oil cans filled with cobalt 60 were dumped into Sagami Bay just south of Tokyo. Two years later, in September 1957, the JRA dumped a further ten cans of concrete-solidified cobalt-60 into nearby Suruga Bay off the coast of Shizuoka Prefecture.24 But the bulk of ocean dumping occurred at sites off the coast of Tateyama in Chiba Prefecture beside Tokyo. From 1955 to 1969, some 1,661 canisters of low-level radioactive waste were dumped to a depth of 8,200 feet (2,500 meters) at these sites.25 In 1977, the Suisan Chō (Fisheries Agency, FA) conducted tests at thirteen points around the Sagami Bay disposal area, revealing elevated radiation in two places: cobalt-60 up to thirty-two times safe levels at one place and cesium-137 up to twelve times acceptable standards at the other.26 Subsequent ocean sediment tests by the STA in 1980 revealed ongoing contamination at the Sagami Bay sample points, but tests at the dumping site off the coast of Tateyama revealed no abnormalities.27

More than the JRA, however, it was the Genshiryoku Iinkai (Japan Atomic Energy Commission, JAEC) that took the lead in formulating and attempting to implement an ocean dumping regime in anticipation of the commencement of commercial nuclear power in the country. Japan’s first test reactor reached criticality in October 1963, and the earliest commercial reactors came online at Tōkai (No.1) in July 1966, Tsuruga (No.1) in March 1970, Mihama (No.1) in November 1970, and Fukushima (No.1) in March 1971. In February 1961 the JAEC established a subcommittee to study the feasibility of ocean disposal, which issued its report in June 1964 to committee chairman Satō Eisaku, who also headed the STA, MITI, and the Hokkaidō Kaihatsu Kyoku (Hokkaido Development Agency), and would become prime minister only months later.28 Building on the 1964 report, in 1969 the STA established the Hōshasei Kotai Haikibutsu Bunkakai (Subcommittee on the Management and Disposal of Solid Radioactive Wastes), which was charged with identifying potential disposal sites in the Pacific Ocean.

After two years of investigations, the study group identified four candidate disposal sites, the closest 560 miles (900 kilo meters) from Tokyo and the farthest 1,056 miles (1,700 kilo meters) away. The JAEC formally articulated (p.155) its stance on low-level waste disposal in its 1972 Genshiryoku Kaihatsu Riyō Chōki-Keikaku (Long-term plan for the development and use of nuclear power), which concluded that ocean dumping up to a certain level of radioactivity was safe and that the country’s low-level radioactive waste should be disposed of both at sea and on land.29 After consulting with officials in the FA, the Kaijō Hoanchō (Japan Coast Guard, JCG), and the Kishō Chō (Japan Meteorological Agency, JMA), the JAEC decided that site B (coordinates: 30N 147E), located roughly 560 miles southeast of Tokyo and 620 miles (1,000 kilo meters) north of the Northern Mariana Islands was the most appropriate because of ocean depth, currents, and prevailing weather patterns.30 Interestingly, the JAEC’s subcommittee charged with coordinating the disposal program stated unequivocally in its 1974 report that, since it would not be possible to manage or monitor materials once dumped into the deep ocean, it was of the utmost importance that the authorities conduct a trustworthy and comprehensive safety assessment before commencing any disposal program.31 But no such safety assessment was ever carried out. Instead, in its 1976 Hōshasei Haikibutsu Shori no Kihon Hōshin (Basic policy on the management and disposal of radioactive waste material), the JAEC announced that trial disposals at site B would begin in 1978 and full-scale dumping from 1980.32 As they searched for candidate disposal sites from the late 1960s, government nuclear officials also diligently prepared the regulatory framework to enable ocean disposal.

The 1970s were heady days indeed in the Japanese nuclear power industry. Arisawa Hiromi, the influential economist and chairman of the Japan Nuclear Power Industry Council, even imagined Japan becoming the center (and apex) of an “Asian nuclear fuel cycle,” declaring at a conference that “if Japan is asked by foreign countries to provide services (enrichment, reprocessing) as part of its nuclear fuel cycle, it should do so.” Specifically, Arisawa wanted Japan to become the central hub for the enrichment of uranium and the reprocessing of spent nuclear fuel from power plants throughout Southeast Asia and the Western Pacific.33 For a time, officials in the nuclear power industry even envisioned the creation of a “Pacific Rim Nuclear Energy Community,” with, needless to say, Japan leading the way. With the regulatory framework and infrastructure in place for ocean dumping, for a brief moment in the late 1970s all of this must have seemed possible.

What nuclear officials initially failed to appreciate, however, was the potentially disruptive backlash from people living on islands in the vicinity (p.156) of site B—not to mention from scientists and technicians long skeptical about the safety of ocean dumping. In their rush to ready the legal and logistical infrastructure, Japanese nuclear officials did not seek the approval of, nor did they notify, people living on western Pacific islands such as the Marianas and the Ogasawaras, which were located closest (311 miles/500 kilo meters) to site B. As the AMPO newsletter reported, when the Japanese government was finalizing the plan in 1979, it merely sent a letter to the Australian government, a partner in the Pacific Basin Community Scheme, requesting its approval.34 Of course, Japanese officials were acutely aware that any request for “approval” from governments and people in the Marianas and Ogasawaras ran the risk of accusations of duplicity and contradiction. After all, if this was a lawful process of disposal in international waters using supposedly fail-safe techniques, why the need for approval from states or communities hundreds of miles away?

Nuclear authorities knew only too well that serious questions remained with respect to the reliability and safety of ocean disposal and that these questions threatened to undermine the whole scheme if they escalated into a widespread public debate. In fact, in 1972, years before ocean disposal even became an official plan in Japan, the Zenkoku Genshiryoku Kagaku Gijutsusha Rengō (National Alliance of Nuclear Power Scientists and Technicians) writing in the RCP’s journal Kōgai Kenkyū (Pollution research) had pointed out that, in the case of ocean dumping, canisters needed to be properly weighted to ensure sinkage but that as weight increased so too did the risk of rupture on impact. “The chance of damage is high,” the article concluded.35 Furthermore, even if the steel canisters survived the ocean-floor impact, over time they would most certainly deteriorate as a result of deep ocean pressure and corrosion. The discovery of damaged canisters and surrounding contamination off the coast of San Francisco in California and in Sagami Bay in Japan only corroborated these warnings.36 Given such data, nuclear officials’ failure to advise and seek the approval of Pacific residents is hardly surprising. As they realized, guarantees of safety paradoxically yet inevitably led back to the simple yet unanswerable question: If the material was so safe, why not dump it in Japanese coastal waters?

Pacific Furor and Japanese Responses

Despite Japanese officials’ best attempts to keep the project inconspicuous if not clandestine, political leaders and nongovernmental groups on Pacific islands eventually learned of the dumping plan in 1979, to which they reacted (p.157) with immediate and fierce antipathy. As Alley and Alley point out, they “had good reasons to be distrustful” about governmental guarantees of safety. In 1954, people of the Rongelap and Utirik Atolls suffered serious radiation exposure after the Castle Bravo hydrogen bomb test at Bikini Atoll because they were not evacuated or even advised of the dangers by the US military. The people of Bikini Atoll returned home in 1968 based on assurances that the region was safe, only to learn in 1978 that their foods—and, hence, their bodies—were being contaminated by radionuclides.37 The French government showed a similar indifference toward people living near its nuclear weapons test site at Mururoa (also Moruroa) Atoll in the south Pacific. When the Belauan antinuclear activist Roman Bedor met with the French deputy foreign minister in 1983 to present an anti-bomb petition, the deputy minister said that opponents were completely “misinformed,” because French testing was safe whereas US testing was not.38 According to Bedor, the deputy minister advised “that no one had yet been affected by the testing [and] that he himself had swum in the lagoon in Mouroa [sic] and was still in good health.” Bedor asked the deputy minister if the tests were so safe why they were not conducted in France, but he received no satisfactory response.39 Japanese officials were no less condescending. In a meeting with an official delegation from Guam and the Northern Marianas in 1981, STA director Nakagawa Ichirō condescendingly announced that the nuclear waste canisters to be dumped were “completely safe” and that he “wouldn’t mind embracing them” or “sleeping with them” in his “bed.”40

