Fukushima: 6. Legacy
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Crush your morning goals with a steak, egg and cheese bagel or any breakfast sandwich and snag another one for just a buck with the buy one, get one deal. Only in the McDonald's app. Limited time only at participating McDonald's. Valid once per day. Must opt into rewards. Dramas. Immersive storytelling from the BBC World Service.

Previously on Fukushima... The radiation was being blown directly at us, and you knew that? I assure you that I personally did not know that. Of course you say that. You are a politician. Blood is on your hand, Prime Minister! There is an industrial pump currently docked at Otsu, bound for Vietnam. I have ordered this pump to be diverted to Fukushima, and they tell me you have sent them these documentation by post?

Have you no pigeons left? At war, an invisible enemy is trying to occupy Japan. I'm sorry, I can't talk now, Prime Minister. We're in a state of emergency here. What's happening? Explosion in... Fukushima, Episode 6. I'm ready. I'm very much not. Why? Why don't you speak? I haven't finished my coffee for one. And I'm not feeling very sprightly.

Are you? I'm feeling fine. How did you do it? I didn't actually drink that much. Come on, finish your coffee. It's already late. We need to go. Where are we going? I told you, for a drive. Yes, but where? Everywhere. I've made a decision about you, Soto-san. Have you? Yes. I'll tell you in the van. Where going in your van? What's wrong with my van? Nothing at all. Very well. Let's go. Everywhere.

I'm not sure this is a good idea for my stomach. You shouldn't have bought a place so out of town then.

The roads get better soon. Vastop isn't far. So, what decision did you make about me this morning? Well, I started thinking there's more to this man than he's telling me. No, I think I told you everything. Don't worry. I don't want to know any more about you or Tepco or your career or even Deitch. I see. Here we are.

What is this? A house. Who lives here? Nobody. Come on. This is what my house looked like when I first visited. So you did clean it up a little then? It took me two months. You cleaned it by yourself? Yes. Did you wear protective equipment? No.

You shouldn't have been handling all that rubble. You wore a mask at least. I don't recall. You know you could have got help and PPE from the town hall. I didn't want help from the town hall. It's like a time capsule, isn't it? Look at the calendar. 11th of March, 2011. So what is the decision you have made about me? I don't think your story is over.

You are talking like your story is over. I don't think it is. And this is why we are standing in the middle of someone's ruined house. Seiki and Hatsuyo Tamura and their daughter Hatsumi's house. She was 17. Was? As in, she was 17 and now she's 27. I didn't know them, but my friend Kanno did. They evacuated to higher ground before the tsunami. After the disaster, they moved away, of course.

He started a profitable shop, they bought a home near Niigata, and Hatsumi-san has just been voted onto the civic council. Ah, good for Hatsumi-san. Yes. This house is scheduled to be demolished next month. The people of Hatsumi-san's district decided to buy the land, and she insisted that something useful go where her home once stood. So they're building a recreational centre for our elderly residents. A kind of gym. We need one.

That's a nice story. It is, isn't it? I want you to see the town today. That's all. I want you to meet some of the people. They're good people. There's hope here. There's loss here. And then there's hope. Come on! I think I need some water. I'm not... Do you have any water? No, I'm sorry, I don't.

Do you want me to stop in Rawson? It's just up here on the right. Please. Are you going to throw up? No, I don't think so. If you do, there's a plastic bag at your feet. Thank you. Thank you. Let's get you some water. I have a few things to get. It closes early on Sunday. Is that okay? That's fine. Can I wait here? The fresh air does me good. Okay. I won't be a second.

Toshi! That's enough! Come back now!

Toshi, Lee, darling, just get in the car, okay? Spirited young man. I'm sorry, he's a little overexcited. No, no. It's nice to hear young voices. Most of the time, I would agree with you. My youngest daughter was very similar, and she too would choose very odd places sometimes to express herself. Are you visiting? No, I live out in Eppukudo. Ah, Eppukudo.

