We also saw signs all along the hilly main road indicating how far the tsunami had come.  So, the atmosphere was one of great busy-ness and of renewal. It felt hopeful.

     

Caritas Switzerland decided to focus its work on rebuilding four nursery schools. Why, you might think, would they put their effort into those places, when so much other fundamental work seemed more pressing? One answer is that Caritas Switzerland, like Japan in general, thinks long term. If children have good care, they reason, then young families will be more likely to stay. And indeed, the drain of people from coastal areas has been alarming. Likewise, if formative years are secure and love-filled, then children will have a greater chance of having secure lives. And in the long term, that will make for a more stable society.

(photo copyright Caritas Switzerland, used with permission)

The first nursery school we visited was in Unosumai-cho district of Kamaishi City. It was gorgeous. It had a long wooden corridor with brightly lit rooms, one for each age, off each side. There were windows everywhere, not only for light to enter, but also to allow the youngsters to peer into places like the kitchen or the main playroom.

  

The building also had skylights on the roof, plus solar and wind power devices. There was a digital chart showing how the natural energy was being used.  It also had well water for the garden and for use in emergencies. And there was a vegetable garden that produced fresh food for the school’s meals. It also gave the children a chance to get their hands in the earth and to be part of the life-giving process of farming.

The building adjacent to the main nursery served as an evacuation center. In Japan schools are used by the entire community in times of emergency. Likewise, this particular school hosted community events throughout the year. And one room was open to the public from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily so any child up to age 6 could come and play, as long as they were accompanied by an adult.

The school itself was not only physically stunning. It was also very welcoming and warm. For example, when we arrived, there were a few bags of vegetables that parents had brought as an offering. And the walls were covered with children’s work.

    

The ratio of teachers to youngsters was very low: about 1 to 3. As for the  infants, there were 4 teachers for the 9 babies.

 

Before this facility was open, this nursery cared for its children in a community center. Other nursery schools were housed in buildings provided by UNICEF or by the Japanese government. The community really cares about the future of its children. And the efforts it now makes on its youngsters’ behalf will surely bear fruit in the years to come.

The second place we visited was called Kirikiri Nursery. It was in the Otsuchi-cho district of Kamaishi City. Since it was built on an exceedingly slim edge of newly leveled land, it had two storeys instead of only one. It also had what looked like a veranda on both sides of the building. They were actually easily accessible escape routes for times of emergency.

Upstairs was a large playroom. It had an inviting structure for climbing. “Kids started getting fat when they were trapped in evacuation centers and temporary housing,” our guide told us. “So, this is to encourage them to move their bodies as they should: to run and jump, to climb and play.”

The gentleman who followed along as we toured Kirikiri Nursery was Touemon Azumaya San. He was a jolly 81-year-old man who oversaw this nursery.

After our tour of the facility, he pointed out where the old school had stood for about 50 years. He also indicated where their temporary headquarters had been until a few months ago. And he even showed us the garden on his relative’s property where he grew vegetables for the school lunches.

When we sat down for tea after our tour, Azumaya San brought out hand-written records he had methodically kept for years. Miraculously they had survived the tsunami. He whipped through every page, explaining his detailed notes: what days had been sunny, what had been served for meals, which teachers had been ill.

When he realized our genuine interest, he loosened up and began telling stories further afield. He talked of the war. (He was 10 then). He confessed that he had never finished school, but had gone north to Hokkaido to find work. He told us about the various jobs he had had, how he came back to Kamaishi, married and raised a family. He showed us a photo of his taisho koto musical group. And seemingly in passing, he said, “ This is the last photo taken of my wife and me together. She drowned in the tsunami.” No one in the room had known about his wife. Everyone was speechless, to say the least. Such stoic silence is the nature of Tohoku people. “We don’t want to bother people with our problems,” they explain.

But then his story seamlessly continued. “I love these kids.” 

(photo copyright Caritas Switzerland, used with permission)

“We have to give them the best we can. How else can we create the future that we wish for them? And for the world as a whole as well?”

Love,
Anne

 

In May 2011, a few weeks after the disaster, Darrell Miho, a photo-journalist who was part of the documentary team, went to Minami Sanriku Cho, in northern Miyagi Prefecture. 

It had been wiped out by the tsunami. He was overwhelmed by what he saw. But what touched him even more deeply than the destruction were the people. Many were still in evacuation centers, but a few were already in temporary housing. Even though Darrel had planned to sleep in his car, those folks who had lost everything and were jammed into small quarters said, “Please come in. Have some tea. Stay with us.”

Their open hearts and genuine generosity literally changed Darrel’s life. “I’ll never be the same after what I experienced in Minami Sanriku Cho. I am humbled and in awe.”