Pacific protest against the Japanese dumping plan began in 1979 in the Northern Marianas, the closest place to site B other than the Ogasawaras. In late November 1979 the governor of the Northern Marianas, Carlos Camacho, sent an urgent telegram to the United States ambassador to Japan, Mike Mansfield, expressing grave concerns over the possibility of radioactive contamination from nuclear waste disposal and asking him to request further information from the Japanese government.41 Camacho heard nothing until late January 1980, when the Japanese STA formally advised the US embassy of the plan. In response, Camacho sent another telegram to Mansfield in February 1980, asking him to relay the official opposition of the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands.42 Protest spread throughout Pacific island nations after the Pacific Daily News published out of Guam ran an article on the Japanese dumping plan on February 9, 1980.43 In Guam, Governor Paul Calvo and the Guam legislature promptly passed a resolution of opposition on February 14, while two days later, on February 16, (p.158) the Northern Mariana Islands House of Representatives passed a “Declaration of the Northern Marianas as a Nonnuclear Area.” Thereafter, similar resolutions were passed in the Republic of Belau (Palau), Yap State in the Caroline Islands, the Hawai‘i state legislature, and various other Pacific nations.44 The far-off Independent State of Samoa even sent an official telegram to the Japanese government expressing absolute opposition to the disposal plan.45

Nongovernmental groups also joined the chorus of opposition. On Saipan, the largest of the Northern Mariana Islands nature conservation groups quickly mobilized a protest movement, as too did activists in Guam, who established the Mariana Alliance Opposing Nuclear Waste Dumping on April 10, 1980.46 Led by the sixty-nine-year-old mayor of Tinian, Felipe Mendiola, the alliance started a signature campaign and immediately began to build a transnational opposition movement throughout the Pacific and beyond.47 Significantly, the alliance was quick to forge connections with Japanese groups. In an October 1980 letter to the ILP movement, the alliance explained:

The peoples and governments of the Pacific Islands have been opposing the Japanese Government’s plan to dispose of nuclear waste material in the Pacific and we have called on all Japanese people with heart to rise up in opposition with us. … We have learned that, in response, voices opposing oceanic dumping have appeared throughout Japan and that numerous civic and residents groups have started a signature campaign demanding an immediate cancellation of the ocean disposal plan. This news is very pleasing to us and gives us great encouragement. Japanese and people of Pacific Islands uniting in struggle across the ocean for a shared objective—this is indeed an event of deep significance.48

Opposition to the dumping plan further intensified at two transnational gatherings of Pacific activists in 1980. At the third Nuclear-Free Pacific Conference (NFPC) held in Hawai‘i in May, Pacific activists unanimously passed a resolution opposing the Japanese plan.49 The follow-up conference, the Nuclear-Free Pacific Forum, held in Sydney, Australia, in September 1980, passed a similar resolution.50 This latter forum was sponsored by the Australian communist-pacifist group, the Association for International Cooperation and Disarmament, and attracted some twenty NGOs and labor groups from around the Pacific, including anti–uranium mining groups, (p.159) antinuclear groups, Aboriginal groups, the Australian Railway Workers Union, the School Teachers Union, and Greenpeace, as well as delegates from Papua New Guinea, West Papua, Vanuatu, Belau, Fiji, Hawai‘i, Samoa, and New Zealand. Japan was also strongly represented at the forum, with participants and/or statements from the rival organizations Gensuikin and Gensuikyō (Japan Council Against Atomic & Hydrogen Bombs), the ILP Nuclear Power Group, PARC, and the AEIC.51 Thanks to such meetings, by late 1980 Pacific activists had mobilized a high-profile transnational movement that drew together an impressive array of labor, antinuclear, pacifist, and environmental groups from around the Pacific region. It was a mobilization that Japanese nuclear officials had not anticipated, and they were left scrambling to respond to angry officials and activists in all corners of the Pacific.

In the first instance, Japanese nuclear officials had simply ignored expressions of opposition. The STA, for example, delayed its response to Governor Camacho’s initial letter for some two months and, when it did reply, directed the response to the United States government on grounds that the Northern Marianas were under US control and hence had no formal diplomatic ties with Japan.52 But by mid-1980, pressure from the Pacific movement was too intense to ignore, and on August 6 the Japanese government announced it would be sending a specialist “explanatory team” to the south Pacific to allay residents’ apprehensions.53 The STA explanatory team—or “persuasion team” as critics branded it—faced a difficult task. As the newspaper Mainichi Shinbun explained, the Japanese government’s failure to consult with Pacific residents had resulted in them presenting Japan with an ultimatum: “Fish or atoms.” Potentially affected nations were threatening that, if Japan proceeded with the dumping, they would revoke fishing rights in their waters, significantly affecting Japanese catches of tuna and bonito.54 On August 9, just days before the explanatory team arrived in Guam, Governor Calvo told Japanese television reporters, “I assume these representatives will stress the safety of the disposal plan. But if it were really safe why don’t you Japanese store it in the backyard of your own territory. Our Pacific Ocean is not a dumping ground for radioactive waste from your country. The people of Guam are opposed to this plan and will unite in opposition.”55

During 1980, the explanatory team traveled to five Pacific islands: Saipan, Chuuk Lagoon (formerly Truk), Yap, Kosrae, and Guam. They also intended to visit the Cook Islands and Niue but, in a display of opposition, were refused visas to enter into these countries.56 According to Kawana (p.160) Hideyuki, then an environmental reporter with Asahi Shinbun, the initiative was ultimately a spectacular debacle, simply failing to convince the people of the Pacific that the disposal process would be safe, that discarded radioactive material could be monitored and managed, that there would be no radioactive leakage, or that the canisters could be salvaged in an emergency.57

The explanatory team faced its first skeptical audience in Guam, where members gave a presentation at the Pacific Islands Conference of Leaders (PICL) meeting on August 14 and 15, 1980.58 Using colorful slides and a host of impressive statistics, the team stressed the overall safety of the process and the Japanese government’s commitment to act in strict accordance with the regulations of the LDC. But their supplications fell on deaf ears.59 Governor Calvo was the most vocal and trenchant in his questioning: “You explained that it is necessary to isolate [the material] from the human environment. But doesn’t the fact that you have to isolate it mean that [the material] is dangerous? Isn’t it a contradiction to be isolating something which is safe?”60 Calvo made explicit comparison to Japanese mercury poisoning, arguing that pollutants (like radioactive material) can have a major impact when they enter into the food chain and concentrate through bioaccumulation. Lacking a satisfactory response from the Japanese team, on August 15, 1980, the PICL officially rejected the plan, concluding that ocean dumping would destroy the ecosystem and threaten marine resources.61 Leaders from nine Micronesian states and territories issued a formal statement requesting that the Japanese government abandon the plan.62

The team faced similar hostility in Saipan, where they gave a two-hour presentation to Governor Carlos Camacho and thirty government representatives. The Japanese were surprised to discover that Governor Camacho had engaged the services of University of California biologist W. Jackson Davis, who had detected radioactive contamination in sea life at a nuclear waste dumping site near the Farallon Islands off the coast of San Francisco. Davis again raised the issue of bioaccumulation, stating unequivocally that “the assumptions on which the Japanese are basing their appraisals of safety are flawed. Radioactivity is not diluted in sea water but remains on the ocean floor from where it reaches our mouths via fish.”63 The reception was no less hostile when the team visited the Ogasawaras in late September 1980 to address village leaders, farmers, and fishermen. Indeed, if government officials had hoped for a kinder reception from their fellow countrymen, they were poorly mistaken. Island leaders and fishermen expressed their staunch (p.161) opposition to the dumping of nuclear waste a short 311 miles (500 kilo meters) from their islands, with fishermen threatening to use their boats to blockade any vessels attempting to transport radioactive waste material for disposal.64 More than “Japanese” or even “Ogasawarans,” the islanders understood their opposition in the context of a wider struggle of Pacific Ocean peoples opposed to nuclear power. As they explained in the Hangenpatsu Shinbun (Antinuclear power newspaper) in 1980, “We won’t be satisfied if the waste is simply not dumped near the Ogasawaras. We believe that there is a problem with nuclear-powered electricity generation itself.”65

