Report from Tohoku

It does not have as many temples as Kyoto and Nara, it does not have Mount Fuji and it does not have the hyperurban energy of cities like Tokyo, Osaka or Nagoya. Until recently, therefore, Tohoku was not very well-known outside Japan. But everything changed two years ago, when suddenly the whole world became familiar with its name. As you know, the region was hit by an earthquake and a tsunami that killed more than 20,000 people, wiped away entire towns, and caused heavy damage to a nuclear power plant. It was filmed by many, producing impressive footage that was broadcast by TV stations worldwide. The name Tohoku thus became synonymous with suffering and destruction. Until, of course, the next big war, disaster or sports event drew the attention of the mass media, and the world forgot about Tohoku. Journalists happily report about disaster, suffering and crisis, but the difficulties and hard work involved in step-by-step reconstruction processes are much less sensational, and easily ignored.

Most Japanese think Tohoku is far away. The area is associated with remote farming villages, archaic cultural practices and wild nature. In reality, however, the distance between Tokyo and Sendai (the largest city in Tohoku) is less than the distance between Tokyo and Kyoto. If you take the fastest shinkansen (bullet train), you can get there in only one hour and forty minutes. Nevertheless, Tohoku attracts few foreign visitors, as most tourists do not make it further north than Tokyo or nearby Nikko. They miss a lot: Tohoku has some of the most stunning landscapes in the entire country, fascinating religious traditions, and is a great destination for hiking, hot springs and matsuri (festivals).

I had been to Tohoku twice: in 2001 I spent a few days in Iwate prefecture, and in 2006 I went hiking and camping in Akita and Aomori prefectures. Since the disasters of March 2011, however, I had not yet had the opportunity to go back. But if such an unprecedentedly large natural disaster happens when you are doing research on the relationship between Shinto and nature in contemporary Japan, it is hard to ignore it. The question of theodicy – why do we have to suffer – is central to any religion, and Shinto is no exception. If nature is conceptualised as abundant and life-giving, as it is by many Shinto scholars, and the own ritual tradition as a centuries-old expression of gratitude to and harmonious coexistence with nature, expressions of nature’s destructive force such as tsunamis and earthquakes inevitably raise questions. Moreover, several of the organisations I have been studying have been active in fundraising, research or other activities somehow related to Tohoku, so it would only be logical to take these activities into consideration.

In sum, even though it is not exactly the central topic of my dissertation, I did feel that I should pay attention to what has been going on there. Hence my choice to spend a few days in Tohoku on this research trip. However brief the visit, it would give me the opportunity to talk to some people involved in cultural and religious activities, and to see the current shape of the tsunami-hit area with my own eyes.

Sendai Station is very crowded. It is filled with shops and stands selling all kinds of local specialties (meibutsu), from seafood and pickles to rice cake and biscuits. Recently, the number of domestic tourists coming to Tohoku has increased significantly thanks to campaigns by local authorities and Japan Railways, the promotion of various ‘traditional’ local matsuri, the establishment of a large new pan-Tohoku festival, a large Van Gogh exhibition in the museum of Sendai and so on. Apparently, there has also been a lot of economic activity thanks to reconstruction activities, mass volunteerism and government investment. But the money seems to go primarily to urban construction companies, travel companies and hotels, rather than to the remote coastal communities hit most by the disaster. Most people there are still living in prefab temporary housing, and few houses or other buildings have been rebuilt.

In any case, Sendai is a charming city. Some structures have been damaged by the earthquake, and are now being restored, but most buildings have survived – living testimony to the fact that the quality of buildings in Japan has improved significantly since the 1995 Kobe earthquake. The main boulevard, Aoba Dōri, is lined with high trees and wide pavements. Sendai is well-known for its university, Tohoku University, which is one of the most prestigious in the country. Its main campus is built on the site of the former castle of the feudal rulers, and surrounded by green space. A student city, there seem to be more bicycles than cars. The city has several interesting museums, nice restaurants and excellent locally produced saké. In sum, it is not a bad place to spend a couple of days (or longer).

Together with a professor from Tohoku University, who kindly invited me here, I visit the tsunami-hit area. The railroad has been destroyed, and although trains are replaced by buses, they are slow and few in number. The best way to get around, therefore, is by car.

We first visit Ishinomaki. With a population of approximately 150,000, this was by far the biggest of the towns hit by the tsunami, and thousands of people have died here. Reportedly, it is also the place where the most reconstruction activities are going on. We visit an interesting, fairly new shrine on the outskirts of the city, with an unusually young head priest. As it is located on a high place, the shrine did not suffer much damage. But the priest has been active in various community-rebuilding and forest-(re)planting activities, which he kindly tells us about. I also learn some new things about devotional practices in the Tohoku region which I did not know before – apparently, the worship of dragon gods is alive and well, as is the practice of communicating with and transmitting messages from these gods by qualified mediums. Shrine Shinto and shamanistic practices are not necessarily incompatible, it seems. Not anymore at least.

