Hot water runs deep
Photo by Katy Spence-Miyuki Ishida says her daughter was discriminated against at her high school in Yumoto after the nuclear accident forced them from their hometown. Ishida now lives alone at the temporary housing unit she manages, but after closing it down and finishing paperwork will join her family back in Hiroto
The hot springs of Yumoto date back 1,200 years and were used by Samurai traveling to Edo (present day Tokyo) from Sendai. The legend of the hot springs says two travelers treated a wounded crane with water from a spring. Days later a graceful woman visited the two and told them if they created a bath house in that place they would have long lives and many children. And so the first onsen in Yumoto was established.
Yumoto is a small community. When I stepped off the train into the town square, I found characters frozen in time on all the benches. Statues of musicians and children beckon you to take a seat and enjoy a rest. A huge red replica of a mine shaft elevator can be seen from afar, marking the site of the Yumoto Coal and Fossil Museum. The city’s most appealing attractions are its onsen, hot baths of volcanic water rich in minerals. We’re staying at an onsen hotel tonight.
The community has long depended on the onsen to bring tourists to town, but despite that, the streets were devoid of tourists and a quiet stillness hung in the air. This small community, like many others in the Fukushima prefecture, did not survive the 3.11 disaster unscathed.
Fumihisa Watanabe is a guide at the Coal and Fossil Museum. The coal part of the museum has life-size recreations of Joban coal field and mine workers dating back to 1855 complete with miners in fundoshi (men’s traditional Japanese underwear that I can only describe as a very uncomfortable looking thong). The mines began to close in the late 50s, and by the 70s more than 20,000 miners were out of work. But mine owners wanted to make sure their workers had new jobs. One owner famously brought hula dance to Yumoto to employ the daughters of out-of-work coal miners.
However, the triple disaster of 3.11 means far fewer visitors to the museum. The year before the earthquake, 110,000 visitors a year made their way to the museum. Last year, only 83,000 came.
Eiko Fushimi and her husband own a restaurant near the train station. Eight of us were easily accommodated at lunchtime and spent just 500 yen each (around five dollars) for a plentiful and delicious lunch. Fushimi says the business has never recovered after the disaster.
When the earthquake struck, Fushimi says the town lost the natural gas lines that feed most stoves. She and her husband were still able to cook, because they use oil to power their restaurant. She says a youth association donated fish and rice and she and her husband cooked for 200 people until the gas lines could be repaired the following day. She explained that the community has a strong bond and they band together in times of disaster.
The town exudes community spirit and tolerance, but a closer look revealed some darker truths.
Back at the museum, Watanabe explained that the coal miners who brought economic gains to the community were discriminated against by the onsens. The onsens apparently hated the miners because they were dirty and perceived to run off other business.
Miyuki Ishida manages a temporary housing installation in Yumoto where more than 100 families relocated. Her family had to evacuate their home in Hirono after the 3.11 disaster because of nuclear fallout. Ishida said her daughter, who attended high school in this new place, was shunned by other students who feared she might contaminate them. Ishida had tears in her eyes talking about how her daughter never got to have a happy high school life with her childhood friends. Her daughter did graduate and has moved back to Hirono where she’s working as a nurse. Her mother says she is happy once again.
When we visited a nearby kindergarten, another form of discrimination rose up. The children smiled and waved at me, slowly peeking around corners and giggling. News spread that a white person was in the school, and more peeked out to see the “gaijin.”
The principal didn’t really want to talk, but she eventually invited us into the office to view a report and offered coffee. The lunch lady working in the office told us about checking the radiation of the children’s food three times a month. But then very abruptly we were asked to leave. Only later did I learn that I was the reason. The principal told our interpreter she was worried about parents seeing me there. You see, I have tattoos, a large sleeve consisting of a skeleton and forget-me-nots, a chest piece with music notes and roses, and two small origami cranes on the top of my left foot, all of them are feminine and, to me, not menacing at all. Before this trip, I had been told tattoos were not accepted in Japan, but this reaction had not happened in almost two weeks since I had arrived. I don’t think the children cared at all, but the reality of tolerance in a small Japanese town can be harsh.
The day was so full of experiences that I could barely shoulder the responsibility of carrying them. As I trudged back to the onsen where I would spend the night, the strangeness of this little community swirled around in my head. I wandered the empty halls of the hotel and hot springs and not a soul crossed my path, despite the manager telling us business was good and they were “full” that night. I went to the hot baths, went to bed feeling a bit like a limp noodle, and woke in the morning with a thought.
The hot springs are still hot, the museum is still open, and that delicious lunch is still only 500 yen. But the town of Yumoto is full of ghosts, people who were once present, and the shadows of discrimination, lying just beneath the scalding water of this once-bustling tourist town.