The proximity of the Ogasawaras to the proposed disposal site and to other potentially affected islands such as Guam and Saipan undoubtedly encouraged islanders’ sense of being part of a wider antinuclear struggle in the Pacific. But even antipollution and antinuclear activists on the main islands came to share this Pacific perspective on the nuclear issue—a perspective, in fact, that was developing even before the dumping controversy arose and against a backdrop of rising anti–nuclear power protest within Japan. As early as May 1975, two activists from the ILP movement participated in the “Ride Against Uranium” organized by the NGO Friends of the Earth (Australia), in which participants cycled for ten days from Sydney to the Parliament House in Canberra to protest the mining and export of this element. Activists back in Japan supported the protest by staging a simultaneous demonstration outside the Australian embassy in Tokyo.66 The title changes of activist publications during this period also indicate the broadening transpacific consciousness among Japanese groups throughout the late 1970s and 1980s, as well as their rising consciousness of nuclear power as a regional and global issue. Recall how the subtitle of Don’t Let the Pollution Escape! Exposing Pollution Export to South Korea was changed to Exposing Pollution Export to the Third World in November 1976. In 1982 the subtitle was again changed to Resisting Japanese Aggression Together with the Peoples of Asia and the Pacific.67 In June 1986, in the wake of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant disaster, the main title Don’t Let the Pollution Escape! was abandoned altogether, the new title becoming Antinuclear Pacific Ocean PACIFICA: Resisting Japanese Aggression Together with the Peoples of Asia and the Pacific.68

Expanding interactions between Japanese and Pacific activists throughout the 1970s were also broadening the perspective of domestic antinuclear movements. After participating in the second Nuclear-Free Pacific Conference on the Micronesian island of Pohnpei in 1978, the ILP activist Yokoyama (p.162) Masaki organized the Taiheiyō kara Kaku o Nakusō! 3–1 Tōkyō Shūkai (Tokyo rally to rid the Pacific of nuclear energy) on March 1, 1979.69 This year marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of Bikini Day, which in Japan was most directly associated with the radiation exposure of Japanese fishermen on the ship Daigo Fukuryūmaru (Lucky Dragon No. 5) after the Castle Bravo hydrogen bomb test in 1954. But thanks to his participation at the Pohnpei conference, Yokoyama and participants agreed to a new designation for the Bikini Day event: “Nuclear-Free Pacific Day.” In other words, the commemoration was to be not only for Japanese but for all victims of “nuclearism” in the Pacific, including, for instance, Australian Aborigines, whose traditional lands were being decimated by uranium mining.70 Thus, by the time of the ocean dumping controversy in 1980, some Japanese antipollution and antinuclear groups were already beginning to think about nuclear power and atomic weapons within processes of discrimination and injustice beyond the borders of the archipelago and, by consequence, beyond the national narrative of nuclear victimhood.

Japanese opposition to the dumping plan began on August 9, 1980, the same day Governor Calvo and others commenced their mobilization in Guam. Some forty civic groups including the ILP, the Nihon Shōhisha Renmei (Consumers’ Union of Japan), and the Fujin Minshu Kurabu (Women’s Demo cratic Club) established the Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Taiheiyō Tōki Keikaku Hakushi Tekkai o Motomeru Jikkō Iinkai (Executive Committee for the Cancellation of the Plan to Dispose of Nuclear Waste Material in the Pacific), which submitted an open appeal to Prime Minister Suzuki Zenkō demanding an immediate end to the plan and commenced a nationwide signature campaign.71 The executive committee declared, “We [Japanese] cannot make the people of Pacific Island nations pay the price for Japan’s nuclear energy development.”72 The newspaper Mainichi Shinbun noted that, although there were already many local groups opposing nuclear power plant construction within Japan, this was really the first time individual Japanese citizens and civic groups had taken concrete action with respect to the overseas effects of the country’s nuclear power industry.73 The signature campaign turned out to be a resounding success, with over forty-five thousand signatures collected by December 1980, all of which were subsequently delivered by hand to the assistant cabinet secretary.74 Building on the success of this domestic campaign, from September 1981 the ILP antinuclear group, with the cooperation of the Belauan antinuclear activist Roman Bedor, helped coordinate a worldwide signature campaign against (p.163) both French nuclear weapons testing in the South Pacific and the Japanese dumping plan, which were both understood as variations of the same contemporary “nuclearism.”75 Other domestic groups also joined the protest. In February 1981, Christian Bishop Aima Nobuo, Father Yamada Keizō (earlier involved in the Kawatestsu sintering plant opposition on Mindanao), Father John Binsko, and Yokoyama Masaki of the Nihon Kirisutokyō Kyōgikai (National Christian Council in Japan) met with Honami Minoru, a bureau chief in the Nuclear Power Safety Bureau at the STA. The group expressed their deep opposition and determination to stop Japan, a “nuclear victim nation,” disposing of nuclear waste in the Pacific Ocean.76 But Honami, a member of the failed explanatory team that had visited Guam the previous year, was unresponsive, telling the group that the STA was keen to start dumping as soon as possible and would do so after gaining approval from the Japanese cabinet and the relevant international nuclear oversight bodies. He advised that the government was “treating this issue as a problem of national security.”77 Fishermen—who potentially had the most to lose economically—also joined the fray. In late June 1981, leaders of fishing cooperatives and those in related industries nationwide gathered in Tokyo to discuss their opposition to the dumping plan. As with Christians and other civic groups, the expressed basis of their opposition was that the Japanese government had no right to force radioactive waste on peoples of the Pacific. But there was also a self-interested motive behind the fishermen’s opposition: visitors from various Pacific nations such as Belau, while reaching out to fishermen as natural allies, also made it patently clear that if the Japanese government plan proceeded, Japanese fishing rights in their seas would be promptly revoked.78

Japanese opponents of the dumping plan also traveled to Pacific island nations. Notably, in January 1981 a Japanese group visited Belau and Guam in reciprocation for a visit by activists from those countries the previous October. The Japanese group included Yasusato Kiyonobu of the Kinwan o Mamoru Kai (Association to Protect Kin Bay) in Okinawa; Aramoto Hirofumi of the Hankōgai Uken Mura Sonmin Kaigi (Uken Villagers Antipollution Conference) on Amami Ōshima Island; Maeda Toshihiko of the Narita Airport opposition movement in Chiba Prefecture; and Arakawa Shunji and Ōkawa Hōsaku of the ILP movement, who served as guides.79 During their visit the group attended meetings with local activists, gave media interviews and public speeches, and, in Belau, attended the inauguration ceremony of Haruo Ignacio Remeliik, the first president of the nuclear-free (p.164) republic.80 In television appearances on two local stations in Guam and in interviews with the Pacific Daily News, the group offered detailed updates on the antidumping movement in Japan. Yasusato, from the Kinwan group, carefully pointed out that the Ryūkyūan Islands and the Marianas were essentially the same distance from the proposed dumping site and, hence, this shared predicament meant that the two communities should struggle together.81 To coincide with this visit, activists on Amami Ōshima Island started an English-language newsletter, Kuroshio Tsūshin (The black tide correspondence), which they translated and sent to fellow activists in Belau to provide updates on the movement and to build solidarity.82 Such engagements reinforced a growing sense of recognition, responsibility, and even Pacific sentiment among Japanese activists, evident, for example, in the following appeal by “the people of Japan, Amami, and Okinawa” delivered at the Tokyo antidumping rally in October 1980: “Friends around the world! Friends in the Pacific! In the midst of a violent, reactionary storm we can hear the cries of Pacific peoples. Those voices are piercing through the dark clouds and jolting the very base of our hearts. … We cannot express [the extent of] our shame over forcing nuclear power plant waste on the people of the Pacific merely for the ‘affluence of Japan alone.’”83

Pacific Activists in Japan

Much of the activity I have explored in earlier chapters involved Japanese activists traveling abroad to other countries or to international events to communicate their experience of environmental injustice. As the travels of Okinawan and Amami islanders attest, the movement against nuclear dumping was no exception, with Japanese activists conscientiously traveling to Guam, Saipan, and other potentially affected Pacific countries. But what really distinguished this movement was the Pacific activists who came to Japan to engage with local antinuclear activists—ineffect creating transnational spaces within Japan, much the same as Canadian Indians had done briefly in Minamata a few years earlier. Although some Japanese were already attuned to the regional and global ramifications of nuclear power in their country, these Pacific activists brought such issues into much sharper focus by drawing troubling connections between earlier Japanese colonialism in the region and the country’s role in contemporary nuclearism. In particular, they helped disrupt two dominant, albeit erroneous, assumptions in the postwar antinuclear movement in Japan: namely, that the problems of (p.165) nuclear-powered electricity generation were essentially domestic in nature and, second, that nuclear power and nuclear weapons were largely unrelated. To challenge these assumptions, the Pacific visitors tied together two disparate narratives: one a history of Japanese and Western injustice toward them, the other a vision of Pacific community to which they and the Japanese both belonged.

