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1 +Japanese Colonization Aff
2 +Framework
3 +Idealized moral theories are built upon exclusion only by reimaging our though processes to include marginalized groups can we begin to solve real world oppression
4 +
5 +Charles W. Mills, 2005, (John Evans Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy) ““Ideal Theory” as Ideology” Hypatia vol. 20, no. 3, CJS
6 +Now what distinguishes ideal theory is not merely the use of ideals, since obviously nonideal theory can and will use ideals also (certainly it will appeal to the moral ideals, if it may be more dubious about the value of invoking idealized human capacities). What distinguishes ideal theory is the reliance on idealization to the exclusion, or at least marginalization, of the actual. As O’Neill emphasizes, this is not a necessary corollary of the operation of abstrac- tion itself, since one can have abstractions of the ideal-as-descriptive-model type that abstract without idealizing. But ideal theory either tacitly represents the actual as a simple deviation from the ideal, not worth theorizing in its own right, or claims that starting from the ideal is at least the best way of realizing it. Ideal theory as an approach will then utilize as its basic apparatus some or all of the following concepts and assumptions (there is necessarily a certain overlap in the list, since they all intersect with one another): • An idealized social ontology. Moral theory deals with the normative, but it cannot avoid some characterization of the human beings who make up the society, and whose interactions with one another are its subject. So some overt or tacit social ontology has to be presupposed. An idealized social ontology of the modern type (as against, say, a Platonic or Aristotelian type) will typically assume the abstract and undifferentiated equal atomic individuals of classical liberalism. Thus it will abstract away from relations of structural domination, exploitation, coercion, and oppression, which in reality, of course, will pro- foundly shape the ontology of those same individuals, locating them in superior and inferior positions in social hierarchies of various kinds. • Idealized capacities. The human agents as visualized in the theory will also often have completely unrealistic capacities attributed to them—unrealistic even for the privileged minority, let alone those subordinated in different ways, who would not have had an equal opportunity for their natural capacities to develop, and who would in fact typically be disabled in crucial respects. • Silence on oppression. Almost by definition, it follows from the focus of ideal theory that little or nothing will be said on actual historic oppression and its legacy in the present, or current ongoing oppression, though these may be gestured at in a vague or promissory way (as something to be dealt with later). Correspondingly, the ways in which systematic oppression is likely to shape the basic social institutions (as well as the humans in those institutions) will not be part of the theory’s concern, and this will manifest itself in the absence of ideal-as-descriptive-model concepts that would provide the necessary macro- and micro-mapping of that oppression, and that are requisite for understanding its reproductive dynamic. • Ideal social institutions. Fundamental social institutions such as the family, the economic structure, the legal system, will therefore be conceptualized in ideal-as-idealized-model terms, with little or no sense of how their actual work- ings may systematically disadvantage women, the poor, and racial minorities. • An idealized cognitive sphere. Separate from, and in addition to, the idealization of human capacities, what could be termed an idealized cognitive sphere will also be presupposed. In other words, as a corollary of the general ignoring of oppression, the consequences of oppression for the social cognition of these agents, both the advantaged and the disadvantaged, will typically not be recognized, let alone theorized. A general social transparency will be presumed, with cognitive obstacles minimized as limited to biases of self-interest or the intrinsic difficulties of understanding the world, and little or no attention paid to the distinctive role of hegemonic ideologies and group-speci c experience in distorting our perceptions and conceptions of the social order.
7 +An accurate epistemology is key – otherwise a framework will be biased, making it self-defeating. A better epistemological standpoint is a pre-requisite to accurate ethical deliberation – the dominant standpoint precludes meaningful discussion of how morality is constructed because it ignores oppression – examining ethical problems from the oppressed is key
8 +
9 +Jaggar 83 Alison M. Jaggar, professor of philosophy and women studies at University of Colorado - Boulder, Feminist Politics and Human Nature, Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield.  1983
10 +
11 +The standpoint of the oppressed is not just different from that of the ruling class; it is also epistemologically advantageous. It provides the basis for a view of reality that is more impartial than that of the ruling class and also more comprehensive.  It is more impartial because it comes closer to representing the interests of society as a whole; whereas the standpoint of the ruling class reflects the interests only of one section of the population, the standpoint of the oppressed represents the interests of the totality in that historical period.  Moreover, whereas the condition of the oppressed groups is visible only dimly to the ruling class, the oppressed are able to see more clearly the ruled as well as the rulers and the relation between them. Thus, the standpoint of the oppressed includes and is able to explain the standpoint of the ruling class.