I visit the shrine there sometimes. Oh, Sonsha? Yes. Not many houses out that way. No, not many. Yuji Ito. Pleased to meet you, sir. Oh, Suto. A pleasure. I'm sorry, did you say your name was Yuji Ito? Yes. You used to work at the plant? I still do. Oh, yes. But you are one of Toshio Shimada's men in the control room. That's right. You know Shimada-san?

No, no. I don't know him, but... Oh, you were on the teams that vented Units 1 and 3. Yes, I was. I'm sorry, who did you say you were? Were you at Daiichi? I'm very sorry. I'm feeling rather out of sorts. Would you like to sit down? I'm so sorry. And thank you. Thank you so much. You don't have to thank me. But I do. We all do.

Are you okay? Yes, I'm fine. Hello. Hello. I'm Akiko Matsunaga. Pleased to meet you. You seem familiar. You may have seen me. I'm up here on weekends quite a lot. This is Yuji Ito from Daiichi. Do you remember?

Of course I do. I'm so sorry, sir. If you work in Daiichi, I don't recognize you. You refused to go home. Refused to go home? When? When Shimada-san tried to send you home, you stayed. No, I didn't stay. I went home. Yuzi, are you coming? I have to go. My family is waiting. Oh, yes, of course. It was nice meeting you both. Thank you again for everything you did. Truly, Japan is in your debt.

You must stop thanking me, sir. I didn't do anything worthy of it. How can you say that? Suto-san, I think he has to go. I would like to talk to you more sometime. I knew your manager, Masao Yoshida. We could talk now? I think your wife would like to leave. At my house. Why don't you follow us? That would be very nice. Okay. It's not far.

The decision to come home was not a difficult one. Things were... Things were not working out very well in Shimane. It was a long way from home. Toshio was having some problems at school. Oh. It's been very difficult for him. It's why he acts up from time to time, as you saw. Oh. I wouldn't call what I saw acting up. My daughter did much worse. Yes. Today's been a good day. He was picked on, bullied in his school.

They called him Radioactive Boy. Oh, poor thing. He was very unhappy. It's exactly what happened to children from Nagasaki and Hiroshima in the 50s. You'd think we were a little bit more... Evolved? Yes. I'm so sorry. On the mornings when I'd drop Toshio at school, I'd watch him walk through the gates with his statue and then stand helpless as all the kids would run away, screaming and laughing.

I don't know what their parents were telling them, but it didn't... it just didn't stop. Radiation never goes away, so it was the joke that kept giving. But our house here was intact, so when he was seven and Namir started to open up, we brought him home. To be with other children like him. There's only six other kids at the school, but at least he gets an education. How did you feel about coming back? He didn't want to. Why not?

Keiko?

For me, it was more historical, I suppose. I'm connected to the plant. I'm connected to the disaster. I'll never be able to separate myself from it. But in a good way, surely. I'm not sure there is a good way to be connected to this disaster. I assume you mean because my actions helped save the plant. Is that why you thanked me back there?

I thanked you for your courage. I think a lot of people see it that way. Yes, everybody thanks me. People in the street, people in the supermarket. But that's understandable, isn't it? We just went down and turned the valves. The radiation was fluctuating between 200 millisieverts and a thousand. We had 20 minutes of oxygen. Some teams managed, some didn't. Some of us had to turn back. It has nothing to do with who's brave or who's a coward.

It was simply a question of numbers on a Geiger counter. But I get the thank yous, and Hideyoshi Osaki gets the averted eyes because his team didn't succeed. Hideyoshi Osaki, probably the bravest man I've ever met, my mentor at the plant. He was 53 at the time, and he ran 15 kilometers to arrive at work nine hours early so he could replace a younger member of the team.

