Every year, when the winter finally loosens the grip in the northern part of Japan, Tomoko Kobayashi begins to become an annual ritual for a small collaborator. They go out on a measurement device and monitor the invisible threats and radioactivity that are still polluted around the mountains and forests around the house.
In her car, Mr. Kobayashi traces the route she knows now and stops regularly to probably prove air on the survey meter. She uses it to detect the gamma line. The gamma line is a clear sign of radioactive particles that fled when the three reactors were melted in the Fukushima Daiichi Children's Nuclear Plant in March 2011, and after sending a tsunami in which the seabed earthquakes collide with the coastline. is.
The group of Odaka, a small community in the north of the factory, is a few days to collect measured values for hundreds of points. 。 Mr. Kobayashi posts them on the walls of her small inn to see the guests, and compensate for the shortage of government maps that are sufficient to clarify potentially dangerous spots.
“The government wants to declare the accident, but not,” said 72 -year -old Ogawa, who resumed Vitabaya 72 years ago. The inn was in her family for four generations, and she grew up here. I never imagined that she had to learn the mysterious knowledge of the half -life of the micro saver and atoms.
“I chose to live here, is it safe? Can I choose these nuts or eat fruits? The only way to know is to measure myself.” I said.
Mr. Kobayashi is one of the civil scientists in Fukushima, and is a resident around the plants that correspond to official concealment and silence by acquiring their own measurement devices and teaching them to themselves. They initially opposed the government in which non -experts tried to ban radiation, and later ignored them.
Almost 14 years after the meltdown, civil scientists have stuck and are supported by smoldering the authority. As some people get older and move, their numbers are decreasing, but many people like Kobayashi continue to be alert, hear their voices, and evacuate the town around the plants. I want to regain the control of the crushed life when polluted.
They have created a new community with the same asperson's network. By filling the gaps left by the government's miscellaneous, they were skilled in measuring and mapping invisible radiation, which led to what experts called democratization of experts. The hugs of this grassroots in science are the permanent heritage of the Fukushima disaster and the path to self -empowerment.
“I've seen more light EMPTs for expertise around the world, but these civil science are opposed to that trend,” he said. Kyle Cleveland, a sociologist at Temple University in Tokyo, said. “They use their knowledge to understand their environment and claim the legitimacy of their dissatisfaction.”
Citizens' scientists often have been the only source of radiation several months after meltdown, but have recently played watchdogs, verified government numbers, and provided details that the authorities have not yet done. After a few years, the radiation outside the plants often became more leveled at more levels than before the accident.
Some groups have achieved considerable expertise in detecting these invisible particles. One is the mother's radiation lab Fukushima. Talatin was started by a group of mother in a grown town, one hour car, to protect children.
Talatin, which began in a single room with a donated measurement machine in three rooms, accounts for almost all of the buildings with 13 salaries, hygiene clinics, and laboratory filled with equipment. Most of the self -taught mothers can measure even the type of radiation that is difficult to detect. They have published surveys on the group website.
When the nuclear power plant building began to explode, Suzuki KA, the founder of the group, was the only housewife who had only the only job in the fashion industry. Mr. Suzuki, who is worried about her teenage daughter, concluded that she joined protests due to lack of official information, and that the best response was to learn to measure radiation. When other mothers participated, they chose the name Talatin (pronounced TAH-RAH-CHEE-NAY), and the terms of ancient Japanese poetry were used to explain the strong mother. Ta.
As well as the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombs, the social pressure from fellow residents fearing radiation -related discrimination and social pressure is light Miss. Faced a huge amount of resistance from official scientists. Mr. Suzuki learned to use a machine by decoding the English manual. When the Tarachine door opened, the parents brought food from the supermarket, and the demand was overwhelmed to hand over and measure their agricultural products.
“There was a three -month waiting list within a month,” she recalls.
As the radiation level decreased, the worries about food decreased, but Suzuki, 59, undertook other concerns. One is the decision that TEPCO, a Fukushima factory operator, will start releasing more than 1 million tons of water that have been treated but contaminated into the Pacific Ocean. Tarachine is currently sending a boat.
“We still have to keep checking the company's claim,” said Suzuki.
In Tsushima, only a small village surrounded by a narrow valley surrounded by a dark mountain is decontaminated only in the main street. The rest is 98.4 % of the village land, and the radiation level remains on the radiation level, which can still reach hundreds of times more than hundreds of times.
At the height of the accident, plums from the plants arrived in Tsushima between the snowstorms, covering the depressed flakes with a dangerous isotope. These were immersed in the ground and contaminated the village heavily, despite the 18 -mile location from the reactor.
Two years ago, a small central area was resumed, but only 5 people returned from the previous population 1,400. The person who wants to resume his life here is 77 -year -old Hidenori Konno born and raised in Harushima. He travels frequently to fix Ryokan Inn in his family for many generations.
During these visits, Kono maps the village radiation measurement values using a handheld device. By identifying where to avoid, he wants to return to his former neighbor and convince him that he is safe.
“If you can check where the hot spot is, and know how much risk you are actually taking, you won't be afraid of coming back,” Konono says. He said he was sitting and sitting. While the village is evacuating, it will be empty for 12 years.
Helping him is Kimura Island, a radiation scientist who has a small lab in an old clay storage behind the inn. During the disaster, Dr. Kimura quit his job at a government laboratory near Tokyo and tried to prevent measurement around the factory. He moved to Fukushima, where he taught local people like Kono how to make a map of radiation hazards.
“Science gives them a way to visualize the dangers of radioactivity that they see, smell or tastes,” said Kimura. “It recovers what the accident has robbed of them. It's an agency through their own life.”
For Kobayashi, the owner of Odaka's resumed inn, it was her own map and reassured she would return. She said that the citizen scientists had to keep an eye on the new leak, and it would take decades to clean up.
“The radiation is not gone,” she said. “You don't have to protect yourself.”
Kiuko Notoya Contributed report.