12 +
13 +Reject the racist legacy of nulear energy in favor of a Foucauldian genealogy of excavating erased perspectives. Equal inclusion is a prerequisite to forming a position – the role of the judge is to bring these hidden knowledges to light
14 +
15 +Medina 11 Medina, J. (2011). Toward a Foucaultian Epistemology of Resistance: Counter-Memory, Epistemic Friction, and Guerrilla Pluralism. Foucault Studies, 1(12), 9–35
16 +
17 +The central goal of this paper is to show the emancipatory potential of the epistemological framework underlying Foucault’s work. More specifically, I will try to show that the Foucaultian approach places practices of remembering and for- getting in the context of power relations in such a way that possibilities of resistance and subversion are brought to the fore. When our cultural practices of remembering and forgetting are interrogated as loci where multiple power relations and power struggles converge, the first thing to notice is the heterogeneity of differently situated perspectives and the multiplicity of trajectories that converge in the epistemic negotiations in which memories are formed or de-formed, maintained alive or killed. The discursive practices in which memory and oblivion are manufactured are not uniform and harmonious, but heterogeneous and full of conflicts and tensions. Foucault invites us to pay attention to the past and ongoing epistemic battles among competing power/knowledge frameworks that try to control a given field. Different fields—or domains of discursive interaction—contain particular discursive regimes with their particular ways of producing knowledge. In the battle among power/ knowledge frameworks, some come on top and become dominant while others are displaced and become subjugated. Foucault’s methodology offers a way of exploiting that vibrant plurality of epistemic perspectives which always contains some bodies of experiences and memories that are erased or hidden in the mainstream frame- works that become hegemonic after prevailing in sustained epistemic battles. What Foucault calls subjugated knowledges3 are forms of experiencing and remembering that are pushed to the margins and rendered unqualified and unworthy of epistemic respect by prevailing and hegemonic discourses. Subjugated knowledges remain invisible to mainstream perspectives; they have a precarious subterranean existence that renders them unnoticed by most people and impossible to detect by those whose perspective has already internalized certain epistemic exclusions. And with the invisibility of subjugated knowledges, certain possibilities for resistance and subversion go unnoticed. The critical and emancipa- tory potential of Foucaultian genealogy resides in challenging established practices of remembering and forgetting by excavating subjugated bodies of experiences and memories, bringing to the fore the perspectives that culturally hegemonic practices have foreclosed. The critical task of the scholar and the activist is to resurrect subjugated knowledges—that is, to revive hidden or forgotten bodies of experiences and memories—and to help produce insurrections of subjugated knowledges.4 In order to be critical and to have transformative effects, genealogical investigations should aim at these insurrections, which are critical interventions that disrupt and interrogate epistemic hegemonies and mainstream perspectives (e.g. official histories, standard interpretations, ossified exclusionary meanings, etc). Such insurrections involve the difficult labor of mobilizing scattered, marginalized publics and of tapping into the critical potential of their dejected experiences and memories. An epistemic insur- rection requires a collaborative relation between genealogical scholars/activists and the subjects whose experiences and memories have been subjugated: those subjects by themselves may not be able to destabilize the epistemic status quo until they are given a voice at the epistemic table (i.e. in the production of knowledge), that is, until room is made for their marginalized perspective to exert resistance, until past epistemic battles are reopened and established frameworks become open to con- testation. On the other hand, the scholars and activists aiming to produce insurrec- tionary interventions could not get their critical activity off the ground if they did not draw on past and ongoing contestations, and the lived experiences and memo- ries of those whose marginalized lives have become the silent scars of forgotten struggles.
18 +
19 +Racism is all around us- only by interrupting the knowledge archetypes that have been engrained into society can we begin reform institutionalized racism. The AC acts on two levels- first the speech acts as an interruption of the racism engrained into enlightened racist frameworks making the AC a prior level; second the act of Jury Nullification acts to deconstruct power relations in the criminal justice system.
20 +
21 +ASAO B. INOUE, May 2005, THE EPISTEMOLOGY OF RACISM AND COMMUNITY-BASED ASSESSMENT PRACTICE , DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY, WASHINGTON STATE UNIVERSITY Department of English, CJS
22 +As suggested by Mills, today we are all complicit in racial-political and discursive systems. We write from them and in them. We engage with them daily in a multitude of ways and through a plethora of discursive strategies. As Mills shows both philosophically and historically (which he traces from the Enlightenment philosophies around contractarianism), theories like “the racial contract” can deconstruct the “mythical” pictures of America and American citizens held up as objective and true (122). So in contemporary discussions, how do 60 we decenter and make explicit whiteness (and I place inside this term maleness, heterosexuality, middle-classness, and to some extent Protestantism) as a hidden discursive scaffolding that frames all discourses in the academy and popular U.S. culture, and how do we argue that this scaffolding is an integral and important aspect of the teaching of writing.38 Learning to write and assess writing well, think critically, and confront our racist discourse, practices, and societal structures are consubstantial. And so structural racism, as discursive practices and self-iterating structures, touches everything we say and do. I theorize it as a master paradigm for classroom discussions that aims to make more critical student writers and citizens, even at the cost of their discomfort, which is inevitable. Drawing from Charles E. Mills, David R. Roediger, George Lipsitz, Antonio Gramsci, Raymond Williams, Stuart Hall, Pierre Bourdieu, among others, E. San Juan offers a macro-level view of institutional racism as a part of the U.S. “racial polity” (San Juan 26). San Juan begins by critiquing the idea that the U.S. racial polity is organized exclusively around and through a herrenvolk democracy39 in order to produce a certain unequal “division of labor and allocation of property” delineated by race. San Juan emphasizes, in fact, that “the whole racial polity should . . . be mapped as a battleground for ideological and political combat” (San Juan 53). Consequently, this differently conceived political arrangement illustrates an “unequal distribution of material resources on which differential power relations depend” (San Juan 26), and is organized through hegemonic racial structures that work in concert with “everyday life” (San Juan 52-3).40 In other words, institutional racism has structured and