A lot of words have been written in the past few post-tsunami weeks about the negative impact of the disastrous tragedy on the short-term future of Japanese cars in the U.S. market. In parallel, many articles proclaim this to be a “historical window of opportunity” for the “Detroit Three,” now able to deliver to waiting customers an abundant supply of new vehicles while, at Toyota, Honda and Nissan, the cupboard is bare.

It’s telling that we’re *not* hearing the Japanese-brands inspired propaganda offensive of a few years back, when the media duly repeated that “there is no longer such a thing as an American car or a Japanese car.” The Japanese, it was stated, now all have plants in the U.S., whereas most U..S companies import components from the Far East, or Latin America,  thus compromising the promise of saving U.S. jobs. For buyers with a patriotic streak, it was all-American-apple-pie-OK to buy a Japanese brand, these being “just as American” as a Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge or Jeep. The (then) World’s Smartest and Finest Car Company, Toyota, even placed ads asking who’s more American? Toyota USA, adding manufacturing jobs and plants in the U.S., or the Detroit Three, busily, at that time, laying off workers and shuttering plants?

Fast-forward to the earthquake and tidal wave of 2011: the allegedly red-white-and blue Japanese brands suddenly find their supply lines dried up, while the supposedly import-component laden domestic cars, (albeit with some minor work-around shortages) continue to deliver a river of new vehicles, unabated. And, thus, another popular myth bites the dust.

In the past months the Detroit Three have, in fact, come roaring back. The Chevrolet Malibu, the 2007 “Car of the Year,” has shouldered past the Japanese brands and is now the number one car in the mid-size segment. Even more astonishing is the Chevrolet “Cruze,” a best seller around the world, and now America’s number one compact car, relegating the perennial favorites, Honda Civic and Toyota Corolla, to the runner-up spots.

Will all this Detroit resurgence be reversed when Japanese car supplies build up again? I predict it will not.

The current weakness of the Japanese brands goes beyond the natural catastrophe that slowed output. The roots of the end of the nation’s infatuation with Japanese cars go way deeper; more profound, underlying factors are at work. The manifest ineptness on the part of Toyota in dealing with the unintended acceleration crisis has permanently taken that company from “God-like” to “just another good car company.” They, and other Japanese brands, have also suddenly developed a curious inability to produce winning designs. Gone are the Hondas that scream “buy me” thanks to their lovely proportions and superb interior: evidence of the cost-cutting now abounds.

This sudden weakening of the product is accompanied by massive, unprecedented strides by the domestics: rather than the embarrassing exercises in mediocrity that formerly emanated from Detroit, “the three” are now fielding the most competitive products in their history. Whether Buick, Cadillac, Dodge, Jeep or Ford, Detroit’s new offerings, from Camaro to the Sonic, are beautifully-styled, superbly-crafted, presenting world-class ride and handling with fuel economy better than the Japanese rivals. After 30 years of less-than-stellar focus on cars, a restructured and re-energized Detroit is out to conquer with cars that, viewed objectively, are now nicer and better value than those of Japan. And, since bad news always comes in batches, there’s the dollar-yen relationship: at roughly 80 yen to the dollar, the historic Japanese cost advantage has turned into a millstone, forcing content reductions in the vehicles, narrower profit margins, and higher prices.

Yes, the Japanese will recover somewhat from the current nadir. But the all-conquering days are over. GM, Ford and Chrysler are attacking with a vengeance, this time not with incentives, but with superior products. And let’s not forget the elephant in the room: the rapid growth of Hyundai-Kia, taking away those value-conscious buyers that usually defaulted to Honda and Toyota. All in all, I’d say that, in coming decades the US market will cease to be the golden goose that so richly nourished the coffers of the Japanese car industry. Welcome to the “Tough road, hard work” club, guys!

The Reuters multimedia team was based in the north-east town of Tono, a small mountain town situated above the coastline. Tono had an eerie feeling to it, almost all of the shops and restaurants were closed. But you wouldn't know the town had been rocked by a massive earthquake. There were no physical signs.

