March 23, 2011
The Yomiuri Shimbun
The following is a translation of the Henshu Techo column from The Yomiuri Shimbun's March 23 issue.
* * *
Novelist Kyoka Izumi (1873-1939) cared about hygiene so much that he was called a "fanatic." He never ate sashimi, he drank sake hot enough to burn his lips, and would eat grated daikon only after boiling it.
When he visited someone's home and greeted the host in a Japanese-style living room, Izumi would sit on his knees, but bowed with his wrists tucked in like a cat, so only the backs of his hands--not his palms--would touch the tatami floor.
People tell the story that Izumi put "hot coarse tea" as his answer to questionnaire asking people in the literary world about their favorite summer dishes.
Under ordinary circumstances, people see Izumi's passion for hygiene as a bit obsessive. But there are times when, excessive consumer worry, triggered by some incident, has hurt agricultural producers. What I'm talking about is the damage caused by groundless rumors.
There is concern now that rumors could harm some parts of the farm and dairy industries in the wake of the nuclear crisis in Fukushima Prefecture. If vegetables, fruit and the other produce from disaster-affected areas are shipped and sold on the market, it means they are safe to eat.
If their prices and freshness are not so different from other products, maybe we could put produce from these areas into our baskets at supermarkets and other stores. This would be one way to support farmers in those areas.
The novelist's obsession with hygiene should be mimicked by no one except government organizations checking to make sure farm and marine products meet safety standards.
A proper level of fear, based on reason, is the only correct way to respond to radioactive materials.
(Mar. 28, 2011)
The Yomiuri Shimbun
The following is a translation of the Henshu Techo column from The Yomiuri Shimbun's March 23 issue.
* * *
Novelist Kyoka Izumi (1873-1939) cared about hygiene so much that he was called a "fanatic." He never ate sashimi, he drank sake hot enough to burn his lips, and would eat grated daikon only after boiling it.
When he visited someone's home and greeted the host in a Japanese-style living room, Izumi would sit on his knees, but bowed with his wrists tucked in like a cat, so only the backs of his hands--not his palms--would touch the tatami floor.
People tell the story that Izumi put "hot coarse tea" as his answer to questionnaire asking people in the literary world about their favorite summer dishes.
Under ordinary circumstances, people see Izumi's passion for hygiene as a bit obsessive. But there are times when, excessive consumer worry, triggered by some incident, has hurt agricultural producers. What I'm talking about is the damage caused by groundless rumors.
There is concern now that rumors could harm some parts of the farm and dairy industries in the wake of the nuclear crisis in Fukushima Prefecture. If vegetables, fruit and the other produce from disaster-affected areas are shipped and sold on the market, it means they are safe to eat.
If their prices and freshness are not so different from other products, maybe we could put produce from these areas into our baskets at supermarkets and other stores. This would be one way to support farmers in those areas.
The novelist's obsession with hygiene should be mimicked by no one except government organizations checking to make sure farm and marine products meet safety standards.
A proper level of fear, based on reason, is the only correct way to respond to radioactive materials.
(Mar. 28, 2011)
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