maintained in daily practice and discourse what George Lipsitz calls the “possessive investment in whiteness” by all agents. Lipsitz’s idea reinforces San Juan’s emphasis away from individual prejudices or acts, and on systems that “encourage white people to expend time and energy on the creation and re- 61 creation of whiteness” (thus “investment”), and stress the importance and centrality of maintaining opportunities for “asset accumulation and upward mobility” (thus “possessive”) (Lipsitz vii-viii).41 I, however, would like to emphasize the organizing principle by which Lipsitz’s “possessive investment in whiteness” and San Juan’s critique of the U.S. as a racial polity both work: it is a principle grounded in a structural racism. As I show in my introduction, structural racism is not a twentieth century phenomenon. It didn’t pop up with the emergence of the middle class, nor with heightened labor competition among groups residing at the bottom of the socio-economic latter in the U.S. I trace structural racism back to the primary Enlightenment epistemology, which in contemporary historical contexts I’ll refer to as the epistemology of whiteness. This epistemology drives structurally racist hegemony as San Juan describes it (although he uses the term “institutional racism”). Our historical discourses and societal structures (like governmental programs and judicial decisions) construct a cult of citizenship developed over time. What this ultimately means is that in order for discussions about racism to be profitable, they cannot center on how white people are bad to people of color, demonizing the oppressor (as easy as that may be); instead, as San Juan points out, we must talk in terms of structures that both function as oppressive systems and structure what appears to be “natural” in our world. Additionally, we must be able to see and interrogate these structures in discourse and in our material conditions. As implicit in Mills and expressed by Lipsitz and Reodiger, whiteness is key to all societal and discursive structures. Lipsitz reminds us that whiteness never speaks its name. It is an “unmarked category against which difference is constructed” (1).42 This allows whiteness to be an implicit organizing principle, structural, institutional, governmental, and tacitly logical. And so, underneath structural racism is an unspoken, generative and logical possessive 62 investment in whiteness that works against people, programs, and institutions who are themselves legitimately fighting against racism. To see this investment (and its tensions) in the university, we only need to read the educational experience as one packaged as “diversity.” The assumption is certainly not, for example: “hey, look at the diverse experience Asao is getting around all those white people.” To be legitimate (and profitable), universities need bodies of color to show off, but whiteness, is assumed to be present (for obvious reasons). Because the white body, just as whiteness, remains central to the identity of the university and its constituents, the university attempts to make the itself more “diverse” by recruiting and retaining staff, students, and faculty of color, but ends up oftentimes commodifying the body of color inadvertently. Good intentions get co-opted and become de facto racism. San Juan, in his introduction, says that “the racial polity is a thoroughly nationalized machine for reproducing racial hierarchy anchored to and intensified by class antagonisms” (8). Certainly universities work in this same fashion, reproducing hierarchy through the classification – and display – of its “multicultural” students. Despite the absence of overt, socially sanctioned racism, structural racism remains in the contemporary context. This racism is often hard to see, combat, and counter because it is encased in whiteness, a whiteness that we and our students are invested in and are a part of. The function of agency is important to understand in whiteness and structural racism. San Juan identifies three types of institutional racism (summarizing David Mason) and critiques how each lacks engagement with individual agency. They are: (1) a “conspiracy or instrumental type . . . predicated on prejudice, or the concealed interest of the state or a hegemonic class as the motive behind discriminatory policies” (e.g. Jim Crow laws, slavery, alien land laws, etc.); (2) a “‘structural Marxist’ type which locates institutional racism ‘neither in the purposes nor the 63 articulations of interested groups and their agents but in the consequences of state policies’” (e.g. property tax laws, court decisions, “separate but equal” laws, etc.); and (3) one tied to “‘colonialism’ and focused on the conditions under which groups are incorporated into the ‘host society’” (44-5).43 San Juan concludes that in all of these iterations of institutional racism, “what is at issue then in elucidating the analytic value of the concept is the ratio of structure to agency, of object to subject, which it defines, a calibration crucial for a politics or ethics committed to changing power relations” (45). Today we can’t escape “the subject-object dialectic” inherent in political economy, as San Juan emphasizes. Institutional racism is “an effect of structural determinants of a social formation,” not simply produced by individual biases or prejudices (45). “What seems to be lacking in such accounts,” says San Juan, “is the linkage between the structural characteristics of a social formation and the actions by which subjects (interpellated by various state and civil-society apparatuses) produce and reproduce their positions/modalities of social existence” (45). In effect, he sees part of the solution to institutional racism to be an understanding of the linkage between racist structures and agents’ actions and wills to act. This structural understanding and linkage to agency is important when seeing how institutional racism becomes hegemonic and why we can more aptly name it structural racism. This is really what San Juan is talking about as I read him: structures that (re)produce racism in effect, and do so through (and despite) the good intentions of the agents involved. These structures, which shape governmental policy, economic decisions, social and racial formations, and other environmental factors, allow individual agents to be complicit in racism, and see their larger societal patterns and effects as unconnected to racism or race. An agent, for instance, can claim to be non-racist, support a system that awards academic scholarships based on “merit” (rationalized as a system where “everyone” has an “equal 64 opportunity” for the awards), yet the system awards its scholarships by measured merit in ways that disadvantage students of color (for a host of economic, geographic, academic, and social reasons). This merit-based system purports to be anti-racist (even tries in its language and mission), but by ignoring how the system allocates its scholarships – that is, how its definition of “merit” works with and is situated around other economic, social, and environmental structures – racism is perpetuated and denied by a rationalized proof that the system “does not discriminate” because it doesn’t account for race. Discourse that argues against “reverse discrimination” of whites uses similar appeals. Reverse discrimination arguments often use logics that work from empirical notions of merit, worth, and qualifications that draw directly from the epistemology of whiteness.