The first wave of Pacific activists arrived in Japan in late July 1980, in time for the annual events to commemorate the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August. At the World Conference against Atomic & Hydrogen Bombs held in Hiroshima on August 3, Pacific participants included Governor Paul Calvo and Marianas Alliance leader David Rosario from Guam; the mayor of Saipan, Francisco Diaz; Northern Marianas parliamentarian Joaquin Pangelinan; and Belauan antipollution and antinuclear activist Moses Weldon. Their attendance brought an entirely new flavor to the annual rally, which had focused on nuclear weapons rather than nuclear power and, especially, the symbolism of Japanese nuclear victimhood in the global campaign to abolish nuclear weapons. Now the issue of low-level radioactive waste dumping took center stage. The Pacific visitors shrewdly appropriated the narrative of national victimhood, pointing out that Japanese people—“atomic victims” at Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Bikini—were about to become “atomic aggressors” in the Pacific.84 In front of rallies in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they asked “How can Japan, which experienced Hiroshima and Nagasaki, pollute our sea with nuclear waste?!”85 Saipan mayor Francisco Diaz even posed this question to puzzled nuclear officials at the STA, where he was assured that there was “no chance of radioactive materials leaking” and, in the unlikely event of leakage, that radiation levels in the material were five thousand times lower than safe annual exposure limits, so there was no need to worry at all. In response Diaz again confronted officials with the thorny question: “If it is so safe then why don’t you dump it in Tokyo Bay?”86

From the beginning of 1980 to the end of 1983—the high point of the movement against Japan’s proposed dumping—foreign activists visited the country to participate in rallies, protests, debates, signature campaigns, and to lobby government officials. The majority came from potentially affected areas such as Belau, Saipan, and Guam, but their numbers also included Australian Aboriginals and American Navaho Indians who opposed uranium mining at the front end of the nuclear fuel cycle. These activists’ encouraged (p.166) Japanese protesters to reconsider their local struggles and, indeed, their society more generally, in the context of wider configurations of discrimination and injustice throughout the Pacific.

In this connection, during October and early November 1980, two native Chamorros of the Mariana Islands traveled throughout Japan to communicate their people’s opposition to the planned disposal of radioactive waste in their waters. The eldest of the two was Felipe Mendiola, the seventy-year-old mayor of Tinian Island, located roughly halfway between Guam and Saipan in the Northern Marianas. He was accompanied by David Rosario, a twenty-seven-year-old activist from Guam who was back again after the August events in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.87 During their time in Japan, Mendiola and Rosario spoke to groups in Niigata, Fukui, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, and they addressed two major rallies in Tokyo: the Taiheiyō o Kaku no Gomisuteba ni suru na! Tōkyō Shūkai (Don’t make the Pacific a nuclear garbage dump! Tokyo rally) on October 22, and the 10.25 Hangenpatsu Kokumin Daishūkai (October 25 national antinuclear power plant rally), which adopted three positions: “A temporary stop to nuclear power plants, withdrawal of the plan to dispose of radioactive waste material at sea, and an end to Japanese nuclear armaments.”88 Tinian Island and the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of course, shared a fateful nuclear connection because it was from this small Pacific island that the B-29 aircraft loaded with their deadly atomic payloads had departed for Japan in August 1945. But Mendiola was determined to speak about a different history; a history not many Japanese knew of, and one he hoped might reinforce or even intensify their growing opposition to the dumping issue.

In fluent Japanese, Mendiola told audiences that he had come to appeal not so much to the government but to the Japanese people because he felt he knew them very well. From 1914, when Mendiola was just three years old, until 1945, when he was thirty-three, Tinian had been a colony of Japan. At school he was told to worship an emperor he neither knew about nor cared for, and the Japanese he spoke so fluently was a remnant of this imperial iteration (one of many) in his island’s history.89 The Pacific War only further complicated this sense of detachment. Mendiola explained that, being “neither Americans nor Japanese, we felt the war had nothing to do with us.” But the Japanese military “conscripted all men and forced them to construct military bases and to perform nothing but military duties.”90 During the war, Tinianese accused of spying were either brutally murdered (p.167) by the Japanese or, if they were spared, “treated worse than animals.”91 Yet, despite this discrimination and cruel treatment during the colonial years and despite the great suffering of the war—a war they were drawn into despite having no interest in it whatsoever—Mendiola stressed that the Tinianese were “resigned to the fact that the events of the Pacific War era were over” and they had decided to hold no grudges, letting Japanese come back to their island.92

But reading in the newspaper that Japan intended to dump atomic waste in the Pacific released a flood of painful memories, not to mention a new sense of anxiety. Despite its commitments after the war, the reality was that the Japanese government had paid only 16 percent of the reparations owed to the people of Micronesia, and now that same government intended to dump radioactive waste in their backyard. As Mendiola concluded, “Based on this, it is only natural that we do not trust the [Japanese] government when it says it will compensate us if there are damages [from radioactive waste dumping].”93 Mendiola said that many islanders were beginning to speak about Japan’s plan to dump nuclear waste in the context of a long history of “domination” by Spain, Germany, Japan, and the United States. He felt that the current movement was an expression of Micronesians’ long-suppressed fury over this history of oppression.94 Moreover, it was a movement determined to confront Japan head-on. Since war’s end, for instance, the people of Tinian had faithfully maintained the graves of fallen Japanese soldiers and civilians, but the combination of many centuries of outside domination and the current nuclearism of powerful countries had caused islanders’ bottled-up fury to erupt. They had decided that, should the dumping go ahead, these graves were to be bulldozed to the ground and all Japanese remains dumped into the Pacific, together with Japan’s graveyard of radioactive waste. Furthermore, Japanese fishermen, who benefited so much from Micronesian waters, would no longer be welcome.95 The Japanese and other foreign powers may well have trampled all over Micronesians in the past, but in the new postwar era of self-determination, human rights, and minority empowerment, it was they who would push back. Indeed, for Mendiola and others, the struggle of Pacific peoples’ was not merely against nuclear waste dumping or even weapons testing but, more fundamentally, for the recognition of their basic rights and dignity as human beings.

Younger Pacific activists repeated Mendiola’s mantra of rights and recognition for audiences throughout Japan in the early 1980s. Particularly important were two young Belauan activists: Ignatio Anastacio and Geldens (p.168) Meyer. Their extensive and exhaustive schedule of meetings, speeches, rallies, and site visits speaks volumes of their determination to connect with and influence Japanese people at all levels of society, from the grassroots to the Diet. Twenty-nine-year-old Ignatio Anastacio, newly elected to the Belau National Congress, toured Japan from late February 1980 with his partner and fellow activist Carol Kesolei. He was inspired after hearing about the visits of Felipe Mendiola and David Rosario of the previous year. Assisted by ILP activists, Anastacio first traveled to Niigata Prefecture, where he addressed a local group opposing (ultimately unsuccessfully) the construction of a nuclear power plant in the towns of Kashiwazaki and Kariwa. In Tokyo, Anastacio met with Japan Socialist Party Diet member Yoshida Masao, himself a native of Niigata, to discuss the dumping issue, and in successive days he gave speeches outside Shimbashi Station in downtown Tokyo, at two anti–nuclear power rallies, and before activists involved in a protracted protest against construction of the new Tokyo International Airport at the Sanrizuka farming area in Chiba Prefecture. On his final day, Anastacio toured the heavily industrialized region of Kawasaki just south of Tokyo, which had no nuclear power plants but was then one of the most polluted regions in the country. In the evening he met with representatives from the Amami Islands and Okinawa, and together this group authored a joint statement that pledged allegiance in the struggle against the dumping plan. “Faced with a common enemy,” the statement declared, “we must join forces as members of the Pacific.”96

