A reflection on post–March 11 broadcasting in Japan, questioning political accountability, media framing, and the dangers of selective memory in public discourse.

2016-03-12

I have mentioned several times that the foundation of NHK’s visual excellence was built by an alumnus senior to me from my alma mater, Sendai Second High School. As the anniversary of March 11 approached, NHK did good work. Moreover, the relay base for this particularly fine series of features—continuing since yesterday—was Yuriage, which is why I watched even more intently. I recorded all of today’s broadcasts as well.

I was watching live just now. A Fukushima-born announcer appearing on a popular morning program made remarks that sounded like criticism of the state. Yet he seems to have forgotten even the facts of just five years ago: what kind of cabinet was in power at the time, what kind of person was prime minister, and how Asahi Shimbun helped that party take power and make that person prime minister.

Today, while driving toward the Kyoto Imperial Palace, a friend pointed out the Sankei Shō column in Sankei Shimbun.

Here again, readers will recognize the correctness of my own arguments.

What had been passing through my mind over the past several days is also written perfectly in this column.

“Wasn’t it divine punishment for having made such a man (Naoto Kan) prime minister?”

This remark, made by Haruki Madarame, who was chairman of the Nuclear Safety Commission at the time of the Great East Japan Earthquake, during a Fuji Television program on the 8th, has become a topic of public discussion.

Some have criticized the comment as inappropriate or detached in the face of an unprecedented disaster and nuclear accident.

However, Kan himself has no standing to be angry.

In October 2004, when typhoons caused severe damage in Ehime and Kochi prefectures, followed immediately by the Niigata Chuetsu Earthquake that left over 100,000 people displaced, Kan wrote on his website:

“To stop this succession of natural disasters, in the old days one might change the era name. But what is needed now is a change of government.”

Even natural disasters and the suffering of victims were shamelessly linked to partisan political maneuvering.

I also recall visiting Iitate Village in Fukushima Prefecture in April 2011, which had been forced into total evacuation. In the office of Mayor Norio Kanno, I saw large stacks of copies of a Mainichi Shimbun column concerning the incident in which Kan was told in the Diet, “You have no heart.”

When I spoke with Mayor Kanno again that December, he was furious about Kan resuming his pilgrimage of the 88 temples of Shikoku.

“If Mr. Kan had finished his term as prime minister, wouldn’t it be normal to walk through temporary housing in disaster areas rather than go on a pilgrimage?”

Nevertheless, in October of last year, Kan casually published a book compiling records of his ten years of pilgrimage.

A tanka poem included in poet Hasegawa Kai’s Shinsai Kashū remains burned into my mind:

“Having such a prime minister at such a time,
Japan meets such a fate—its misfortune.”

Regarding accident response, investigative commissions—governmental, parliamentary, private, and from TEPCO—each conducted reviews and compiled reports.

All are serious efforts, but they share a common weakness: their pursuit of responsibility for political behavior was insufficient.