Every morning we would wake up early and pile into cars for the drive down to the coast.

To get from Tono to the coastal areas you need to drive through several massive tunnels, some stretching as long as 5kms. These tunnels would normally be well lit and ventilated but that wasn't the case any longer. They were pitch black inside and even with the windows shut tight; you couldn't help but get extremely nauseous from petrol fumes.

In my mind the tunnels were like gateways. When you enter, you leave behind Japan's picturesque mountain country and drive through a void that seems to never end. When you finally see the light on the other side you are greeted by a scene that can only be described as an apocalyptic nightmare. No matter how many times I made this trip, the scene that awaited me on the other end of the tunnels never ceased to amaze me in the worst way possible.

You have all seen the images. Whole towns washed away and massive ships amid debris where those towns should have been. Thousands of survivors piled into shelters still very much in shock. You ask these kind people how they are coping. What will they do? Nine times out of ten, the answer was "I don't really know".

How could they know? How cold anyone be expected to know how they will move forward when their entire world and many of their friends and family were devoured by a massive wall of water?

I know one thing. The people of north-eastern Japan will survive this, learn from it, and start again. No amount of political uncertainty or failed nuclear reactors will keep them down for long. I have seen it in their eyes; these are a strong, proud people who will one day make it back to their feet.

I have no doubt that in the future I will make it back to Japan. I will drive the long mountain tunnels. And when I make it to the other side the view will take my breath away. I will see beautiful towns and villages where they should be without having to use my imagination.

"Since I know him very well, I wonder -- is it okay that this person is prime minister?" Nobuko Kan, Naoto's wife of 40 years, writes in her new book titled "What on earth will change in Japan now you are prime minister?"

The 64-year-old Nobuko -- who calls herself "Japan's most nagging voter" -- also reveals in the book that her husband is a terrible cook and has given up on studying English, and she pooh-poohs his fashion sense, describing how he once got caught walking around in public with a price tag sticking out of his sleeve.

Ouch.

"I am too scared to read it," the prime minister, a 63-year-old former grassroots activist, admitted to reporters when asked about his wife's book about their life together.

The book may not be the best way to cheer up her husband, whose support rate has been sliding since his ruling Democratic Party got clobbered in this month's upper house election.  Kan faces a tough balancing act trying to rein in Japan's huge debt while getting the wobbly economy back on track.

Despite her harsh tone, Nobuko, also a cousin of her husband, is probably just engaging in a traditional Japanese put-down of her nearest and dearest -- at least that's the impression I got when I heard her speak to voters this month at a political rally. Nobuko, energetic and plain-spoken, joked about Kan's lack of expertise on macroeconomic policy at the time.

Due to the premier's lack of know-how in the kitchen, Nobuko says her next challenge will be to get dinner delivered for her husband when she's away -- which would be an unprecedented move at the prime minister's residence.

"Because neither his mother nor I educated him well, Kan cannot cook anything. All he can do is make instant noodles. So we need to get food delievered, " Nobuko writes.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Jim Young

The subject was a Titan arum, or Amorphophallus titanium, one of the world’s largest and rarest plants, which was blooming for the first time in nearly 20 years at a botanical garden in Tokyo. The first visitors lined up from 6:30 am and by the time the gate opened at 10 am, 1600 people had formed a long queue despite the sweltering Tokyo summer heat. The excited crowd was attracted by extensive TV coverage and in the newspaper about this unusual flower that only blooms for two days after taking 16 years to grow from a seedling.

Press were allowed special access to skip the long line and duck under the ropes surrounding the flower to get a close-up shot. At first glimpse, I was surprised to see the 1.5 meter (4.9 feet) tall flower, as it was nothing like any flower I had ever seen before. However, the next moment I stood atop the ladder to get a close up shot, the surprise turned into dismay as a foul odor emanating from the blossom stung my nose. The flower's rotten garbage-like smell was enhanced by the high humidity and the hot temperature. I quickly snapped a few shots as I held my breath and then put some distance between myself and the flower to catch my breath. I repeated this dance a few times: Hold breath, approach flower, take shots, and retreat. Meanwhile, the gate opened and visitors who’d been waiting for hours flocked towards the gigantic flower. They pushed and shoved to take pictures of the plant and sometimes shouts were heard as people squashed each other.