This man failed because the radiation levels were too high and he ordered his partner to turn back. He has to live with the shame of that while everybody wants to shake my hand. Onsak-san had a very difficult time after the disaster. Ito-san, I measure your courage on your sacrifice. Success or failure be damned. Any one of you would have died for any other and would have died for Japan.

That's a very nice sentiment, but many men begged to be dismissed, you know. And I don't fault any of them. I had Toshio. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there and find my family. I refused to leave, as you put it, because I happened to know exactly how to locate what we were looking for. That's all. I left straight afterwards, and I was glad to. Living with that isn't so easy either.

You'd made your contribution. Who's to say the venting didn't make it worse? It was the source of the radiation leak. Then it caused the explosions, which increased radioactivity in the region by a factor of ten. We knew the containment buildings would explode. All of them.

180,000 people's lives were turned upside down when I opened that valve. Ito-san, you know perfectly well that the alternative to your actions was unprecedented nuclear devastation, yes? But that doesn't help, does it?

You think your job was to make sure the disaster at Daiichi couldn't happen, and it did. You think your job was to keep people safe, and instead people were put in harm's way. I understand this better than you might think. I hope that one day you come to understand that you have nothing to forgive yourself for, unlike myself. Why do you seek forgiveness?

I'm the one whose job it was to make sure the disaster couldn't happen, Itosa. I am Tepco.

I'm sorry, but it's crazy to me that that man can truly believe anything is his fault. I don't care if he doesn't want to be a hero. He is one, in my eyes. He stayed and did what he had to do. What he was paid to do. Oh, that's rubbish. He was told to put a mask on and open the valves. He put a mask on and opened the valves.

How can you possibly ask him to frame that as a heroic act? Even if that were true, why all the guilt? This is what I was trying to explain to you. Ito's problem boils down to a simple idea. When you work for a company, you are responsible for it. That is in exchange for it looking after you. Its successes are your successes. Its failures are your failures. Call it loyalty, if you like.

It's about understanding that you are not the center of the universe and that nothing will function if we are divided. The fact that Ito himself had nothing to do with the reasons the plant failed doesn't mean he doesn't hold himself partly responsible. Do you not understand that? Of course I understand it. I just wish we could get past it. Past it to what? What's your utopia?

Europe, the United States, these countries are imploding one by one because they have lost all sense of community. They believe society's chief function is to serve their personal sense of uniqueness. They laugh at us, see us as mindless worker bees. But that precious relationship between employee and employer is what rebuilt Japan after the war.

It is what has driven our prosperity decade after decade. What saved the plant was everybody doing their job. If it was all just about doing what you were told, explain Yoshida. The truth is, if Yoshida had just accepted that Tepco's failures were his failures, then we'd all be living in shacks. And if he were alive today, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be sharing his success with them either.

Yoshida threw out everything you just said. All of it. You see, I think that's what saved the plant. Why are we going now? I don't know anymore. Where would you like to go? I would like to go and see my neighbor. The lady whose son killed himself. Mrs. Ueda? Ueda, yes. Really? Why? Why does she live? Not far. Are you sure that's a good idea? Oh, please. Take me there. Okay.

Why are you doing this? Because I will never get another chance. To do what? Tell her I'm sorry about her son. The supermarket is not really the place. His name was Akio? Yes. He was 22. I'm sure she'll appreciate it. She's very sweet.

I am so sorry. Believe me, I had no idea she could be so hostile. I've never seen her like that. You have to trust me. She's never been like that. She's never had cause to be with you. It's exactly right. What happened? Her son is dead. That was precisely what she needed. After all the letters, after all the phone calls...

That was the first time she'd been face to face with Tebko. Well, she didn't waste it. I was convinced she was going to throw that thing at you, that cup. I admit, I did flinch for a moment. Oh, that was shocking. We both know every word she said was true. It was the most honest thing I've seen in years. Manslota. Well...