Another third generation Japanese-American, Paul Terasaki, is the founder and director of the medically focused Terasaki Foundation in Los Angeles. After 03/11 Dr. Terasaki began offering scholarships to Japanese-American students for a two-week volunteer tour to devastated regions in Tohoku. He wisely knew that direct experience would have a much greater impact than TV images. And indeed, the young people interviewed in Stories from Tohoku all mentioned how much the trip had changed their outlook. “We saw the damage and ongoing suffering. We witnessed the people’s courage and resilience. We realize that fortitude is part of our heritage. We are proud of that. And we also want to help in every way we can.” The Terasaki Foundation is still sending students to this region.

In the USA the documentary has been well received in film festivals in Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, and Honolulu. Besides documenting the years since the disaster, it also reminds people that the crisis is not yet over. Survivors are still crowded into small temporary housing units. As one example, Imai Sensei of Yomawari homeless group in Sendai told me that one family had so many living in such cramped space that the father opted to become homeless and live on the street in order to allow room for his family in the temporary quarters provided by the government. But with typical “gaman” spirit, local residents say, “We do the best we can. It is not easy, but we get by.”

There was a panel discussion after the showing of the documentary in Sendai. The do-director and co-producer, Dianne Fukami, another co-producer, Debra Nakatomi, and Darrel Miho were there. They told us how meaningful it had been to make the film. And they hoped it would be shown in more places in both Japan and the USA. Of course, they wanted people to continue giving much needed support.

As a closing remark Darrel Miho said, “When I was a kid growing up in America, I never understood what my parents were trying to teach me. It didn’t make sense to me. They stressed “gaman”; that is, never give up, no matter how tough things get. They also never let me complain. And they sternly taught me to always show respect to others.

“When I got to Tohoku and saw how the people were behaving – uniting as a team, helping one another, never complaining, not giving up even if they had lost everything – I suddenly understood what my parents had tried so hard to instill in me. It’s all happening right here. And now I can see and experience its incredible beauty. I guess in a way you could say that coming to Tohoku at this significant time has allowed me to finally come home to myself.

 “Whenever I leave this area, people say, ‘Come back and see us. And please don’t forget us.’ I guess that’s the core message of this documentary. Come see for yourself. And never forget those still struggling to survive.”

Love,
Anne

Dr. Toru Ishikawa and Dr. Fukiko Okudaira work at Tohoku Kai Hospital in Sendai, where they deal with people suffering from alcohol addiction. 

The great Dr. Ishikawa is considered the best medical authority on substance abuse in the entire Tohoku region of Japan. This kind gentleman generously shared his precious time, and allowed me to ask him a few questions. His insights were very thought provoking.

 “Dr. Ishikawa, how have you been able to stay in such a complex field for so long? I mean, treating alcoholics is not like curing a cold, where there is a beginning and an end. What keeps you going day in and day out, especially when your work is filled with so many setbacks, so many disappointments, and with no guarantee of success?”

Dr. Ishikawa took a deep breath and then began to unfold his heart of wisdom and of profound love. 

“When I first started, I had the idea that I could cure my patients. I saw myself as the main source of their treatment. I gave my all so that both the patients and I could see lasting results. Indeed, in the beginning the goal of 100% success was my driving focus.

 “But now after thousands of cases and years of experience, I see how much my outlook has changed. First of all, and most importantly, I realize I am not the one who cures. And surely I am far from alone! Dealing with alcoholics means teamwork: the patient, of course, but also the family, the entire hospital staff – and that includes everyone from my colleagues at the top, like Dr. Okudaira here, all the way through to the cleaning people – and then myself. And of course, Kami (Gods) are an integral part of the process, too.

(sculpture by Frederick Frank)

 “I no longer see myself as the center, but rather as a coordinator. I link all the other members of the team. I try to match the right person, at the right time, for the right care for each of our patients. Needs change daily, even hourly, so the work is never ending. But I like to serve from behind, so people develop their own power in the treatment process. Of course, respect for all is paramount.

(Photo from the Internet)

“And indeed, treating an alcoholic is a process. The ongoing stages are what I focus on now. Did you know there are specific stages in the patient’s attitude? After the initial denial and blaming comes ‘I must go into treatment. I must try to stop drinking for my family and for others. If I don’t, they will be disappointed and angry with me.’

“That step is very important, but it is only the beginning. Here the motivation is external, so it can never be permanent. But eventually the next phase emerges. And that is, “I really want to break this habit.” Here, as you can see, the incentive is from within the patient. This stage takes incredible courage to work with and through. The tug of war between the desire to stop and the power of the addiction can be fierce, almost overwhelming. But again, with the support of the family and the medical team, the person may eventually overcome his or her incessant need to drink.

 

“But even that glorious success is only one step in the long, ongoing healing process. The next phase comes when the patient realizes, ‘I no longer even want to drink. I am OK without the bottle.’

“These stages parallel the inner journey of the patient as well. At the start of therapy, the person suffering can only see blackness. All memories, all present thoughts, and all future images are a vast endless ‘Dark Night of the Soul’. The sense of hopelessness and of despair are fathomless. 