After looking at the enthusiasm of the visitors and thinking that it would be another 20 years before I could photograph this flower blooming again, I forgot about the bad smell and muggy heat and came to think I was very lucky to have encountered this odd plant.

Two years, several scandals and one incompetent prime minister later, they dealt the same LDP a stinging setback in a 2007  upper house election, creating a "Twisted Parliament" where the upper chamber could stall bills and delay policies.

The gridlock toppled the LDP's Shinzo Abe and his successor,  each after about a year in office, and finally last summer the same electorate -- still longing for something new and better -- swept the novice Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) to power, ending more than half a century of almost non-stop LDP rule and ejecting  Taro Aso from the PM's seat. The DPJ, voters hoped, would make good on promises to change how Japan was governed, ending bureaucratic control of policies, and somehow ensuring that Japan emerged from two decades of the doldrums.

Now, after less than a year  of chaotic policymaking,  indecisive leadership and more scandals under DPJ premier  Yukio Hatoyama, followed by sudden talk of a sales tax hike from former grassroots activist Naoto Kan, who took over when Hatoyama suddenly quit,  frustrated voters did it again.

On Sunday, they delivered a harsh rebuke to the DPJ and a tiny ally, depriving them of an upper house majority and setting the stage for another bout of deadlock as Japan struggles to engineer growth in a fast-ageing society and curb a gigantic public debt.

"Voters were not trying to create political confusion, but that is the result," said independent political analyst Hirotaka Futatsuki, adding that calls for a snap lower house election that might not solve anything would grow. No lower house poll need be held until 2013.

Scenarios abound for possible ways out of the political bind.

Among them are a tie-up between the DPJ  and the small, pro-reform Your Party (even that would be a few seats short of a majority), a "grand coalition" between the Democrats and the LDP, or a sweeping rejig of party allegiances that would magically create policy coherence out of chaos.

Not many experts seem optimistic.

"Japanese politics is back to talking, not acting," said Jesper Koll, director of equity research at JP Morgan Securities Japan. "We're likely to have lost another two years stuck in parliamentary gridlock rather than action."

Some commentators, though, suggested an upside: no policies might be better than bad ones.

Sure, the government won't change because the ruling Democratic Party will still control the more powerful lower house.

But the election matters because failure for the Democrats to win a majority would split parliament and stall policymaking, blocking Prime Minister Naoto Kan's pledge to cut Tokyo's huge public debt, create jobs and fix the creaking social security system.

So why aren't voters fired up? For one, the campaign has been pretty dull.

Rules require media to give equal coverage to all the political parties -- not great for viewership when there are more than 10 of them. TV debates have had no fewer than seven party leaders arguing over issues ranging from the economy to diplomacy.

The debates are squeezed into shows lasting an hour or less, and include brief intervals showing pre-recorded comments from other party heads. Even Yasuo Tanaka, leader of New Party Nippon with just one seat in parliament, gets air time.

News on the election has also been overshadowed by coverage of the World Cup, a scandal in the traditional sport of sumo and flash floods triggered by "guerilla rains" across the country.

Another reason may be a lack of "hot" issues.

Opposition parties have pounced on Kan's sudden proposal to start debate on raising the sales tax, but several, including the Democrats' biggest rival, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), agree a hike is needed eventually. Kan, meanwhile, says any hike won't happen for at least two or three years and has been vague on what the proceeds will be used for.

The Democrats have been mum on other potentially hot issues, like giving married women the right to keep their birth names and giving foreigners the right to vote, since the party itself is divided.

Or maybe voters are electioned-out.

Voters handed the Democrats power for the first time in a landslide election last year that saw the conservative LDP ousted for only the second time in over 50 years. Crowds flocked to campaign rallies with hopes for historic change.

But Kan's predecessor, Yukio Hatoyama, dashed those hopes, quitting after just eight months in office, pressured by political funding scandals and chaotic policymaking.