The highlight of Anastacio’s visit was his deeply moving speech at the February 28 Tokyo rally against nuclear power, nuclear fuel reprocessing, and ocean dumping. He told attendees how “the lives and aspirations of the Pacific islanders ha[d] always been a small part of their conquerors’ considerations” and that “for centuries their good will [was] abused and they [had] suffered greatly for it.” “Japan ruled Belau for one quarter of a century. We learned much from our Japanese rulers. They inflicted much suffering on us. Many human lives were lost.”97 But now Belauans were fighting for true independence, of which their antinuclear constitution represented a first step.98 “The time is past when the big powers can have their way with the little people.”99 “If Japan wants to use nuclear power, it must assume its own responsibility for the waste.”100 And if it failed to do so there would be consequences: “There is one thing I will do on returning to Belau after this trip. As a member of parliament I will make a recommendation to the legislature to reconsider the fishing agreement between the Japanese fishing industry (p.169) and Belau. Along with scrapping the fisheries agreement, I have decided to start a movement to boycott Japanese products. I am also considering a total halt to Japanese tourism. I believe that these [measures] should stay in place until the Japanese government publicly announces its intention to scrap [the plan] for nuclear waste dumping.”101 For Belauans and, indeed, for all Pacific Islanders, the position was simple: “Dispose of your own trash! We do not want that kind of material.”102 Anastacio called on all conscientious Japanese people to “rise up together with the very strongest bonds of solidarity. The peoples of Asia and the Pacific must join hands and live together in this beautiful natural environment, and to ensure that our lifestyle can continue.”103

Geldens Meyer, a thirty-year-old fellow Belauan, came to Japan the following month (March 1981) and, during his three-week stay, engaged in a grueling schedule of rallies, official meetings, and speech-giving in the towns and cities of Kubokawa (Kōchi Prefecture), Sagamihara and Yokosuka (Kanagawa Prefecture), Shizuoka (Shizuoka Prefecture), Nagoya (Aichi Prefecture), Kyoto (Kyoto Prefecture), Osaka (Osaka Prefecture), and Iwanai (Hokkaidō).104 In Kubokawa (now Shimantō) Meyer met with local fishermen, house wives, and residents involved in a (successful) struggle to stop the construction of a nuclear power plant.105 At a rally organized by a Kubokawa women’s group, Meyer called for a joint struggle between people opposing nuclear power in the town and Belauans opposing Japan’s radioactive waste in their backyard. Meyer told the locals that he appreciated the Kubokawa struggle all the more now because of his movement’s prolonged campaign for an antinuclear constitution in Belau, realized just a few months earlier.106 Speaking at an event organized by Sanrizuka activists in Sagamihara—an area in central Kanagawa Prefecture with numerous munitions and storage facilities of the US military and Japanese Self-Defense Forces (JSDF)—Meyer repeated his call for grassroots solidarity in the face of neocolonial expansion throughout the Pacific, prompting one Japanese participant to observe how “it has become extremely difficult for we Japanese, of course, but also for the people of the Pacific to see just what the problem is, where the contradictions are, and who the enemy is. Together with the people of the Pacific we must work to disentangle these similar threads. I believe one starting point is nuclear dumping in the Pacific. We should work together in this endeavor.”107 In Yokosuka City, some fifty kilo meters south-west of Sagamihara and home to both US and JSDF naval ports, a local antinuclear group showed Meyer canisters filled with radioactive waste material (p.170) stored outside the Kurihama factory of Japan Nuclear Fuel Limited. They explained how they held protest rallies once or twice a year to oppose the transportation of nuclear fuel from the factory. In fact, just days before Meyer’s visit, some members of the group had been arrested during a protest outside the factory to stop transportation of nuclear fuel to a nuclear power plant in Fukushima Prefecture in the north.108 One of Meyer’s hosts said she felt that Japan had “forgotten” about the “important” yet “obvious” things like the risk of accidents, pollution of the sea, and the effects of radioactive material on the unborn. Indeed, Japan had become the kind of country that quite “nonchalantly” dumped waste from its “own garden” into “neighboring gardens.” “I feel ashamed and saddened by this,” she admitted. “Each and every one of us needs to think more seriously about nuclear energy as the Belauan people are.”109

At a rally with antinuclear activists in Shizuoka, Meyer attempted to contextualize the nuclear waste dumping issue in the wider structure of Pacific neocolonial ism, explaining, for example, how vegetable oil extracted in Belau was exported to the United States, where it was manufactured into synthetic soap and then sold back to Belauans at great profit. Similarly, he pointed to the ways Japanese tourists flew in to Guam on Japanese airlines, stayed at Japanese hotels, and spent money at Japanese-owned stores “so all the profits return to Japan.” As one participant later opined, the invasion of Japanese capitalism was happening much faster and deeper than the ties now being formed between the residents of the two countries.110 During the rally, numerous Japanese participants referred to dumping in the “far-off”Pacific Ocean but Meyer reminded them that, on the contrary, Japan was itself an island nation of the Pacific. He startled a few by pointing out that the distances from the proposed dumping site to Shizuoka and to Belau were really not that different. Moreover, the fact that this area was a popular fishing ground for Shizuoka fishermen made his point about proximity all the more convincing. Indeed, the encounter with this young Belauan made Shizuoka antinuclear activists rethink their rather parochial mentality. As one leader later wrote, “From now on we want to deepen ties with the people of the Pacific Islands (deeper than the ties of Japanese and American capital there), and create an open movement in Shizuoka [different from] the somewhat insular [movement to date].”111

The final stop of Meyer’s journey was far to the north, in the city of Iwanai in Hokkaidō, where he met with local citizens and members of the local fishing cooperative opposed to the construction of a nuclear power (p.171) plant in the nearby city of Tomari (the plant was eventually constructed). In a gathering with sixty local residents, one elderly participant offered an emotional response, in which he explained how, during the Pacific War, he had been injured and taken to Belau. “As a Japanese I want to apologize for causing trouble to Belauan citizens who had nothing to do [with the conflict]. I will spend the rest of my life opposing nuclear power.”112 Anastacio, Meyer, and other Pacific activists encountered similar emotive reactions in towns all across Japan in the early 1980s, and they left the country convinced of the groundswell of opposition to ocean dumping at the grassroots and even among some local officials.

The visits of Pacific activists reached a crescendo in mid-1981, when a broad spectrum of officials from around the Pacific fanned out across Japan. In May an official delegation from the Northern Marianas and Guam arrived in Tokyo to submit a petition to the Japanese Diet on the ocean dumping plan. The group included many individuals from the delegation of the previous year, such as Governor Carlos Camacho, Northern Marianas House of Representatives speaker Joaquin Pangelinan, Saipan mayor Francisco M. Diaz, Tinian mayor Felipe C. Mendiola, Guam lieutenant governor Joseph Ada, and a number of other officials from Guam.113 With the assistance of JSP chairman Asukata Ichio, the delegation submitted their petition to the Diet on May 18 with the endorsement of sixty-two NGOs and governments worldwide and reinforced with the scientific analysis of Professor Jackson Davis.114 The petition harshly criticized “worldwide policies promoting peaceful uses of nuclear power without first developing adequate technology to dispose of the waste.”115 At a citizens’ rally on the same day in Tokyo, attended by leading nuclear opponents such as Takagi Jinzaburō, Governor Camacho received enthusiastic applause for his speech pointing to the global structure of discrimination behind nuclear power. As he explained, “For the people who enjoy nuclear energy, it is immoral and even barbaric to force the danger upon presumably ‘unsophisticated people’ with little contact with the news media.”116 The group also had a thirty-minute meeting with STA director general Nakagawa Ichirō, at which he made his outrageous claim that the radioactive waste–filled canisters would be safe enough to “cuddle” and “go to sleep beside.”117 He also attempted to address the “not-in-my-backyard” issue, saying that “though the waste drums can be safely stored anywhere in the world, international law [i.e., the LDC] declares that they should not be disposed of on land or in waters near it, but be done at the bottom of very deep ocean regions out of the reach of humans. Some people say that our (p.172) proposal means dumping one’s garbage in other people’s yards, but we don’t think so because the dump site is in waters a little to our side of the mid-line between Japan and the Northern Marianas.”118

What became clearer and clearer to Japanese in these encounters was the direct link Pacific Islanders drew between the Japanese nuclear power industry, the ocean dumping issue, and the neocolonialism of large nations. As Roman Bedor explained to Japanese audiences, “Our struggle is without a doubt a struggle for survival. Just as people in America and other countries want to live, we want to live too. Nevertheless, on the one side America has designs for a nuclear military base, and on the other side the Japanese government is considering disposing of radioactive waste in our ocean. … France has also tested the neutron bomb in the Pacific at Moruroa near to us. Moreover, another big country, China, is unilaterally using the Pacific as a target for ICBMs [Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles].”119 Put simply, “The last 400 years of history in Belau and Micronesia” had been “a history of colonization and exploitation,” and only now were the people of the Pacific Islands “beginning to raise their voices in pursuit of independence and a nuclear free region, breaking 400 years of enforced silence.”120

