Back to business: post-disaster Japan



TOKYO — Even before the magnitude-9 earthquake and tsunami hammered Japan’s northeastern coast, the country’s economy had seen better days. Now weeks after the disaster, the idled factories, dead workers, delayed deliveries, fuel shortages and rolling blackouts pose a huge challenge for Japan Inc.

Few businesses have emerged unscathed. Tokyo Shoko Research estimates that more than 70 per cent of Japan’s 1,597 publicly listed companies were affected by the quake, tsunami, or nuclear crisis. 

When auto parts suppliers’ factories went down, most of the country’s car and truck makers halted their assembly lines. Brewers Kirin, Asahi and Sapporo lost beer-making capacity, and computer-chip makers were left scrambling following the disabling of Shin-Etsu Chemical’s and Sumco’s semiconductor wafer-making operations. 

The stoppages have had a ripple effect far beyond Japan’s shores, gumming up the global production of everything from gas-electric hybrid cars and airplane engines to iPads and mobile phones. US investment bank Goldman Sachs now predicts that Japan’s economy will expand just 0.7 per cent this year, instead of the previously forecast 1.3 per cent. Last year’s growth was at 3 per cent.

“There are concerns that our damaged parts factories are hurting the global economy,” says Hiromasa Yonekura, head of the powerful business lobby group, Nippon Keidanren. “We must limit the impact of the production delays.” 

The Japanese government’s best guess is that the rebuilding will cost €220bn — about 8 per cent of Japan’s GDP. That’s more than twice what the country spent after the Kobe earthquake in 1995.

Compounding the problems: Radioactivity leaks from Tokyo Electric Power Co.’s Fukushima nuclear power plant. Fertile fishing grounds and inland dairy farms near the plant could be plagued by fears of radiation contamination for some time. And without the plant, Japan faces a potential energy crunch this summer. Nippon Keidanren’s Yonekura has urged companies to slash their energy use by 25 per cent through electricity-saving steps and the use of in-house generators. The cutbacks could force manufacturers to curtail output and businesses to set the air conditioning on low during the hot, humid months.

As bulldozers raze buildings and trucks cart away debris and waterlogged cars, Japan’s leaders face tough decisions. How will they help the worst-hit coastal communities? Local governments say they want to finish the cleanup in three years, but it could take longer for some towns and villages that vanished under the tsunami waves. By then, businesses -- from major exporters to mom-and-pop shops — may decide to move or shift operations overseas.

Still, a natural disaster doesn’t have to be an economic one. When countries rebuild by investing in new technologies and safety measures, it can spur long-term growth, says Mark Skidmore, a professor at Michigan State University who has studied how countries respond to disasters. “Japan has the potential for a recovery time that will be shorter than many predict,” says Skidmore.

Consider Kobe after its devastating January 1995 quake. Experts thought it would take a decade for the city to bounce back. Yet within 15 months, factories were already running at 98 per cent of their pre-quake levels, freight through the world’s sixth-largest container port had nearly recovered, and most shops in the city had reopened, according to a 2000 report by Purdue University’s George Horwich. And all the while Japan kept chugging along: In the first three months of 1995 the economy grew an annualised rate of 3.4 per cent. But that was then and this has been a catastrophe unlike any other. 

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Electricity: 
Tokyo Electric Power’s dual crises — a meltdown at the company’s Fukushima nuclear power plant and a shortage of electricity — has transformed the capital’s skyline. In the Tokyo metropolitan area, street lamps and neon lights are dark and office buildings and homes have voluntary dimmed their lights to help out. The possibility of power blackouts is expected to continue for months. 

Delivery: 
For days after the quake and tsunami, transport in northeastern Japan ground to a halt. When Yamato Transport’s trucks were finally able to resume shipments in the region, the No. 2 delivery service didn’t just go back to business as usual. It assigned 200 lorries and 500 drivers and personnel to carry food and supplies to the disaster zone.

Beverages: 
It wasn’t just major brewers’ factories that lay in ruins. Suisen, a sake brewer in Rikuzen-Takada city, was an hour away from celebrating the end to its annual brewing season and production of a million liters of Yukikko sake when the quake struck. After workers fled, the tsunami destroyed 150 tanks at the brewery. Three days later, Suisen’s website read: “Due to the disaster, we will be closed for a while.” 

Farms: 
In Iitate (population 6,200) dairy farmers have been dumping milk since food safety officials found elevated radiation levels linked to the troubled Fukushima nuclear power plant. The village sits about 30km northwest of the plant and residents have been told to stay indoors or evacuate. “We can’t begin to think about aid for farmers until things at the power plant are under control,” said Iitate official Hiroyuki Murayama. 

Fisheries: 
The tsunami smashed up the port cities of Ishinomaki and Kesennuma, in Miyagi prefecture — Japan’s third- and sixth-largest fishing ports. Oyster farms, seafood processing plants and boats were lost. Kesennuma Fish Market aims to reopen by June but it could take years to bounce back to pre-disaster €200 million trade in mackerel, shark, tuna and salmon. Says market official Masaaki Onodera: “The market’s foundation sank one meter and is cracked, and the computers were completely ruined.” 

