When I first
arrived in Japan, I distinctly remember being thanked by several people for coming
so soon after the Tohoku Earthquake. People
bowed to me in a gesture of humble thanks.
I think for the first time in my life, I was described as courageous and
bold. Wow.
Looking
back, I’m so glad that I didn’t know how to say ‘you’re welcome’ in
Japanese. If I did, I have no doubt that
I would have merrily answered these people, having next to no idea what I had
supposedly done to deserve such gratitude, but not being conflicted in the least about accepting it.
How arrogant is that? People say
‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ all the time. It just rolls off the tongue. Auto pilot response. It’s not
a big deal. But I think that in this
case it is.
I’m sure
everyone will remember the 9.0 magnitude Mega-thrust Earthquake and the
devastating Tsunami that followed, which wiped out coastal towns in the Tohoku
area, on the 11 March 2011. According to
Wikipedia, official statistics released were that 15,883 people died, 6143 were
injured and 2671 people are still missing. Waves
reportedly reached a height of 40 metres and reached as far as 10 kilometres
inland. The Nuclear Power Plant in
Fukushima was damaged on a diabolical scale, resulting in a Level 7 Full
Nuclear Meltdown of three of its six reactors. Chernobyl is the only other recorded nuclear
disaster to have registered a Level 7. As
a result surrounding towns were evacuated and people displaced and suddenly homeless. It’s estimated that decontamination of certain
areas will take several decades, specifically those surrounding the Plant
site. Some people have been permitted to
return, but not all, and certainly for some, a return home in the foreseeable
future is highly unlikely.
This was
easily the most destructive earthquake to ever hit Japan and the fifth most
powerful earthquake recorded in the world.
So powerful in fact that the main island of Japan, Honshu, was shifted
several metres to the east. Of the 47
prefectures in Japan, 20 of them were directly affected by the Earthquake, and
the subsequent Tsunami. The destruction
of buildings and homes easily surpassed several hundred thousand. The Tohoku Earthquake and the Tsunami it
triggered was a natural disaster of such epic proportions that the task of
rebuilding what was completely demolished seemingly looked impossible and any
attempts to do so would have proven futile.
Tohoku was in an extremely bad way and there simply are no adequate
words to explain the devastation of what happened. What man constructed over generations was
decimated by Mother Nature in a matter of minutes. How do you put that into comprehensible
words? How do you describe something so cataclysmic? Many people stated that
watching the news reports and seeing the images captured by eye witnesses was
like watching an ‘end times’ movie. If
only. The malevolence of the sea, snapping
boats in two, destroying sea walls designed to hold it back with ease, roads
dissolving like sand and houses being broken up and swept away as if they were
made of twigs. And in amongst all this
terrible chaos were people, real men, women and children, claimed by the raging
water.
You don’t
want to spout out the numbers either as if they meant nothing. Each number equates to a life lost or changed
forever.
That’s why
this nation just floors me. Whenever I
think of what happened on that fateful day, I am astounded at these people and
their strength, in spite of all the turmoil.
Their mighty spirits refuse to back down when all seems hopeless.
The Japanese
people immediately set to work again, to rebuild and to move on. They are a people that are in constant
motion. They are doers. They do not flinch at the first sign of
hardship, nor do they cower when faced with challenges. They pick themselves up, dust themselves off
and carry on. I have no doubt that their
grief is palpable. People died, people
were injured, people are still missing, and their lives as they knew it were violently
destroyed. Young and old were taken so
suddenly, and all too soon. How could
you not grieve at something like that? These
people are not unfeeling. They bleed the
same way we do. But the difference is
the Japanese channel their grief into the kind of focused energy that is determined
to overcome such devastating loss and hopelessness. It is not their way to sit and weep. Instead they choose to grieve silently, while
they feverishly set about righting the wrongs done to them. They
continue to believe that all is not lost.
And if there is still a life to be salvaged, no matter how small, they
will continue to rebuild and look to the future. Whether outsiders understand or even approve
is irrelevant. This is how they cope and
I respect them for it. When you see the
pictures taken of parts of Tohoku immediately following the Tsunami and then
pictures taken of the same areas, two years later, the transformation is
mind-blowing. People from all over Japan
clamoured over each other to help Tohoku.
Of course the lives lost cannot be replaced. They know that, but the best kind of memorial
for them would be to rebuild and start again.
New towns built in their honour.
I have to say, I don’t know of any other country in the world that could
have recovered so quickly from such utter destruction. Back breaking work is still ongoing. But the Japanese stoically take it all in
their stride. And look at how far Japan
has come already. This is a tribute to a
truly resilient and formidable country.
Now back to
what I was saying before at the beginning.
So I get to Japan and people are thanking me for coming. Apparently there was a mini exodus of foreigners
out of Japan, shortly after the Tohoku disaster, and tourists decided to spend
their cash elsewhere. People going out
but not a lot coming in.
I admit that
when I heard about the Earthquake and Tsunami, I checked the map to see how far
the area was from the Prefecture I was going to. Not even close. But to have people express their gratitude to
me for coming was truly humbling. My motives
were purely financial at that time. I
was lured here by the almighty yen, totally ignorant to the pain and suffering
this country was going through at the time. Humanitarian relief was the last thing on my mind. So please hold the applause.
I felt like
even more of a dickhead when after these people thanked me for coming to their
country, they then enquired after my own. How was New Zealand coping after the Christchurch
earthquake? On the 22nd of
February 2011, exactly 17 days before Tohoku, an earthquake measuring 6.3 on the Richter Scale, struck Christchurch just after lunch.
Buildings were reduced to rubble, and 185 people were killed. The loss of life was devastating and the
destruction to the city equally heart-breaking.