Such observations laid bare the reality that this was a problem far more complex than the dumping of radioactive waste material in the Pacific. Japanese nuclear power was entangled in a global nuclear architecture that could be truly comprehended and addressed only through a new transnational perspective and politics that integrated local struggles into the larger battle against nuclearism. As the Australian Aboriginal activist Mick Miller put it during a 1980 visit to Japan, “The uranium dug up from our lands not only destroys us, ultimately the nuclear waste material Japan is attempting to forcibly dispose of in the ocean threatens the lives of Pacific island peoples, and it will come back [to haunt] Japan which relies on fishing resources of the Pacific Ocean.”121 Roman Bedor from Belau saw things similarly, commenting at a 1981 rally against the US-Japan Security Treaty that “the struggle that we are in, whether we are from the Pacific islands or you are from Japan, is the same struggle. We want to survive.”122 The Japanese government may have become an “atomic aggressor,” but Bedor and many other activists from the Pacific were convinced the Japanese people were not. Bedor felt nothing but gratitude and even a sense of brotherhood with fellow Japanese activists: “Our country is only a small nation of 15,000 people. Receiving support from Japan in the midst of various arduous struggles was almost like finding a long-lost sibling. This was how we felt.”123

(p.173) Pacific Victory

Although the movement against the Japanese government’s plan to ocean dispose of low-level radioactive waste began initially among officials and civic activists on Guam and in the Northern Marianas in 1979, it quickly grew to include antinuclear activists within Japan after Pacific activists began visiting the country. From 1981 onward, the movement expanded even further thanks to transnational cooperation between Belauans and Japanese groups. In early 1983, Bedor embarked on a lecture tour of Eu rope with Australian Aboriginal activist Shorty O’Neill and Yokoyama Masaki of the ILP.124 The three were warmly received in Berlin, West Germany, where the staunchly antinuclear Green Party, Die Grünen, was on the verge of a major breakthrough in federal politics in the upcoming election of March 6, 1983. In an article for the No Nukes News Japan newsletter, West German activists in Friends of the Earth Berlin described how antinuclear struggles a world away in the Pacific Ocean were garnering great support in their country, with many people signing on to the petition against nuclear weapons testing and Japanese dumping.125

Despite this growing international pressure, for a time Japanese officials attempted to maintain the government’s stance. Meeting with a group of Japanese activists in 1983, one STA official stated that “we would like to proceed with nuclear waste ocean dumping as soon as possible since its safety assessment has already been completed as far as Japan is concerned. We are investigating the possibility of land disposal, but for a country like Japan where land is limited, ocean dumping is an important disposal method.”126 But officials at the STA knew only too well that by 1983 the dumping plan was doomed thanks to the vigorous transnational civic response. Indeed, the improbability of the plan was apparent to STA officials as early as 1981, when they advised representatives from the Japan Catholic Council for Justice and Peace, who were visiting to submit ten thousand signatures of opposition, that there would definitely be no dumping in 1981 (despite the initial plan to commence that spring) because of opposition from the Pacific.127 In meetings with the Australian prime minister Bob Hawke in January 1984, Japanese prime minister Yasuhiro Nakasone advised that his country had postponed the commencement of dumping until at least 1985.128 During a tour of the South Pacific later the same year, Nakasone went even further, telling the prime ministers of Papua New Guinea and Fiji that the plan would “not be implemented against the wishes of concerned countries.”129

(p.174) Japanese activists—whether A-bomb opponents or nuclear power plant protesters—walked away from their encounters with Pacific activists with a new perspective on the issue of nuclear energy in their country. As the declaration of a 1986 Tokyo rally for nuclear-free Pacific noted, “Our eyes were opened to the peoples of the Pacific in the midst of our opposition to Japan’s planned ocean dumping of nuclear waste material. … The people of the Pacific were forced to suffer when [their islands] became the battlefields for U.S.-Japan hostilities during the Second World War. After the war they suffered nuclear harm as the large nations conducted over 200 nuclear weapons tests.”130 Closer to home, Japan—itself a victim of atomic weapons—was also implicated in this architecture of nuclearism and the associated injustices against the people of the Pacific. As the declaration emphasized, “We Japanese are members of the Pacific so the objective of a nuclear-free Pacific should be a task for us too. But now Japan, a country which experienced the nuclear destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, operates thirty-two nuclear power stations, and it has become a nuclear aggressor country toward the people of the Pacific as evidenced in uranium mining and the plan to ocean dump nuclear waste material.”131

Indeed, the antidumping movement among Pacific activists made two things patently clear to the Japanese antinuclear advocates involved. First, there could be no such thing as transnational solidarity until the Japanese antinuclear movement gave up its insular victim consciousness and faced the country’s atomic aggression head on. As No Nuke News Japan concluded in an April 1981 article at the height of the dispute, “Nuclear power promotion for the Japanese means that Japan, the world’s first victim of nuclear power, will become a nuclear assailant. At the front end of the nuclear fuel cycle, it will exploit and destroy the lives and environment of indigenous peoples, (e.g., the Black people of South Africa, Native Americans, and Australian Aborigines) while at the [back] end of the cycle, impose spent nuclear wastes on the Pacific Island people.”132 There could be no genuine solidarity with the people of the Pacific so long as the domestic movement was based solely on empathy toward national victims. On the contrary, the movement revealed that silently accepting the energy policy of Japanese elites—permitting them to construct power plants and nuclear fuel reprocessing facilities—inevitably and necessarily invited criticism from people at all stages of the nuclear fuel cycle who could rightly accuse ordinary Japanese of being perpetrators— (p.175) “atomic aggressors” in the destruction of their lives, their health, and their environment.133

Second, through this transnational movement the Japanese activists involved came to understand the perspective of Pacific protesters, who saw the antidumping movement in the context of a wider battle against injustice, discrimination, and neocolonial ism. Yokoyama Masaki of the ILP astutely recognized this sentiment after attending the Nuclear-Free Pacific conference in Pohnpei in 1978. As he observed, all of the issues—antiwar, anti-bases, anti-A-bomb testing—all of these “necessarily lead to the problem of colonial domination by large countries.” Hence, the antinuclear movement of Pacific island peoples was quite naturally unfolding within their “struggle for independence.”134 As he explained in an article written after Pohnpei, Pacific activists’ “antinuclear struggles necessarily evolved into independence struggles because local residents said ‘It is not us but you who should get out of here!’” According to Yokoyama, this was something “difficult to see” for people “sitting in Tokyo.” “Debating the dangers of radioactive fallout and appealing for an end to atomic power because hydrogen bombs were the enemy of humanity [made] it difficult to comprehend the obviousness of ‘antinuclear struggle=independence struggle’” for Pacific Islanders and other indigenous peoples.135

Transnational interactions in the 1970s and 1980s with Asian and Pacific activists forced the Japanese groups involved to tackle regional iterations of environmental injustice disturbingly at odds with both global notions of “Spaceship Earth” and “our common future,” as well as national narratives of victimhood. On one level, the struggles of people in these regions resonated with the earlier struggles of Japanese localities subjected to environmental injustices in the name of economic growth and the national interest. But, on another level, involvement in these struggles also helped fashion a new reflexivity (i.e., we are also aggressors) and a stronger focus on the invisible spaces of environmental injustice in a globalizing world of extreme inequity. By the mid-1980s, some within the Japanese environmental movement, such as Yokoyama Masaki, were becoming more and more committed to this developing-nation perspective in their environmental outlook. They began to suspect that processes of globalization, rather than making the whole Earth “our backyard,” in many ways seemed to be replicating the injustices of an earlier age of colonialism—if in a more sophisticated way. As I argue in the following chapter, one outcome of such thinking was to make (p.176) some Japanese activists at the forefront of initiatives for the global environment more committed, not less, to the local as a critical site of environmental contention and action in an age of global-scale problems. A worldview shaped by local experiences and notions of environmental injustice deeply informed this perspective.

Notes:

(1) “2.28 Hangenpatsu-Hansaishori-Hankaiyō Tōki: Tokyo Shūkai o Seikō saseyō,” Tsuchi no Koe, Tami no Koe Gōgai Kaku Haikibutsu Kaiyō Tōki Hantai Undō Tokushū (hereafter TKTG) 6 (February 1981): 2.