Transport:
On the day the quake struck, East Japan Railway (JR East) suspended all train services -- five bullet train lines and around 40 local lines connecting Tokyo to regions north and south — stranding millions of passengers. The railway company has gradually restored service, but rolling blackouts continue to hamper operations. It could be months before heavily damaged lines — the 575 km Tohoku Line, for instance — are running again. “We have no idea when some of the lines will restart service,” says a company spokesman.   

Packaging:
Hokuetsu Package’s three-week shutdown of its paper carton-making plant in Hitachinaka city, Ibaraki prefecture, was partly to blame for a scarcity of juice, milk and tea on store shelves. The Tokyo-based company has 40 per cent of Japan’s market for drink cartons. But official Satoshi Eshika says its factory was only part of the story. “Just after the quake there wasn’t enough petrol for the delivery trucks,” says Eshika. 

Autos: 
Toyota’s domestic factories are far from the disaster zone but many of its key suppliers — rubber, plastics, battery and computer-chip makers — were damaged. With parts in short supply, the world’s largest auto maker has cut back on the production of hundreds of thousands of vehicles, including its popular gas-electric hybrids. The company is racing to shift production to overseas plants and find backup suppliers. 

Technology: 
The quake that damaged Shin-Etsu Chemical’s largest semiconductor wafer plant in Shirakawa, in Fukushima prefecture, hurt the world’s chip-making industry. The company is the world’s largest maker of silicon wafers that are cut to make computer chips, and accounts for a fifth of global supply. High-tech gadgets like mobile phones and tablet computers could be affected, too. 

Tourism: 
Nuclear radiation has spooked Asian tourists. Hong Kong’s Travel Industry Council asked its 1,500 member travel agencies to cancel all tours to Japan. Oriental Land Co, which operates Tokyo Disney Resort, shut the amusement park an the nearby Cirque du Soleil theatre for weeks due to an unstable electricity supply. 


(From Monocle, Business, May 2011, Issue 43, Volume 05)
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Tills and thrills: Japan's supermarket expo


TOKYO — It's a weekday afternoon in February and men and women in dark business suits gather near five cash-register stations at one end of a cavernous convention hall in Tokyo. As music blares out, a woman wearing a white trouser-suit and sporting a headset mic steps from behind a curtain, welcomes the audience, and proclaims, "At Teraoka, we are reinventing cash-register technology and leading a checkout revolution!" 

Checkout revolution isn't a phrase that's likely to get the ordinary shopper's pulse racing, but it's a big crowd-pleaser at Japan’s Supermarket Trade Show. This year's show is the 45th, and there isn’t a manager or product buyer in the €150bn industry who would dare skip it. For three days, they arrive at Tokyo Big Sight convention center from all over the archipelago, on a mission to discover the next big idea or must-have product. 

The expo covers every facet of the business, and there’s a mind-boggling variety on display. Technology companies unveil energy-efficient refrigerated cases. Plastics companies show off stackable food containers that take up little stockroom space. Food and drink makers dispatch staffers to dole out samples. Even railway operator JR East has a stand advertising its pop-up markets filled with food from far-flung regions.

Despite the sluggish economy, this year’s turnout is expected to be the best yet: 1,127 exhibitors and more than 83,400 attendees, beating last year’s record numbers. “Because the economy has been so bad supermarkets have had to work harder to survive,” says Masaki Miura, executive director of the New Supermarket Association of Japan (NSAJ), which organises the show. 

Japan is packed with grocery stores and supermarkets -- more than 35,000, according to the four main industry organisations. Besides them, there are also thousands of convenience stores, train-station mini-marts, farmers' markets and local butchers and tofu shops, so the competition is intense. 

Recently, domestic supermarket sales have been improving, but the long-term outlook remains bleak and that has taken a toll. Aeon, Ito-Yokado and other big chains have been retreating from all but the largest cities in Japan as they regroup for an expansion into other Asian markets. Their flight has left isolated communities of kaimono nanmin -- residents who have no nearby grocery stores. 

It has also set off a turf war among the small fry. The most popular strategy for gaining an edge is to find the right mix of low-cost store-brand staples and pricier delicacies from faraway prefectures. That explains why the food stands are the show’s busiest. It seems every local farm and fisheries cooperative and tiny sauce maker and beverage company has come with hopes of being discovered by a national chain. 


As in past years, there aren’t many overseas brands. The U.S. and Polish embassies have stands and some Italian-food importers are lumped together nearby. Such a small foreign presence is no accident. Getting a product on the shelves of Japan’s supermarkets means relying on a byzantine system of middlemen, known as tonya, who have a traditional lock on the supply chain. Few would risk crossing them. “We would refuse to send our products to any supermarket that won’t use the tonya,” says one man at a stand for Ikejima green-tea-flavored soba noodles, from Shizuoka.  