"Give us another chance," Kan pleads in an election flyer. But many voters are wondering if they should.

Photo credit: REUTERS/Issei Kato

But during Japan's first match against Cameroon the Samurai Blue seemed to transform themselves in front of my eyes with Keisuke Honda’s goal being the catalyst. Japan was defeated by the Netherlands in their second match but the Samurais demonstrated the unity of the team in their performance and they were victorious against Denmark in their third match. In doing so they completely wiped out the image that I held of the Japan team before going into the competition. I was covering the world's biggest sporting event, and I was going up against the top sports photographers, but in this World Cup Japan's victory meant that the formidable teams of France and Italy and the even more formidable photographers accompanying them were going home. Not me.

On June 29, 2010, Japan faced Paraguay in World Cup match 55. Even after extra time the game remained scoreless and a penalty shoot-out would determine the outcome. I moved into position according to the instructions of Chief Photographer UK and Ireland Dylan Martinez, the leader of the Reuters photographers for this match.

A penalty shoot-out is all about luck. The psychologically intense method of deciding a match seems especially hard on the players, but it's just as tough on the photographers with a split second making the difference between front pages around the world or a postage stamp-sized picture on page S15. Both the players and the photographers tuned out the screaming of the crowd and focused with tense stillness on the battle between the penalty kicker and the goalkeeper. My position was on the opposite side of the pitch allowing me to see the face of the goalkeeper. Japan’s goalkeeper Eiji Kawashima, who had saved many shots up to then, clearly showed the strain. Following the two successful shots by both teams it was Yuichi Komano, Japan’s third kicker’s turn.

At the instant he powerfully kicked the ball toward the goal I pressed my camera’s shutter button reflexively. For a fraction of a second my view through the viewfinder was blocked as the camera captured the picture and prevented me from seeing whether he had scored or not. The next moment I saw Komano holding his head in his hands. Japan’s World Cup team’s and my time in South Africa had ended.

Everyone knows by now that people in Japan live a long time. According to the World Health Organization's latest life expectancy figures Japanese women remain at number one (life expectancy: 86 years), but I had never heard of an 80-year-old cheerleader.

Fumie Takino’s way of life seemed to be the key.

My first encounter with her was at her gymnasium, which takes her an hour to get to by bus and train. Upon meeting her I was immediately struck by her big smile and how open she was to let me photograph her practice session with her teammates.

Takino started her cheerleading group, “Japan Pom Pom,” 15 years ago and now the members’ average age is 66. The group all looked like typical Japanese seniors until they changed into their practice outfits and danced to a pulsating musical beat, jumping and kicking their legs.

Though the oldest, Takino was as active as the younger members and always seemed cheerful and playful. When I got close to her with my wide lens, she would always jokingly peek-in and make a funny face.

When I interviewed her at her house she unexpectedly prepared a lunch for me. The dining table was filled with western food, including sandwiches, shrimp cocktail, bacon and coca-cola.

It took me by surprise since bacon and Coke isn’t the typical food an 80-year old Japanese woman would eat. I was expecting rice, vegetables and green tea.

Takino gobbled up several sandwiches very quickly and then downed two cans of Coke.

She told me that when she first started cheerleading, her relatives hated her wearing costumes with short skirts because they were embarrassed. “Who cares?“ she replied. “I just love wearing them!”
About growing old she explained, “You can’t avoid getting old. Aging means people deteriorate physically and mentally. But...” she added with a smile, “everyone gets old, so why not just have fun?”

Takino and her cheerleading group often perform at nursing homes and charity events to cheer people up. Takino feels grateful for her health and freedom.

Her fellow cheerleaders tell her that they bet that she can keep on cheerleading until she is 90 years old but Takino says, “that’s going too far,” with a giggle.

But I’m sure that an optimistic, big-hearted and fun-loving person like her can surely continue to be the most senior cheerleader in the longest living country.

It was, she remembers, a "Hiro" smile. It was gentle, rather than a broad grin, and it showed the 43-year-old was pleased once again to take his expertise on the road to do his job telling the world what was going on.

