This year people of all ages, sizes, and abilities came to volunteer. There were over 100 more than the year before. 

Of course, the exquisite attention to details in planning and executing this day reflected Japan at her most efficient. But another touching, rather personal, cultural attitude also presented itself. After planting our baby trees and packing down the moist earth – which had been trucked in from the mountains over many months – we were to cover the freshly packed soil with wooden chips. Their purpose was to hold in moisture since these teeny trees would not be watered. One jolly elderly farmer and his working partner did a splendid job of planting their small charges. However, they neglected the final step: spreading the wooden chips.

So, very surreptitiously I sprinkled a few life-preserving chips on each of the newly planted trees. 

We parted tired, of course, but also filled with hope. How better to believe in the future than by placing our hands in the soil and encouraging new life to take hold? We will never see the final results, of course. But that does not matter. It is what we leave behind that counts, and surely that is what we will carry in our hearts forever.

Love,
Anne

Japan has always been keenly aware of the elements. Earthquakes, tsunami, floods, and fires have marked the history of this archipelago as much as, if not more than, emperors, shogun, and samurai. Because of the acute reality of natural disasters, the Japanese have always made every effort to protect themselves against them. One ancient form of protection is festivals.

These times of ritualistic merrymaking are a means of evoking the gods, who are often slumbering in shires, mountain forests, or the depths of the sea. These clamorous events are so noisy and festive that they evoke the gods’ curiosity, awakening them and inviting them to come closer to our human world. During these privileged times of divine visitation, we mortals ask for their blessings and protection. And when offered enough sake and raucous behavior, the gods comply.

One such festival of protection began 650 years ago in a small farming community north of Sendai. This plea for protection is called “Hibuse no Toramai Matsuri”, or “Tiger Dance Festival for Fire Prevention”.

In that area of Miyagi Prefecture, the winds have always been particularly fierce. When houses were made of wood and thatch, these gales created a real fire hazard. Since these storms are so fierce, long ago the locals selected the strongest animal they had ever heard of to counter them: the Tiger. Unlike their elaborate Chinese counterpart, these creatures are touchingly primitive. 

     

But does this festival really evoke the protection of the gods? Does it actually serve a purpose besides a day of fun? I like to believe so.

Even though these tigers are endearingly simple, they are not superficial by any means. First, of course, they are the ones that remind everyone to be careful of fire. They are also the ones who receive mentorship from the elder fire fighters, enabling traditional knowledge and wisdom to be transmitted through the generations. But perhaps most importantly, they are the ones that pull the entire community together, and hold them there as a cohesive unit.

What better protection – from any kind of disaster – could there be than a sense of meaningful purpose, mentorship, single-minded focus, and a strongly united community?

Love,
Anne

Knowledge is such a complex, nuanced sword. It slices one way when filtered through cruelty and fear, yet an entire other when blended with trust and constructive creativity. This past week in Sendai we were blessed with a hope-filled, life-enhancing use of knowledge as delegates worldwide came to discuss disaster risk reduction.

From March 14 – 18, the Third UN Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction (WCDRR) was held in this city. That significant event was mainly for delegates to discuss crucial environmental issues pressing upon the world from all sides. Those officials presented, discussed, and hammered out agreements concerning the environment and how best we, as a united human family, might find ways to prepare for natural disasters so as to mitigate their destructive effects.

One visitor from the UK said, “I’d seen so much on the news about the 3/11 disaster, but talking to people, seeing artifacts, and going to devastated areas have opened my heart wide to the trauma that individuals lived through. The actual, hands-on aspect of these displays and discussions is far deeper and more poignant that I had ever imagined.”

Many of the very informative panels were designed by students at local universities: Tohoku University and Tohoku Institute of Technology in particular. They were beautifully presented, commanding without being overwhelming. Those educational displays used the entire exhibition space to unfold the Tohoku Disaster Story in very meaningful, highly significant ways. So, walking though the show became an evolving experience of learning and of deepening compassion.

That pavilion was open to the general public and had interested observers all day throughout the entire week. Japanese and foreigners alike became absorbed in the information, the interactive programs, and the layout itself.

In fact, everything during that week pointed towards building up from a past that should never be forgotten. Now we are called upon to face the challenges of today, by learning from each other and by lending support in every way we can.