But then, almost as if by miracle, one day in all that blackness and void a teeny star begins to glow. We stop everything to honor that. And as we do, another, then another, and yet another star begins to shine. At first very faintly, but the light, the promise, the hope are there. And that is what we build on. That is the key to an open door, to greater light, to a gradual rebuilding of a life.

“Another way my outlook has changed is that I don’t expend a lot of time or energy thinking about the final goal: not drinking at all. I know now that if we push things too hard, the loss of alcohol will leave a huge gaping hole in the patient’s psyche. Addictions are a hunger. If they are not fed in one way, they will find another. So rather than yanking out the drinking, I look at the whole picture. I seek a balance. What can the patient develop that will replace alcoholism? Not with another addiction, of course, but rather with something meaningful and purposeful that can grow to fill the void left by the departure of alcohol.

“We want our clients to walk out into the world as whole people. That takes time and incredible persistence and patience. But we never give up on that dream. That said, however, I also work one day at a time. Maybe today was not so good, but hopefully tomorrow will be better. Now I feel success if my patient is still alive. With life there is hope. And with hope there can be change. And with change there is the promise of a future.”

Our conversation naturally drifted to other addictions. “There is a huge gambling problem here in Japan,” Dr. Ishikawa continued. “Pachinko parlors are making billions. They are so clever at luring people into their poisonous webs. And it is tremendously difficult to extricate yourself from them. Curiously, brain scans show that when people are gambling, their brains seem to register less excitement than they would normally. That, of course, means that they need more and more stimulus to feel much of anything at all. And with that, they are hooked.

“And then, of course, is shopping. Did you know that is the third largest form of addiction worldwide? Sadly, Jackie Onassis and Lady Di lost their freedom to that obsession, probably as a way to fill a void in their tragic personal lives. There are other compulsions, too: overeating, overindulgence in sex, the drive to steal. 

“Another alarming addiction is kids hooked on computer games. It is truly frightening to see how many are swept into that vortex of compulsive entertainment. 

“How do you treat youngsters with such problems,” I queried. “Is it the same way as with alcoholics?”

 “Yes and no. Young people’s development and needs can be very different from those of adults. But no matter what we are treating, we always take a team approach. And in each case we try to work with each particular patient according to his or her specific needs. Of course, working with parents is essential when treating youngsters.

“Helsinki has an excellent system to treat substance abuse. It is a three-year program: two weeks as in inpatient, three as an outpatient. This process repeats itself for the full three years. The success rate of non-returnees is very high.

 “I would really love to see a similar program here in Japan. But the patients in Finland have to pay the entire fee in advance. That would be the case here, too. Of course, considering the overall cost of treatment, the amount is reasonable. But most people gasp at the expense, so we have not been able to get this kind of rehabilitation program off the ground here. Not yet. But who knows what the future might bring?”

As a closing comment, Dr. Ishikawa talked about dependency and independence. He said that when people dependent on others or on alcohol, they might be aware of three or maybe four people who are supporting them. But when they begin to stand on their own two feet and feel more independent – of others and of alcohol – their awareness changes. They begin to see that well over a hundred people are there supporting them, and have been all along.”

Indeed, Dr. Ishikawa has called his clinic “Wana”. That interesting name comes from a Japanese abbreviation for “We are not alone”. And as Dr. Ishikawa knows, that key message has the power to transform a life, many lives, and even the world as a whole.

Love, 

Anne

Dear Family and Friends,

Last year I witnessed the start of a charity walk. It was sponsored by an NGO that goes by the same name, Charity Walk. This year they held a second such event, which I also was privileged to record.  

Charity Walk’s efforts are supported by local businesses. One is called Aobaya Design. The founder of that company, Tsutomu Takahashi, and his son, Wataru, in particular wanted to contribute to the renewal of this region.

They wanted to help because, like many others, they lost family and friends in the 03/11 disaster. They felt this Charity Walk was one creative way to honor their loved ones who perished. Japanese think long term, so this project is scheduled to continue for ten years. Hopefully by then, people will indeed be back on their feet, fully involved in their productive and meaningful lives.

This year was a bit different from last in several ways. First, there was twice the number of participants. They came in all shapes and sizes. The human variety added much to the upbeat atmosphere of the day. 

   

So did the local idols and talents, who set the beat with their cool demure, peppy dances, music, and songs.

Another reason this year was different was one member of the volunteer planning team was a foreigner, Justin Velgus. He is devoted to this area, and therefore wanted to contribute all he could. Among many other duties, he translated the website and fliers for this event. He also drummed up a few other non-nationals to participate. “I’ll be here next year, too,” he told me. “I think it’s important to give where I can. That way I feel more rooted to this place. I want Sendai to be my long term home, and this is one way to help make that happen.”

This year the walk was 28 kilometers, up the coast of Miyagi. The route was well planned and manageable with specific places to stop, to observe changes since 03/11, and to rest. Useful maps were given to all participants. They had photos taken just after the tsunami, so it was easy to see what progress had been made in the past three and a half years.

