Fukushima Radiation Hits Old Family Farms – And Family Pets

The deadline for evacuation zones will interrupt centuries of farming in the region near the damaged nuclear plant. Some livestock will be sold, others will be slaughtered, adding to the animal death toll in the wake of the March earthquake and tsunami.

This Japanese cow is far from Fukushima. Others aren't so lucky. (tsuda)
This Japanese cow is far from Fukushima. Others aren't so lucky. (tsuda)
Jérôme Fenoglio

KATSURAO - Shouichi Matsumoto's family farm is so old he can't even tell you which generation of the family actually started it. "Look at this building – never cracked by an earthquake. It even resisted the last one," says the 70-year-old farmer, brushing against the beautiful old structure. "It has withstood everything for centuries. But now, we have to leave because of a danger that we could not have even imagined."

Because of high, but still immeasurable levels of radiation reported at the badly damaged Fukushima plant, located 25 km away from Matsumoto's farm, the part of Katsurao town where the Matsumoto family lives is now located in the government's mandatory exclusion area – now labeled "a planned evacuation zone," where inhabitants are being told to vacate the premises by May 31.

Shouichi Matsumoto, his wife Shigeko and their sons will go to a hotel 50 km away from their farm, near a golf course. Contemplating the grass of the course's fairways will not ease the pain of having to abandon their pastoral valley. Shigeko whispers: "We are starting to understand what we have been doing for all these years. We won't be able to do all the things that we love: harvesting rice, making tobacco grow and above all, breeding our cattle."

The family has four cows, and each has a name. They all belong to the same breed, which has made this cattle area reputable across Japan. Shouichi braved the radiation to protect his tiny herd, staying there alone, while unknown quantities of radiation were invading the small valley.

His family and the other people living in the hamlet had no other choice but to take refuge in a distant reception center. At the beginning, he was so afraid that he would ran from the cowshed to his house to stay outside as little as possible. Then, he got used to it, and he took an active role in the hamlet by watching over homes and taking care of herds bred by his neighbors.

Little by little, in April some neighbors began trickling back: first checking on their homes, and then definitively moving back in. They all became obsessed with their cows' health, with fattening them back up after weeks of being neglected – it was an obsession that eventually became stronger than their fear.

Hiroshi Kanno, 41, talks about his cows as if they were part of his family. He affectionately pushes half of his livestock – which numbers 14 cows in total – towards the truck. They will be sold by auction in Motomiya at a session dedicated to animals coming from the areas adjoining the Fukushima nuclear plant.

Kanno's cattle were tested for radiation, but no sign of radioactive contamination was detected. He hopes he will manage to get a reasonable price at auction. At the cattle market in Motomiya, prices are not collapsing, but veteran cattle breeders know their way of life may disappear with their last batch of livestock. Hiroshu Kanno has chosen to not sell all his cows to stave off this possibility. But most others, including Shouichi Matsumoto's stock, will be sent to a common cowshed located out of the contaminated regions.

In the evacuee center, Hiroshi has stayed alongside other cattle breeders from the Katsurao area included in the semicircle evacuated since March 13. They have told him about their terrible dilemma: either they continue to let their cattle die of hunger or they put them down as the Japanese authorities require it now. "However, in this part of the contaminated zone, cows are not more contaminated with radiation than mine, which have lived 5 km away from there," Hiroshi says. "Those delimitations are so stupid."

The 20-km-wide zone is thus doomed to be turned into a huge slaughterhouse for those remaining cattle, pigs and chickens that have not been abandoned. There is also the sad fate of house pets. During brief return journeys organized by the Japanese government, some residents put on heavy anti-radiation suits to return to their houses, often with the sole aim of finding their dog or cat. Often, they find just the corpse.

Read the original article in French.

Photo - tsuda

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Debt Trap: Why South Korean Economics Explains Squid Game

Crunching the numbers of South Korea's personal and household debt offers a glimpse into what drives the win-or-die plot of the Netflix hit produced in the Asian country.

In the Netflix series, losers of the game face death

Yip Wing Sum


SEOUL — The South Korean series Squid Game has become the most viewed series on Netflix, watched by over 111 million viewers and counting. It has also generated a wave of debate online and off about its provocative message about contemporary life.

The plot follows the story of a desperate man in debt, who receives a mysterious invitation to play a game in which the contestants gamble their lives on six childhood games, with the winner awarded a prize of 45.6 billion won ($38 million)... while the losers face death.

It's a plot that many have noted is not quite as surreal as it sounds, a reflection of the reality of Korean society today mired in personal debt.

Seoul housing prices top London and New York

In the polished streets of downtown Seoul, one sees endless cards and coupons advertising loans scattered on the ground. Since the outbreak of the pandemic, as the demand for loans in South Korea has exploded, lax lending policies have led to a rapid increase in personal debt.

According to the South Korean Central Bank's "Monetary Credit Policy Report," household debt reached 105% of GDP in the first quarter of this year, equivalent to approximately $1.5 trillion at the end of March, with a major share tied up in home mortgages.

Average home loans are equivalent to 270% of annual income.

One reason behind the debts is the soaring housing prices. In Seoul, home to nearly half of the country's population, housing prices are now among the highest in the world. The price to income ratio (PIR), which weighs the average price of a home to the average annual household income, is 12.04 in Seoul, compared to 8.4 in San Francisco, 8.2 in London and 5.4 in New York.

According to the Korea Real Estate Commission, 42.1% of all home purchases in January 2021 were by young Koreans in their 20s and 30s. For those in their 30s, the average amount borrowed is equivalent to 270% of their annual income.

Playing the stock market

At the same time, the South Korean stock market is booming. The increased demand to buy stocks has led to an increase in other loans such as credit. The ratio for Korean shareholders conducting credit financing, i.e. borrowing from securities companies to secure stock holdings, had reached 21.4 trillion won ($17.7 billion), further increasing the indebtedness of households.

A 30-year-old Seoul office worker who bought stocks through various forms of borrowing was interviewed by Reuters this year, and said he was "very foolish not to take advantage of the rebound."

In addition to his 100 million won ($84,000) overdraft account, he also took out a 100 million won loan against his house in Seoul, and a 50 million won stock pledge. All of these demands on the stock market have further exacerbated the problem of household debt.

42.1% of all home purchases in January 2021 were by young Koreans in their 20s and 30s

Simon Shin/SOPA Images/ZUMA

Game of survival

In response to the accumulating financial risks, the Bank of Korea has restricted the release of loans and has announced its first interest rate hike in three years at the end of August.

But experts believe that even if banks cut loans or raise interest rates, those who need money will look for other ways to borrow, often turning to more costly institutions and mechanisms.

This all risks leading to what one can call a "debt trap," one loan piling on top of another. That brings us back to the plot of Squid Game, "Either you live or I do." South Korean society has turned into a game of survival.

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