In Historic Vote, Japanese Town Rejects Nuclear Plant

For 27 years, this seaside town of pine-dotted hills and verdant fields has been torn apart by the nemesis of nuclear power as harsh debates over safety, necessity and economic benefits divided neighbors and friends.

But on Sunday, the long struggle over whether to build a nuclear power plant came to an end--at least for now--when voters here did what they’ve never done before: They resoundingly rejected the plant in Japan’s first policy referendum, throwing a wrench into the nation’s nuclear energy policy.

The big bark from this small town about 200 miles north of Tokyo--61% of 20,382 voters rejected the plant--is being decried as selfish egotism by those who believe nuclear power is essential to safeguard the future of energy-poor Japan. Nuclear power accounts for 28% of the nation’s energy supply today; government officials want to increase that share to 42% by the year 2010 to help wean the country from an uncomfortable dependence on imported oil and gas.

In the wake of the nonbinding vote, Japanese government officials and power company executives vowed to redouble efforts to “gain the people’s understanding” of the need for the plant.

Referendum supporters, however, are hailing the vote as the first showing of direct democracy in a nation that tends to be ruled from the top down. Major issues here, ranging from nuclear power to security to tax policy, are largely decided by small groups of elites and with little public debate, they say.

“This was not about winning or losing but about the people choosing their own future,” declared Maki’s mayor, Takaaki Sasaguchi, who said he will accept the results of the referendum and refuse to sell Tohoku Electric Co. the land it needs for the plant.

But the critical question of whether the Maki vote will set off a chain reaction around Japan against nuclear power plants--or whether a referendum in Okinawa next month will increase opposition to U.S. military bases in Japan--cannot yet be answered. Reports from other regions here show that a combination of economic hardship, political conservatism and powerful business interests can often quiet residents into accepting nuclear waste dumps, military bases and other controversial facilities as well.

A case in point is the remote, wind-swept region of Aomori, a two-hour plane ride from Maki, on the northernmost tip of Japan’s main island. Aomori is known for apples and sumo wrestlers, sacred mountains and spectacular scenery--and for a sprawling nuclear complex of reprocessing facilities and storage sites in the village of Rokkasho. In neighboring Higashidori, up to four nuclear plants are planned.

The two villages are key players in the national nuclear plan, under which 49 power plants have been erected already and about 20 more are scheduled. Although the plants are owned by private electricity firms, the government indemnifies the risky operations--and handsomely compensates areas that accept them.

The reason Aomori prefecture has bet on nuclear power is visible along its major roads, where groves of virgin cedar, plots of purple iris and fields of corn and rice stretch in unbroken ribbons of green: There is little industry there.

Aomori, in fact, is the fourth-poorest of Japan’s 47 prefectures, with a per capita income just three-quarters of the national average. Its share of fishing, farming and other primary industries ranks second in the nation; manufacturing shipments rank 43rd.

Bitterly harsh winters, which bury Aomori under sheets of snow for months at a time, have long forced people to leave for Tokyo and other big cities during the off-season to scrabble for work. Any dreams of luring manufacturing to the region are stymied by Aomori’s remoteness and the lack of a nearby bullet-train route or other convenient transportation.

“This was a village with little hope for the future. We can’t help but depend on nuclear facilities,” Rokkasho Mayor Hiroshi Tsuchida said.

Yutaka Sumiyoshi, a fisherman in Higashidori, is uneasy with nuclear power, and fears that the heat the plant will generate might affect his fishing grounds. But despite those fears, he said, “If it helps the economy develop, I can’t reject it 100%.”

Since the two villages agreed to accept nuclear facilities, they have reaped a bonanza of benefits. Rokkasho, for instance, accepted a uranium-enrichment plant and a low-level radioactive waste dump, along with plans for a future plutonium-reprocessing plant and a high-level radioactive waste dump.

In return, Tsuchida said, his villagers’ per capita annual income has increased to $28,000--now the prefecture’s highest--from $18,700 before the nuclear facilities went up about eight years ago. Jobs have increased, as has demand for local services from the bevy of technicians, construction workers and other specialists flooding the village.

In addition, government subsidies have fattened the village budget; there will be new facilities for the local fishing and dairy industries, a cultural exchange center and an ambitious project to expand sewer hookups to every home from just 20% coverage today.