(2) Bedor quoted in Nakamura Ryōji, “Sekine Hama no ‘Mutsu’ Shinbokōka o Yurusanai,” Tsuchi no Koe, Tami no Koe (hereafter TKT) 123 (August 1981): 5.

(3) For uses of this metaphor see Kume Sanshirō, “Genshiryoku Hatsuden no Anzensei to Jūmin Undō,” Kankyō to Kōgai 4, no. 1 (1974): 46; Mizuguchi Ken’ya, “Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Kaiyō Tōki o Yurusuna (Jō): Tairyō no Hōshanō Tarenagashi no Kikensei,” Hangenpatsu Shinbun 29 (September 1980): 4, in “Hangenpatsu Shinbun” Shukusatsuban (0–100) (hereafter HGS), ed. Hangenpatsu Undō Zenkoku Renrakukai (Nara: Yasōsha, 1986), 144.

(4) William M. Alley and Rosemarie Alley, Too Hot to Touch: The Problem of High-Level Nuclear Waste (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 16.

(5) Naikakufu Genshiryoku Seisaku Tantōshitsu, Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Shori-Shobun o Meguru Torikumi no Genjō ni tsuite, document no. 3–1 (March 8, 2001), 8.

(6) On waste in Japan see Kirby, Troubled Natures.

(p.257) (9) See Aoyama Tadashi, “Kaku Haikibutsu no Taiheiyō Tōki o Yurusuna! Moriagaru Shomei Undō,” GKN 93 (August 1980): 1.

(10) David A. Snow and Robert D. Benford, “Master Frames and Cycles of Protest,” in Frontiers in Social Movement Theory, ed. Aldon D. Morris and Carol McClurg Mueller (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 141.

(11) Robert D. Benford and David A. Snow, “Framing Processes and Social Movements: An Overview and Assessment,” Annual Review of Sociology 26 (2000): 621.

(12) Maeda Tetsuo, “Kaku to Taiheiyō: Ima, Watashitachi ni totte no Mondai,” TKT 97 (April 1979): 22.

(13) Yokoyama Masaki, “Hankaku-Dokuritsu Taiheiyō Kaigi ’83 Banuatsu Kaigi: Shōten to natta Dokuritsu Tōsō,” GKN 125 (August 1983): 7; David Robie, Blood on Their Banner: Nationalist Struggles in the South Pacific (London: Zed Books, 1989), 142.

(14) On ocean dumping of radioactive waste see Jacob Darwin Hamblin, Poison in the Well: Radioactive Waste in the Oceans at the Dawn of the Nuclear Age (Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2008).

(16) Ibid., 35.

(17) Ibid., 36.

(19) Kawana Hideyuki, Dokyumento Nihon no Kōgai 12: Chikyū Kankyō no Kiki (Tokyo: Ryokufu, 1995), 351–352.

(25) The geographic coordinates of the dumping sites (1955–1969) are available at “Wagakuni no Kaiyō Tōki Chūshi ni itaru Keii,” contained in Genshiryoku Hyakka Jiten ATOMICA, Kōdo Jōhō Kagaku Gijutsu Kenkyū Kikō (RIST), accessed May 28, 2014, http://www.rist.or.jp/atomica/data/dat_detail.php?Title_Key=05-01-03-11. See Chart 1 on this webpage.

(26) Ishikawa Haruo, “Kaku Haikibutsu no Kaiyō Tōki Keikaku: ‘Anzen’ nante Tondemonai,” GKN 94 (September 1980): 6.

(28) Ibid., 354.

(29) Saitō Tamotsu, “Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Kaiyō Tōki ni Hantai suru,” TKT 112 (August 1980): 15; Kawana, Dokyumento 12, 354–355.

(p.258) (30) James B. Branch, “The Waste Bin: Nuclear Waste Dumping and Storage in the Pacific,” Ambio 13, no. 5/6 (1984): 327; Saitō, “Hōshasei,” 15; and “Wagakuni no Kaiyō Tōki,” in Genshiryoku Hyakka Jiten, http://www.rist.or.jp/atomica/data/dat_detail.php?Title_Key=05-01-03-11, accessed May 28, 2014.

(32) Ibid., 370; Genshiryoku Iinkai, “Hōshasei Haikibutsu Taisaku ni tsuite,” Genshiryoku Iinkai Geppō 21, no. 10 (1976), Japan Atomic Energy Commission Homepage, accessed May 28, 2014, http://www.aec.go.jp/jicst/NC/about/ugoki/geppou/V21/N10/197600V21N10.html#menu_top.

(33) Shimin no Te de Nikkan yuchaku o Tadasu Chōsa Undō—Jishu Kōza Jikkō Iinkai, “Kinkyū Apīru: Kaku Nenryō Saishori Kōjō o Kankoku ni Oshitsukeruna! Ajia-Taiheiyō Minshū ni Tekitai suru Nikkan no Kaku Busō—Kan-Taiheiyō Genshiryoku Kyōdōtai Kōsō Jitsugen e no Michi o Yurusuna!” GKN 97 (January 1981): 11; Tateno Kōichi and Saitō Tamotsu, “Saishori Kōjō Kensetsu o Yurusanai Amami—Okinawa Jūmin no Sensei Kōgeki,” TKT 108 (April 1980): 28.

(34) Yamaka Junko, “Pacific Islanders Oppose Japan’s Nuclear Imperialism,” AMPO 47 (April–September 1981), 33.

(35) Zenkoku Genshiryoku Kagaku Gijutsusha Rengō, “Genshiryoku Kaihatsu to Kōgai Mondai,” Kankyō to Kōgai 2, no. 1 (July 1972): 21.

(36) GKN 92 (July 1980): 6 [No title or author given].

(38) Roman Bedor and Jishu Kōza, “Roman’s Tour of Eu rope: Pacific Problems Delivered to Their Source,” No Nuke News Japan (hereafter NNJ) 16 (1983): 4.

(40) Yamaka Junko, “N. Mariana Gov. Camacho Presents Anti-Dumping Petition to Diet,” NNJ 2 (June 1981): 2.

(41) Yokoyama Masaki, “Kaku Haikibutsu no Kaiyō Tōki Hantai Undō: Taiheiyō Shotō no Jūmin no Baai,” Kōgai Kenkyū 10, no. 4 (April 1981): 22.

(43) Ibid., 23.

(44) Arakawa Shunji, “Genchi Repōto 1: Mikuroneshia kara no Chokugen: Nihon no Kaku Tōki Keikaku o Megutte,” GKN 93 (August 1980): 5.

(46) Ibid.

(48) Kaku Haikibutsu no Kaiyō Tōki ni Hantai suru Mariana Dōmei, “Nihon no Tomo e: Mariana Dōmei kara no Tegami,” TKT 3 (October 1980): 3.

(p.259) (50) On the forum see Aki Yukio, “Hikaku Taiheiyō Fōramu demo Kaiyō Tōki o Hinan,” Hangenpatsu Shinbun 31 (November 1980): 2, HGS, 152.

(53) “Minami Taiheiyō e Setsumeidan: Hōshasei Haikibutsu Tōki Keikaku Seifu Haken Kimeru,” Asahi Shinbun (morning edition, August 6, 1980): 1.

(54) “‘Sakana’ ka ‘Kaku’ ka: Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Tōki. ‘Nemawashi’ Okure no Kagichō ni Fushin o Kakusanu Suisanchō,” Mainichi Shinbun (August 9, 1980), GKN 92 (July 1980): 3.

(58) On this event see Arakawa Shunji, “Hantai Ketsugi o Tsukitsukerareta Nihon Seifu no ‘Setsumeidan,’” GKN 94 (September 1980): 10–13.

(59) Kawana, Dokyumento 12, 373–374.

(60) Ibid., 375.

(61) Ibid., 376.

(63) Kawana, Dokyumento 12, 378.

(64) Yokoyama, “Kaku,” 24; Kawana, Dokyumento 12, 379.

(65) Ogasawara Umi o Mamoru Kai, “Kaku no Gomi o Sutesaseruna! Dasaseruna! Kaiyō Tōki Hantai ni Kakuji de Tachagaru. Ogasawara no Utsukushi Umi o Yogosuna!” Hangenpatsu Shinbun 31 (November 1980): 1, HGS, 151.

(66) Matsumura Naoki, “Uran wa Iranai: Ōsutoraria Fukushushō e Yōsei,” Jishu Kōza 60 (March 1976): 8, FJK 3–2, 148.