Love,
Anne

Even though I wrote to you yesterday, I would like to share another experience that commemorated the March 11, 2011 disaster. Kindly forgive me as I send you this letter of news and reflection, so close on the heels of the other.

Natori is a rural town near Sendai. One area of it lies near the sea and is called Yuriage. It is famous for its Sunday market, abundant with fresh vegetables from nearby farms and locally caught seafood.  Yuriage was completely swept away in the 2011 tsunami. Even though there are many more years of reconstruction ahead, things are moving forward. In fact, one could say that this small town is making a strong comeback. Local agriculture and fishing are rebounding, so the Sunday market is in operation once again.

             

               

   

 
Love,
Anne

Every year since then, March 11 is a day of memory, of silent reflection, and of prayer. In order to honor that life-changing day and what has been happening since then, local people make every effort to remember and to build hope.

The UN Conference in Sendai is getting closer and closer. Of course, the city and its residents are gearing up for that momentous week. For one thing, there have been events throughout the city recently introducing some of the many activities that will take place at that time. For example, a few weekends ago in one of the main event centers there was a concert, where the mayor came and spoke. 

In addition to all that, volunteers have undergone a year’s worth of training. That instruction was given by a private company and also by the Sendai City government. 

She told me that one of the key points, which was stressed throughout, was to promote Japan in general, and Sendai specifically. In order to do that, the participants had to undergo a wide variety of areas of training.

Here is a detailed list of the topics they studied.

First, of course, was orientation. This was to provide general information. It included such things as the UN’s role in disaster risk reduction, the importance of this particular conference, the types of visitors expected, and so on.

Third, the volunteers were taken to tsunami-affected areas. One of those included a damaged elementary school in Arahama, on the coast near Sendai City. The community has turned the school into a memorial so that the experiences and lessons of 03/11 will never be forgotten. The volunteers also heard real-life stories of survivors, one of whom was swept away by the tsunami, but managed to come out alive through that horrendous event. The school and stories of survivors will be part of the UN study tour for visitors.

After visiting those emotion-filled places, the volunteers’ next lesson involved going to pleasant sightseeing spots in and near Sendai.

In the next session, they were given detailed statistics about Sendai and the Tohoku region of Japan.

A few weeks before the conference begins, volunteers will be told their specific duties. No one is sure why this information is being given so late in the training. But one idea is that by not knowing, the participants would stay open to everything that was being taught.

Just before the opening of the conference, the volunteers will get a final pep talk to energize and motivate them to do their best.

Gambarimashou!

Love,
Anne

Toshi was a student of mine last year. 

He is a very open minded young man, who is eager to learn English and to try things that are new for him. He realizes the best way to improve his language skills is to talk with a native speaker. So every now and then he and I get together to chat. However, I am not one to set around leisurely, so usually we do something interesting, as we talk away in English, of course.

One of these adventures was to help out at Yomawari, the NGO that assists homeless in Sendai. That day Toshi and I distributed drinks, and then served miso soup and healthy packed lunches. Usually we cook a warm meal, but that day we were not able to rent kitchen space. 

         

Others gave out clothing and other useful items.

       

There were about 35 men that day. One new guest was from Kyushu in the far south of Japan. He had probably come here looking for construction work, but had had no luck in getting a job. Sadly, his tragic situation is not uncommon here.

After the “Soup Run” was over, Toshi told me his impressions. Paraphrasing his words, he said, “This was really good. I think every university student should have this kind of experience. So many young people want to do something positive, but they are either too shy to try things on their own, or they don’t know how to go about finding a place to volunteer. The next time I help Yomawari, I want to bring some friends. I think this would mean a lot to them.”

After some thought, he continued. “I also like the way this NGO is run. It’s got such a good atmosphere. They know each person by name and treat everyone warmly and respectfully. They also have a meeting before the meal and give really good advice. That is so helpful.”

This particular time the topic of discussion was about the problem the men will face during the UN conference in March. At that time thousands of foreigners will flock to this area. Sendai wants to make a good impression, so the police will most probably confiscate homeless people’s neatly stacked belongings, which they keep in underground passageways and in parks.