23 +Fourth, constantly fighting the history of race-based dehumanization is key to ending our history of violence. Even seemingly small changes matter. Gilmore 2007
24 +Gilmore, Ruth Wilson. Associate Professor of Geography, Director of Program in American Studies and Ethnicity, University of Southern California Golden Gulag: Prisons, Surplus, Crisis, and Opposition in Globalizing California. London: University of California Press, 2007. Print. MO. Pp 242-244
25 +If we take to heart the fact that we make places, things, and selves, but not under conditions of our own choosing, then it is easier to take the risk of conceiving change as something both short of and longer than a single cataclysmic event. Indeed, the chronicles of revolutions all show how persistent small changes, and altogether unexpected consolidations, added up to enough weigh, over time and space, to cause a break with the old order. Certainly, the political forces that hold governmental power in the United States of the early twenty-first century figured this out and persisted for decades until they won. With persistence, practices and theories circulate, enabling people to see problems and their solutions differently—which then creates the possibility of further, sometimes innovative, action.¶ Such change is not just a shift in ideas or vocabulary or frameworks, but rather in the entire structure of meanings and feelings (the lived ideology, or “taking to heart”) through which we actively understand the world and place our actions in it (Williams 1961). Ideology matters along its entire continuum, from common sense (“where people are at”) to philosophies (where people imagine the coherence of their understanding comes from: Jesus, Mohammed, the Buddha, Marx, Malcom X, the market).¶ The bottom line is this: if the twentieth century was the age of genocide on a planetary sale, then in order to avoid repeating history, we ought to prioritize coming to grips with dehumanization. Dehumanization names the deliberate, as well as the mob-frenzied, ideological displacements central to any group’s ability to annihilate another in the name of territory, wealth, ethnicity, religion. Dehumanization is also a necessary factor in the acceptance that millions of people (sometimes including oneself) should spend part or all of their lives in cages.¶ In the contemporary world, racism is the ordinary means through which dehumanization achieves ideological normality, while, at the same time, the practice of dehumanizing people produces racial categories. Old races die, through extermination or assimilation, and new races come into being. The process is not biological, however, but rather the outcome of fatal encounters that ground contemporary political culture. This culture, in turn, is based in the modern secular state’s dependence on classification, combined with militarism as a means through which classification maintains coherence. A sign of militarism’s ideological embrace is the fact that all kinds of U.S.-based people believe without pause that, in a general way, “the key to safety is aggression” (Bartov 1996; R. W. Gilmore 2002a). Where classification and militarism collide is in the area of identifying an enemy. “The Japanese are an enemy race” wrote a State Department wonk in 1941, at the height of both Jim Crow and universal military conscription, as prelude to the internment of 120,000 people in concentration camps in the South and West.
26 +
27 + Thus the standard is to reject racist epistemologies
28 +
29 +
30 +Case
31 +
32 +
33 +Nuclear age opened up the economic colonialism of Japan by America.
34 +Kelly, Dominic. (2013) US hegemony and the origins of Japanese nuclear power : the politics of consent. New Political Economy, 19 (6). pp. 819-846.
