Notes on Ishinomaki 1

3.11


Three, eleven. Two numbers that are etched in contemporary Japanese memory. The day, in 2011, that first an earthquake, and then a tsunami hit the northern coast of Honshu, the largest of the main islands that make up the Japanese archipelago. The tsunami also terminally damaged one of the nuclear power reactors on the Fukushima coast. These are the things most people know about. The images, the stories, the lives lost, the lives saved.




It is almost seven and a half years since this triple disaster. I have at various times headed to towns in the region with colleagues participating in research projects but mainly listening. So many people here want to tell their stories, easier to tell to outsiders, because they want their stories to be told 'for the next 500 years' as one person told me. Easier to tell outsiders because there is no need to preface conversations with 'I didn't lose as many family members as you but...' or 'I still have my house and belongings but...'





The view from the hill

During the 2018 summer break from classes, I am participating in one particular project in the town of Ishinomaki, about one hour by express train from Sendai, about three hours north of Tokyo. Students from the university where I work will be volunteering with an organisation which produces a monthly newspaper, the kizuna shimbun. Some will spend a month there, others will spend a week. It is part of their extra-curricular studies.

I went up there last week, 22-23 August, just to see how they were going. I spent much of Thursday delivering the papers with them. Their role is to not just deliver the papers but offer conversation with those who want it, and know when to walk away from those who don't want the intrusion. Many years ago, I volunteered with my local Meals on Wheels service in Brisbane. Part of the day reminded me of those times when some days you knew you were the only person the resident saw all day and they wanted to talk while others opened the door just enough to push the meal through. It was a matter of refining your judgement as you went along, something I observed these students learning during the day.

Looking upriver

In terms of my research, I am also doing work in these areas to look more closely at the idea of 'community', how we form them, how we keep them, how we make them work and the politics that might tie them together. At the macro-level, from the outside looking in, we have a small seaside town, population of approximately 145,000 people (approximately 4000 people died during the tsunami), relying largely on fisheries as a main industry. There is a lot of rebuilding going on, on the other hand, there remain many cleared blocks of land. The physical scars of the tsunami are everywhere, the psychological ones take a little more time to find. At the micro-level, community is less-obvious, more contrived. Some are trying, some have almost given up. On this day I was fortunate to witness both.

We start at 6.00am on Thursday morning to head up to the top of the landmark Hiyoriyama Park to join in with a group of locals who have started up an exercise group. About 12 people all up, ages ranging from 40-70, welcome the four of us into the group as we do various stretching exercises. It is not so serious, but the camaraderie is apparent and they are committed. After the exercises finish, we linger a bit longer, chatting and then learn a little more about the landscape we can see from the top of the mountain, pre and post tsunami.

On the way back to base, we pop in to a local shop to pick up breakfast, a couple of rice rolls, eggs and green tea. As one more accustomed to eating breakfast *before* I leave the house, the 5km walk and thirty mins exercise sans food has been a little taxing. But the shopkeeper is pleased for our purchases and wishes us well. (The shopkeepers around Ishinomaki really would like people to buy things, help the recovery.)

Breakfast done, we plan the day's newspaper deliveries. Now, to be honest, I wasn't expecting to join in the delivery part, but I'm glad I did. Over the course of the next seven hours we visited several new developments, combinations of single-standing houses, terraces, newly-built apartment blocks--everything trying to look 'normal' and 'lived-in'  but all still too new for character to have set in.

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Section of the (almost) vacated temporary housing

Many of the people we visited today had spent six or more years living in the temporary housing set up by the government and adjustment to the new settings was taking some time. What we learnt was that people are adapting differently. Some were open to receiving the paper, others said just put it in the letterbox, still others said don't bother.

So many stories came out of our work today. One woman, in her 80s, was on her way out to meet up with friends for a spot of karaoke. She spent her days making papercrafts and flower arrangements and said she needed to do these things to stay young! Her little maltese pup did not move from her side and she gave us each a can of coffee as we left, huge smile and enormous personality.

Charming charms

A few doors down, another woman, who lived by herself, seemed grateful for the attention of all four of us (we were actually supposed to be working in pairs but we met in the middle of this floor of apartments). We must have spent 30 minutes at her door. At times she was on the verge of tears--partly through recalling events of the tsunami, partly, I think, simple emotion of having an audience for a short time. In her spare time, she made small charms, embroidered shells with bells attached, beautiful craftwork she proceeded to show us. She brought out a boxful. She wanted to give them away, all of them, to us. She said she doesn't know anyone anymore to give them to. But all the people here, in your apartment block, on this floor...we said. No, she said, she doesn't know anybody really.


She reminded me a lot of some women I delivered meals to all those years ago. Grateful for the conversation, knowing that I had more meals to deliver, knowing I had to go but wanting me to stay...She had a strong sense of religious belief, sure I would appreciate the Japanese translations of the bible that were given to her by a Christian group in the wake of the disaster, or the calligraphy banners hanging in the local church.


The students were moved, you could see that. The emotions of their first experience of this kind of interaction were palpable. Names and addresses were exchanged, letters will be forthcoming.


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At a different new estate, deliveries done and seeking shade from the oppressive summer heat (over 35degC on this day) we sat down in front of one of the 'community halls', each estate had one made especially apparently. We heard a voice inside, 'otsukaresama, otsukaresama' (thank you for your efforts, well done), not realising it was directed at us. A man opened the window and invited us inside for some refreshments. We hesitated, we were already behind schedule, but what was that point about community? We accepted the offer. Turned out, this fellow was not a resident of the estate but elected as the estate's 'mayor', he lived a bit further away, closer to the hills, his house wasn't affected by the disaster, yet he saw it as his role to get the community up and running and to that end organised activities of all sorts, finding ways to bring people together. He regaled us with so many stories, particularly his efforts to speak English in spite of his junior high school education. Communication was his main aim. And communicate he did. As his colleague noted with some pride, this building might be barrier-free, (meaning wheelchair-accessible) but his heart is also barrier-free--a lovely turn of phrase to describe this man's big open personality. If you want someone to build your community, he would be one of the first picks. He sent us off with a bottle of tea each.


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Back to base at the end of a long hot day. The students were asked to reflect on their day, and not surprisingly, the people mentioned above figured prominently in their reports. I think today they realised the importance of their work, and their small contribution to community-making. It doesn't take a lot to make a big difference.


There will be more trips for me over the next couple of years. And I expect the students will return too, in time. There are many more stories to hear. To listen.


Ishinomaki, for those interested, was also the township which lost a school and its students in the most dramatic of circumstances. At the time of the quake, the students assembled dutifully on the school oval, as is usually the case, despite the fears of some. The tsunami which came a little later swept many of them away. It is a story I still find difficult to tell. Tokyo-based journalist Richard Lloyd Parry has written a book detailing the event and subsequent investigation, Ghosts of the tsunami (Vintage (Penguin Random) London, 2017). I highly recommend it but it is a difficuly story to read.