Thousands were evacuated from the area around Fukushima Daiichi but no one counted the animals left behind. Farmers, horse breeders, pig and chicken farmers, and owners of pets were forced to flee. Some were told they would be gone for only one night, so they left food and water behind for the animals. But they were not allowed to come back. Dogs left tied up died of dehydration and starvation. Others, unchained, succumbed to infections caused by cuts after being tossed around by the tsunami. Dairy cows died with their heads in stanchions; horses left in stalls were battered by the earthquake and couldn’t get out. They ended up starving to death. Many small animals drowned.
All sentient beings. Not just humans. Everything that lives and breathes, plus the inanimate and the spirits floating around Japan—all are equally important. Elizabeth Oliver, the founder of Animal Refuge Kansai—known as ARK—together with the Tokyo bureau chief of the Economist, Henry Tricks, were some of the first people to rescue animals inside Fukushima’s twenty-kilometer zone. “We know that many people died,” Elizabeth said, “but the animals didn’t even have a chance to run for their lives.”
Veterinarians sprayed lime over the dead livestock to prevent the spread of disease. One dairy farmer refused to leave his animals behind and stayed to care for his cows. A man with 330 beef cows could not bear to abandon them, despite the fact that they no longer had any dollar value. He is permitted to enter the zone to feed the cattle, and gives out extra hay and grain for the strays that come streaming in. No one will ever know how many animals have died or how many still remain.
Elizabeth and Henry recall arriving at a stable still full of horses. Henry said, “Rushes and driftwood tangled up in the halters hanging on the wall suggest the tsunami rose high up above the horses’ necks. Some of the stalls collapsed under the weight of the water. In the sun outside, six of the horses lay dead. Many of the living were lacerated along their legs and necks, suggesting sheer panic as they tried to climb out of their stalls. Remarkably, many survived. Their big trusting eyes conceal unimaginable suffering. Their emaciated bodies say more.”
Elizabeth said that some of the horses could not walk up the loading ramps: “They had to stay behind, which broke our hearts.”
Elizabeth is a British citizen who came to Japan by accident. Waylaid on a round-the-world trip three decades ago, she never finished her journey. Twenty years ago she founded ARK with a group of volunteers and friends and has established two animal rescue shelters, one in Tokyo and the other in Osaka, and is building a large facility in Sasayama, her home in the mountains near Nara.
Since the tsunami, she has been sending frequent newsletters. The most alarming of them announced that the government was intending to ban people from entering the twenty-kilometer zone after April 22. Anyone caught inside was to be given thirty days in jail and fined 100,000 yen. On May 12, the government decided to slaughter all livestock in the zone.
Horses have been bred in Fukushima Prefecture for over a thousand years and their annual Samurai and Horse Festival is famous. A Japanese horse rescue group, Hisaiba, was contacted by ARK and arrived a week later to transport animals to their shelter just outside the thirty-kilometer zone. “When we arrived there, the horses’ eyes lit up as they seemed to come alive knowing they would be safe,” the head of Hisaiba said. Two hundred Fukushima horses in the no/go zone were adopted by the wealthy Hokkaido racehorse breeder, Katsumi Yoshida, who shipped them by truck and ferry to his sixteen-hundred-hectare farm.
As word spread about the animals around Fukushima Daiichi and the ones lost on the Tohoku coast, animal rescuers began penetrating the no/go zone.
Mayu was wearing three-inch wedge tennis shoes, heavy makeup, jewelry, and tight jeans when I met her inside a crowded Tokyo donut shop. She had never rescued an animal before the disaster, and doesn’t own a pet. Now she’s one of the guerrilla animal rescuers.
“A friend from Fukushima City called and asked if I would go to the thirty-kilometer zone to look for animals that had been left behind,” she began. “I said yes. We found dogs tied up and left to guard the houses. They were hungry. We poured out piles of dog food for them and brought water.