There are other obstacles. Japanese law not only stipulates what goes on the labels but also the font size. “It’s not easy to fit all of the required information, in 8-point font, onto the label of a skinny 250ml bottle,” says Masoud Sobhani, of Persian Palace, a Kobe-based importer of California Olive Ranch olive oil. 

This being Japan, technology is a big part of the show, and companies like Teraoka, Toshiba and Panasonic have huge stands. One of the most popular is Fuji Electric's mockup of a futuristic supermarket. Inside, refrigerated cases sport motion sensors that automatically dim and brighten LED lights, and herbs and leafy vegetables grow hydroponically in glass-doored cabinets. "We can offer the whole system but right now it’s just a prototype,” says Yoshihiro Kobayashi, a Fuji Electric employee.

Some peddle more people-centric solutions. Keiji Hoshina, a hale 63-year-old, represents the Dry Food Association of Japan. He has little more than a poster and a stack of brochures but what Hoshina lacks in visuals he makes up for with enthusiasm. At the sight of a visitor Hoshina launches into a spiel about his group's aim to create "dry food maestros". 

For €500, students get a crash course in dried kelp, bonito, and daikon radish and are certified as experts. In future, the association has plans for intermediate and advanced classes. "Having a maestro on staff is a good way for a supermarket to offer consumers personalised services," says Hoshina.

Hoshina’s view is echoed by other groups that train vegetable “sommeliers” and cash-register “meisters”. The New Supermarket Association of Japan offers courses for cashiers to learn the proper way to talk to customers and techniques to ring up customers’ purchases faster. "Ultimately, you can tell a good supermarket from a bad one by the cashiers," says the NSAJ's Miura.  

(From Monocle, Business, April 2011, Issue 42, Volume 5)
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Tokyo’s Irish Elect a Queen


TOKYO Historic doesn’t quite seem the right word for it, but the Irish community in Tokyo will accomplish a first this year: Their St. Patrick’s Day parade, on March 13, will be led by a queen. One night this week, parade organiser Irish Network Japan rented out Modapolitica Aoyama, a Tokyo event space above a clothing store, to whittle 12 contestants to one.

The idea for the contest emerged last December when three men -- two Irishmen and a Briton -- met at a restaurant across the street from Honda Motor’s global headquarters. Over a lunch of yakiniku (Korean barbecue), Andy O’Doherty, who heads INJ, asked the other two at the table to think of ways of attracting more media attention for the 20th annual parade.

Among the proposals: invite Cirque du Soleil performers (too expensive); build floats (illegal on the parade route); get four elephants and a giraffe (tricky); get four elephants and have them painted green (even trickier). “You’re after a show-stopper,” Dane Gillett, one of the trio, recently recalled. But nothing was sticking. Four elephants tromping through Tokyo’s fashion hub would probably guarantee a media turnout, but there were concerns about the paint. “We might get the animal rights people a bit mad,” said Gillett, who is head of business development for Tokyo beer importer Ikon Europubs.

Then Gillett remembered how summer fairs at home in Surrey, England, always had a parade queen. The St. Patrick’s parade in Tokyo only ever had a marshal. “Ever think about getting a gal?” he asked O’Doherty.

“I jumped on it,” recalled O’Doherty, 29, who works in IT support. He made a pouncing motion with his free hand; his other cradled a pint of Murphy’s.

At the moment, though, O’Doherty was in no position to pounce; he was in fact having difficulty not getting jostled by the crowd that had turned out for the parade-queen contest. Up on a green-carpeted stage, the emcee, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, introduced the 12 contestants and explained the rules. “Remember everyone -- this is a personality contest as much as it is a beauty contest! Are you ready to choose a queeeeeeen?!!!” shouted the emcee. Enthusiastic applause.

The women posed in casual clothing as the emcee read their profiles. They waved and blew kisses to the crowd. A massive balloon, floating overhead, made its way around the room. O’Doherty took a swig from his glass. “We wanted it to be about personality,” he said. “These contests are about how radiant you are. There was talk of a swimsuit contest. But we said ‘nah, nah, it's about personality.’”

At the back of the room, O’Doherty ran into a trim man in a stylish suit, his hair cut to a stubble. The man pulled out his business card: Folli Follie, Ioannis Begietis, group finance director, senior executive director, member of the board. Last September, the Athens-based jewelry, watch and accessories company opened a shop in the Omotesando shopping district, right on the parade route. O’Doherty introduced Begietis as “the only shopowner in Omotesando who will be open for the parade.” “Call me Stan,” he said, holding out a hand. “Among the Irish, I’m Stan. But my business name is John. That’s what Americans call me. My real name, Ioannis (pronounced Yanis), is Greek.”

Begietis has been in Japan since 2007. The first year he was here he marched in the parade. “I loved it. I was surprised how fun it was,” he said. “I wish the Greeks did something like this. But in Japan it's just me and the people who work at the Greek embassy -- that's it,” said Begietis.

