Published: 19 January 2026. The English Chronicle Desk. The English Chronicle Online.
Fifteen years after the Fukushima disaster reshaped Japan’s energy debate, preparations for the Kashiwazaki restart are intensifying along the country’s snowy western coast. Activity around the vast Kashiwazaki-Kariwa nuclear power plant has accelerated, with construction vehicles widening access roads and security patrols monitoring the perimeter. Razor wire coils line fences, while the reactors sit quietly against the backdrop of Mount Yoneyama, a reminder of both industrial ambition and lingering fear.
The Kashiwazaki restart has become a defining moment for Japan’s post-Fukushima identity. Located in Niigata prefecture, the plant is the largest nuclear facility in the world. When fully operational, its seven reactors can generate 8.2 gigawatts of electricity, enough to supply millions of homes across the Tokyo region. Yet since 2012, the site has produced no power, remaining dormant after the triple meltdown at Fukushima Daiichi in March 2011.
That catastrophe, triggered by a massive earthquake and tsunami, forced the evacuation of around 160,000 people and shattered public trust. It also led to the shutdown of dozens of reactors nationwide, leaving Japan heavily reliant on imported fossil fuels. Now, as the country approaches the fifteenth anniversary of the disaster, the government and Tokyo Electric Power Company, known as Tepco, are pressing ahead with plans to revive nuclear generation.
Tepco, which also operated Fukushima Daiichi, intends to restart reactor number six at Kashiwazaki-Kariwa. Officials argue that the move will strengthen energy security, stabilise electricity prices, and support climate targets by reducing carbon emissions. The restart could increase power supply to the Tokyo area by about two percent, a modest figure that nonetheless carries enormous symbolic weight.
For residents living nearby, symbolism offers little comfort. Around 420,000 people live within a 30-kilometre radius of the plant, an area that would require evacuation in a severe accident. Many fear that lessons from Fukushima have not been fully learned. Ryusuke Yoshida, a 76-year-old potter living less than two kilometres from the reactors, describes his anxiety simply. Everything worries him, from evacuation plans to winter weather.
Yoshida points out that heavy snow often blocks roads during winter months. He questions how elderly residents or those with limited mobility would escape quickly during an emergency. In his view, the Kashiwazaki restart raises serious human rights concerns that authorities have failed to address. Standing near the shoreline, he watches waves crash while the silent reactors loom behind him.
Tepco insists that safety is its highest priority. The company says it has invested heavily in protective measures since Fukushima. Seawalls have been reinforced, watertight doors installed, and mobile diesel generators positioned to ensure emergency power. Fire engines stand ready to pump cooling water, while advanced filtration systems aim to limit radioactive releases during accidents.
Beyond physical upgrades, Tepco has pledged to invest 100 billion yen into Niigata prefecture over the next decade. The funds are intended to support regional development and rebuild trust with local communities. Company spokesperson Tatsuya Matoba says understanding from residents is essential for nuclear operations. He describes trust-building as a continuous process requiring sincerity and effort.
Despite these assurances, opposition remains strong. Local authorities declined calls for a prefectural referendum on the plant’s future, a decision that angered campaigners. Surveys conducted by the prefectural government indicate that more than sixty percent of residents within the evacuation zone believe conditions for restarting have not been met. For critics, these figures highlight a democratic deficit surrounding the decision.
Kazuyuki Takemoto, a member of the Kariwa village council, questions whether safety can ever be guaranteed in a seismically active region. He recalls the offshore earthquake of 2007, which damaged equipment at the plant and caused a transformer fire. Although reactors shut down automatically, the incident reinforced fears about geological risks. Takemoto argues that authorities have avoided meaningful discussion of these dangers.
Concerns have been heightened by recent revelations elsewhere in Japan. Chubu Electric Power admitted fabricating seismic risk data during a regulatory review of reactors at its Hamaoka plant. Although unrelated to Kashiwazaki-Kariwa, the scandal has undermined confidence in the wider nuclear industry. Critics say it reinforces perceptions of complacency and collusion between operators and regulators.
Japan’s government faces a difficult balancing act. Before Fukushima, nuclear energy supplied about thirty percent of the nation’s electricity. Today, only fourteen of thirty-three operable reactors are running. Restart efforts have repeatedly stalled due to legal challenges and local resistance. Yet officials argue that without nuclear power, Japan cannot meet emissions targets or ensure stable energy supplies.
The Kashiwazaki restart is therefore seen as a test case. Success could pave the way for further restarts, while failure might stall nuclear policy for years. Supporters emphasise technological improvements and stricter oversight introduced since 2011. Opponents counter that no system is foolproof, especially in a country prone to earthquakes and tsunamis.
For many residents, distrust runs deeper than engineering debates. They speak of a “nuclear village” linking politicians, regulators, and utility companies. In their view, economic and political pressure has overridden local voices. Yoshida gestures towards security cameras near the plant, suggesting they symbolise control rather than protection. He believes the decision has been imposed from above.
As Japan marks fifteen years since Fukushima, memories remain raw. Communities along the north-eastern coast are still rebuilding, while debates over contaminated water and displaced families continue. Against this backdrop, the Kashiwazaki restart feels to some like an unresolved chapter being reopened too quickly. For others, it represents a necessary step towards energy stability in an uncertain world.
Whether the restart proceeds smoothly or sparks renewed protest, its implications will extend far beyond Niigata. International observers are watching closely, aware that Japan’s choices influence global perceptions of nuclear safety. The world’s biggest nuclear plant, silent for more than a decade, now stands at the centre of a national reckoning between past trauma and future necessity.




























































