As we leave Ishinomaki and approach Minami-Sanriku, we drive through areas hit hard by the tsunami. Signs above the road indicate how far the water came. Complete villages and towns have been wiped away, literally. Now that most of the debris have been removed, the only thing that remains is empty wasteland. But the scars of the tsunami’s devastating power are visible in the landscape: ruins of bridges, foundations of houses, a few remaining walls. Hardly anything has been rebuilt, and it remains to be seen whether these towns will ever recover. Most survivors live in containers that serve as temporary houses – nobody knows for how long. We have lunch in a shopping area in Minami-Sanriku completely made up of such prefab buildings, before we continue our journey north.

The coastal road sometimes circles inland. Here, we see pretty farmhouses, gardens, rice paddies and forests. But as soon as the road gets close to the coast again, all we see is wasteland. Before the disaster, these areas looked similar to the ones further inland. It is hard to imagine now. Not only are the houses destroyed, so are other parts of the landscape: fields, gardens, woodland. Most of Japan’s forests today are made up almost exclusively of planted cedars (sugi) and pine trees, which are not very strong, and break as matchsticks whenever there is a flood or a typhoon. Therefore, when looking at the forests lining the coastal road, it is easy to see how far the water came: that is where the trees have disappeared. Further uphill, the forests are still standing.

We pass a railway bridge of which only the two central pillars are left; the rest has been destroyed. The railroad may never be rebuilt, as it probably was not profitable in the first place. But without a railroad, the speed of depopulation will only accelerate further. Yet, as the number of potential customers decreases, chances that the railroad will be rebuilt are getting smaller and smaller. It is the vicious circle of rural depopulation in Japan, also visible in other areas – but here, the situation is extreme, due to the sudden destruction brought about by natural disaster. Despite the rhetoric of ‘reconstruction’ and ‘rebirth’ one encounters everywhere in the country, most coastal towns have not been rebuilt. Their communities no longer exist is their former shapes, as many people have died, and many others have left. Those who remain live in their temporary prefab containers, and may have to stay there for years to come. Most of them are elderly people.

We drive through Kesennuma, a former port town, of which a large part has been destroyed. Bulldozers and trucks are driving around, cleaning up the remaining debris and parts of buildings. At some places, old cars, boats and remnants of houses are piled up, several metres high. At other places, only the scars remain. There are a few buildings of which one or two walls are still standing. They look like skeletons, the sole remaining vertical structures in a frighteningly horizontal landscape.

Then we see the ship. It was taken by the tsunami and brought several hundred metres inland, ending up in the middle of what used to be the town. For some reason, it has not been taken away. In fact, it seems to have become a symbol of the tsunami’s destructive force. As we are standing there, several other people stop and take pictures as well. Next to the ship, somebody has planted beautiful flowers, and a bit further a small provisional altar has been erected. The ship may well become some sort of monument; a place of commemoration, not unlike the Genbaku Dome in Hiroshima. But its status is contested. I am told that some people want to ship to stay where it is, as a reminder of what has happened for future generations. Others, however, do not want to be reminded, and want the ship to be taken away. Issues like this can cause friction and divide an already fragmented community, so let us hope a consensus will be found.

Whatever one’s opinion on the ship, it truly is an impressive sight. As we walk from the car to the ship, however, I am perhaps even more shocked by what I see around me: the foundations of houses. Only the lower parts of the walls remain, but you can see where the houses have been, how big they were, where the front door was – in some cases, you can still see the steps leading to the front door. Most floors, however, are gone, and have given way to grass and weeds. I am reminded of Ostia Antica and other excavation sites I have visited – after disaster and destruction, usually only the foundations of buildings remain. These houses, however, were not destroyed two thousand years ago, but only two years ago, which makes walking here quite unlike walking around ruins from antiquity. Destruction is not always a gradual process; it can come overnight, quickly turning human civilisation into ruins. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. It is a depressing thought.

But as we drive further, I see a young woman and child playing in a brand-new playground, laughing together. Another prefab temporary shopping street has been erected, decorated with flowers, covered in bright colours. Humans have one great skill: their capacity to hope. Even in the most difficult circumstances, they are capable of rebuilding their lives, both literally and metaphorically. The importance of hope and optimism should not be underestimated.