He walked over to a table near the entrance and picked up an orange Folli Follie box containing shamrock-shaped earrings and a necklace. “The official jewels for the parade queen,” he said. “She gets to keep them.”

Begietis pointed to a table, where a stack of brochures about Ireland (“Welcome to the island of memories”) sat next to bottles of extra virgin olive oil from California and Ever Feel cosmetics. “They have lots of info about the country. It's good for the image of Ireland."

Onstage, the emcee, was trying unsuccessfully to quiet the room. “Please put the balloon away -- for Christina!”

He lobbed a different question at each of the contestants who were now in dressier outfits. What was your first date like? (answer: New York City, age 19.) What are the similarities and differences between Japan and Ireland? (answer: both have warm-hearted people.) Who is the most important person in your life? (answer: my parents but especially my mum.) If you were the prime minister what policies would you promote and how? (answer: promote Japan-Ireland relations. Emcee: “If we had you we would not have had the economic crisis!”) What do you say to people who think that football is just for men? (answer: That's crap! I enjoy playing with the boys at school where I teach all the time. Emcee: “Only in Japan can you get away with saying that you enjoy playing with schoolboys.”)

The emcee’s sidekick, a tall woman in a short dress, asked each contestant: Why do you want to be Tokyo parade queen? (Contestant No. 9: “Because I am so healthy and I'm really smiley!”)

It was time to vote, and the contestants repaired to a backroom. Anyone could vote by sending an email to one of 12 addresses corresponding to each contestant. "There are less than 15 minutes left to vote. It's up to youuuuuuuu, ladies and gentlemen!" the emcee shouted.

A group of men near the stage got out their phones and started tapping away. Standing near them was Trevor Allen, the 42-year-old CEO of Ikon Europubs, whose company had organised the night’s event. Allen looked up. "It was a good concept, this contest,” said Allen, a former car design engineer from Westmeath, in the Midlands. "But people are more interested in yakking. Not everyone is paying attention. We need to figure out how to shut people up -- me too!"


During the break, Allen and Gillett huddled backstage with the emcee. Leaning in to listen was a man dressed in a shiny green chasuble and mitre (a hat resembling a chess piece) and comfortable grey shoes. The man in the vestments tugged at his fake white beard, held in place with string loops around his ears, like a surgical mask. He asked if there was a mirror upstairs and disappeared.

Who was that? “The pope,” said Allen. "Oh, I forgot to vote! I'm voting for no. 5.” He paused. “No, I'm going to vote for them all."

What’s stopping anyone else from voting more than once? “Nothing. But we have a filter -- one vote, one email address,” he said, adding: "We're expecting 1,000 votes even though there are only 250 people in the room."

A few minutes later, the 12 contestants filed back onto the stage in a V-formation. As the crowd whooped, the emcee walked to the rear of the stage and said to the man in the vestments: "St. Patrick, are you ready?" St. Patrick nodded and readjusted his beard. On cue, he walked onstage. The audience went wild. He bowed, said a few words, and made his exit. Backstage, when a reporter asked for his name, he grabbed the reporter’s notebook and pen and wrote in nearly illegible script "Richard Flanagan.” He wanted to make sure the website for his business as an Irish Tourist Board-certified guide got mentioned. (richardflanaganireland.com) When asked his age, Flanagan leaned in, pulled his beard from his face and said: "Sixty-seven. But I tell the ladies 65."

Two of the three envelopes were opened, and Ireland’s Ambassador to Japan, John Neary, read the names of the third-place and runner-up queens. A giant orange balloon floated towards them but the emcee batted it away.

“And now the moment you’ve been waiting for!” shouted the emcee.

“No. 9! No. 9!” said someone. 

“Get on with it!” said another.

“Hurry it up!”

“Stop yakking!”

“Kate Bohan!” read Neary.

Bohan, who is from southern California, is an English teacher in the Japan Education and Teaching (JET) programme. “I’m half Irish. Whenever I see shamrocks and Murphy's it resonates with me," she had said earlier in the evening.

The ambassador placed a rhinestone tiara in Bohan’s hair, and they posed for a photo with a large green ¥200,000 (€1,750) shopping voucher from Folli Follie. She also won a Folli Follie VIP Club card, a case of wine, a water purifier, ski resort tickets, and a bottle of whisky.

After photos, the emcee kissed the cheeks of all 12 contestants and swept up Bohan in his arms and they danced a two-step.

(Irish Network Japan newsletter, March 10, 2011)

Postscript: After the magnitude-9 earthquake and the tsunami devastated Japan's northeastern coast, the Irish Network Japan decided to cancel this year's St. Patrick's Day Tokyo parade. 
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Closed Tokyo hotel reopens for evacuees



Reporting from Tokyo — Room 1648 at the upscale Grand Prince Hotel Akasaka isn't fancy, but it sure beats Mina Ariga's old digs: an evacuation shelter in the Tokyo convention center. And for the three months she'll stay, she won't have to pay a cent.

