Great Debate

Some lawmakers could no longer sit still.

In the Budget Committee of the Capitol Building, the atmosphere was tenser than the aftershock zone in Kobe.

An opposition lawmaker slapped the table, pointed at the minister from the Ministry of Health and Welfare, and demanded, "One point two million people! A full one point two million volunteers are risking their lives on the front lines, and what is the government doing? Studying whether they've violated the Road Traffic Act?"

The ruling party seats were deathly silent.

Everyone knew that if anyone dared say one bad word about the volunteers now, tomorrow's approval ratings would plunge straight through the earth's core.

"We must face this force squarely." An old lawmaker with graying hair stood up, holding a thick petition in his hand. "The current disaster-relief system is already outdated. If we can't incorporate volunteers into the formal disaster-prevention system, if we can't provide them with legal protection and accident injury insurance, then those of us sitting in genuine leather chairs really are worth less than those motorcycle-riding bosozoku."

Though there was a bit of grandstanding in those words, they had indeed been forced into a corner.

The pressure of public opinion hung over their heads like the sword of Damocles.

The editorial pages of every major newspaper discussed the concept of the "first year of volunteerism" one article after another.

Those politicians who normally only studied how to turn tax money into concrete projects finally had no choice but to learn how to deal with these "disorganized and undisciplined" yet extremely efficient civilian forces.

After all, votes did not listen to reason, and the public was not going to vote for excuses that sounded, from the first word, like nothing but buck-passing.

And amid the ruins of Kobe, those volunteers in colorful