(67) In Japanese: Geppō Kōgai o Nogasuna! Daisan Sekai e no Kōgai Yushutsu o Kokuhatsu suru 118 (November–December 1982).

(68) In Japanese: Geppō Hankaku Taiheiyō Pashifika: Nihon no Shinryaku ni Kōshite Ajia Taiheiyō Minshū to tomo ni 153 (June 1986).

(69) Yokoyama Masaki, “Taiheiyō kara Kaku o Nakusō! 3–1 Tokyo Shūkai,” TKT 97 (April 1979): 18.

(70) Ibid., 18.

(71) See TKTG 1 (August 1980): 4.

(72) “Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Taiheiyō Tōki: Shimin Dantai mo ‘Hantai.’ Kagichō ni Keikaku Tekkai Motomeru,” Mainichi Shinbun (Aug 10, 1980), GKN 92 (July 1980): 2.

(74) “Watashitachi ga Motomete iru no wa, Keikaku no Hakushi tekkai da: Dai-ikki Shomei Teishutsu—45,134-mei no Koe Seifu e,” TKTG 6 (February 1981): 6.

(p.260) (75) Roman Bedor, “Sekai no Subete no Minshū e no Apīru: Taiheiyō ni Okeru Furansu no Kaku Jikken to Nihon no Kaku Haikibutsu Tōki Keikaku ni Hantai suru Sekai Kibo no Shomei Undō o Uttaeru,” TKT 13 (September 1981): 3.

(76) “Kirisutosha no Shomei: Kagakugijutsuchō e,” TKTG 6 (February 1981): 7.

(78) Gyomin Kenkyūkai, “Hirogaru Gyomin no Tatakai: 6–21 Umi o Yogosuna! Gyomin Shūkai to 6–22 Kaiyō Tōki Hantai Shomei Teishutsu Kōdō no Hōkoku,” TKT 11 (July 1981): 4.

(79) Arakawa Shunji and Ōkawa Hōsaku, “Amami-Okinawa-Sanrizuka to Parao-Guamu o Musubu Tabi kara,” TKTG 6 (February 1981): 3.

(80) See TKT 119 (March 1981): 2.

(81) Arakawa and Ōkawa, “Amami,” TKTG 6 (February 1981): 4.

(82) Kuroshio Tsūshin: Taiheiyō Shotō Rentai o Motomete! 1 (Fall 1981), GKN 98 (February 1981): 18.

(83) Taiheiyō o Kaku no Gomi Suteba ni suru na! 10.22 Tokyo Shūkai Sankasha Ichidō, “Nihon-Amami-Okinawa Minshū no Apīru,” TKT 115 (November 1980): 11.

(84) “‘Kaku Kagaisha ni naru Osore’: Gensuikin Taikai Bunkakai Tōgi Nihon no Haikibutsu Tōki,” Asahi Shinbun (morning edition, August 3, 1980): 22; Yokoyama Masaki, “Suzuki Shinseiken no Genshiryoku Seisaku to Hōshanō Osen no Yushutsu,” TKT 113 (September 1980): 17.

(86) “Hōshasei Haikibutsu no Taiheiyō Tōki: Nihon wa Keikaku Chūshi seyo. Saipan Shichō Rainichi, Uttae,” Mainichi Shinbun (August 1, 1980), TKTG 1 (August 1980): 4.

(87) Yamaka, “Pacific,” 35; Felipe Mendiola, “Nihon Seifu ni Naguraretemo Iimasu: Kaku no Gomi o Watashitachi no Umi ni Suteruna!” TKT 115 (November 1980): 2.

(88) Aoyama, “Kaitōki,” 1.

(89) Felipe Mendiola, “Tenian kara no Uttae: Nihon Seifu wa Doko made Watashitachi o Fumitsubuseba Ki ga Sumunoka!” GKN 96 (November–December 1980): 2.

(90) Ibid., 4.

(91) Arakawa Shunji, “Kaku Haikibutsu no Taiheiyō Tōki Hantai o Uttaeru: F. Mendiora-san (Tenian),” Hangenpatsu Shinbun 31 (November 1980): 3, HGS, 153.

(p.261) (95) “Kaku Haikibutsu Tōki, Shima Agete Soshi: Teniantō Shichō ga Tsuyoi Ketsui,” Asahi Shinbun (morning edition, October 14, 1980): 22; Mendiola, “Tenian,” 8.

(96) Arakawa Shunji, “Ignatio Giin (Parao) Seiryokuteki ni Kyanpēn,” TKTG 7 (March 1981): 4; Han-Genpatsu News Editorial Committee Jishu Kōza, “Unifying the Nuclear Struggle: Belauan Keynotes to Tokyo Rally,” NNJ 0 (April 1981): 2; Ignatio Anastacio, “Utsukushii Shizen o Mamori, Tomo ni Ikiyō,” TKT 120 (April 1981): 12.

(98) Ibid., 12.

(103) Ibid., 14–15.

(104) For Meyer’s schedule see TKTG 7 (March 1981): 8; and TKTG 8 (April 1981): 4–6.

(105) Inose Kōhei, “Genshiryoku Teikoku e no Taikō Seiji ni Mukatte: Kubokawa Genpatsu Hantai Undō o Tegakari ni,” Puraimu 35 (March 2012): 71–91.

(106) Kōno Masayoshi, “Shiten,” TKT 120 (April 1981): 1.

(107) Nakajima Ryūji, “Amerika ni Tayoranakutemo Yatte ikeru,” TKTG 9 (May 1981): 8.

(108) Ichikawa Hiroshi, “Parao kara Meyer-san o Mukaete: Soko ga Muzukashii!” TKTG 9 (May 1981): 9.

(110) Machi to Seikatsu o Kangaeru Shimin Sentā, “Taiheiyō wa ‘Mijikana’ Watashitachi no Umi da: Parao kara Meyer-shi o Mukaete,” TKTG 8 (April 1981): 5.

(112) Katō Takashi, “Meyer-shi Raisatsu o Ki ni Zenshin shita Hangenpatsu Tōsō,” TKTG 8 (April 1981): 6.

(114) Ibid., 2–3.

(116) Ibid., 4.

(117) “Zensekai Sūhyakuman-nin no Kōgi no Koe o Tazusae: Kita Mariana—Camacho-chijira Kokkai Seigan e,” TKTG 10 (June 1981): 3; Yamaka, “N. Mariana,” 2.

(p.262) (119) Roman Bedor, “Seizon no tame no Wareware no Tatakai,” TKT 113 (September 1980): 13.

(121) Yamate Noboru, “Aborijinī Hakugai ni Te o Kasu Nihon Shihon: Ōsutoraria no Uran Kaihatsu Hantai Undō ni Rentai suru,” GKN 96 (Nov-Dec 1980): 28–29.

(122) Roman Bedor, “Roman Bedor Speech at Anti-AMPO Rally in Tokyo, June 7, 1981,” NNJ 3–4 (July–August 1981): 6.

(125) Friends of the Earth, Berlin, “Message from Friends of the Earth, Berlin,” NNJ 17 (1983): 8–9.

(129) “‘Kaku Haikibutsu no Tōki o Tōketsu Bōeiryoku Zōkyō wa Senshu Tsuranuku’: Setsumei o Ryōkoku Kangei,” Asahi Shinbun (morning edition, January 15, 1985): 1; Kawana, Dokyumento 12,” 379.

(130) Hankaku Pashifiku Sentā Tokyo Ichidō, “Kaku no nai Taiheiyō o Mezashite Ganbarimasu! Hankaku Pashifiku Sentā Hossoku shimashita,” GKG 151 (February 1986): 1.

(131) “Kaku no nai Taiheiyō o Tsukuridasō 3.1 Tokyo Shūkai” Sankasha Ichidō, “Watashitachi no Hankaku Taiheiyō Sengen,” GKN 151 (February 1986): 2.

(132) Han-Genpatsu News Editorial Committee Jishu Kōza, “Editorial,” NNJ 0 (April 1981): 1.

(133) Hankaku-Hangenpatsu-Hansaishori o Tatakau 7-gatsu Kōdō Jikkō Iinkai, “7.3 Shūkai Mondai Teiki,” TKT 112 (August 1980): 25.

(135) Yokoyama Masaki, “Taiheiyō Shominzoku no Hankaku-Dokuritsu Undō: Ponape Kaigi ni Sanka shite,” TKT 93 (January 1979): 18.