She and her husband, Naruto, have been on the move since the earthquake and tsunami tore through the two-story home they were renting in Iwaki, a city about 20 miles south of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant. For the last month, the couple and their three pugs have crashed with friends and slept in shelters.

On Saturday morning, Ariga "checked in" and threw herself onto the L-shaped couch in the corner of the room. She gave it a couple of pats. "Ah, it's so relaxing here," she said.

Never mind that the beige carpet is a little worse for the wear, she had a view of the leafy grounds of the Imperial Palace.

The hotel isn't open for business. It saw off its last customers at the end of March, more than five decades after the original wooden-framed wing was built. The owner, the Prince Hotels group, has plans to tear down the aluminum-sided 40-story tower, which was designed by Japanese architect Kenzo Tange and opened in 1983.

But that won't happen until the end of June. In the meantime, the hotel has worked out an arrangement with the Tokyo city government to open some of the 715 rooms to quake evacuees.

It's one of the more creative ways that government officials have managed to absorb the exodus from Japan's disaster-stricken northern regions. Other towns and cities have opened sports arenas, convention centers and abandoned schools to take in evacuees. Even Emperor Akihito offered his hospitality: He ordered the Imperial Household Agency to open the staff bathhouse at his summer home in Nasu.

Tokyo city officials say the Grand Prince will house 360 of the 850 people who have been living in shelters around the capital for weeks. The metropolitan government will pick up the $2.4-million tab for the utilities, guests' meals and a bare-bones staff of 55.

The Grand Prince's royal-sounding name used to be fitting. The land was previously owned by a man whose father was a shogun, or warrior leader, during Japan's medieval period. The hotel lobby boasts white Carrara marble from Italy. Its location near Kasumigaseki, the central government's seat , made it a favorite among bigwig politicians.

With the hotel's closure, the grandeur has given way to more practical considerations. The front desk is dark and the sofas designed by Tange are gone from the lobby. Inside the elevator, makeshift labels pasted over the engraved plaques read "convenience store" and "cafeteria." A 15th-floor meeting room is now a playroom. Downstairs from the lobby and past a white piano, the banquet area has about 20 washer-dryer units.

Tokyo city officials are betting that the evacuees will be ready to go home by the time the wrecking crews arrive.

"Hopefully, the nuclear plant will be under control by then," Tokyo city official Tetsuya Wakimoto said Saturday. And if it isn't? "We can't just tell them to leave. We will need to find another place."


Hiroko Matsumoto, who checked into the hotel in the afternoon, isn't sure she'll be going back to Iwaki soon. After the explosions at the Fukushima plant, Iwaki officials had recommended wearing masks and hats and staying indoors. The 31-year-old homemaker said the market shelves were bare and hospitals where she buys medicine for her parents were closed. Her car had a little fuel, but gas stations were closed or suffered from shortages. The city emptied.

Matsumoto called her husband, who was working in Tokyo, and asked him to come get her, their 5-year-old son and her parents.

"The government was sending mixed messages, saying it's safe for Iwaki residents to stay but that vegetables grown on land farther away from the nuclear plant are contaminated," Matsumoto said. "I don't trust the government."

Others say three months is too short a time to rebuild a life.

Ariga said she and her husband would look for jobs before housing. She's grateful for the hotel room, but her mind isn't easy.

"The room is comfortable," she said, "but I'm still very worried about the future."
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Fukushima plant workers endure hardships


Reporting from Tokyo — They sleep with just one blanket apiece anywhere there's space — in a conference room, in the hallway, near the bathroom. Because deliveries of supplies are limited, they get by on very little food: Breakfast is packages of high-calorie emergency crackers and a small carton of vegetable juice; dinner consists of a small bag of "magic rice" (just add bottled water) and a can of chicken, mackerel or curry. There is no lunch — handing out a noontime meal would be too complicated in the crowded two-story building.

These are the grueling, Spartan living conditions for workers at the Fukushima nuclear power plant who are racing to connect electric cables, repair machinery and check equipment in order to avert a meltdown at the facility 150 miles northeast of Tokyo.

A Japanese nuclear regulatory official who spent five days at the power plant as an observer on Monday gave reporters the first detailed look at what life is like for the hundreds of workers remaining at the facility.

When they are pumping radioactive water from basements or repairing machinery in control rooms, the workers breathe through respirators and dress in white suits with hoods that cover them from head to toe, which offer substantial protection but are not foolproof. Even the short periods that they spend near the reactors — they work in one-hour shifts — can expose them to dangerously high radiation levels. Hundreds of workers sleep and eat in one huge room, about 6,200 square feet, on the second floor of a building a short distance from the reactor sites.

"I don't think the workers have the energy they need to work under these extremely tough conditions," said Kazuma Yokota, who heads the Japanese Nuclear and Industrial Safety Agency's local office in charge of inspections at the plant. The facility's operator, Tokyo Electric Power Co., or Tepco, did not immediately respond to Yokota's comments.

