Lone nuclear opponent in town, now won’t sell his crops


40 years ago, Hongo says he was the only person in Samegawa to oppose nuclear power in Fukushima. Since the accident, Samegawa has been declared safe for cultivation. But Hongo doesn’t trust the numbers. He’s only growing enough food to feed himself. He won’t feed others crops that could be contaminated. Instead, he’s planting sunflowers in hopes of decontaminating the land.

Young farmers fleeing agricultural community


Hiruta has spent decades recruiting farmers from across Japan to join him in the tiny agricultural community of Kaidomari, nestled among tall pines in the mountains on the edge of Iwaki in Fukushima. But since the nuclear disaster, especially the younger farmers are fleeing.

Fukumoto (left) is returning to Hiroshima with his free range dairy cows, unwilling to let them graze on contaminated grass. Suzuki (center) and her husband are divided about whether to stay or go. Background radiation here is .4 microsieverts/hour outside, .3 inside.

Hanawa farmers carry on amid radiation uncertainty


We landed in Japan on 5/24 to and spent our first three days in Tokyo. There we interviewed representatives of Greenpeace who’ve engaged in independent testing of land and sea contamination. They argue that Japanese authorities have underreported radiation levels, due to some combination of flawed testing methods and an effort to minimize compensation claims, thus jeopardizing the public, particularly children, who are most vulnerable to radiation. Readings are commonly taken a meter high, which doesn’t register alpha and beta radiation emitting from the ground, and doesn’t account for children’s exposure to breathed and swallowed dirt.

After a Greenpeace press conference on the contamination they found in sea life off the Pacific coast, we met with Pieter Franken, cofounder of Safecast, a radiation monitoring group that promotes regular people doing their own reading and reporting of contamination levels. Pieter supplied us with an Inspector Geiger counter and instructed us in its use. He showed us levels as high as 350 counts per minute (the equivalent of 1 microsievert per hour) on concrete in his Tokyo backyard. Radioactive cesium apparently fell from above all over Japan and attached itself especially to horizontal exposed concrete, wood and stone.

On 5/27 we took a bus to Hanawa, Fukushima, a mountain farming town 45 miles from the crippled Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant. Hanawa was spared the worst of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear fallout, and the farmers we’ve met mostly see the stigma of being from Fukushima as their biggest obstacle. Soil samples here registered 250 becquerels of cesium 137 and 137, far below the legal limit for cultivation of 5,000 becquerels. The air outside mostly reads about .15 microsieverts per hour, 50% above natural background levels but a fraction of the levels seen closer to the power plant. But there are hotspots here that are much higher. We found levels of nearly 1,000 counts per minute on stones in front of a house where a one-year-old baby lives.

We’re staying with the Yoshida family, who’ve farmed this land for nine generations, over 200 years. They grow premium quality rice free of pesticides and chemical fertilizers, that they supply to international consumers and macrobiotic restaurants. Their soil showed low levels of contamination, but it will not be certain whether the rice is contaminated until it’s been grown, harvested and analyzed. So they planted their five rice fields, though orders are down to nearly zero. The Yoshidas are not sure they can stay here, but they’re not sure they can leave either. The family patriarch, Hiroaki Yoshida, talks about trying to make the farm completely self-sufficient, so they can survive on what they grow even if they can’t sell their crops.

Farmers across the region face similar dilemmas. Those outside the evacuation zone are told to go about their business as normal, so long as their crops stay below the high maximum levels set by the government. But what health risks do they face by staying here, and what risks are posed by foods with legal levels of contamination?

In the next few days we will venture closer to the contamination zone. We are committed to follow the farmers through their autumn harvest.



Director/producers Junko Kajino and Ed M. Koziarski were developing a narrative film based on Junko’s childhood on a cattle ranch in Nagano, central Japan, when the March 2011 earthquake, tsunami and meltdown struck. We quickly shifted our focus to a nonfiction project addressing the nuclear disaster. We kept our attention on Japanese farmers, finding inspiration in Fukushima organic farmers’ commitment to revive and continue cultivating land that others declared hopelessly contaminated.

We wrote, produced and directed the psychological drama feature film The First Breath of Tengan Rei. Erika Oda of Kore-Eda’s After Life stars as an Okinawan woman who kidnaps the teenage son of a U.S. Marine convicted of raping her when she was a girl. An IFP Independent Film Lab selection, First Breath screened theatrically, and at schools, community groups and festivals across the U.S., Japan and in India.

Our short film Homesick Blues, starring pop singer Zoey (now Remah) as an Osaka girl running off to America to sing the blues, won the IFP/Chicago Film Festival and played the Hawaii and Chicago international film festivals, among others.

Koziarski was line producer and Kajino was production manager of Malik Bader’s fake crime documentary Street Thief, a Tribeca Film Festival selection released by A&E Indie, and of Sonny Mallhi’s forthcoming ghost story Anguish. Koziarski was 1st assistant director of Wendy Jo Carlton’s lesbian romantic drama Hannah Free starring Sharon Gless, closing night film of the Frameline Film Festival, distributed by Wolfe Releasing.




Uncanny Terrain is a documentary series about farmers in Fukushima, Japan, fighting to continue growing organic food on land contaminated by fallout from the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant.


