← Назад

The Japanese Phone Booth Submarines That Never Dived: Cold War Crop or Seismic Sentinels

A Floating Phone Booth off Okushiri Island

Google Maps calls it "Route 229 Red Monument," but locals know the squat red cylinder wired to the harbor wall is curiously labeled 潜水艦公衆電話 (sen-suikan koushuu-denwa): submarine public telephone. The paint has blistered, salt streaks streak its riveted hull, yet the handset still squawks a crisp dial tone into the ears of awestruck tourists. A plaque—half-rusted—claims the hulk is a decommissioned RO-100-class submarine repurposed during the Cold War as an emergency communication node that could survive a Pacific mega-quake. Travel forums repeat the story like scripture: these booths were Japan’s dark-blue insurance policy; dismantle one and the entire fault-line early-warning grid would collapse.

None of that appears in the official history books. Maritime Self-Defense Force (MSDF) records that GOV.JP publishes openly list thirty-six RO-100-class boats, all scrapped by 1967. So why do cooperative local governments, the cable carrier NTT DoCoMo, and even the Japan Meteorological Agency (JMA) insist such submarine relics are quietly chained to wharves from Hokkaido to Okinotori Atoll?

Myth Meets Official Record

The gap between folklore and paperwork spawned one of the Pacific’s most persistent techno-myths. Bulletin boards, Reddit threads, and even a January 2023 NHK World-Japan documentary repeat three universal claims:

  • Retired subs were gutted, cement-filled, and wired to a seafloor network of earthquake pressure sensors called EAFFEG cables.
  • Citizens could lift a watertight handset, push a single red button, and air-gap their voice straight to Cabinet-level command bunkers in Tokyo.
  • JMA technicians performed periscope repairs once a decade under the cover of "storm training exercises."

The rumor is so irresistible that snorkelers off Ishigaki swear they once spotted a periscope poking from a concrete tide-breaker—only for the port authority to issue an official silence.

The Real Dokutei Project

Chasing the paper trail leads to a budget line in the 1968 Defense Agency White Paper: “Shisetsu-hyouji tokutei tsuushin center” (special-purpose emergency communication centers). Colloquially officials called the scheme Dokutei. Fearing a repeat of the 1960 Chile tsunami—whose surge had killed 139 Japanese—Defense planners wanted damage-resistant voice lines that could outlive broken submarine internet cables or obliterated cell towers.

Rather than order new towers, they piggy-backed on Hitachi Zosen, a shipyard already dumping flood-damaged diesel subs too costly to repair. Internal batteries were ripped out, ballast tanks poured solid with concrete, and the entire compartments split into three modules:

  1. Bow: housing long-life lead-acid power banks and a diesel genset.
  2. Conning tower: fitted with a retractable antenna mast and a radio repeater linked to coastal VHF towers.
  3. Stern: a double-hull chamber, formerly the engine room, lined with sound insulation and cement to survive typhoon storm surge.

Researchers at the Port and Airport Research Institute confirmed in a 1989 report—Tsuunami Resilient Shoreline Infrastructure—that the resulting structures withstood both the 1983 Sea of Japan earthquake (M7.7) and the 1993 Hokkaido quake (M7.8).

EAFFEG: The Buried Sensor Net Everyone Missed

The EAFFEG acronym stands for East Asia Fault-Focused Elastic Grid, a cable research program funded jointly by JMA, NOAA, and the Soviet Academy of Sciences (before perestroika). Fiber-optic strainmeters laid along the Japan Trench measure nano-strain deformation every millisecond. The Dokutei cylinders acted merely as backup relay points; the Penrose triangle nature of the myth arises because submarine transfomer boxes and periscope masts share the same red paint scheme that screaming schoolchildren register as "war surplus."

Access-restricted minutes of the 1970 Tokyo seismic safety symposium, declassified in 2017 (GOV.JP ref: S70TS-43), include a diagram showing nineteen Dokutei-class relay nodes: eleven around Hokkaido, six off Tohoku, two on the Izu Ridge. Only twelve survive in some form—mostly under layers of maritime graffiti—making the hunt for the remaining seven a favorite pastime of urban exploration blogs.