Next year they may make the program shorter, even as few as five kilometers. That might encourage families with kids and also oldsters to join, too. It is wonderful listening to their evolving ideas. In fact, the Charity Walk itself seems to parallel the ongoing changes in this entire area.

Watching the participants enthusiastically setting off was indeed encouraging. Their strong spirit and positive intention will surely add to the uplifting of life here, something everyone deeply appreciates and still greatly needs.

Love,
Anne

Another Californian, a fourth generation Japanese American named Nana Kaneko, is here to do research on “Music Activities in Tsunami-Hit Places.” This, of course, explores the emotional well being of survivors and ways they are using to uplift their spirits. Nana herself is an ethnomusicologist, currently spending a year in Japan doing research for her PhD.

Thinking of the arts, ever since the earthquake, a local man here in Sendai, Hiroshige Kagawa, has been painting enormous pieces depicting devastated buildings. His works are so large and impressive that some of them have been used as backdrops for dance performances. 

September 2014

 

That forward-looking message is coupled with messages of gratitude from the townspeople of Ishinomaki. In fact, one by one folks of all ages express their appreciation for the help they received after the earthquake and tsunami ruined most of their small city.

http://en.rocketnews24.com/2011/12/10/a-message-to-you-from-the-people-of-japan-we-will-always-remember-you-thank-you/

(In order to watch this YouTube, please scroll down to the second image, which is still open for viewing.)

Over the years since our hearts and psyches were severed so deeply, posters expressing thanks have begun to appear all over the Tohoku region. Most of these photos show towns’ folks clustered together with beaming smiles. They want to show how far they have come and how grateful they are for the help and support they have received from so many.

 

          

 

(These signs say, “Arigatou” = “Thank you”.)
 
 
Actually, there is no one here was has not been changed by the shock and consequences of 03/11. Everyone still talks about how the events of that time changed them in very profound, often not overt, ways. People live with greater uncertainty and vulnerability now. And they have a much deeper awareness of what really matters to them.

Here are just a few of the more significant choices people have made since that time. Women who vowed they would stay single are getting married. And many couples that lived separately because of work have decided to share one household. That usually means one or the other must make significant job changes in order to do that.

Of course, people still work incredibly hard, in some ways more than ever, but now there is a sense that life is more than total commitment to the job. People are taking more time for their families. They seem to enjoy their kids more. And it is not uncommon to see fathers taking their children to school or chatting with them as they walk down the street hand-in-hand. They obviously enjoy spending time with their young ones.

      

      

Even young people, previously notorious for their immaturity and superficiality, have a sadness and depth, even a kind of wisdom that only life experience can carve into their psyches and souls. Everyone here now knows we are alive because of all those who have helped us.

         

        

People are seeking answers to life’s big questions. They are searching for a spiritual meaning to life. One example is a good friend of mine. He and I often chat about what things he is doing to find a path best suited to him. He sometimes goes for meditation sessions, or attends group discussions on how to attain inner success. I have my own spiritual direction, but always listen attentively as he talks. And I always ask questions. The last one was, “Do you pray?” He told me he did, but very differently since the earthquake and tsunami that marked everyone’s life here so very profoundly.

“I used to pray to only the Shinto gods,” he told me. “I have an altar both at home and in my company. Everyday I would bow before it, clap to wake up the gods, and then pray.”

“But my ways of worship have expanded a lot since 03/11. Now I pray to the Gods of Six Directions. They are Buddhist. But we Japanese don’t divide our religions. Everyone belongs to several of them. It depends on the circumstance who we turn to.”

(Zuni Gods of Six Directions)

I asked him to explain further. He said, “There are the four cardinal directions, of course. But there are also the gods above us, and the ones below us. They all form a circle of protection around us. I bow to each of them, and then I review my life, thanking everyone who has ever helped me. I have had so many mentors. I am so blessed. In fact, I guess you could say my god is the God of Gratitude.”

            

Anne

But that was three and a half years ago. And things are very different now. In fact, that area is one of the most forward moving places in this region. It is also where I went a few months ago, along with 6000 other enthusiastic souls, to plant trees.

Having an emotional interest in that infant forest in particular, and in the devastated coastal areas in general, every few weeks I like to return there to see how things are progressing. This time, though, rather than being with thousands of diligent, well meaning folks, I was pretty much alone. Of course, there were construction trucks plying back and forth, a few solitary fishermen, and even an occasional tourist. But otherwise I had the place to myself. I much preferred it that way. The essence of the atmosphere was more readily available, allowing the land, the sea, and the breezes to tell their stories more directly and purely.

    

 
From there I came upon the Suzuki house, a real landmark as the only shattered building left standing. It seems to be a permanent feature now since there is a sturdy sign in front of it. It displays “before, during, and after the tsunami” photos. It is a poignant reminder, not only of that infamous time, but also of the fragility of life itself. Even wealth, social standing, and strong confidence, all of which the Suzuki family had, cannot withstand the vicissitudes of time.

