Features | Environment | East Asia

Fukushima and the ‘Lessons Learned’ From Nuclear Disasters

Nuclear accidents have become opportunities to strengthen and improve nuclear safety – while conveniently forgetting the lasting harm done to the victims.

An anti-nuclear protest tent pitched near the National Diet Building in Nagatacho, Tokyo, Japan, May 8, 2015.

March 11, 2026, marks 15 years since the Fukushima nuclear disaster happened in Japan. This major nuclear accident initially shook the international community of nuclear experts to its core. As opposed to Chernobyl, this was not a nuclear disaster that had happened in a context of strong Soviet secrecy, but in a country belonging to the liberal world order. How could such a catastrophe happen in a democratic country like Japan? 

To probe this question, intergovernmental organizations like the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) began to examine the causes of this accident. This typically resulted in a series of “lessons learned” from the Fukushima Daiichi accident, with the purpose of further ensuring the safety of nuclear installations. 

Here, I do not wish to reassess the lessons that have been learned. Rather, I want to question this very narrative of the “lessons learned,” while examining who or what is best served by these discourses. 

I contend that the endless emphasis on the techno-managerial lessons learned from Fukushima transforms nuclear disasters into a series of proactive experiences. From something that used to be perceived as world-changing disasters, nuclear accidents have become opportunities to strengthen and improve nuclear safety. However, this celebratory portrayal of the lessons learned during the accident – lessons that mostly served the nuclear industry – further conceals the ongoing harm experienced by nuclear victims by only promoting a positive and homogeneous vision of recovery.

When Fukushima appeared on the screens around the world on March 11, 2011, the accident was rapidly framed in scenarios of nuclear doom. Yet, as I show in my book “Radioactive Governance: The Politics of Revitalization in Post-Fukushima Japan,” the disaster eventually fell prey to a celebratory and homogenizing portrayal. Within the global community of nuclear experts, Fukushima was portrayed as an unfortunate accident that showcased the resilience of the Japanese, while emphasizing the techno-managerial lessons learned from the accident. The nuclear disaster rapidly became transformed into a proactive experience that was to be shared globally, with the goal of improving the trustworthiness of nuclear power on an international scale. 

For example, the IAEA, an organization that promotes nuclear energy, explained that it had been revising its global safety standards because of the lessons learned from the 2011 accident. These lessons were used to strengthen nuclear safety in international communities. The Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission echoed similar sentiments, explaining that the most important lesson from Fukushima was to expect the unexpected, and to be prepared to respond to it.

While improving nuclear safety is surely important, these narratives also transform a nuclear catastrophe into a series of opportunities that provide valuable lessons for the Western world and proponents of nuclear power. But when the accident is portrayed as creating ongoing pain, nuclear experts argue that the harmful consequences of this disaster have been exaggerated by politically biased communities such as anti-nuclear activists. 

This picture is telling: it portrays the negative aspects of this accident, such as radioactive risks, as rumors associated with untrustworthy people. It states that the real loss would be to miss out on the opportunity that Fukushima represents for the global quest to learn from this costly experience. This narrative depoliticizes legitimate debates about radiation risks, as it aims to portray a post-Fukushima world where nuclear power is safer, more resilient and better prepared today for extreme events than ever before.

The lesson that “we” have learned also poses the question of who is included in this recurrent “we”? Anthropologist Vincent Ialenti has criticized the use of a homogenous “we,” which is supposed to stand for the whole of humanity. While principally serving the interests of nuclear corporations, this disguised “we” also conceals the ongoing harm experienced by victims of a nuclear catastrophe. Indeed, in the homogenizing portrayal of the lessons learned, the hardships faced by affected citizens are never mentioned. In their place are stereotypical tropes about the resilient spirits of Japanese people and how international communities can learn from their experience.

Yet, during my research in Fukushima, I witnessed first-hand the distress of the local population, a distress that is still ongoing. For instance, more than 160,000 individuals were forced to evacuate, leaving behind their beloved homes and communities. In temporary housing that accommodated such evacuees, I saw children raised in small wooden barracks. Many mothers also shared their worries about the potential adverse health effects of radiation for themselves or for their children, pointing to the apparent increase in thyroid cancers believed to be associated with radiation. The constant worries and evacuations surrounding the disaster also culminated in a series of separations, a phenomenon known as “atomic divorce.” 

Because radioactive contamination created the avoidance of food products, as well as a decrease of tourism, Fukushima was afflicted by dreadful socioeconomic issues. As a result of decontamination policies, many farmers ended up losing precious land that had been passed down from generation to generation. Evacuees who successfully returned to Fukushima also discovered ghost towns, where the social fabric of their past communities had disintegrated. In the face of such continuing hardship, the narrative of “lessons learned” appears tone deaf.