To say that I was surprised by the question would’ve been an
understatement. I didn’t think that
they’d even heard about Christchurch, let alone that it was in New
Zealand.
And then I
remembered. Of the 185 people killed in
Christchurch, 79 of them were foreigners.
And of this number, 28 of them were Japanese students. They had died when the building where they
attended English classes collapsed. A 70-strong
search and rescue team from Japan arrived in Christchurch, with their own trained
dogs to assist. They had come to recover the bodies of their countrymen. However, less than three weeks later, their
mission was understandably cut short with news that an earthquake had struck
the north east coast of Japan. They
returned home.
Like most of
us, they would witness shocking video footage and heartbreaking eye witness accounts
of the single most devastating natural disaster ever to hit their country.
If I was to
take anything away from Japan, when I leave, I hope it’s their resilience and
their bull-headed determination to overcome all odds. They remind me of the ‘Doozers’ on Fraggle
Rock, begging their pardon. I make the comparison with nothing but respect for Japan. You have the colourful ‘Fraggles’,
the clumsy ‘Gorgs’ and the Industrious ‘Doozers’. The Hard-hat wearing Doozers are constantly
building in the background, never stopping, always focused on the task at
hand. A whole episode can go by where
you’re caught up in the dramas of the Fraggles usually being chased by the
Gorgs, and then suddenly you notice some kind of construction in the background
where there wasn’t one before. That’s
the legacy of the Doozers. Of the three,
they are the smallest in stature, but they are many, and certainly the most
dedicated and committed. Tireless in
their efforts to create something out of nothing. Aptly named.
That’s Japan in a nutshell.
There is
certainly no need to thank me for coming.
I didn’t come with any money or medical supplies. I didn’t organise any emergency shelters and
I certainly didn’t bring any kind of expertise that would be of any use in this
situation.
I should be
the one to express my gratitude. I
cannot think of one negative experience worthy of mention that I’ve had here. People have been nothing but kind and generous
towards me. Japan is not a closed
society as many foreigners would think.
Of course you can only go so far and integrate so much, but that’s
because you’re not Japanese. That would
be the case in any country.
Living here,
it’s certainly not difficult at all to admire the picturesque landscape and
rich history of this nation (although I’m not overly fond of the wildlife). All of this I have received, time and time
again, and this with Tokohu still in the forefront of most people’s minds. Two years is not a long time at all. What happened in Tohoku is permanently
imprinted in the psyche of this country and yet kindness and good deeds still abound. In spite of the trauma of Tohoku, the
Japanese have lost nothing of their warm hospitality towards others. I don’t think anyone would blame the
Japanese, following this particular natural disaster if they fell apart and
chose to look out only for themselves. Conserve
their energy, save their money. Japanese
for Japanese. But that hasn’t been the
case at all. The compassion of these
people is priceless. As far as I know
they’re still contributing their fair share in foreign aid to poorer countries
as well as meeting their responsibilities at a local level. You can’t fake that kind of concern. You certainly can’t produce it out of thin air
either. All the qualities of community
that I remember as a child are still practiced here in Japan. And what better time to lean on community
than when tragedy strikes? It’s truly a
great country to live in. And as my time
here slowly runs out, I find that I’m somewhat ‘divided’ about leaving.
One of the
first things that you have to settle in your head when coming here is that
Japan is an active hive of seismic activity.
Earthquakes happen. They are
expected. Everyone knows about
them. It’s hardly a secret. That’s always going to be a point of
consideration, when deciding to live here.
While I admire and commend Japan for their past and most recent efforts,
I sincerely hope that an earthquake of Tohoku’s magnitude is never seen again
in the lifetime of these people. I have
images of real faces in my head now.
They are no longer numbers. The
children I teach, the colleagues I work with, the friends I have and the people
I’ve met. I offer up a silent prayer
that no further harm befalls this country, that I’ve had the privilege of
calling my home for the past two years.
There’s an
old Japanese pop song that apparently shot to the top of the Billboard charts in
America back in 1963. It’s the only Japanese
song to ever reach number one. It’s
called ‘Ue o Muite Aruko’ which translates to mean, ‘I shall walk looking
up’. It’s known in English speaking
countries as ‘Sukiyaki’, apparently because the real title of the song was too
difficult to pronounce. Anyway. It was sung by this amazing Japanese singer,
the late Kyu Sakamoto.
I remember
listening to this song when I was at High School. Not in 1963.
About three decades later actually.
I used to tune in to this radio station on Saturday nights, usually
after 8 o’clock when they would play songs from the 60s. It was some kind of ‘Golden Oldies’ programme
but I loved it. I’d sit there and rock
out to songs containing simple lyrics, great melodies, sung by talented people
who more often than not played their own instruments. Shock horror.
This
particular song was always lovely to listen to.
The melody draws you in, even when you don’t understand what’s being
sung. Kyu Sakamoto’s voice is simply
beautiful and he interprets the song so perfectly (at least I think he does). You know instinctively that he’s singing about
something sad. It was only when I came
to Japan that I thought to ask about the meaning of the song.
It’s about a
man who chooses to look skyward so that his tears won’t fall down his
face. He tilts his head up as he walks. The subsequent verses describe his burden of
emotions, feelings of grief and despair.
He has experienced a loss of some kind.
But his response remains the same.
As he walks, he looks up to stop from crying.
In my view,
this song describes the Japanese at this time.
Their eyes will always be a little moist, their sorrow for Tohoku permanently
anchored to their souls, but by focusing on the future, and striving for
better days, the overwhelming sense of loss can be managed and the reality of
what is can be accepted. The tears may
flow freely one day, but for now, Japan will continue to look up.
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