Long before the fishing trawlers, the people of Kesennuma lived by the sea. The Emishi people settled this stretch of Miyagi Prefecture's coast during the Jomon period, leaving behind shell middens that archaeologists still study today. Through the Heian period, the Northern Fujiwara held sway here. Samurai clans contested the land during the Sengoku period until the Date clan of Sendai Domain brought it under their control during the Edo period. The modern town was formally established on June 1, 1889, but the relationship between the people and the Pacific predates any administrative boundary by millennia. The bay's geography, a deep natural harbor sheltered by headlands and the island of Oshima, made it inevitable that Kesennuma would become one of Japan's great fishing ports.

Before the disaster, Kesennuma was Japan's busiest port for processing bonito and swordfish. Shark, tuna, pacific saury, and skipjack tuna kept the harbor in constant motion, with fishing and associated industries accounting for 85 percent of all jobs in town. The fish market was a daily spectacle of auctions and ice and shouting, the kind of organized chaos that only a fishing city understands. Kesennuma's fleet ranged far across the Pacific, but the catch always came home to be processed, packed, and shipped across the country. The city's identity was inseparable from the sea, a relationship that made the events of March 2011 not just a natural disaster but an existential crisis.

The magnitude 9.0 Tohoku earthquake struck at 2:46 in the afternoon. The tsunami that followed swept through Kesennuma's low-lying waterfront with devastating force. Fishing boats, oil tanks, and port infrastructure were tossed inland like debris in a flood. Then the fuel ignited. Diesel and heavy oil from the shattered fleet spread across the harbor surface and caught fire, creating an inferno that burned for four days straight. The island of Oshima, home to 3,000 residents, was cut off entirely when the tsunami destroyed the ferry connections. By the time the waters receded and the fires died, 837 people were confirmed dead, with 1,196 more missing. The Kyotoku Maru No. 18, a large fishing vessel swept hundreds of meters inland by the wave, became an iconic image of the destruction. Residents debated preserving it as a memorial, but in August 2013 voted to have it scrapped, choosing to move forward rather than keep the wreckage as a permanent reminder.

The rebuilding could have followed the familiar script: concrete seawalls, rapid construction, a rush back to normal. Instead, Kesennuma made a choice that surprised Japan. In 2014, the city became the first community in the country to earn designation as a Cittaslow, an international 'slow town' that prioritizes quality of life, local culture, and sustainability over speed and growth. It was a recognition that the old Kesennuma was gone, and that what replaced it should be built with intention. The fishing industry recovered, but the population did not. From 74,000 residents before the disaster, the city's numbers fell steadily as young people moved to Sendai or Tokyo. Kesennuma's response was to lean into what made it unique: the deep connection to the sea, the rhythms of the fishing seasons, the tight-knit community that had survived catastrophe together. A bridge to Oshima, a dream of islanders since the 1950s, was finally completed as part of the reconstruction, physically linking the island to the mainland for the first time.

Today Kesennuma's fish market is busy again, though quieter than before. The BRT bus rapid transit system has replaced the old Kesennuma Line and Ofunato Line rail services, which were destroyed beyond repair. New seawalls protect the waterfront, but they were built lower than in neighboring cities, a deliberate choice to maintain the visual connection between the town and its bay. The city has found an unexpected second life as a destination for visitors drawn to the Sanriku Coast's rugged beauty and the story of resilience that Kesennuma embodies. The fires are long out. The harbor smells of salt and fresh catch again. And in a country famous for doing everything fast, one small fishing city chose to take its time.