Moreover, when the “raw” voices of victims are apparent, civic participation can be strategically mobilized to fit within a broader narrative of unity and lessons learned. This was notably the case during a symposium I attended during my fieldwork, called the Great East Japan Earthquake 5th Anniversary Reconstruction Forum. Sponsored by the Reconstruction Agency, the state entity responsible for revitalizing Fukushima, the symposium consisted of a public relations event that emphasized the region’s recovery.

In his opening speech, the minister for reconstruction emphasized the wonderful recovery of Fukushima and shared his hope that the symposium would prove to be an opportunity for people both in Japan and overseas to review the lessons learned from the disaster. He invited citizens associated with Fukushima to share their stories of resilience. Speakers included a famous violinist born in Fukushima, traditional artisans, and agricultural workers. Many expressed confidence that their region would recover from the harmful rumors associated with radiation hazards and emphasized that a normal life could be recovered. While their experience represents a legitimate narrative of recovery, it is also important to note that such civic participation was curated by the Recovery Agency to fit within their vision of post-disaster recovery.

In contrast, residents who argued for an alternative “understanding” of recovery,  such as long-term evacuation, or who claimed that residual radiation caused a risk to their health, were rarely, if ever, invited to official symposia. Additionally, citizens who criticized the celebratory portrayal of Fukushima’s recovery faced harmful pressure. As one mother who evacuated from Fukushima told me, “The government is constantly repeating the slogan of ‘recovery and reconstruction,’ and in doing so they encourage voluntary evacuees to return to areas of high risk… Mothers who criticize how the Fukushima disaster is being handled are being called unpatriotic.” 

By promoting a homogeneous portrayal of Fukushima, the trope of the “lessons learned” obfuscated the numerous internal tensions around the contested concept of recovery. Indeed, for many citizens whom I interviewed, concerns about radioactive health effects were often incompatible with the government’s insistence on bringing back evacuees to Fukushima. However, their concerns were not included in the all-encompassing “we” (wareware or minasan in Japanese) favored by state narratives. 

The pretense of unity in the framing of “lessons learned from Fukushima” produces a homogeneous portrayal of experience that hides divergent understandings of harms and recovery associated with catastrophic events. But for many citizens, the legacies of Fukushima are far from being useful lessons based on a “past” nuclear catastrophe; they are scars that they will have to bear for the rest of their lives.

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March 11, 2026, marks 15 years since the Fukushima nuclear disaster happened in Japan. This major nuclear accident initially shook the international community of nuclear experts to its core. As opposed to Chernobyl, this was not a nuclear disaster that had happened in a context of strong Soviet secrecy, but in a country belonging to the liberal world order. How could such a catastrophe happen in a democratic country like Japan? 

To probe this question, intergovernmental organizations like the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) began to examine the causes of this accident. This typically resulted in a series of “lessons learned” from the Fukushima Daiichi accident, with the purpose of further ensuring the safety of nuclear installations. 

Here, I do not wish to reassess the lessons that have been learned. Rather, I want to question this very narrative of the “lessons learned,” while examining who or what is best served by these discourses. 

I contend that the endless emphasis on the techno-managerial lessons learned from Fukushima transforms nuclear disasters into a series of proactive experiences. From something that used to be perceived as world-changing disasters, nuclear accidents have become opportunities to strengthen and improve nuclear safety. However, this celebratory portrayal of the lessons learned during the accident – lessons that mostly served the nuclear industry – further conceals the ongoing harm experienced by nuclear victims by only promoting a positive and homogeneous vision of recovery.

When Fukushima appeared on the screens around the world on March 11, 2011, the accident was rapidly framed in scenarios of nuclear doom. Yet, as I show in my book “Radioactive Governance: The Politics of Revitalization in Post-Fukushima Japan,” the disaster eventually fell prey to a celebratory and homogenizing portrayal. Within the global community of nuclear experts, Fukushima was portrayed as an unfortunate accident that showcased the resilience of the Japanese, while emphasizing the techno-managerial lessons learned from the accident. The nuclear disaster rapidly became transformed into a proactive experience that was to be shared globally, with the goal of improving the trustworthiness of nuclear power on an international scale. 

For example, the IAEA, an organization that promotes nuclear energy, explained that it had been revising its global safety standards because of the lessons learned from the 2011 accident. These lessons were used to strengthen nuclear safety in international communities. The Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission echoed similar sentiments, explaining that the most important lesson from Fukushima was to expect the unexpected, and to be prepared to respond to it.

While improving nuclear safety is surely important, these narratives also transform a nuclear catastrophe into a series of opportunities that provide valuable lessons for the Western world and proponents of nuclear power. But when the accident is portrayed as creating ongoing pain, nuclear experts argue that the harmful consequences of this disaster have been exaggerated by politically biased communities such as anti-nuclear activists. 