35 +Permanent WRAP, http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/74902, CJS
36 +The forging of a post-war historic bloc via pacifism, anti-communism, and economic growth Although Japan did indeed become a relatively rich nation with a strong army, it was neither rich enough nor strong enough to maintain its empire in the face of opposition from the western powers. Thus, if the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were an early assertion of US hegemony, they also spelt the end of the Japanese empire and the destruction of much of the Japanese economy. American reactions to the global economic crisis in 1947 and other events (the declaration of a People’s Republic of China PRC, the Korean War, and the defeat of the French at Dien Bien Phu) served, however, to re-position Japan in the minds of US planners. Japan’s identity was transformed as a consequence. From an enemy Japan became a member of the US-led alliance against communism, a quasi “western” power in the “east”, and an emerging liberal democratic polity and modern capitalist economy (Schaller 1985; Welfield 1988; Dower 1999; Swenson-Wright 2005). In this context the introduction of nuclear technology into Japan following the domestic consequences of Hiroshima and Nagasaki becomes a little easier to accept if not to fully understand. US forces occupied Japan between 1945 and 1952 and set about re-shaping the key institutions and structures underpinning all aspects of life in Japan. The only major obstacle was the dark heart of the ancien regime itself: the court, the military, ultra-nationalist politicians, the bureaucracy, and the zaibatsu. Constituting a hegemonic class, these elements were blamed for the repression and militarism that characterised Japan’s domestic and foreign policy from the 1930s until 1945.15 Accordingly, the eradication of the most aggressive elements of this hegemonic class was sought through the mechanism of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, and the excessive power of the rest nullified through the reform programme (Minear 1971; Orr 2001). As noted, however, the exigencies of the Cold War persuaded US planners that fundamental reform of Japanese society would be unwise. In their eyes, reform would leave Japan economically incapable, defensively weak, divided politically and therefore open to communism. Thus, “reform” officially gave way to “re-construction” in 1948, enabling Japan’s pre-war hegemonic class to play a role in shaping Japan’s post-war future.16
37 +
38 +Historically US nuclear and energy history in Japan has brought massive success unrest.
39 +Kelly, Dominic. (2013) US hegemony and the origins of Japanese nuclear power : the politics of consent. New Political Economy, 19 (6). pp. 819-846.
40 +Permanent WRAP, http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/74902, CJS
41 +Violent unrest was a continual feature of the social landscape as Japanese elites attempted to manage the rebuilding and rationalisation of the economy on the one hand, and formalisation of Japan’s position within the US-Japan alliance system on the other (Morris-Suzuki 1994). Producing broad public consent to this process was difficult and sometimes bloody work: involving both appeals to ‘pragmatic acceptance’ of the new policies, and direct and indirect threats eliciting ‘fear of sanctions’ (Femia 1981: 38-40). However, conservative elites steadily consolidated and concentrated their power. The year 1960 stands out as a pivotal moment for two reasons: the first concerning labour relations, and the second foreign policy. As coal gave way to oil, the strike at the Mitsui Miike Mines became a cause célèbre when one picket was killed and many others were injured by the police, army and hired thugs sent in to restore production. The dispute, and the government’s response to it, resonated with personal experiences across the country as ordinary workers struggled to cope with the large-scale social change associated with economic rationalisation (Samuels 1987: 114; Hein 1990: 323-5; Price 1997). Similarly, the signing of the revised US-Japan Security Treaty brought thousands onto the streets amid claims that it would turn Japan into a US nuclear base whilst drawing money away from services, such as education and social welfare, that were central to people’s everyday lives (Hook 1996: 24; Wittner 1997: 243). With the Diet surrounded by protesters, socialist members boycotted and picketed the chamber. The Prime Minister of the day, Kishi Nobusuke, responded to the protest by having the Socialists removed en masse by the police and the Treaty was signed in their absence. The public uproar continued, forcing the cancellation of a celebratory visit by President Eisenhower, and only died down after Kishi resigned. Thus began the period of high-speed economic growth.
42 +
43 +Nuclear energy is an American ideal boosted by industrial imperialism at the expense of developing countries.
44 +Kelly, Dominic. (2013) US hegemony and the origins of Japanese nuclear power : the politics of consent. New Political Economy, 19 (6). pp. 819-846.