“It’s impossible to tell where the thirty-kilometer zone ends and the twenty-kilometer zone begins. We just kept going further in. When we got to the fifteen-kilometer zone there were signs left by the police that said, ‘Please don’t enter. Danger Zone.’ We kept going.
“The towns were completely vacant. So many dogs roaming around with collars on. The dogs that weren’t tied up came to us. We fed and watered them and put them into the car. None of them tried to bite us. They knew we were there to help. We had a four-wheel drive with cages in the back. We went looking for the ones left inside. It was weird breaking into people’s houses. But we got a lot of dogs out and drove them the three hours to the shelter in Fukushima City.
“That’s how our days were: we’d arrive by nine or ten in the morning and leave by four. There were some police who saw us. They warned us that if we were killed by wandering thieves, no one would find us. But most of the police felt sad for the animals and encouraged us. They just said, ‘Be careful, and good luck.’
“It was impossible for us to rescue cattle and horses. We only had a car. But we saw some and they were in bad shape. We went to a town that had been flattened by the tsunami and saw dead horses. All I remember is the horrible look of starvation on their faces. Their eyes had fallen out, and they were lying on their sides.
“At some point it became illegal to enter the inner zones. Barriers were erected and we couldn’t get the car through. The government said they were going to euthanize all the animals left behind, despite the fact that some of us were willing to go in and get animals out. I heard that the police were ‘euthanizing’ cows by rubbing detergent down the cows’ throats, leaving them convulsing. A group of us sent a plea to use real medicine. After the lockdown on the zones, we still tried to get it, but they stopped us.
“This was my first time at animal rescue. I spent a total of thirty days inside the no/go zones. I don’t worry about radiation. I’m twenty-seven and live in Tokyo. I have no children. We were probably exposed to much more than we knew about at the time, but it doesn’t worry me. I feel I did the right thing.
“The dogs I rescued remember me. I can’t have a dog where I live, but I’ve ‘adopted’ a little white dog that is at my friend’s shelter called SORA. She waits for me to come.”
North of Fukushima Prefecture, on the Tohoku coast, dogs ran during the earthquake or were washed away by the tsunami. A group of rescuers from a sanctuary called Dogwood outside of Sendai began looking for animals.
The founder said, “After March 11, the police weren’t letting us in. I was trying to get to the places covered with water—to Ishinomaki, Higashi-Matsushima, and Natori, but when we finally got to the coast, there weren’t any dogs around. Most of them had drowned in the Wave.
“A little further inland we found dogs inside cars, using them as a house. A call came from a woman whose dog had survived the Wave, but had heart problems. She wasn’t allowed to bring the dog into the evacuation center, so she was living with it outside in a tool shed. When we located her, she and the dog were shivering; it was snowing hard.
“So many owners have never had the experience of being separated from their dogs. We offered help: we said we’d keep the dogs safe and warm and well-cared for until they were more settled. But when these people went into temporary housing, they found the spaces so small it wasn’t possible to keep the dog, so we are keeping them even longer.
“There are 150 dogs here right now. Some are unstable and others don’t change despite all they’ve experienced. They can cope with it. We find that the unstable dogs are mirroring the owners’ fears. The strong dogs know to wait; they know someone will come for them again. If the dogs are happy and energetic, then when the owners come to visit—even if they are still unable to bring their dogs home—they feel better too. The dogs influence the humans and vice versa.
“The dogs we received from the twenty-kilometer zone around Fukushima have owners but have not been reunited. We’re not sure where the owners are. We’ve made a book of photographs of the dogs that get posted online to help owners and their animals meet up, just as they did with the human survivors.
“We didn’t enter the no–go zone, but some dog lovers have been sneaking in and bringing dogs out. Those animals are checked for radiation and if they have high counts, we wash them very thoroughly and have the vets check them. They are all okay. We will keep them for as long as is necessary. They’re happy here. And so am I. Compared to those who lost houses and loved ones, I’m very lucky. There’s lots of work here but it’s good to be able to help.”