The Poisoning of Minamata – Douglas Allchin
It started out quite simply, with the strangeness of cats “dancing” in the street–and sometimes collapsing and dying. Who would have known, in a modest Japanese fishing village in the 1950s, that when friends or family members occasionally shouted uncontrollably, slurred their speech, or dropped their chopsticks at dinner, that one was witnessing the subtle early symptoms of a debilitating nervous condition caused by ingesting mercury? Yet when such scattered, apparently unconnected, and mildly mysterious events began to haunt the town of Minamata, Japan, they were the first signs of one of the most dramatic and emotionally moving cases of industrial pollution in history.
The outcome was tragic: a whole town was both literally and figuratively poisoned. Yet for those of us, now, who can view it more distantly, this episode also offers a conceptually clear and affectively powerful example of the concentration of elements in food chains, the sometimes unexpected interconnectedness of humans and their environment, and the complex interactions of biology and culture. In short, it is a paradigm for teaching ecology and science-society issues.
The case of Minamata, Japan, and the mercury poisoning (originally called Minamata disease) that took place there, appeared briefly in news headlines in the 1970s and then receded from public attention–at least in the U.S. The episode was fully and richly documented, however, by former Life photographer, Eugene Smith, and his wife, Aileen, who lived in Minamata for several years.
Minamata is located on the Western coast of Kyushu, Japan’s southernmost island (see map). Its disturbing story begins, perhaps, in the 1930s, as the town was continuing to shed its heritage as a poor fishing and farming village. In 1932 the Chisso Corporation, an integral part of the local economy since 1907, began to manufacture acetaldehyde, used to produce plastics. As we know now, mercury from the production process began to spill into the bay. Though no one knew until decades later, the heavy metal became incorporated into methyl mercury chloride: an organic form that could enter the food chain. At the time, Minamata residents relied almost exclusively on fish and shellfish from the bay as a source of protein. For us, today, the threat of pollution is immediately evident. But one must not fail to appreciate the historical context in which neither scientific experience nor a pervasive environmental awareness could offer such an explicit warning.
Minamata is located on the coast of Japan’s westernmost island. The city and the adjacent Minamata Bay form a relatively closed ecosystem: the bay was a source of fish–and almost the city’s exclusive source of protein–until the mid-1950s. The effects of mercury pollution from the Chisso factory quickly double-backed onto the city’s residents.
After World War II (around 1952), the production of acetaldehyde boomed. So, too, did the local economy–and most residents welcomed their improved lifestyles. About the same time, fish began to float in Minamata Bay. Chisso, as it had since 1925, continued to pay indemnity to local fishermen for possible damage to their fishing waters. Also at that time, cats began to exhibit bizarre behavior that sometimes resulted in their falling into the sea and dying, in what residents referred to as “cat suicides.”
In the early 1950s, similar behavior began to appear–sporadically and without much notice–in humans. People would stumble while walking, not be able to write or button their buttons, have trouble hearing or swallowing, or tremble uncontrollably. In 1956 an apparent epidemic broke out and one can imagine the confusion–and fear–that was prevalent because no one knew the cause. Was it a viral inflammation of the brain? Was it syphilis? Was it hereditary ataxia, or alcoholism? Was it infectious? The popular names of “cat’s-dancing disease” and the “strange disease” convey some of both the mystery and its alienating quality.
The physiological effects, including successive loss of motor control, were devastating, and resulted in sometimes partly paralyzed and contorted bodies. One resident, Tsuginori Hamamoto, described the plight of his father, a fisherman. Virtually overnight, Sohachi lost his ability to keep his balance, or to stay afloat in the water once he had fallen off the boat. He could not put on his sandals, walk properly, or understand what others were saying to him. Once hardy and strongly self-willed, his condition quickly degenerated, and he was hosptialized on the fourth day. There, even tied to his bed with bandages, he “craze-danced,” said words that were not words; he salivated; he convulsed. Later, he tore at his own skin with his fingernails until his body bled. “Mother would look at Dad,” Tsuginori recalled, “and just stand there–tears dropping from her eyes–looking dazed. Then we realized that the same symptoms were developing in Mother.” The father died within seven weeks, the mother nine years later.
By the end of 1956, epidemiological and medical researchers identified the disease as heavy-metal poisoning caused by eating the fish and shellfish of Minamata Bay. Direct evidence that mercury from the Chisso plant was responsible, however, did not emerge until 1959. Dr. Hajimé Hosokawa, in private tests on cats at the Chisso Company Hospital, showed that the plant’s acetaldehyde waste water caused the disease symptoms (though the results were not made public). Chisso installed a “cyclator” designed to control the emissions, offered `mimai’ (consolation payments) to the patients, and the matter seemed resolved. Nearly 100 patients had been identified, of whom over twenty had died.
More patients emerged, however. Children were also born with the “disease.” The geographical distriubtion of cases widened. In 1963, Public Health Service researchers traced the disease to mercury from Chisso. Controversy soon erupted over who was responsible for compensating the victims and supporting their families. It was not until 1970 that a district court ruled that Chisso make payments totalling $3.2 million to the original group of patients; others soon received payment by negotiating directly with Chisso.
Chisso still operates in Minamata and now produces chemicals, fertilizer and floppy discs. The city has diminished in size, now almost 70% of its peak population in the 1960s. Mercury permeates sediment of bay, where fishing has long been prohibited. One of the two dumping sites is being filled in and a memorial garden is planned. The incident is rarely discussed, but residents know that things have changed; a certain confidence or buoyancy is missing. In a sense, the way of life in Minamata itself has been poisoned.