“Be careful,” Imai Sensei warned. “By law they have to keep your things for three months. But probably you’ll have to pay to get them back. And you’ll need proof the items are yours. So, be sure to have your name on everything you have. In fact, you’d better keep your things with you. And try to keep a low profile when the conference is in session.”

As Imai Sensei was giving this helpful warning, one man kept talking and laughing loudly. Imai Sensei immediately realized he was drunk and severely ordered him to leave. Drunkenness and alcohol are never allowed at any Yomawari activities.

In the evening Toshi sent me a very touching thank you message. Here is what he said, exactly as he said it:

* * *  
Thank you for today!
It was very meaningful experience to me.
Before joining the activity, I felt a little bit nervous because I thought some of homeless people might be being rude possibly. 
They are in that tough situation just because of bad luck and I guess all of them always feel so hurt.
So they may well take a crabby attitude.
But on the contrary, they were very polite to us and when we gave food to them, they said “Thank you”.
I was touched and I felt that I want to help them more and more.

And Imai sensei is great person. Sometimes he scolded some homeless, but I think scolding other people needs much energy, I think his affection for them makes he do that.

* * *

That is very true indeed. Imai Sensei, his business partner Aoki Sensei, and all the volunteers have real love for the people they serve. And it radiates out of the very core of their being.

      

Love,
Anne

In 2005 in Hyogo, Japan, there was also a conference concerning natural disaster risk reduction. At that time this five-colored logo was created. It was designed for the following conference, the one to be held in Sendai this March. It shows five cupped figures of harmoniously blending colors, similar to a rainbow. These figures are symbols of people, from all walks of life, reaching out to one another to form a chain of support. They seem to be holding hands, which adds to their strength and resiliency. In addition, they symbolize the five priority actions for the global community to consider when dealing with disaster situations.

1. Disaster reduction must be a top priority of all countries and communities. In order for this to be implemented, there should be a strong institutional support. This action is the foundation on which all the others stand

2. When dealing with the risks of disaster, three key points should be followed in order to provide early warning: Specify, Observe, Assess. That is, clearly specify the disaster. Observe the situation closely. And assess the most appropriate actions to be taken

 3. All levels of expertise should be considered in order to create a “Culture of Prevention”. These areas include Knowledge, Technology, and Education

4. Anticipate danger. Do everything possible to reduce risks before they occur

5. Focus on preparation for effective responses in times of emergency

 
Here is one very small example of these five points in action. In Sendai approximately every thirty years there is a major earthquake. (The recent 03/11 disaster in Tohoku was born from a different fault line, one that had a 1000 year build-up. Its magnitude far exceeded a “normal” earthquake in this region.) City officials are ceaselessly vigilant in planning for the next emergency.

About five years before March 2011, Sendai City changed its official rubbish bags. Over several weeks, citizens could exchange their old style bags for the new variety. As I was making my exchange, I asked the woman why the city wanted to collect the bags that we could no longer use. “For the next earthquake,” she explained.” You see, we will fill these with sand and use them as walls or to block tidal waves from coming too far.” I was extremely impressed by the farsightedness of this community. And sure enough, five years later, I saw that preparedness in action, and was a fortunate recipient of it myself.

Love,
Anne

Recently two Japanese men were beheaded by ISIS. The news has stunned this country into greater determination to follow a constructive path of building hope where there seems to be none, of providing humanitarian aide where it is most needed, of trying to forge a path towards peace in this troubled world of ours.

Much progress is indeed being made. But, unfortunately, in some arenas things seem to be almost at a standstill. For example, the initial rush of donations and support has given way to less and less concern and fewer contributions to rebuild this area and people’s livelihoods. Also many, especially older folks, are stuck in temporary complexes. 

In light of that, a few citizens’ groups have started making their appearance. They are soliciting signatures for a petition to nudge the government to work faster and more efficiently. They carry banners and place speakers on major shopping streets, announcing their concerns and asking for support.

Adding to efforts toward progress in this Tohoku region, there are many NGOs hard at work, too. Of course, there is the Charity Walk, but there are others as well. One of them is called SAORI. This non-profit is actually nationwide and started long before 03/11. But their chapter in Sendai is doing wonderful work for the recovery here. Essentially, the group is a cluster of women who love to weave. Their products are exquisite art pieces, but are sold at very reasonable prices. “This is our way to uplift the hearts and minds of those who suffer,” they say.