It was doing that job that cost him his life as he was killed, along with 20 others, during a sudden burst of violence during the protests in central Bangkok on Saturday night.

Hiro was not the gung-ho war correspondent of the movies. He was a careful, loving married Dad of two and a gentle mentor for young colleagues and an expert story teller.

He took his concern for those around him beyond the newsroom to complete two 100-km charity walks (with a third planned this month), raising thousands of dollars for Oxfam along with teammates from Thomson Reuters.

At Reuters for more than a decade and a half, Hiro was witness to many of Asia's biggest stories. His work brought to viewers around the world the sounds and images of events ranging from Asian financial crises to political protests and the 2002 World Cup.

He was trained and experienced in operating in hostile environments, including the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami and Philippine military operations against insurgents on Jolo island.

Greg Beitchman, who took Hiro on as a staff member in 1995, remembers how Hiro eluded government minders during a reporting trip to North Korea, to get out to the world what was really happening in the secretive state.

"While the minders chatted away at me in English - mostly about how the Dear leader ‘loved journalists’ - Hiro pretended not to understand and slipped away to work," Greg recalls.

"On the surface much of the city looked like a 60's Godzilla movie set , but underneath Hiro found evidence of poverty and hunger amidst government attempts to show off a ‘flourishing’ free trade zone,” recalled Greg, who is now the global editor of our news agency business.

Hiro's sense of humour and his gentle personality also made him a natural for coverage of the quirkier side of life. Stories that showcased his professionalism and his sense of fun remain viral hits on the Internet, including pieces on a pair of monkeys working as waiters outside Tokyo (2008) and the first-ever wedding between a man and a Japanese video game character (2009).

"Hiro was a trusted and dear colleague who quietly made those around him better through tremendous gifts as a story-teller, cameraman and editor," remembers another long-time TV colleague, Dan Sloan. "He visualised the finished product while still shooting -- how it would flow from shot to shot to make a better story."

From my own memories and talking to colleagues who have known Hiro much longer than me, it was his calming, professional influence that comes through again and again -- along with that subtle smile.

"Emotions often run high at the scene of news, between the media and authorities, among competing media or even among ourselves," recalls colleague George Nishiyama, who saw Hiro as his senpai, a Japanese term of endearment for a senior colleague who guides a newcomer. "But Hiro was always there to prevent the situation from getting out of hand."

"Hiro would somehow diffuse the confrontation at the end, get us into that news conference, through that gate so we can report the news,” said George. "And at the end of the day, when we gathered over drinks and let off steam, sometimes unleashing harsh words at others, Hiro always listened and at the end told us to forgive, saying that no one means harm, that everyone's doing their best to cover the news."

Rodney Joyce is Reuters’ Tokyo bureau chief

The news that our colleague, Hiro Muramoto, was shot and killed covering the violence in Bangkok broke on Saturday.

Once more the cause and profession of journalism has claimed a life.

He died for the story. That is not a price we ever want to pay.

There is no more important cause for us as a company and for us as professionals than journalistic safety.

To have Hiro die just after we watched on the newly leaked video the 2007 deaths of our colleagues Namir Noor-Eldeen and Saeed Chmagh is devastating to me; I’m sure most of you feel similar emotions.

We know that covering the story forces us to rush towards danger when others rush away. We know that death can come from anywhere. We know how dangerous the places we cover are.

Yet, we’re never prepared for the dreadful reality when a colleague loses his life. Nor should we be. Nor should we ever just accept it.

If death is caused by military action, then we must work tirelessly to influence the generals and the civilians who command them to recognise the vital work journalists do, to provide full investigations and transparency whenever tragedies occur, and to enable true justice and accountability.

If death occurs in the midst of chaotic rioting, then we must strive to review our procedures and training again to make sure we are doing absolutely everything we can to make the dangerous work safe.

Our mission as journalists is to tell the story.

Our mission as a company is to make sure our journalists can tell that story safely.

This is a time of great sadness. But it is also a time of great resolve to redouble our efforts for journalist safety throughout the world.