Health and safety measures for the Fukushima workers have come under increased scrutiny after three were exposed to highly radioactive water last week. Tepco has admitted it did not adequately warn the men about the potential danger of the water in reactor No. 3, even thought it had known about highly radioactive water days earlier at reactor No. 1. The company apologized for the lack of communication but at the same time said that the men, who have placed their lives at risk, had themselves ignored alarms alerting them to the radiation levels.

The company came under new criticism Monday after it retracted data indicating it had detected radiation levels 10 million times normal levels. Not that the correction was reassuring: The levels, Tepco said, were actually about 100,000 times those found at a normally functioning reactor.

"These things are an indication that they don't have good control on radiation protection," said Edwin Lyman, a senior scientist in the global security program at the Union of Concerned Scientists. "If you can't make accurate measurements, if you ignore alarms … it's a sign of chaos, and it means that there is pressure to keep going."

Nineteen workers have been exposed to more than 100 millisieverts of radiation since the crisis at the facility after the March 11 earthquake and tsunami, the Mainichi newspaper reported Monday, quoting Tepco. In the United States, the normal radiation exposure limit for nuclear power plant workers is 50 millisieverts per year; Japan has raised its legal limit to 250 millisieverts because the work is considered so urgent and crucial.

"If radiation levels continue to increase, workers are going to have their dose limits challenged even at this emergency level," Lyman said. "Workers could get saturated within a few weeks or even less.

"Or they will have to raise the limits again."

In the days immediately after the quake, when explosions rocked the plant, Tepco evacuated 750 workers but 50 stayed behind to try to contain the crisis. They quickly became folk heroes, with some people referring to them as "the Fukushima 50" or modern-day samurai. Reinforcements have since boosted their numbers to 400, and workers are being rotated in and out to limit their exposure to radiation.

Twice a day, a bus packed with a new shift of workers and supplies drives into the heart of the Fukushima plant. The workers are divided into working groups of specialists, such as electricians or control room operators. Their daily routine depends on the tasks at hand, how many workers are available, and the level of radiation exposure

Yokota, the nuclear safety agency official, said that during his five days at the plant, he was exposed to 883 microsieverts of radiation, the equivalent of about nine chest X-rays (1,000 microsieverts is 1 millisievert). Even inside the building where workers stay to avoid radiation, they are constantly exposed to low levels, he said.

Skilled workers will be needed for months, if not longer, to repair the plant.

Dr. Robert Peter Gale, an American physician who is advising Japan's government on the health of staffers at the plant, said doctors are "under pressure" and are weighing whether to begin harvesting and banking blood cells from hundreds of workers, measures that could help save their lives later. Gale, who also advised on the 1986 Chernobyl disaster, said about 200 workers there were subjected to high levels of radiation, and 13 eventually got bone marrow transplants.

As authorities consider how to cope in the long run, Yokota's account indicates that deliveries of food and other basic supplies to the plant, as well as hygiene and communication with the outside world, remain a challenge.

The workers drink bottled water — they are each allotted about 50 ounces a day — but don't have running water to wash their hands or bodies because the plumbing is broken. Instead, they use an alcohol spray.

"Some have expressed concern about not being able to change their underwear," said Yokota, who himself looked haggard after his experience, with bags under his eyes and a patchy beard.

There's no way for workers to talk to their families because the quake toppled nearby cellphone towers, he added. The plant's phone lines are still down and so the only means of communicating with the outside world is via satellite phone, Yokota said. That's a direct line to Tepco headquarters and is not available for personal calls. Some details about the conditions at the plant, however, have emerged through Twitter feeds and email.

Masato Kino, a spokesman for the nuclear safety agency at Fukushima, elaborated later on Yokota's observations, saying the employees were driven by a strong sense of mission and responsibility.

When the exhausted workers drop off to sleep, they put down radiation-protection mats on any available space on the floor, Yokota said. "We want to help as much as we can to improve their working conditions," he said.

(From the Los Angeles Times, by Kenji Hall and Julie Makinen, on March 29, 2011)






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Japan Focus: The media onslaught