Recently SAORI noticed that contributions to the rebuilding of this area had been slipping, although they are still very needed. So these ladies sponsored a four-day event in Sendai City center. They brought in a group of enthusiastic local singers. And offered their own woven goods for sale.

But in addition to that, they have started an international project. Together with people from all over the world, they are weaving a runner that will be 311 meters long. That specific number is in honor of 03/11, the date that the Great East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami arrived and changed the lives of so many of us forever.

Besides this 311 project, these talented ladies hold weaving classes in their Sendai headquarters. And they also go to temporary housing complexes to work with people there. “We love the symbolism of weaving,” one SAORI member told me. “When we weave, we connect threads. And when we work together with those in need, we connect lives.”

“We see ourselves as the vertical warp threads, upright and strong. We offer others the opportunity to be the woof threads, weaving both with and around us. Together we make beautiful designs. That honors the past with its tragedies, but also blesses the future with its hopes. And of course, there is so much joy in the present, too. That is because we work together as friends to create beautiful pieces of art.”

Indeed, SAORI, the Charity Walk, politically involved individuals, and others like them, are part of the warp and woof of this region now. They are making it more beautiful and hope-filled. This is not only in the physical sense, but also in the mental outlook and inner spirit of all of us who are privileged to call Tohoku home.

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

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. 

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. 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. 

 “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.

 “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.

“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.

“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. 

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.

“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.”

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.  

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.

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. 

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.)

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.

“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.”

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.

   

 
Then came the Shinto shrine and teeny clump of pine trees that had withstood the tsunami because of being on a small rise of land. The Buddhist temple next to it had been rebuilt. The graves that were damaged have now been repaired, old stones lined up, and new ones stretching behind a large vegetable garden that another local farmer could not resist planting. And bordering the walkway were very moving handmade boards with words of encouragement on them.

 
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.

       

Next to the sea there was a long concrete tsunami wall that seemed solid and sure. Is it a hopeful illusion or a real protection against future surprises from the land and sea? Only time will tell.

Despite being acutely aware of the uncertainties of life, the Japanese always build with a sense of long-lasting purpose. So behind that grand new seawall was the newly planted “Forest of a Million Trees”, or more poetically, “Hills with a Thousand Years of Hope Project”. In English that flattens out to “The Great Forest Wall Project”. The same idea, but very different sentiments.

  

The small seedlings which a huge gathering of us planted last May were doing well. On the bright sunny day when I was visiting, they seemed to stretch their teeny branches upward, reaching for the light. They made a happy ribbon of speckled green running parallel to the strong white tsunami wall so close to the sea.

There were other lovely touches, too. A staircase up to a gazebo was made from wood salvaged from the tsunami debris of people’s homes. And the farmer I had met several years before was defying the government band to plant where his house had once stood. His vegetable patch was a small island bursting with produce. Eventually, even sadly, it will be swallowed up by the “Thousand Years of Hope Park”.

              

 
As I headed back to the entrance, I came across a small clutch of volunteers. They had come all the way from Tokyo on a company project to help us here in Tohoku. They were weeding and planting a few trees as their gesture of support. “Our contribution is very small, but we want to help,” one woman explained to me.

Surrounding the human-planted grassy areas were marshlands, alive with birds, flowers, and tall reeds. They were a magnificent manifestation of Mother Nature’s constant renewal, appearing along side the tremendous human efforts to rebuild this once devastated area. The harmonious blending of the two, side by side, seemed to say that when we humans work in conjunction with Nature, even in all her fury, we will be able to make life more promising for all.

And finally, the prayer tower and bell were still there, waiting patiently for someone to sound their chime. I pulled the cord twice, bowed in prayer, and listened to the gong’s echo reverberating across the land and far out to sea.

Along the coast, there is a very silent, deep, and sacred feeling that seems to pervade the entire area. This profoundly wise and knowing presence seems to have nestled in, offering a sense of ongoing reassurance and loving care. Somehow that feeling gives a sense that this world and those that lie beyond are closely connected . . . very closely connected indeed.

Love,
Anne

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. 

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.

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.

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

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. 

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