It is Friday. There is tension in the air, but we don't know why. We think it is because we are tired. Our trip has been eventful, so far, busy and exciting. We have visited a number of places in Japan; religious sites, research centers, libraries, book stores and universities. I have managed to collect many relevant reading materials, and conducted a number of interviews. We have been to Tokyo, Kamakura, Ise and Kumano, and are now in Kyoto. Kyoto is an interesting city. It is the ancient capital of Japan, famous for its many temples, shrines and gardens, as well as for the famous UN climate change protocol it shares its name with. This afternoon, I have an important interview with two priests at one of the country's most famous and ancient Shinto shrines. But I feel strangely nervous and tired today, and have difficulty concentrating. Something bothers me, a feeling I don't quite understand, an odd combination of fatigue and restlessness.
It is a sunny day, though, despite a few tiny drops of rain. I can borrow a bicycle from the friends who generously share their apartment with us these days. Shimogamo Shrine is not too far away from their place, and Kyoto is a nice and easy city to get around by bicycle. I enjoy the short ride south, which makes me feel a bit better. I park the bike and walk through the small shrine forest, Tadasu no Mori, the protection and maintenance of which has become the shrine's prestige project. When I arrive at the shrine administration building, I am kindly welcomed by two priests who are active in preserving the forest and organising public events. They patiently answer my questions about the project, and give me useful information on recent events and key players in the Shinto environmentalist movement.
One of my last questions is whether Shinto environmentalist philosophy could be useful for other countries as well. One of the priests replies. He is skeptical about the possibility of implementing Shinto abroad. He mentions something about Central Park in New York, but I don't really hear what he is saying as I am temporarily distracted by the earthquake that is making us shake on our chairs. It may not be a very big one, but it is definitely an earthquake, the first one I have felt on this trip. The priests do not seem to give it much thought, though. They are used to small earthquakes, after all. We continue our interview. I thank them, visit the shrine, offer a five-yen coin to the deity, pray and walk back to the bicycle, through the small but sacred forest.
I cycle to the city centre. It is Friday afternoon, and the streets are crowded. I visit one of the city's biggest bookstores in order to collect some more materials. I do not find all the books I am looking for, but I do find a couple of interesting and relevant books I did not know I was looking for, so I am quite satisfied after all. However, as I am scanning bookshelves, I receive a text message from a friend saying that the earthquake actually was quite bad. How bad, I want to know; where did it happen, are there any casualties? "On the east coast. It looks very bad," she replies. I am beginning to get worried. So the quake I felt this afternoon was not a small one after all - it was a very big one, far away, so strong that we could feel it even here. My concerns grow when I speak to one of the shop employees. She tells me that she cannot contact the store's central administration, as the phones are not working. When I tell her I intend to go back to Tokyo the next day, she tells me train services are temporarily suspended.
I go back to the apartment, happy to see my wife is safe. Our friends come home soon thereafter. We spend the rest of the evening in front of the PC, looking at the first shocking images showing the world what has happened. The tsunami's destructive force is unimaginable, the images are nothing short of apocalyptic. We don't know what to say. We are happy to hear our friends and relatives in Tokyo are safe, but are worried about people we know who live further north. We contemplate the possibility of changing our plans and not returning to Tokyo tomorrow, but we postpone our decision. We share a drink and our thoughts before going to bed. I sleep a restless sleep, full of strange dreams I will have forgotten by the time I wake up.
The number of casualties has increased, the next day, and will increase further in days to come. The number of homeless refugees is even higher. The images from Tohoku are unnerving, but there is no indication that Tokyo is particularly unsafe, despite the many aftershocks. So we decide to stick to our original plan, and return to Tokyo by night bus. We go for a last walk in Kyoto, and enjoy the beautiful flowers in the botanic garden. But when we come back, we hear that there has been some sort of explosion at a nuclear power plant in Fukushima prefecture. As we don't know what may happen next, we change our mind, and decide not to leave Kansai for the time being. I call our airline company, Finnair, and ask if it is possible to change our flight and return from Osaka in stead of Tokyo. The service is excellent. We are allowed to change our tickets without paying the usual fee, and can get seats two days later, on Monday.