TOKYO -- It is not just the scale of the destruction, the level of the horror and the magnitude of the tremors that has set the terrible events in Japan apart from many other natural disasters of recent decades, it was also the unprecedented, prompt coverage the world was offered live as the damage unfolded.
From the air, Japan’s military – known as the Self-Defense Forces – and Coast Guard sent those first bird’s eye views of the tsunami as it rolled inland, streaming videos from their helicopters and planes that will no doubt go down in history. Then followed ordinary Japanese civilians with their mobile phones and cameras, narrated with panicked yelps as they watched their cities and villages wiped off the map. Google Earth and Geo-Eye have since provided satellite pictures of streets and buildings in orderly patterns before Friday and the wasteland afterwards.
Yet it is the level of television news coverage that has been the most startling. Within hours of the quake, the road from Tokyo was filled with bumper-to-bumper traffic, as TV crews filed north. By daybreak, myriad news choppers were beaming images to TV viewers around the globe. In one dramatic scene, a Japan Broadcasting Corp news chopper virtually piggybacked an olive-green SDF helicopter to film it flying low to pluck a survivor from the balcony of a building half-submerged in water.
Very soon, concerns were expressed that the media blitz was fuelling tensions for the relief and rescue efforts. On Saturday, the Japanese government’s top spokesman, chief cabinet secretary Yukio Edano, urged reporters to do their job from the ground. “The rescue teams have told us their efforts have been hindered by noise from helicopters carrying reporters,” he said.
Later that day, when reporters and photographers for the Los Angeles Times tried to rent a helicopter, they were told that the government had imposed a flight ban in the disaster zone on helicopters carrying journalists.
Shocking as the pictures have been, they have also surprised for another reason: the absence of the dead. Consider one video that was shot in Kamaishi city, in Iwate prefecture. It shows the sea pouring over the breakwater, gaining force, and ploughing through cars, electric lines and buildings. The camera pans across the roofs of buildings and stops briefly on four people watching the scene from the balcony of a concrete building. It never returns to them, as if to avert our eyes from their fate.
Nobody needs to see bodies to know that a lot of people died. A few have emerged in photos transmitted by the Associated Press, Reuters and other news wire agencies, but none have been shown on Japanese television.
On Monday afternoon a DJ on radio station Tokyo FM beckoned listeners not to dwell on the grim details. “Yes, there are lots of dead. But let’s focus on the hundreds of thousands of survivors and the troops and rescue teams working night and day to distribute emergency supplies,” he said.
(From Monocle's Monocolumn, March 15, 2011)
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Generic drugs poised for growth in Japan


TOKYO -- Among pharmaceutical industry insiders, it is known as the patent cliff.

Over the next two years, patents for many blockbuster brand-name drugs sold in Japan are set to expire. Astellas Pharma's patent on Lipitor, a cholesterol-lowering drug licensed from Pfizer, runs out in 2011, while that of AstraZeneca’s Arimidex, for breast cancer, is up the following year.

With patent protections gone, it is likely to throw the field wide open for companies that make generic, or copycat, drugs. Those companies could significantly build on their limited share of Japan’s $80bn pharmaceutical market, the world’s second-largest, analysts say. “We expect the market to accelerate,” says Alan Thomas, of IMS Japan, a pharmaceutical market research company.

The biggest of Japan’s generics makers could prosper. Morgan Stanley MUFG predicts that net profits for Nichi-Iko Pharmaceutical, the largest generics producer, will nearly double between 2011 and 2015, while Osaka-based Towa Pharmaceutical’s net profits will jump 47 per cent. Credit Suisse sees net profits for Osaka-based Sawai Pharmaceutical, the second-biggest generics maker, gaining 25 per cent in the next two years. 

It is not just the domestic groups that are well positioned. Swiss company Novartis' generics unit Sandoz was among the early wave of entrants. So was Indian drug maker Lupin, which acquired a majority stake in Japanese generic drug maker Kyowa Pharmaceutical Industry in 2007.

Last year, Teva, the world’s top generic drug maker, formally stepped in through a tie-up with Japan’s Kowa, and aims for 10 per cent of the market by 2015. France’s Sanofi-Aventis opted to partner Nichi-Iko last year.

Japan’s Daiichi Sankyo, Mitsubishi Tanabe Pharma and Fujifilm have also said they will enter the fray. Credit Suisse predicts groups such as these will have between 100 and 150 generic products by early 2013, allowing them to compete with homegrown generic drug makers.

Japan has not been an easy place for drugmakers to do business. Every other year, the government dictates price cuts to keep its medical costs in check.

These cuts have made it harder for some drugmakers to recoup investments on innovative products. They have also worked against the spread of generics: brands win out over generics when there is little difference in price.

In June 2010, generic drugs were 22.4 per cent of the market by volume, according to the Japan Generic Medicines Association. The figure is low compared with the US, where generics account for more than 70 per cent by volume.

The health ministry has set a target of 30 per cent market share by volume in March 2013. Wider generics use could help lower overall spending on drugs, something the government is keen to do as the population ages, says Ludwig Kanzler, a partner at consultancy McKinsey in Tokyo.

The National Institute of Population and Social Security Research has forecast the number of people under 65 will nearly halve by 2055, leaving fewer workers to pay taxes.

Few think the ministry will reach its target. “We aren’t optimistic,” says Shuhei Hosokawa, of the Japan Society of Generic Medicines, an industry group.

Persuading doctors and patients could also take time. “I have never asked for a generic drug and no doctor or pharmacist has ever recommended generics to me,” says Haruo Hatakeyama, a 55-year-old Tokyo resident. “There’s a lack of awareness about generics here.”