Dear Family and Friends,

Asians are known to be hard working. They are also renown for their artistic achievements. Those two traits have been recorded in myths and folktales for centuries. One such story from long ago is the Tanabata. It weaves together the threads of several traditions, making a unified and touching whole.

The Tanabata legend actually comes from ancient China. It says that long ago there was a beautiful lady named Orihime, the Weaver Princess. This talented woman was not only a weaver, but also a seamstress. She loved taking pieces of her woven tapestries and putting them together to make unified patterns of outstanding beauty. With time this gracious lady became famous for her hard work and finely made clothes.

One day when she was diligently working, she looked up and saw an exceedingly handsome man wandering by. She immediately fell in love with him, an ox herder named Hikoboshi. Every day this stunning gentleman came into her view as he tended his exquisite beasts, the best and most famous in all the land.

Some versions of this story claim they were allowed to marry. Others say they became lovers. Whichever, they were so much in love that the heavens rang with their delight and pleasure. 

The two were so enamored with one another, however, that all their focus shifted from work to love. Soon Hikoboshi’s oxen became fat and unruly. People’s clothes became threadbare and worn. As things got more and more out of control, even the slumbering gods realized something was amiss. As a way to restore order and to help life move forward again smoothly, the gods pulled the two lovers apart and hurled then to opposite ends of the Milky Way. 

 

However, even in their anger, the gods had compassion. So they allowed the Weaver Princess and her beloved Ox Herding mate to meet once a year. That day of celebration occurs on the seventh day of the seventh month. That date was chosen as a symbol of two celestial beings joining at the midpoint of the year. A union of opposites in perfect harmony.

In China the telling of this legend stresses the importance of working hard and of making efforts to improve one’s talents and skills. In Japan the message is similar, but the celebration of love is also emphasized. In addition, the Japanese have taken the original Chinese story and have woven in threads of Shinto belief.

Every year in Sendai there is a major festival to celebrate the Tanabata story. But since the lovers are allowed to meet only if the skies are clear, the date has been shifted to August, after the rainy season is over. These days of celebration are so important and the festival is so elaborate that people come from all over Japan to immerse themselves in the message of work balanced by relaxation, love, and joy.

Tanabata decorations are made with long bamboo poles. They line the main streets, bowing low to graciously form arcades of beauty. Suspended from these supporting bamboo poles are symbolic origami figures. There are paper cranes, of course. They express the wish for the long life and health of one’s family. There is a fishing net, because Japan depends on the sea for its survival. Then comes a kimono, representing prosperity and good luck. And a purse is a reminder to save, and not spend frivolously. Surprisingly, there is even a trash bag. It tells us that we are responsible for keeping the world clean and our thoughts pure. Finally, there are “Tanzuku”, or slips of paper where people can write their wishes.

All these little details are important and meaningful, of course. However, the most salient feature of the decorations is the streamers suspended from a large paper ball. They are called “Fukinagashi”, or “Flowing Breeze”. Some say these are threads that Princess Orihime uses as she weaves and sews. Others say they are the Milky Way itself, the path the lovers take to find each other.

For over a thousands years Tanabata has been celebrated in Japan as a magnificent display of talent, handiwork, and beauty. 

But the founder of Sendai, Masamune Date, used it to honor the importance of work done by women. Since his time, over 400 years ago, the Tanabata has upheld that tradition. After WWI and the serious recession at that time, the merchants of Sendai wanted to brighten people’s spirits. So in 1927 they began to decorate the shopping avenues with Tanabata streamers. This brought in sightseers and a sense of a new beginning.

The same attitude is returning now. Since the 03/11 earthquake, Tanabata “Fukinagashi” designs have become more gorgeous and varied. This is done as a way to encourage people in their efforts to move forward. There is always respect for the past, which is the springboard for the present. So on the tips of the long bamboo poles, you can see the six original origami shapes: cranes, a fishing net, a kimono, a purse, a trash bag, and “Tanzuku” with messages written on them.

Now the long “Fukinagashi” streamers are imaginatively decorated in delightfully new and imaginative ways. The themes often reflect the shops near them. For example, during this year’s Tanabata, a sweet bean shop had vivid green steamers, a glasses store had eye exam charts, Fujisaki had displays of traditional paintings, while a craft shop had regional kokeishi dolls. 

              

Some themes did not relate specifically to merchandise, but rather celebrated Japanese culture with images of samurai or of the four seasons. 

                

And schools depicted marvelous drawings by their students. 

Even the very shape of the “Fukinagashi” has begun to expand to include different possibilities. This reassures us that the future is open and waiting to be shaped anew.

At this time as we reweave and stitch together the scattered pieces of our lives, the unity and beauty of the Tanabata Festival are more significant than ever. They are an inspiration to continue working towards a cohesive world that blends hard work and beauty, duties and eternal love.