45 +Permanent WRAP, http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/74902, CJS
46 +The final element cementing Japanese consent to nuclear power was US power and interest. Eisenhower’s “Atoms for Peace” speech to the United Nations on 8 December 1953 ‘touched off a full-scale nuclear fever in Japan’ (Samuels 1987: 234).23 Ostensibly an attempt by the US to encourage the peaceful use of atomic energy and its controlled diffusion through the creation of a “uranium bank” (the IAEA), the campaign was also a thinly-veiled effort to maintain the technology gap between the US and potential new entrants by subjecting them to a regime of monitoring and surveillance (Pilat et al. 1985; Medhurst 1997; Krige 2006). A part of Eisenhower’s “New Look” strategy, the Atoms for Peace campaign was designed to meet a number of needs. It would facilitate continued defence spending and prepare the public (in the US and elsewhere) for a prolonged struggle against the Soviet Union. More specifically, it would promote public acceptance of the policy of “massive retaliation”, and prepare the way for the “nuclearisation” of NATO (Bobbitt et al. 1989). Atoms for Peace would also enable the creation of a commercial market for the production and consumption of nuclear power (first in the US itself, and subsequently in allied markets).24 In what one scholar has dubbed ‘a form of industrial imperialism’, business leaders planned to boost future exports by embedding American technology in foreign countries (Medhurst 1997: 587). Finally, the campaign would contribute to the propaganda war against the Soviets by countering the latters’ claim that the US was only interested in nuclear weapons. Faced with Soviet propaganda victories won with promises to supply nuclear technology in support of Third World development, the US government responded by launching a diffusion programme of its own. As well as attracting the interest of power-starved developing countries, US planners hoped that ‘atomic power would serve as a counterweight to the Soviet model of development’ by offering progress through ‘the ingenuity of American capitalism’ (Osgood 2006: 169). This was the motivation behind US offers to supply Japan with nuclear technology and enriched uranium, culminating in the signing of the United States Japan Atomic Energy Agreement on 14 November 1955. The Atoms for Peace initiative had the full weight of the US government behind it. At the domestic level, the State Department and FCDA produced half a million pamphlets containing the text of Eisenhower’s speech accompanied by photographs and illustrated drawings, and 5 million leaflets for distribution by volunteers. Federal, state and local agencies were part of a network that reached governors, mayors and civil defence leaders. Specific groups targeted included those thought most vulnerable to communist propaganda: teachers, agricultural workers and labour organisations. The speech was discussed on major news shows on radio and television, and seen in newspapers and documentary films (Medhurst 1997; Osgood 2006). At the international level the US Information Agency (USIA, created in August 1953) distributed Eisenhower’s speech around the world. Major newspapers in twenty-five countries published the speech in full. The USIA also distributed more than 16 million posters and booklets advertising the speech through its 217 posts abroad, and the Voice of America broadcast it live to thirty-five countries. USIA worked closely with American firms and non-governmental organisations operating worldwide, overseeing the distribution of around 400,000 leaflets. Westinghouse Electric Company, a firm with plans to deliver atomic power to Japan, attached a specially written cover note to the 35,000 leaflets it distributed in more than 125 countries (Osgood 2006: 162-3). The USIA kept interest in the speech alive through a deluge of press releases celebrating the positive reaction generated worldwide. Following the disastrous publicity surrounding the irradiation of the Fukuryu Maru, the USIA began to place particular emphasis on the peaceful application of nuclear technology. A series of twenty-six television programmes entitled The Magic of the Atom was commissioned, with individual episodes focussing on a particular aspect: The Atom and Agriculture, The Atom and Industry, The Atomic City and so on. The USIA rolled out travelling exhibits and sent them to major cities in Europe, Africa and Asia. These exhibits were designed to supplant the fearsome image of the mushroom cloud and replace it in the public imagination with peaceful images of medical and biochemical research, agricultural and industrial production and electrical power generation. They featured illustrations of nuclear power plants and the process of power generation, working models of Geiger counters, and colourful displays depicting the “peaceful atom” at work. All of the exhibits showed a film produced by General Electric: another firm with ambitions to become a nuclear supplier to Japan. The film, A Is for Atom, presented the peaceful use of atomic power in a manner understandable to the lay viewer. By underplaying questions of cost, safety, waste disposal and its military origins, the implicit message was clear: nuclear power was safe, cheap, innovative, liberating and, above all, American.
47 +
48 +Japans Lower cast face the brunt of the colonialist tradition. Reactors are built at their disadvantage and they are forced to do the clean up the Buraku literally are not counted in risk assessment of nuclear energy.
49 +Kristin Shrader-Frechette, Nuclear Catastrophe, Disaster-Related Environmental Injustice, and Fukushima, Japan: Prima-Facie Evidence for a Japanese ‘‘Katrina’’, ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE, 2012, CJS