Sincerely, why not? I suppose my plan was a flop. What exactly was your plan? To show you some hope. To inspire you. I might as well tell you now, but by this point I was hoping to have convinced you to take a cesium-137 test. I was going to drive you to the lab. I suppose there's no point in my trying now. No, Akiko-san. I don't understand. Everybody does one. Why would you not want to know?

You know, it really scared me to hear you were peeking through radioactive rubble with no PPE. I'm sorry that the day didn't work out how you wanted it to. But you can't force people to be inspired. I didn't want to force you. I wanted to convince you that there are things you can do because I still think you want to. I really do. Akiko-san. You just sat for 20 minutes and took everything Mrs. Ueda had to throw at you.

Don't tell me you're not a good man. You could have stayed at Tepco and been happy with your big house and your money and your dogs. I still think you want to make amends somehow. Perhaps the former Prime Minister's think tank wasn't for you, but that's not all there is. So you're not an activist. So what? You can make amends right here. Stop trying to change me. I'm an old man. A victory here would be meaningless. It's too late.

You just saw what my making amends looks like. These people don't need me. And they certainly don't need a shoulder to cry on. They've been crying for ten years. Their livelihoods are gone. They can't grow crops. They can't fish. Mrs. Widder will never recover. What they need is restitution. I cannot help them. So...

Mrs. Ueda was right back there. Rise upon rise upon rise. Arrogance and incompetence, and you have no intention of doing anything about it. What can I do? You're a coward. Akiko, you have your most unexpected gift to me, truly. Oh, I'm a gift?

How nice. I needed to talk, yes? Obviously I did. I didn't even realise it. And it helped me. You have helped me. But I don't want to help you, still son. I want to help them. Them and the millions of other families living within a stone's throw of nuclear reactors all over the country. And you can do that. Do you know how rare you are? The women at the lab have been on the phone to TEPCO nearly every day for the last ten years.

bargaining with them for equipment, haggling for parts, listening to their cold, indifferent attitude towards what they did. And then here you are, with all this information, and you won't speak up? Mrs. Ueda was wrong when she said you didn't care. You do. And that's the worst part. I know you feel that pain and you won't even try. What are you talking about it's too late? You're 70! That's it? You're done? I'm dying, Akiko. I have lung cancer.

When did you find out? Three months ago. I want to go home. I'll drop you. Do your girls know? Not yet. Tell them. I will. Do you know how you got it? It's cancer, Akiko. Not COVID. You know what I mean. Have you had any kind of radiation? Oh no, of course you haven't. You don't do tests, do you? Is there anything you need? Oh, I have everything I need.

Well, call me if there is. I'll be around for a few more weeks, or Kano, or any of the girls. I will. There's no hope. I'm sorry? There's only loss here, you're right. No, I'm not. These people are ghosts. This is a ghost town. I could test every child, every fish, and every lettuce in the region for strontium or cesium, and it won't change that fact.

You're right not to take the test. What's the point? Waging war on an enemy you can't see is hard, Akiko. It's exhausting. But there's no shortage of visible opponents out there. And you are more than capable of taking them on. Okay. Well, goodbye, Suto-san. See you soon, Akiko. Absolutely. In the next episode of Fukushima...

How do you explain Yoshida? The official investigation concluded it was the plant manager's decision to ignore the orders of his hierarchy that was the most conclusive reason the plant was saved. What if he had been sick? What if he had decided to take his dog to the vet?

Mankind learning to harness nuclear power is like a mouse finally figuring out how to build a mousetrap.

One can admire the mouse's ingenuity, but the obvious question remains: do you really understand what you've built? In Fukushima Episode 6, Suto is played by Togo Egawa, Akiko by Amy Okamura-Jones, Ito, Matt Mikui, and Keiko by Naoko Mori. Fukushima is written by Adrian Penketh, sound design is by Peter Ringrose, the director is Sasha Yevtushenko, and the producer is Toby Swift.

Fukushima from the BBC World Service is a BBC Audio production.