“We’ve become wealthy,” Tsuchida said. “There is no other village in Japan as small as we are with just 12,000 people but a 10-billion-yen [$93-million] budget.”

The payback has not been as much as expected by Aomori Gov. Morio Kimura, who wants bigger breaks on electricity bills, better tax terms and more flexibility in the use of national subsidies to promote business in ways other than the erection of buildings and roads.

But the incentives clearly offer officials in needy areas powerful reasons to tolerate not only nuclear facilities but other controversial facilities, such as U.S. military bases.

Aomori prefecture also hosts a U.S. military base in Misawa, but few residents seem opposed to it--despite demands for base reductions elsewhere in Japan, particularly in Okinawa.

Not that there haven’t been problems. A 1992 report by the city of Misawa cited noise problems, soil contamination from base runoff, damage to fisheries and misfirings at a nearby shooting range.

But in contrast to Okinawa, where the rape of a schoolgirl set off massive protests against the U.S. presence last year, the most serious crime anyone can recall of late involved two Misawa enlisted men who shot at a duck--and missed--with an unregistered firearm.

The base remains the city’s largest employer; Misawa also receives national subsidies for hosting the military facilities.

For such reasons, not even Social Democrat Takeo Segawa, one of only two of Misawa’s 24 council members who oppose the U.S. troop presence, supports an immediate withdrawal. “What are people who depend on the base for their living going to do?” he asked. “Probably 80% of Misawa residents support the bases. Withdrawal can’t be done easily.”

But economic need is not the only reason the prefecture’s villagers have accepted both nuclear and military facilities. Segawa said most of the base’s opponents simply gave up, after years of fruitless efforts, and shifted their energies to protesting nuclear power development.

Keiko Kikukawa, a farmer and anti-nuclear leader in Rokkasho, said many activists gave up those protests as well after seeing their efforts quashed by police and rejected by city leaders.

Other villagers were co-opted by pro-nuclear forces through promises of jobs and business contacts, or seduced by free tours of nuclear power plants, complete with souvenirs and fancy meals, she said.

She added that activists were not given a chance to present their arguments in a genuine public hearing on the issue--a lament echoed by Maki activists.

“Japan is not a democracy,” Kikukawa said one recent morning as she dug through the rich earth for tulip bulbs.

But now, at least one place in Japan has proved her wrong.

Maki’s historic poll was made possible by relentless activists, an obliging mayor and what nuclear power opponent Masatoshi Nakamura called a bit of “heavenly help.” Although proponents of nuclear power dominate the Maki local council, one mistakenly voted for the referendum in a move that swung the result to the other side.

Sasaguchi, the youthful Maki mayor, thus became the first mayor in Japan to let a referendum proceed.

Suddenly, the sleepy town was transformed into a whirlwind of political activity. Because the poll was nonbinding, official election rules did not apply, and Japan began to resemble California during its most heated initiative wars.

A pro-nuclear alliance of power companies, conservative political parties, the national government and business launched a flurry of TV and radio spots, sponsored numerous forums and rallies and offered inspection trips to a nearby nuclear facility--complete with a fancy French lunch. The alliance spent more on one rally--about $47,000, according to spokesman Isao Nakamura--than the major opposition group, made up mostly of Social Democrats and labor activists, says it spent for the entire campaign.

The arguments flew, burying townsfolk under reams of daily advertising inserts in newspapers. Proponents argued that nuclear power is safe, environmentally sound, necessary for Japan’s future and beneficial for local economic development.

Opponents cited 48 malfunctions at Japan’s nuclear sites in one year alone and argued that the power plants bring health risks, lower sales of agricultural and fishing products and nowhere near the economic benefits promised.

The usual charges of vote-buying were leveled and denied. Political interest soared; one 31-year-old office worker said the referendum sparked political debate for the first time in his circle of friends.

An innkeeper, visibly excited by the voting, said she had diligently read every piece of advertising, weighed both sides and decided she had grave doubts about the nation’s nuclear energy policy. “They haven’t solved the problem of nuclear waste disposal at all,” she said.

Makoto Kikuchi, who has battled for years to get the nuclear power issue before the people, said the Maki vote was a wake-up call to politicians that it is time to open up the policymaking process.

“Arrogant politicians tend to think direct democracy is shugu seiji--mob rule,” Kikuchi said. “But we people are not fools.”

Chiaki Kitada of The Times’ Tokyo Bureau contributed to this report.