Two things make a battered Japan cringe: genpatsu (原発, nuclear power) and fukeiki (不景気, economic stagnation). The nation has suffered deeply from both. As spring fades into a potentially sweltering, potentially stagnant summer, there arises an agonizing dilemma: Can the latter be avoided, or at least minimized, without the former?

The only nation ever to suffer atomic bombing, Japan postwar rushed nevertheless to embrace nuclear power. Yakeato kara tachiagaru (焼け跡から立ち上がる, rising from the ashes) was what everyone was eager to do, and 原発 seemed the ideal means. Before the March 11, 2011, catastrophe, Japan was one of the most genpatsu izon (原発依存, nuclear-dependent) societies on Earth, with 54 genshiro (原子炉, nuclear reactors) generating roughly a third of its electricity. Today, four of those reactors are crippled and the rest are shut down, mainly for teiki kensa (定期検査, regular inspections). Normally their saikadō (再稼動, restarting) would be a matter of course. But normality is gone, and isn't likely to resume anytime soon.

What to do? Feverishly and a little desperately, the government struggles to convince jichitai (自治体, local governments) to accept its assurances of nuclear safety and agree to restarts. Consent by the local governments is not legally mandatory, but truculent voters are in no mood to see it overridden. Last month the government's campaign focused on the Fukui Prefecture town of Oi, where two 原子炉 operated by Kansai Denryoku (関西電力, Kansai Electric Power Co., Kepco) have passed government-mandated stress tests (ストレステスト) but remain idled under pressure from local authorities who suspect the tests were perfunctory. On May 14, the Oi town assembly saikadō wo sansei shita (再稼動を賛成した, endorsed the restart), but other authorities in the neighborhood, notably the governors of Shiga, Kyoto and Osaka prefectures, and Osaka's charismatic Mayor Toru Hashimoto, are having none of it.