Love,
Anne

 

However, a friend recently sent me an e-mail about Naoto Matusmura, the gentleman who stayed in the “No Go Zone” around the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant in order to care for the animals left behind. She said, “I googled Naoto Matsumura and got caught up on some of the latest news about him lately.  Just a couple weeks ago, he transported a sick cow (with spots all over its hide) to Tokyo and demanded that it be seen by some officials . . . and this drew a crowd including the police.  Naturally I am sure he expected this, and I believe he is doing all he can to keep the energy going for ‘his’ animals . . . He is a dedicated soul, and does all he can to bring awareness to the problems the people face, as well as the plight of the animals still left behind.”

 

Something that has also been reported is that since 03/11 more people have died from disaster-related causes than from the earthquake and tsunami themselves. Over half of the cases are in Fukushima Prefecture. 

A few days ago an adult student of mine told me her seven year old daughter was refusing to go to school. She found the classes boring and felt her teacher did not understand her. This mother went on to say that many children had become very fragile since the 03/11 disaster. And she added, so had the teachers. “There is a great emotional vulnerability now that we never had before. I myself am OK because I am tough. But I can’t push my child or her teachers because I have the feeling that they might break. It is a very delicate situation. And I am not sure what to do.” The suicide rate is up, so her concerns are very genuine.

As in other parts of the world, young people in general are disillusioned and lost. With the terrible economy, this generation has little sense of a future. “They have no dream,” as many people say. “And how can you live without a dream?”

Despite these dark undercurrents, there are other things happening that are solid and sure. Things are changing. At first the concerns were overwhelmingly physical. How to clean up the mess the tsunami left, how to find a place to live, how to start work again. But now people everywhere are now asking, “How can we build up our emotional fortitude in the face of impending disasters?”

 
A nearby community hall had a musician who sang, accompanied by mascots from all over Japan. They came out one after another to bow and dance to the eager audience. It was a sweet gesture to give people a sense of fun and of being cared about.

Today the offering was held in a park, rather than in the Social Welfare Building. It is the rainy season, but the inclement weather held off just in time for everyone to get a good lunch. So it was a fortunate day.

(sign for Yomawari’s “Soup Run” activities)

This time I went with three friends. Two of them live in Sendai, and one, a recent acquaintance named Austin, came up from Tokyo. He enjoys volunteering whenever he can. In fact, the first time I met him was in Fukushima’s infamous Minami Soma about nine months ago. He was helping to dig out places that were left behind because of the nuclear problems so close to the town.

Today’s “Soup Run” followed its usual routine. The food had been prepared beforehand, so everyone, volunteers and homeless alike, helped unload the trucks and get things set up. There were the usual mats with tinned food and clothes for the men and women to select from, and of course, the tables with the hot lunch of rice and curry.

    

There is always a short meeting before we start and another when we finish. That allows everyone to have the same focus and to know how things will be run that day. Austin told me he was impressed by how orderly the people were and how respectfully they were treated. That is one of the hallmarks of Yomawari, I feel. It truly lives up to the Christian ideal of brotherly love.

Austin is American-Japanese, so knows both cultures and languages well. He is also very outgoing, so immediately went to talk with Aoki Sensei to learn more about what Yomawari Group does. When he finished, he said, “I am very impressed with what this group is doing.”

I asked Austin to elaborate, and he said, “Not only have they done a lot already to help these men get back on their feet, but they are planning some good things for the future, too. The one they are currently working on is farming. It seems Sendai City has some land that they are thinking of using for agriculture. Yomawari wants to be in on that. It has hopes of providing farm work on that property for the homeless. The produce they grow can be used for the “Soup Runs” and the rest can be sold. That way the men and women can earn some money, which will be beneficial for everyone.”

As I said good-bye to Austin, he shook my hand and said, “I am so glad I came here to volunteer. I hope to come back another time when they are making the food as well as serving it. I really want to contribute all I can to this wonderful organization.”

Love,
Anne

 
The other was fires that raged for days on end. Needless to say, the devastation was horrendous. And unfortunately, rebuilding has been slow. But gradually in some areas progress is being made.

One of the most newsworthy recent changes involved the displaced tanker. Until a few months ago, debates sallied back and forth about what to do with her. One side wanted to turn the area into a memorial park, with that huge ship as the major focal point. But the other side was animate to remove all evidence of that time and to boldly move forward. Finally a survey was taken (albeit incomplete), and 68% opted to get rid of that humbled carcass. So now instead of the astonishment of a tanker lodged far inland next to a hill, there are bulldozers, trucks, and backhoes leveling the land, and making mounds of earth for blockage against the unpredictable sea.

   

Even though the controversial tanker has been removed, tragic landmarks from that blistering time still dot the cityscape. One middle school, for example, has been left pretty much as it was. 

  

(two years ago) (now)
 
Much of the port area is empty lots.

