Kuchidomeryou

Dear Japan, you've fascinated and bewitched the West for many years, through your cultures of respect and obedience, through your technological advances and the beauty of your landscape. One day in August 1945, your people saw hatred destroying men and their cities, and the respect and obedience disappeared in an instant before the face of death. Facing everything, you woke up and then, there remained your grace. The grace of your mountains who set themselves up in the middle of nowhere, the grace of your fields and your greenery so beautifully borrowed by Miyazaki, and your futuristic cities which make you oscillate between past and modernity. Beloved country, you know yet you remain discreet... It took another disaster for the world to remember the Japanese people. As with Kobe in 1995, where you returned to the headlines. But this time Japan, the consequences will be quite different. In a few years, we will be talking about Fukushima in the same way that we talk about Chernobyl today: its misdeeds, the lies surrounding it, the dead and the contaminated ones. When the disaster occurred, the world's eyes were on you, with shocking images that came along, as well as with numbers of casualties; even more terrifying. Then, as if everything was resolved, you once again became quiet, as you usually do. Men, with their short-term memories moved to something else... until next time. Though a country is poisoned, men prefer to concern themselves with squabbles of egos of a few ridiculous puppets in a race to the pathetic voice. Awareness, a matter that environmentalists have failed to broadcast. Japan, would it be a cynical assumption to expect such a disaster in my own land, to watch the media in other countries soon lose interest? To see the forgotten victims in that instant? Selfishness brings darkness, and Man is not good at being Human anyway. Japan, for years I dreamt of discovering you, And a year later after Fukushima, you're even more this land, balanced between high paradoxes. And in the Spring of Sakura, nightingales sing, lulled by the sweet scent of a growing radioactivity. And your children learn to count in microSieverts. and your fish... is still fresh, apparently. And behind this Shinkansen's window, I just wonder... What will you become? What will we become? Meanwhile Japan, you rot in silence, the damage will silently continue and the consequences will be silently irreversible. Stop the silence, Stop the nuclear threat.