We spend our last two nights in Osaka. The TV in our hotel room shows us new, shocking images of the tsunami. The situation in Fukushima is deteriorating. It seems like we have made the right decision. We are getting worried about our friends in Tokyo, but apparently it is still safe, despite the fact that some people are leaving. On Sunday, our last day in Japan, we try to get some distraction from the constant flow of sad information. We go for a ride in a very high Ferris wheel, visit the whale shark and sea otters in Osaka's excellent aquarium, do some last-minute shopping and have cheap, delicious okonomiyaki for dinner. Life in Osaka continues as normal, and people around us seem to be having fun and enjoying their free Sunday. But I find it difficult to enjoy, and cannot suppress a sense of guilt for being here.
On Monday morning, we get on a train to Kansai International Airport. Tourist groups gather and depart as usual. No sense of crisis here, apparently. We get on the plane, which is completely full - but there is no way of telling whether this is because of the events of the past few days, or simply because Japanese travel agencies like to do business with Finnair. I watch a movie, sleep a bit, play several games of chess against the entertainment system (needless to say, I lose all) and read. But I am absent-minded, and feel sad and empty, as if I have lost someone special. I may be critical of Japan, at times; I may mock her silly fashions, deconstruct her myths of ethnic superiority, complain about her bad politicians - yet, for some reason, I love this country. I first came here when I was a teenager, and have come back several times since. I have travelled, studied, worked, made love, prayed and had many great experiences in this country. I cannot but be upset about her suffering.
We arrive home safely. It is good to be back home, good to sleep in our own bed, good to go back to university. But even though my body is back in Norway, my mind is still in Japan. After I come back, I spend most of my time reading articles, following news sites and sharing information through facebook. I also give two interviews to Norwegian media, explaining aspects of Japanese culture and religion. I believe that, as an academic working on Japan, I have a certain responsibility in explaining and contextualising events, as well as sharing knowledge and information - however limited. I will post links to the interviews, as well as to other important and/or interesting articles, within the next couple of days. I will also give information about how and where to donate money, for there are great shortages and economic problems in Japan, so they really need our help.
There are different ways of reacting in the case of a disaster and a possible nuclear threat. Many foreigners are afraid, and have left the Tokyo area. Even though it is probably still safe, there is no guarantee at all that it will still be safe tomorrow, or the day after. Nuclear scientists, medical doctors, foreign ministers and Japanese government officials have different opinions, and spread contradictory information. Some nuclear scientists have made bold statements saying there is no reason whatsoever to be worried, but these should be distrusted as many of these people are directly connected to the powerful nuclear industry and its lobby. Others suggest that Japan is on the verge of a nuclear apocalypse, which is probably way too dramatic and may cause unnecessary fear and panic. However, the cognitive dissonance displayed by some residents of Tokyo as well as some others, who furiously accuse 'the Western media' of being sensationalist and making up threats that do not exist (funnily, some of these comments are published by those same media) and blatantly ignore or discredit any information suggesting that Tokyo may not be safe at some point, is at least as dangerous. The simple yet unnerving truth is that right now there is no certainty whatsoever. News saying the situation in Fukushima is improving is followed by accounts of new incidents and problems, optimism is followed by pessimism is followed by optimism, and so on. At the time of writing, there is no guarantee that the crisis will not get worse and pose a serious health threat to a much bigger part of the country in days to come. Let's hope and pray that will not happen.
But even though the nuclear threat continues to worry us, let's please not forget that the true suffering is going on in the north, in the Tohoku region. Hundreds of thousands of people are homeless, thousands are injured, literally millions of people suffer from a lack of food, clothes, fuel and/or electricity. They need our sympathy, our help, and our prayers. We ought not to forget these people, even when other events replace them on the first pages of our newspapers. Japan needs its friends, wherever they are, no matter how big or small their contribution. Every krona, every cent, every little prayer counts.
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