Residents of Okuma, home of the troubled nuclear complex, are evacuated to Aizuwakamatsu on Sunday.
Concern is mounting about the long-term fate of people who remain close to the country's crippled Fukushima Daiichi nuclear-power plant.Kyohei Takahashi, the 72-year-old head doctor at a hospital in Minamisoma, a mostly abandoned city some 25 kilometers north of the plant is still at his post though fewer than 10 of his 25 staff remain, and many of his patients were evacuated to reduce their potential exposure to radiation. The hospital now relies on donations of instant noodles and curry from volunteers and Japanese soldiers to serve those who come looking for care. Some of them feel panicked; others have stopped talking, he says, with all of them worrying about friends and family, including some who were likely swept away by Japan's March 11 tsunami.
"What kind of doctor would I be if I fled over something like this?" he said.
The plight of Mr. Takahashi and other residents nearby is becoming a pressing question in Japan's nuclear drama, as authorities struggle to regain full control of the embattled Fukushima Daiichi plant. Trapped in a no-man's land between areas with potentially dangerous radiation and those without unusual readings, they are agonizing over whether to stay or to abandon communities they may never see again in normal times.
Yasuhiro Abe, 47, was working at Fukushima Daiichi when the quake hit. After the ceiling of his office collapsed, he borrowed a bicycle and rode two hours to his home in the Minamisoma area, where he found his 8-year-old son and wife, and fled the area.
He said he has heard that truck drivers are afraid to enter the city with supplies. But he also has heard some evacuees have returned to the city as their employers, such as a local power company, call them back.
"I myself would like to go back before security becomes tighter. I would like to check on my house and pick up summer clothes, as I only have winter closes here," he said. If the school for his son resumes, that will be an indication of safety, he added.
Some have disregarded the government's urging to relocate, and say that scare-mongering over radiation is making it harder to convince companies to deliver food, medicine and other supplies. Other residents say more food and water have arrived in recent days but that their communities' fates remain precarious as fears of radiation intensify.
Authorities have ordered all residents within 20 kilometers, or about 12 miles, of the plant to evacuate, while people between 20 and 30 kilometers away are being encouraged to stay indoors or leave voluntarily.
Just after the March 11 disaster, authorities evacuated thousands of residents to shelters by bus, with no indication of when they would return. Yet a handful of people—29, according to the government on Friday—have remained within the 20-kilometer exclusion zone, while thousands are in the area between 20 and 30 kilometers out, with many more coming in and out during the day to check on property, pets and friends.
Over the weekend, radiation levels in the air immediately outside the Fukushima Daiichi plant varied from 55 microsieverts to 800 microsieverts per hour, depending on locations and times. In the 20- to 30-kilometer radius, readings ranged from 0.4 microsieverts per hour to 17 microsieverts.
Minamisoma city, which does its own readings, on Sunday measured 0.9 microsieverts per hour. That level translates into 7,884 microsieverts per year, which is little more than that received in a chest CT scan. Experts say that level doesn't pose an immediate health threat.
Reliable reports about life in the 20-kilometer no-go zone are difficult to obtain. The United Nations and Japanese media have said there could be scores of victims' irradiated bodies left behind in the area, but details are unknown.
A spokesman for the joint chief of staff at Japan's defense ministry said about 500 soldiers, prefecture workers and volunteers are working within the buffer zone to offer support services. Soldiers visit houses and businesses when they receive reports about people who stayed behind, to make sure they are comfortable, but they haven't done a comprehensive door-to-door operation.
Nearly all the city officials in Minamisoma are working. A city official who declined to be named said workers were worried initially, but were reassured when they saw radiation levels weren't as high as in some neighboring towns, and that radiation in tap water wasn't at unsafe levels. Some banks and shops are open, and the city uses vans with speakers to let people know when and where supplies and fuel will be distributed.
Outside the zone, many people are torn over when, or whether, to go back in.
At Takano Hospital in the city of Hirono, about 26 kilometers south of the reactor—one of the few hospitals still operating in the 20- to 30-kilometer zone—office administrator Miyo Takano said the facility faces more risk from false rumors and unclear government guidelines than from radiation.
Some staff at the hospital have chosen to stay to care for 36 medical and psychiatric patients too fragile to move. The hospital's head doctor, who uses a Geiger counter to check radiation levels every day, said he hasn't encountered any dangerous readings so far.
But the government hasn't made any efforts to support rebuilding in the area, Ms. Takano said, making it nearly impossible for life to return to normal.