50 +University scientists, nuclear-industry experts, and physicians say FD radiation will cause at least 20,000- 60,000 premature-cancer deaths.41,42 Japanese poor people are among the hardest hit by FD DREI because, like those abandoned after Hurricane Katrina, Japan’s poor received inadequate post-FD-disaster assistance. Abandoned by government and ‘‘marooned’’ for weeks without roads, electricity, or water, many poor people had no medical care,43,44 transportation, or heat—despite frigid, snowy conditions.45,46 At least four reasons suggest prima-facie evidence that Japanese poor near FD have faced DREI. One prima-facie reason is that because poor people tend to live near dangerous facilities, like reactors, they face the worst accident risks. Within weeks after the FD accident began, long-lived cesium-134 and other radioactive isotopes had poisoned soils at 7.5 million times the regulatory limit; radiation outside plant boundaries was equivalent to getting about seven chest X-rays per hour.47 Roughly 19 miles Northwest of FD, air-radiation readings were 0.8 mSv per hour; after 10 days of this exposure, IARC dose- response curves predict 1 in 5 fatal cancers of those ex- posed would be attributable to FD; two-months exposure would mean most fatal cancers were caused by FD. Such exposures are likely because many near-Fukushima resi- dents were too poor to evacuate.20 Farther outside the evacuation zone—less than two weeks after the accident began—soil 25 miles Northwest of FD had cesium-137 levels ‘‘twice as high as the threshold for declaring areas uninhabitable around Chernobyl,’’ suggesting ‘‘the land might need to be abandoned.’’48 Not until a month after US and interna- tional agencies recommended expanding FD evacuation zones, did Japanese-government officials consider and reject expanding evacuation.49,50 A second prima-facie reason for Fukushima DREI is that poor people, living near reactors, have higher probabili- ties of being hurt by both normal and disaster-related radiation releases. Reactors normally cause prima facie EI because they release allowable radiation that increases local cancers and mortality, especially among infants/ children.51–55 Because zero is the only safe dose of ioniz- ing radiation (as the US National Academy of Sciences warns), its cumulative LNT (Linear, No Threshold for increased risk) effects are worst closer to reactors, where poor people live. The US EPA says even normal US ra- diation releases, between 1970–2020, could cause up to 24,000 additional US deaths.56,57 A third prima-facie reason for Fukushima DREI is that although nearby (poor) people bear both higher pre- accident and post-accident risks, others receive little/no risks and most benefits. Wealthier Tokyo residents—140 miles away—received virtually all FD electricity, yet virtually no EI or DREI. A fourth prima-facie reason for DREI burdens on FD poor is that their poverty/powerlessness arguably forced them into EI and accepting reactor siting. Companies hoping to site nuclear facilities target economically de- pressed areas, both in Japan and elsewhere.17,58 Thus, although FD-owner Tokyo Electric Company (TECO) has long-term safety and ‘‘cover-up scandals,’’ Fukushima residents agreed to accept TECO reactors in exchange for cash. With Fukushima $121 million in debt, in 2007 it approved two new reactors in exchange for ‘‘$45 million from the government.60 percent’’ of total town reve- nue.17,59 Yet if economic hardship forced poor towns to accept reactors in exchange for basic-services monies, they likely gave no informed consent. Their choice was not voluntary, but coerced by their poverty. Massive Japa- nese-nuclear-industry PR and media ads also have thwarted risk-disclosure, thus consent, by minimizing nuclear risks.17,53,60–62 Scientists say neither industry nor government disclosed its failure to (1) test reactor-safety equipment; (2) thwart many natural-event disasters; (3) withstand seismic events worse than those that already had occurred; (4) withstand Fukushima-type disasters; (5) admit that new passive-safety reactors require electricity to cool cores and avoid catastrophe; or (6) base reactor- safety on anything but cost-benefit tests.17,53,60–62 Thus, because prima facie evidence suggests Fukushima poor people never consented to FD siting, they are EI victims whose reactor proximity caused them also to become DREI victims. DREI to ‘‘black’’ (buraku) workers Prima-facie evidence likewise shows buraku nuclear workers are both EI and DREI victims. Internationally, nuclear workers are prominent EI victims because even without accidents, they are allowed to receive ionizing- radiation doses (50 mSv annually) 50 times higher than those received by the public. Yet, only low socio- economic-status people—like buraku—tend to take such risks. This double standard is obviously ethically ques- tionable, given that many developed nations (e.g., Germany, Scandinavian countries) prohibit it because it encourages EI—workers’ trading health for paid work, and innocent worker-descendants’ (future generations’) dying from radiation-induced genomic instability. Thus, both buraku children and their distant descendents face EI—higher radiation-induced death/disease.17,61,62 Prima-facie evidence shows, second, that FD-buraku- nuclear workers also are EI and DREI victims because they likely consented to neither normal-, nor accident- level, radiation exposures. Why not? Under normal con- ditions, 90 percent of all 83,000 Japanese nuclear workers are temporary-contract workers who receive about 16 times more radiation than the already-50-times-higher- than-public doses received by normal radiation workers. For non-accident exposures, buraku receive $350–$1,000 per day, for several days of high-radiation work. They have neither full-time employment, nor adequate com- pensation, nor union representation, nor health benefits, nor full dose disclosure, yet receive the highest work- place-radiation risks. Why? Industry is not required to ‘‘count’’ temporary workers’ radiation exposures when it calculates workers’ average-radiation doses for regula- tors. However, even if buraku were told their non- accident doses/risks, they could not genuinely consent. They are unskilled, socially shunned, temporary laborers who are forced by economic necessity to accept even deadly jobs. This two-tier nuclear-worker system—where buraku bear most (unreported) risks, while highly-paid employees bear little (reported) risk—’’ ‘is the hidden world of nuclear power’ said.a former Tokyo University physics professor.’’ In 2010, 89 percent of FD nuclear workers were temporary-contract employees, ‘‘hired from construction sites,’’ local farms, or ‘‘local gangsters.’’ With a ‘‘constant fear of getting fired,’’ they hid their injuries/ doses—to keep their jobs.61–65 Among post-FD-accident buraku, lack of adequate consent also caused prima-facie DREI because government raised workers’ allowable, post-accident-radiation doses to 250 mSv/year—250 times what the public may receive annually.63 Yet IARC says each 250-MSv FD exposure causes 25 percent of fatal cancers. Two-years’ exposure (500 MSv) would cause 50 percent of all fatal cancers. Given such deadly risks and the dire economic situation of buraku, their genuine consent is unlikely.24,25
51 +
52 +
53 +
54 +Advocacy
55 +Advocacy-Japan ought to ban nuclear energy as a rejection of American Colonialism.