New rules were designed to bring change. Last April, the government opted to leave prices unchanged for some drugs still protected by patent, while cutting prices for generics.

At the same time, more hospitals are shifting towards a flat-fee system, known as Diagnosis Procedure Combination, or DPC. The transition attempts to do away with the system in which doctors and hospitals are reimbursed for every procedure they perform and drug they dispense.

To educate patients, the health ministry has printed posters and pamphlets, hosted public seminars, and posted videos online that explain the benefits of generics.

Japan’s national health insurance agency has issued cards with “generic drugs, please” on them so patients can ask for generics without having to challenge the authority of doctors. “You will see higher penetration of generics as the government becomes more assertive,” says McKinsley’s Mr Kanzler.

(From the Financial Times, February 24, 2011)

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Japan firms warm to shareholder returns


TOKYO -- A little over a decade ago, executives at JSR Corp were locked in an intense debate. The Tokyo-based materials maker had been receiving feedback from global investors who felt it could do more to boost shareholder returns.

However, JSR officials had reservations. “We worried that if we raised our dividends we wouldn’t be able to lower them when earnings declined,” says Tsugio Haruki, JSR’s executive managing director and head of investor relations.

JSR no longer thinks that way. The company, which makes synthetic rubber for tyres, films for flat-panel displays and semiconductor materials, and has about $3.3bn in annual revenues, is now a favourite among analysts. 

Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan and Macquarie Securities, recommend the stock, and many others applaud the company for regularly buying back its own shares and raising dividend payments.

Its transformation and other cases like it offer evidence that the concept of shareholder returns is finally gaining acceptance among Japanese companies.

“Companies that want to expand globally realise they must think about share­holder value,” says Fumiyuki Takahashi, equity strategist at Barclays Capital Japan.

In recent weeks, a number of companies whose earnings are rising have unexpectedly announced share buy-backs.

This month, Yamaha unveiled a plan to purchase up to 1m shares, for an estimated Y1.2bn ($14m). Nidec says it expects to spend Y25bn for 3m of its own shares. Others, including Rohm, Unicharm and Daito Trust Construction, have made similar announcements.

Deutsche Securities predicts buy-backs will reach Y4,000bn this year, from less than Y1,000bn last year, and that dividends will top Y6,000bn, up from Y5,500bn last year.

Those trends coincide with renewed interest in Japanese equities. Global investors now account for 65 per cent of the value of all trades on the Tokyo Stock Exchange’s first section, according to Barclays Capital Japan’s estimates.

In Canada, the US and Mexico, pensions funds that used not to touch Japanese stocks are giving the market a serious look, analysts say.

On some measures, Japanese stocks look a bargain. More than a third of companies in the Tokyo Stock Price Index, or Topix, have a price-to-book ratio of less than 1.0.

Meanwhile, the average return on equity has rebounded to about 7 per cent from near zero just a year ago, according to Barclays Capital Japan. The Topix’s average dividend yield of 1.86 per cent is now higher than the S&P 500’s, which is 1.8 per cent.

Still, plenty of global investors remain wary of Japanese companies’ reputation for hoarding cash, owning shares in groups they do business with and being stingy with dividends and buy-backs.
Past attempts to change corporate behaviour have had mixed results. 

Steel Partners, a US private equity fund, spent six years lobbying the management of Sapporo Holdings and Bull-Dog Sauce for higher dividends and better governance before cashing out last December.

The UK-based hedge fund, Children’s Investment Fund, also tried forceful tactics with J-Power, Japan’s largest electricity wholesaler, but gave up and sold its stockholdings at a loss in 2008.

For JSR, the catalyst was a sixfold rise in net profit from 2000. The company soon attracted global investors who raised their stake from 5 per cent in the late 1990s to more than 30 per cent.

In 2001, annual dividends were a miserly 6 yen per share, and share buy-backs were rare. JSR’s priority was investing its cash in research and development.

But there was another reason for keeping dividends low. Like many Japanese companies, JSR wanted to avoid having to cut dividends if earnings soured. Doing so was considered a betrayal of shareholders’ trust.

Talks with global investors persuaded company executives to change. JSR started increasing dividends in 2003 as earnings soared. It adopted informal targets, aiming to return up to half its net earnings per share to investors in the form of dividends and buy-backs.

“We became comfortable with rewarding shareholders in good times and asking for their tolerance in bad,” says Mr Haruki.

In the fiscal year to March 2009, dividends were 32 yen a share, and the company bought Y8.6bn of its shares. A critical test came last year when, after a dip in earnings caused by the financial crisis, the company lowered its dividend for the first time ever and froze share buy-backs. “We worried about a backlash, but there was none,” says Mr Haruki.

This year, JSR expects net profits to rebound, nearly doubling to Y26bn on a 9.6 per cent rise in sales to Y340bn from the previous year. Anticipating stronger earnings, the company forecasts a rise in the dividend to 32 yen a share and has announced Y1.3bn in share repurchases.

(From the Financial Times, February 24, 2011)
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