 

To tell the truth, there have been many hurdles to overcome before rebuilding can really get under way. Many of the proposals for the reconstruction, like building a huge sea wall, come from government officials. They may be national civil servants in Tokyo, or more regional ones in the prefecture or city. But their practical ideas are at loggerheads with what many of the locals themselves want. Of course, everyone would like to see Kesen-numa on its feet again. But how to do that appropriately is causing this ongoing tug-of-war.

Dear Family and Friends,

Iwanuma is the township adjacent to Natori, where OISCA does its great work. Sendai Airport is in Iwanuma, so getting that area back on its feet quickly is crucial.

Both Natori and Iwanuma are working to create a safe coastal region. Yet, the two have very different approaches. Natori and OISCA have a plan to reforest the region with a uniform pine tree forest. They want to use mainly locals. Iwanuma’s program is more varied. Instead of only a single forest, its work includes a large park. It will eventually extend from the sea wall to several kilometers inland. This recreational area already has large expanses of open space, dotted here and there with low mounds. On top of those pimples of land are gazebos with artwork and memorial stones, plus views of the sea.

      

 

Between the tsunami wall and the park is a manmade ridge that extends along the entire coastline. Of course, that sloping hill needs to be very stable. And that is why volunteers came, again from all over the country, for another day of planting trees.

Unlike OISCA’s gracious NGO endeavor, this one was enormous. Iwanuma City government sponsored it. So, rather than 350 volunteers, there were about 6000! Naturally, the atmosphere between the two events was vastly different.

 
I went with a friend and her neighbors. As before we were greeted at the airport with people holding signs. Since the site was nearby, we walked. Naturally, there were hordes of us, so all along the route there were other people indicating the correct path.

      

 
When we arrived at the registration area, it felt like a carnival. There was music blaring out of loud speakers, food stalls, and huge banners advertising which companies and groups were there. 

    

Among many others, there was a Hitachi crowd in bright orange shirts, school kids in baseball uniforms, the Iwanuma Green Forest Wall Project with its own T-shirts, AEON, and the Silver Center of oldsters.

  

After all 6000 of us had finally assembled into our neat little groups, we were told to stand and face east. That is, towards the Mother of this entire project: the Ocean. We bowed our heads in silent prayer of humility before Forces larger than ourselves and of respect to those lost in the tsunami.

Then we all sat down and were introduced to important guests. The son of Koizumi was one of several politicians. Plus there were TV talents and radio hosts, university presidents and, happily, a cluster of local school children. And the press, of course.

  

We were to plant a “natural” forest with sixteen varieties of trees. 

 

Since most of us and little or no idea what each tree was, the celebrities on stage, with the help of Professor Miyawaki from Yokohama National University, shouted out the names one by one. 

 

Then all 6000 of us loudly repeated the names three times. Finally we all raised our right fists in the air and shouted, “Gambarimashou”, again three times.

Each leader took his group to their specific area. Along the way we saw trays of trees, bundles of straw, boxes of water, and colorful trowels. 

  

Likewise, from beginning to end, we were entertained with familiar songs broadcast over loudspeakers. It was an uncomfortably hot day in the direct sun. So I suppose the singing helped to entertain us and to make the atmosphere merry.  

First we were given a demonstration on how to plant the trees. “We want a natural forest, so put things randomly, but not too close together.” 

  

After planting, we had to cover the hill with straw bundles and then tie everything down with thick rope. 

   

The final job was to hurl water over our great labors. Once we got started, the work went amazingly quickly.

All too soon our work was finished. The team leaders bowed their thanks to us; and we bowed our gratitude in return. And then we each went our own way.

I wanted to see the sea, hidden behind the tsunami wall. So I wandered over to one of the mounds. En route I was happy to come across a batch of trees that had been planted the year before. It was very reassuring to see that they were strong and becoming taller. I hope in the years ahead today’s babies will gradually take hold and eventually become a forest themselves.

Even though today was happy, as I drifted along the pathways, I could feel the deep sadness that still lingers in the earth, the air, the sea, and the sky. I heard a bell ringing with one deep gong after another. I wandered toward the sound and found a monument dedicated to those who perished. Each of their names was carved in stone. Visitors were searching for people they had known and loved. Several of them burst into tears when they found a significant name – even now, more than three years since that harrowing nightmare occurred.

 
The bell itself was like an altar. Anyone could ring it. All who did then bowed and placed their hands in a gesture of prayer. There was a continuous line of people who sought that place of reflection and respect. The bell chimed non-stop the entire day.

 
I stayed for a long while in that sacred space. But eventually I headed back to the Disneyland arena, where a cowboy-clad singer was wailing away and crowds were munching on rice balls and sweet cakes. 

 

I could not help but to reflect upon the day. Even though the atmosphere, for the most part, had been light and full of entertainment, there was something as serious and as well intended as the more humble OISCA affair had been. I am glad I went to this event, too. And when asked who would come back next year, without hesitation I said, yes. And yes, And yes again.