56 +
57 +Commission on Nuclear Energy , Our path to a nuclear-free Japan: an interim report, , October 2013, Executive Summary Citizens’ (CCNE) October 2013, www.ccnejapan.com, CJS
58 +
59 +Given the Fukushima Nuclear Accident and the many shortcomings found in Japanese civil nuclear policies, Japan – under national consensus - should make it a national virtue to ban the use of atomic energy for power generation and to achieve a society free of nuclear power. A “society free of nuclear power” here means a status where decisions have been taken to decommission all existing nuclear reactors and the process of decommissioning has begun. In order to achieve a shift towards a sustainable energy system, a Fundamental Law on Energy Shift should be enacted. Further, administrative and financial reform should be carried out with the aim to overcome all the past problems associated with energy policies.
60 +
61 +Framing
62 +Don’t just weigh “objective” realities personal suffering is an equally valid impact. Objective standards don’t apply to real life situations, to weigh under an objective standard supports the strife that survivors go through.
63 +Elicia Cousins et al, Claire Karban, Fay Li, and Marianna Zapanta, Carleton College, Environmental Studies Comprehensive Project, Nuclear Power and Environmental Justice:
64 +A Mixed-Methods Study of Risk, Vulnerability, and the Victim Experience
65 +One of the goals of the preceding section was to complicate the notion of “risk” that we have come to associate with nuclear power plant accidents. After a certain point, objective “reality” loses relevance in moments of conflicting streams of information, secrecy, and uncertainty, as seen in the case of the three most deadly nuclear accidents in history. The stressors we describe thus have as much to do with perceived risk as with objective, calculated risk (which, in the case of nuclear power, is endlessly difficult to characterize). The range of potential impacts on biological health, wellbeing, and health-related behavior is vast for anyone involved, regardless of age, gender, race, or socioeconomic status. However, we suggest that such stress is amplified in certain populations of heightened vulnerability. For example, the stress of parents (especially mothers) with preschool age children was particularly evident throughout the present analysis, a well-documented trend associated with technological disasters (Havenaar et al. 1996; Bromet and Schulberg 1986). Children are also particularly sensitive to physical and mental harm (Peek 2008; Bromet et al. 2000), a trend reflected in a recent survey of child evacuees from Fukushima24 that revealed stress levels double the Japanese average (Brumfiel 2013). A similar trend is evident in the United States, where low-income populations and people of color may encounter such stressors at higher levels and face greater difficulties in coping with them. Low-income populations are more likely to lack financial resources (Cutter 2006) and expansive social networks to rely upon (Dominguez and Watkins 2003) during emergencies. The differential response and recovery to Hurricane Katrina is a telling example of such trends: while those with resources left before the hurricane arrived, those without resources (mainly the poor, African American, elderly, or residents without private cars) had to remain and deal with the oncoming disaster (Cutter 2006). Low socioeconomic status is also associated with lower educational attainment, which constrains understanding of and access to disaster warnings and information on recovery (Ibid.). It follows that such populations would be more prone to stress from feelings of uncertainty. Further, low-income populations already have the worst health and health care, and bear the highest burden of all diseases (Sered and Fernandopulle 2006). People of color also have higher rates of illness and mortality, and lower usage rates of health care facilities and procedures. Low-income Hispanics appear particularly vulnerable in this regard; between 1996 and 1999, 37 percent of this group were never insured with private coverage, and up to 80 percent were uninsured at some point in those three years (Doty and Holmgren 2004). The apparent relationships between poverty, race, poor health, and barriers to accessing health care would become even more problematic for people coping with stress and the associated health impacts of a nuclear accident. Thus far we have shown that certain disadvantaged populations are made further vulnerable physically, by way of their proximity to nuclear power plants. These same groups are likely to suffer greater costs in the case of an accident and face more difficulties in recovery. Under the Rawlsian framework of justice, this constitutes unfairness and injustice: the existing unequal distribution of risk further harms those who are already worse off. This raises the question of whether these groups derive any special benefits, such as cheaper electricity or employment. However, cheaper electricity is a benefit to residents of the whole region served by any given power facility, and thus cannot be seen as a unique benefit to vulnerable populations. Further, some cases show that people of color and low-income people are excluded from employment at such facilities because of required specialized knowledge (Lerner 2005) and language skills. The well documented trend of racial and gender discrimination in the labor market is further indication of potential exclusion (Burstein 1985; Tomaskovic-Devey 1993). As Section V will reveal, it appears that these disadvantaged groups are not being taken into consideration by policy makers concerned with nuclear energy safety. By Scholsberg’s (2007) logic, this lack of recognition may further heighten the vulnerability of these groups to both social and physical risks, and contribute to further injustice. We will argue that policy should be designed to recognize the vulnerabilities of disadvantaged groups and to minimize their exposure to harm.
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