This picture is telling: it portrays the negative aspects of this accident, such as radioactive risks, as rumors associated with untrustworthy people. It states that the real loss would be to miss out on the opportunity that Fukushima represents for the global quest to learn from this costly experience. This narrative depoliticizes legitimate debates about radiation risks, as it aims to portray a post-Fukushima world where nuclear power is safer, more resilient and better prepared today for extreme events than ever before.

The lesson that “we” have learned also poses the question of who is included in this recurrent “we”? Anthropologist Vincent Ialenti has criticized the use of a homogenous “we,” which is supposed to stand for the whole of humanity. While principally serving the interests of nuclear corporations, this disguised “we” also conceals the ongoing harm experienced by victims of a nuclear catastrophe. Indeed, in the homogenizing portrayal of the lessons learned, the hardships faced by affected citizens are never mentioned. In their place are stereotypical tropes about the resilient spirits of Japanese people and how international communities can learn from their experience.

Yet, during my research in Fukushima, I witnessed first-hand the distress of the local population, a distress that is still ongoing. For instance, more than 160,000 individuals were forced to evacuate, leaving behind their beloved homes and communities. In temporary housing that accommodated such evacuees, I saw children raised in small wooden barracks. Many mothers also shared their worries about the potential adverse health effects of radiation for themselves or for their children, pointing to the apparent increase in thyroid cancers believed to be associated with radiation. The constant worries and evacuations surrounding the disaster also culminated in a series of separations, a phenomenon known as “atomic divorce.” 

Because radioactive contamination created the avoidance of food products, as well as a decrease of tourism, Fukushima was afflicted by dreadful socioeconomic issues. As a result of decontamination policies, many farmers ended up losing precious land that had been passed down from generation to generation. Evacuees who successfully returned to Fukushima also discovered ghost towns, where the social fabric of their past communities had disintegrated. In the face of such continuing hardship, the narrative of “lessons learned” appears tone deaf.

Moreover, when the “raw” voices of victims are apparent, civic participation can be strategically mobilized to fit within a broader narrative of unity and lessons learned. This was notably the case during a symposium I attended during my fieldwork, called the Great East Japan Earthquake 5th Anniversary Reconstruction Forum. Sponsored by the Reconstruction Agency, the state entity responsible for revitalizing Fukushima, the symposium consisted of a public relations event that emphasized the region’s recovery.

In his opening speech, the minister for reconstruction emphasized the wonderful recovery of Fukushima and shared his hope that the symposium would prove to be an opportunity for people both in Japan and overseas to review the lessons learned from the disaster. He invited citizens associated with Fukushima to share their stories of resilience. Speakers included a famous violinist born in Fukushima, traditional artisans, and agricultural workers. Many expressed confidence that their region would recover from the harmful rumors associated with radiation hazards and emphasized that a normal life could be recovered. While their experience represents a legitimate narrative of recovery, it is also important to note that such civic participation was curated by the Recovery Agency to fit within their vision of post-disaster recovery.

In contrast, residents who argued for an alternative “understanding” of recovery,  such as long-term evacuation, or who claimed that residual radiation caused a risk to their health, were rarely, if ever, invited to official symposia. Additionally, citizens who criticized the celebratory portrayal of Fukushima’s recovery faced harmful pressure. As one mother who evacuated from Fukushima told me, “The government is constantly repeating the slogan of ‘recovery and reconstruction,’ and in doing so they encourage voluntary evacuees to return to areas of high risk… Mothers who criticize how the Fukushima disaster is being handled are being called unpatriotic.” 

By promoting a homogeneous portrayal of Fukushima, the trope of the “lessons learned” obfuscated the numerous internal tensions around the contested concept of recovery. Indeed, for many citizens whom I interviewed, concerns about radioactive health effects were often incompatible with the government’s insistence on bringing back evacuees to Fukushima. However, their concerns were not included in the all-encompassing “we” (wareware or minasan in Japanese) favored by state narratives. 

The pretense of unity in the framing of “lessons learned from Fukushima” produces a homogeneous portrayal of experience that hides divergent understandings of harms and recovery associated with catastrophic events. But for many citizens, the legacies of Fukushima are far from being useful lessons based on a “past” nuclear catastrophe; they are scars that they will have to bear for the rest of their lives.

Maxime Polleri is an assistant professor in the Department of Anthropology at Université Laval and a member of the Graduate School of International Studies. Dr. Polleri is the author of “Radioactive Governance: The Politics of Revitalization in Post-Fukushima Japan” (New York University Press, 2026), which examines the aftermath of the 2011 Fukushima nuclear disaster.

2011 Great East Japan Earthquake

Fukushima nuclear disaster

Japan nuclear cleanup

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