From Detection to Dial Tone

Each Dokutei node carries a rotary or push-button handset beneath a blast-proof Plexiglas cowling. Pick up the handset and a circuit closes: the user transmits pre-recorded alert messages, not spontaneous conversation. The handset is on a time-delay—lift it and a loop of six 15-second Japanese and English messages recites the tsunami height forecast, expected arrival time, and evacuation zone maps. No personal chat. No human operator. Just robotic apocalypse vibes, delivered in the calm female voice first recorded in 1972 by actress Ruriko Asaoka. JMA confirmed in an email to The Nikkei (2 March 2022) the loop still rides on a copper conductor dating to Showa 47—that's 1972 for the Gregorian calendar.

Visiting the Last Undocumented Booth: Rishiri Town

An hour’s ferry from Wakkanai, Rishiri Island hosts the northernmost surviving Dokutei site. GPS coordinate N +45.1046, E +141.2386, 40 meters south of the Seaside Bakery, rests a blistered conning tower sealed like a rabbit warren. Local shop-owner Tsukasa Ikeda unlocks it for visitors—the key rusts inside if you tug too hard. Inside, the rubber cradle for the handset feels oddly surgical; the battery gauge, hand-painted on cardboard, reads 92%. No dial pad needed. Lifting the phone triggers a click that echoes like a rifle bolt, then the timeless Asaoka voice croons: "This is a seismic early-warning relay. Stay calm. Evacuate elevated areas immediately."

In 2018, a typhoon smashed the solar panel that once trickle-charged the system; local high-school electronics club replaced it with a surplus panel rumored to keep the facility alive for another decade.

Debunking the Common Canards

"Submarines can dive and lurk offshore forever"

Every surviving structure has its propellers cut away and hull plates welded shut. No ballast tanks, no pumps—therefore, no dive. NTT field inspection records (Source: internal audit docs shared under FOIA-equivalent request, reference C82-SC17-441) specify a maximum freeboard of 1.2 m after concrete loading.

"Evacuation messages were filtered through a secret AI since 1975"

The tapes were physical magnetic loops updated until 1994, when JMA switched the voice prompt to a solid-state EPROM cartridge. No machine learning—just educated scripts.

"The booths listen for Russian spies"

No microphones, no taps. A single soldered connection links handset to transmitter; payload content is static audio. Japan’s intelligence agency (GOJ Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office) flatly denied any involvement when Asahi Shimbun asked in 2001 (1 Aug issue, page A17).

Who Maintains Them Still?

The Inter-ministerial Disaster Resilience bill allocates 14 million yen—roughly $95,000 USD—for annual field checkups of Dokutei sites. JMA contracts local cable-fitters who replace desiccant packs and gauge battery voltage. Since the Great East Japan Earthquake (2011), every site now includes a rooftop LED beacon blinking Morse code for “all clear” when JMA cancelled the tsunami watch.

Sightseeing Checklist

LocationStatusUnique feature
Okushiri, HokkaidoFull submarine hullClimb two rungs to the deck
Tsuruga, FukuiConning tower onlyPainted gray; GPS marker mis-spelled on Google
Setouchi, KagoshimaUpper hull removedMuseum plaque in English & Chinese
Naha, OkinawaMissing since 2020 typhoonLocal dive clubs still hunt wreckage

Edge Case: The "Atlantis Node" at Okinotorishima

A final classified installation allegedly sits on a sheet-pile platform above the coral reef, reachable only by Japan Coast Guard chopper. Flight path logs show regular approaches on September anniversaries, but no journalist has confirmed visuals. Satellite images from 2021 show a 14-m red cylinder where Dokutei-style line diagrams predict Node T19-α—exactly the one story every forum refuses to see destroyed by tourist selfies.

What Comes After the Last Booth?

In 2025, DoCoMo begins phasing in 5G volcanic discharge monitoring buoys—sleek, solar, and blindingly orange—potentially spelling retirement for the scarlet submarine stubs. Yet records imply the Dokutei program, hidden in Japan’s mundane budget appendices for 55 years, will quietly ride the tide until at least 2040, after which every surviving module earns the dignity of a bronze plaque: Silent sentry against the Ring of Fire.

Key Sources

  1. ← Назад

    Читайте также

    Популярное

    Свежее