Together with his 23-year-old daughter Mizuho, Seiji Sugeno cultivates dozens of tiny organic rice and vegetable fields in the mountain village of Towa, where their ancestors have farmed for hundreds of years, since they were peasants under the yoke of the samurai. In the months before the March 2011 meltdown of the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant 40 miles to the east, Mizuho had resolved to continue farming with her father, despite her impulse to step out from under his big shadow.

There is little industry in Towa, and the landscape precludes large-scale agriculture, so the town survives by traditional farming on the terraced mountainside. Even before the meltdown, this kind of picturesque ancient community was disappearing from Japan as young people moved away to cities. But Sugeno meant to keep Towa alive.

The Sugenos planted in April 2011, not yet knowing the extent of the nuclear crisis. Some of their neighbors’ rice tested above maximum permitted radiation levels, prompting a regional ban on rice sales and crippling restrictions on cultivation, exacerbating public fears about Fukushima produce, and threatening to snuff out the fragile community.

Yet the Sugenos’ own produce showed little or no contamination, attracting teams of researchers to study differences in water and soil management that contributed to such wide local variation in crops’ absorption of radiation. What makes the Sugenos’ crops cleaner than their neighbors?

Sugeno became a spokesperson for Towa and for organic farmers across Fukushima. He lobbied the government for farmers’ right to cultivate. He traveled the world to share the plight of Fukushima farmers. He helped implement an independent radiation testing system to regain the confidence of understandably wary consumers and ensure a safe food supply. But what of Mizuho’s own health? She is continually exposed to radiation in the fields, and next to children, young women are the most vulnerable to radiation-related illness.

Uncanny Terrain follows the Sugenos and other organic farmers across Fukushima as they fight to hold onto their land and their way of life amid the environmental, economic and political turmoil of post-meltdown Japan.

The Farmers

84-year-old Yasukawa is growing rice against government order in Minami-Soma, just outside the evacuation zone. He says he’s only growing it for himself. His son Hiroshi, an engineer for Tepco who helped fight to contain the fallout, is trying to protect his father from government sanction.

Ouchi is an organic fruit farmer in Fukushima City, 60 km from the nuclear power plant. Her land is highly contaminated and she already sold off much of her orchard for residential development. An antinuclear activist since the Chernobyl disaster, Ouchi feels abandoned by the booming antinuke movement in Japan, which she feels has unfairly ostracized Fukushima farmers and fomented exaggerated public fears.

Asami left his job in Tokyo to begin farming in Kitakata, 130 km from the nuclear plant. His wife and children fled the contamination and moved in with her family in another prefecture, leaving Asami to work his struggling farm alone, hoping radiation levels will drop low enough for his family to return. In 2014, Asami ran for mayor of Kitakata on a platform of developing a self-sufficient local economic revival rooted in sustainable agriculture and energy and traditional crafts.

Hasegawa, an agronomist and volunteer spokesperson for the Fukushima Organic Farmers Network, is committed to help the farmers find ways to carry on and cope with the contamination of their land. Hasegawa is forced to resign from his government post for his outspoken advocacy of farmers and his aggressive indictment of Tokyo citizens who consumed energy from Fukushima Daiichi and now blame the people of Fukushima for spreading contamination. Hasegawa moves to a rural mountain community to build a self-sustaining farm operating completely off the grid, powered by biogas from his horses’ manure.

After the disaster, Saito launched an ambitious project to sell Fukushima produce in Tokyo and deliver to evacuees. After a year in operation, Saito is forced to lay off his sales staff, due to ongoing public fears of Fukushima food, despite continued testing that show no detectible radiation. Saito sustains his business through direct sales, ironically, to the nuclear power plant operator Tepco, eventually joining in the launch of a new café in Tokyo to sell Fukushima produce and raise awareness.


Our approach is intended to create a minimal sense of distance and a maximal sense of identification between the viewer and the film’s subjects and locations. We focus on our subjects telling their own stories, as much as possible outside on their land, where the topography and the flora and fauna are most evident, evoking a sense of nature’s majesty as well as loss, and a sense of irony arising out of the disconnect between the beauty and the awareness of invisible contamination and implicit threat.

We seek to provide a more nuanced understanding of how the people of Japan are coping with radiation in their daily lives, a valuable lesson for people in the U.S. and internationally who are faced with their own aging nuclear infrastructure and food safety challenges.

By following a range of affected subjects over an extended period, we hope to generate a deeper understanding of the crisis, with an emphasis on human impact and the search for solutions, and on lessons that Japan and other countries can apply in planning their future land use, energy portfolio, food and water safety regime, disaster response plan, and policies for communicating sensitive information to the public.


Media portrayals of the people of Fukushima fall mainly into two narratives: they are tragic victims of the disaster, who deserve pity and charity; or they are perpetrators trying to foist unsafe food and other contaminated products onto an innocent public.

We are building a more complex portrait of Fukushima organic farmers, who for 50 years have endeavored to grow uncontaminated food in one of the poorest regions of Japan, under the shadow of the nuclear industry that is one of the largest employers in this area—an industry that sent its energy south to feed Tokyo’s insatiable appetite.

We are exploring the farmers’ deep sense of connection to the land and ecosystem, and showing how they are active and engaged participants in the environmental, economic and cultural recovery of their communities. We ask audiences to consider the consequences and interconnections of their food and energy choices, and encourage them to find ways of growing more sustainable alternatives wherever they live.