*When heavy metals,such as mercury, are ingested, they are not excreted or broken down, but stored in the tissue.*
The Minamata case is such a vivid example because the town and the bay where the mercury was dumped may be seen as a relatively closed system. The ecological consequences, which are often diffuse and indirect, may be seen as a closed loop: the effects of the effluent led gradually but nevertheless inevitably back to humans. That is, in this exceptional case, one can trace the mercury from its source in Chisso’s production process, through the waste water to the organisms inhabiting the bay, and then to the cats or humans consuming the fish and shellfish. As a microcosm, Minamata illustrates the sometimes fuzzy concept that humans and their environment are inextricably interconnected.
The Social and Cultural Consequences
The case of Minamata is surely engaging because the relationship between the causal agent and the effect is so unambiguous (at least today). Yet a full account also includes the more “human” dimension–those elements which contributed to the figurative poisoning of the city, and that make the case both more striking and more valuable for reflection.
For example, because the disease was related to the unexplainable behavior of wildly-acting cats, the disease became stigmatized, often in the victim’s own eyes. In the Japanese view of medicine, the condition of the body reflects how the individual has maintained his or her balance with the external world–and sickness can be viewed as something “deserved.” The victims were thus often implicitly “blamed” for their own condition. Also, wary of contagion, residents ostracized disease patients. Neighbor turned against neighbor. One tatami mat-maker, Yahei Ikeda, for instance, disparaged those who had the disease–until one day he, too, ironically, showed the symptoms. Neighbors with whom he had earlier shared his isolationist sentiments regarding the victims now turned those same feelings against him.
Fishermen and their families were the earliest and most severely afflicted, having consumed the most contaminated fish. But it was also the fishermen, perhaps, who most embodied the traditional Japanese appreciation of nature, so evident in classical haiku poetry and watercolor painting. For the fishermen, the sea, viewed romantically perhaps, was life-giving. It was hard for the villagers to comprehend that the sea could also take life away. One fisherman expressed his love of the sea:
When I though I was dying
and my hands were numb
and wouldn’t work–
and my father was dying too–when
the villagers turned against us–
it was to the sea
I would go to cry.
. . .
No one can understand
why I love the sea so much.
has never abandoned me.
is the blood of my veins.
Indeed, it was the poison in the food from the sea that also flowed in his blood, generating the numbness in his hands and prompting his fears of dying. Here, not only his food was polluted, but also the fundamental view of nature in his culture.
The most disturbing social overtones in Minamata may have involved the employees of Chisso. In the 1950s and 60s, Chisso employed about 60% of the town’s workforce. Having essentially inherited the role of patriarchal lord from feudal Japan, Chisso was both provider and protector. The employees depended on Chisso for their livelihood and, in turn, honored this with their loyalty. So deep was this loyalty that Dr. Hosokawa, who had uncovered his company’s role in causing Minamata disease, felt he could not divulge the results of his research publicly (though he did so later on his deathbed). Even today, Chisso enjoys a favorable image among many residents. When fishermen began to demonstrate against Chisso for damages, therefore, there were counter-demonstrations by company employees. To have admitted Chisso’s “guilt” would have been to acknowledge that the corporation had abandoned its filial responsibility and that the relationship, now violated, could no longer be trusted. Though members of Chisso’s Workers’ Union could sympathize with those in Minamata’s Fishermen’s Union, in this case there was no question where loyalty would lie. The whole town of Minamata was thus splintered. The mercury not only poisoned individuals’ bodies, but also the community’s social relations.
In hindsight, it is easy to prescribe what ought to have been done in Minamata–and to assign blame accordingly. But such an interpretation fails to appreciate what a sensitive historical perspective can teach us. Who could have guessed, for instance, when autos first started rolling off the assembly line and onto the streets, that decades later we would be concerned about carbon monoxide, smog, leaded gas, drunk drivers, and global warming? Minamata is a paradigm for informing an environmental ethos that treading lightly is advisable where consequences are unknown. Even so, no one can foretell the longer-term and sometimes undesirable consequences of an action, and we must cope with them as they emerge.
Chisso finally stopped production of acetaledyde in 1968–when an alternative technology for producing plastics was developed. Still, through the 1970s and 80s, new patients continued to surface. In some cases, the symptoms are partial–numbness or tingling in the extremities, for instance, or frequent headaches or the inability to concentrate–and it is hard to determine the exact extent of the mercury’s effects. Aware of the potential scope of the problem, the government is generally reluctant to verify patients. Even so, 1,760 victims have been verified; almost 3,000 more await verification–of whom 412 have already died. Over 8,000 have been denied status. No one can be sure of the extent of the damage, but one neuropsychiatrist at a local university estimates that 10,000 victims exist currently and that at least 3,000 have died. Over $611 million has been paid to victims in compensation. But it is hard to measure the real cost.
The basin where Chisso dumped its posionous mercury waste has now been filled in and a memorial garden has been planted. The city of Minamata now takes pride in itself, having learned a hard lesson, and looks forward to a better, more environmentally informed future.
Ishimure, Michiko. 1990. Paradise in the Sea of Sorrow. English translation by Livet Monnet. Yamaguchi Publishing House (c/o Japan Publications Trading Co., Ltd., Tokyo).
Smith, W. Eugene and Aileen M. Smith. 1972. Life, (June 2), 74-79.
——. (1975). Minamata. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.