Love, 
Anne

Even so, one very precious day was set aside for people from all over the country to help plant trees. I was honored to be part of that special event. I went with a former student, now a friend, and the day was very significant for both of us.

March 8, 2014

Dear Family and Friends,

A few months ago I wrote about a tree-planting project going on just outside of Sendai, in a town called Natori. An NGO called OISCA is deeply involved in that life-enhancing work. 

Part of their job entails gaining support of locals, so they do all they can to include them in planning and activities. For example, they subcontract local tsunami survivors, many of whom are farmers. Those folks have helped start the seedlings, are nursing them carefully, and will be part of the team to plant the baby trees in the spring.

Recently, too, OISCA has held town meetings to explain their project to the people in the area. Also the other day they ran a morning tour of places where they had been working. Since I am keenly interested in what is happening in this region, I signed up to join them.

This tour was for educational purposes, so there was Professor Ota Takehiko, Professor Emeritus of Tokyo University, plus several other experts on pine trees and forests. The Mayor of Natori City also joined us. These gentlemen shared many interesting points about black pine trees and why there were the best choice for this area.

As the bus rolled out to the coastal areas, we looked at charts and listened to explanations about the intricacy of this vast, far-reaching endeavor. We learned that black pine trees have an extremely sturdy root system. They are very hardy trees, but also sensitive to the earth they are in. So if the land is low, the roots tend to spread horizontally. But even with a slight rise, they will grow vertically and deeply, which makes for a more stable outcome.

And sure enough, as we went through the low, almost treeless, tsunami-hit areas, we passed a teeny pimple of risen land. A small shrine had been built there, and lo and behold, pine trees were tenaciously clinging to the soil around it. They had survived the tremendous force of the tsunami, although all the trees just next to them on lower ground had perished.

I have wandered many times in the area where OISCA is working. However, I had never realized that wonderful organization was part of the rebuilding going on in that specific place. I had mostly seen trucks plying back and forth, moving salt-filled earth and replacing it with fresh soil. I know about the park to be built behind the sea wall. And I had listened to the tales of farmers losing their land because of all these changes. But this time I was able to learn about the master plan for this devastated area.

The sea wall is there, in concrete. But behind that there is a man-made rise of land with triangular wooden frames. I had photographed those structures on previous occasions, but this time I learned their specific purpose. They are there to protect the young black pine forest that OISCA is helping to birth.

Wind is a huge factor in this stretch of land between the mountains and the sea. Yet, strangely, the protective wooden frames are not solid. Rather, they have many slats. Those breaks in the sides of the frames are for the wind to go through, while still protecting the precious new life of the saplings. If the frames were solid, the wind would swoop up violently and then pound down hard on the earth, causing great damage to both the soil and the plants. But with the space, the air goes through evenly, and skims across the land relatively smoothly. In that way, the trees are better able to withstand the fierce gales that are notorious in this region.

There are three rows of financial responsibility for this immense project. The strip of land closest to the ocean is Miyagi Prefecture’s domain. The next is Natori City’s concern. The final one is the Japanese government’s area. OISCA is involved in all three of them, providing the expertise, management, and direction needed for this ten-year project to materialize. Beyond the forest park will be a buffer zone then farms and a road. Three kilometers and further inshore will be the homes of locals.

At the end of the tour we went to see the seedlings and baby pine trees that have been stretching and growing over the winter. The planning of this project is very precise. At first ten grams of seeds are planted in one-meter square areas. As they grow, they are thinned out. When the actual planting of the forest takes place, the trees will be placed 1.4 meters apart. OISCA is talking about 50,000 trees, so you can imagine the work involved and the enormous area to be covered.

The best time to transplant is when the infant trees are from 25–35 centimeters high. In order to prevent them from growing beyond that height, these babies are deliberately not fertilized. If they were given extra nutrients, they would grow too quickly and too large. That would cause problems later when it came time to shift them to their permanent locations. 

When OISCA first began working here, they planted seedlings directly into the soil. There were nets to protect the baby shoots from the wind. However, later the government passed a law that seedlings had to be planted in small plastic containers in greenhouses. The work is easier that way, but unfortunately it is also more expensive. That frustrates the situation, but rules are rules, so OISCA complies.

Before arriving at OISCA’s “seeding farm”, we went quite far down the beach, further than I had ever walked. There amid the high grasses was a stone monument. It had been placed there many years before. Miraculously, it had withstood the tsunami with only a broken top. 

Ironically, it was there to commemorate a tree-planting project that had been executed long, long ago by locals. They were not professionals – maybe students, office workers, housewives, and farmers. But the trees had lasted for years, even though they were all gone now.

OISCA’s project is similar, but more professional, with technological expertise and precision. But the heart is the same: the desire to make Miyagi a viable area for farming, fishing, and living – with trees as the backbone and nurturing mother for centuries to come.

Love,

                                                            

                              

               

                                                        

February 1, 2014

PS. Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work. But neither are you free to abandon it. (The Talmud)