It has been fifteen years since the Triple Disaster of 2011. Today we gathered at ARI for worship and prayed for those still suffering as they search for loved ones.
We also remembered what the disaster did to our ARI; to the land, our minds and our bodies as radioactive fallout poured down all around us. We also were led by Dr. Yasuyuki Fujimura of the Non-Electric Atelier, Director Osamu Arakawa and Former Director Tomoko Arakawa of ARI to think about how we have also worked through these past fifteen years to protect the land and to protect the health of the next generation.
Finally, we were called to not stop this work but to continue to work and pray for peace and a world free of nuclear pollution.
The following is the message delivered by our Director, Osamu Arakawa on that day.
Marking 15 Years Since the Great East Japan Earthquake
It has been 15 years since that day—March 11, 2011. The earthquake, the tsunami, and the nuclear accident.
We were thrown into events beyond our imagination, and many lives were lost.
The deep grief of those who lost loved ones continues even now.
Nature sometimes unleashes tremendous power and takes lives. Yet at the same time, it provides food and sustains life. We are not beings outside of nature; we are part of it. Within nature, there is the mystery of life and the mystery of death.
It is within this mystery that we are given life.
A singer, Tokiko Kato spoke about grief after losing her husband: “Grief is not something to be rid of, but something very precious. It is because of grief that we can understand the pain of others and the suffering of the world. Grief is an emotion to be cherished in life; through grief, we can connect deeply with people and the world.”
She came to live not by “overcoming” grief, but by holding it gently within herself. Grief exists on the other side of love. It is because we love that
we grieve.
Similarly, an essayist and poet, Eisuke Wakamatsu writes in 『The Mystery of Grief』: “There are doors in life that can only be opened through grief.”
There are things in this world that can only be seen through grief. Those living with deep grief carry invisible tears in their hearts. Yet that grief may also touch the beginning of new life and hope. There are doors that can only be opened through grief.
Our ARI was also affected by this disaster. Fortunately, no lives were lost. But the challenges we faced went beyond damaged buildings.
We faced the invisible: radiation released by the nuclear accident. Invisible things create fear and uncertainty in people’s hearts. There were “overreactions” and “underreactions,” people who feared too much and those who did not care at all, actions to protect life and actions to protect the economy. Which was correct? Society wavered between “reputational damage” and “health damage.” Not knowing what to believe was itself a heavy burden.
Yet we did not stop. The first thing we did was make the invisible—radiation—visible.
We acquired detectors and measured radiation ourselves: along school routes, in food, in children’s environments. We did not stop fearing; we sought knowledge to fear correctly. When it became visible, we could finally make calm, informed decisions. Furthermore, we chose not to wait for government standards but to set our own safety thresholds and live within them. This was a decision to live proactively, not be ruled by fear.
Overcoming a disaster does not mean simply returning to the way things were. It means choosing once again how we will live. The disaster taught us many lessons.
Most importantly, we realized the preciousness of soil, water, and air.
We had known their value, but radiation contamination taught us how fragile they can be. We came to truly understand that the natural cycles we take for granted are a priceless blessing.
Human civilization is fragile in the face of nature.
Even towers built high can crumble in an instant. Yet we also learned that humans are part of nature. Flowers bloom despite radiation; animals live quietly. Life is given silently, and even in death, it supports other lives. It is in this natural order that we find hope, even in despair.
Even now, 15 years later, reality continues. In the forests of ARI, radioactive waste is stored. Cesium has a half-life of about 30 years. We cannot eat the forest’s bounty, such as shiitake mushrooms, as freely as before. This reality reminds us of the foolishness of nuclear power.
Humans are forgetful. Yet nuclear plants are restarting in the name of reducing greenhouse gas emissions. We must continue to ask: Can we live without destroying nature? Is there a way to go beyond the conflict between economy and environment?
The hope we have found is living in harmony with the satoyama, the countryside. Growing our own food, living with the forest. Not exploiting nature, but living within its cycles. Tilling the soil, protecting water, keeping the air clean. This way of life is the path to true peace.
After the disaster, we feel called to walk with stronger hope and faith than before. To connect with the source of life. To live in connection with nature, the earth, and the life-giving force beyond. This is what we want to embody going forward.
Fifteen years is not a short time, yet, considering the half-life of radioactive substances, we are still midway. Today, we must reconsider what it means to overcome a disaster. It is not simply to heal wounds. It is to return to the origin of living with nature, to see the unseen, to fear correctly, and to choose hope continually. In this journey lies the true meaning of reconstruction.
A Prayer
May peace and healing be given to all who carry grief and have lost lives in this world.
May we never forget that we are sustained by nature, and be granted the strength to protect the blessings of soil, water, and air.
May we find hope through grief, and the courage to live in love and connection.
May our actions leave hope and peace for generations to come.