On the way to Rikuzentakata, we pass by a huge white building. It looks like a factory, but it is a waste incinerator. This is where the trucks are bringing the waste and debris from the destroyed towns, and where it is processed and burned. Most of the building is hidden behind fences, so from the road we cannot see much of what happens there. Perhaps significantly, everything here – the fences, the building – is white: the colour of ritual purification, traditionally, but also of death.

When we are in Rikuzentakata, we visit Imaizumi Tenmangū, a local shrine that was destroyed almost completely. The only thing remaining is an 800-years old pine tree, the shinboku (sacred tree) of the shrine. It has become a famous sight in Japan. (In fact, as I will be told later, the tree died some time after the tsunami, and the few leaves on its branches are artificial.) The statue of a bull (found at Tenjin shrines throughout the country) is also still here, but it was decapitated by the wave. The shrine buildings have all disappeared.

Despite all this destruction, the priest and her family have displayed a remarkable optimism. They have provided various types of support for community members, engaged in fundraising activities to rebuild the shrine, and set up a project to provide local children with books, toys and a place to play. Called ‘Niji no raiburarii’ (‘Rainbow library’), they have brought a wooden prefab building to the shrine grounds, and turned it into a small yet bright and cosy library. Although the library is mainly targeted at children, it also serves as a community centre, constituting a space where parents and other people from the neighbourhood can meet and share information. We talk to the daughter of the priest, who kindly answers our questions, explaining why it is crucial to have a place like this if you want to bring people together and maintain a sense of community. If you are interested in this project and would like to know more, please have a look at their website (bilingual).

We drive back to Sendai through the beautiful mountains. By the time we reach Ichinoseki, it is already getting dark. Today was quite unlike any day I have ever experienced before. Never before did I witness such destruction; rarely did I have the chance to talk to people living through such a disaster and its aftermath. I am moved, not only by the things I have seen, but also by the stories I have heard. Sometimes, when people are directly confronted with death, they learn to embrace life anew. I do hope that these communities will experience the rebirth they are longing for, and find safety and stability.

Two days later, we visit the town of Yamamoto, south of Sendai. This place has also been hit hard by the tsunami. As we leave the main road and drive through the flat land near the sea, there are hardly any constructions to be seen – except for a broken railroad and a few prefab container buildings. Again, it is hard to imagine that, only a few years ago, there were plenty of houses in this area. We do see lots of trucks, though. They all bring waste from the surrounding areas to some sort of factory near the sea where it is processed – probably similar to the one we saw two days ago. All trucks have large banners saying “Let’s try our best! Yamamoto” – together with a picture of a strawberry and an apple, two local products.

Farmers, incidentally, have also suffered seriously from the tsunami. Not only because of lost harvests and farm buildings, but also because the soil has become salty as a result of the sea water, making it more difficult to grow things. I assume they have also had difficulty selling their products, as many Japanese fear(ed) that products from Tohoku might by contaminated as a result of the nuclear disaster in Fukushima. However, there are signs of hope: new rice paddies have been dug, new rice planted, and new glass houses have been constructed for the strawberries. Yamamoto seems to be recovering, however slowly.

The tsunami did not only destroy buildings, landscapes and livelihoods. It also destroyed human lives, suddenly confronting people with death in a way few of them had experienced before. In many ways, modern society has become alienated from death; that is, in the twenty-first century, death is less present in human societies than ever before in history, and is confined to certain designated spaces as far removed from daily life as possible. But all of a sudden, people here have had to find ways to cope with the unexpected death of family members, friends and acquaintances. Of course, all of us are confronted with death sooner or later – but not usually on such a scale, and not usually so many people at once.

One thing I have noticed here in the past couple of days is that there are many new graves scattered around the landscape. Not all of them are the graves of people who died in the tsunami – many are probably family graves that were here before. But what is interesting is that the graves seem to be among the first things that have been rebuilt. While most people still live in their containers, as do some of the Buddhist priests performing funeral rituals for the deceased, many new graves have already been erected. Here in Yamamoto, in the empty, flat land near the sea, there are hardly any buildings. But there is a large graveyard, apparently brand new. The temple taking care of the graves, however, has not yet been rebuilt.

In fact, contrary to what most introductory textbooks on Japanese religion will tell you, it is not only Buddhist temples and priests that help people deal with death. We visit a nearby shrine that has been completely destroyed – all  there is now is a small prefab container that serves as shrine office, and an altar were people can pray, in lieu of a shrine building. We have a very interesting conversation with the head priest. She tells us about her experiences as the priest of an ujiko (parish, shrine community) hit hard by the tsunami, about the importance of conducting the annual matsuri – joyous collective celebrations that strengthen the sense of community, and establish some sort of symbolic connection to the ancestral past – and about spiritual care.

Many people in this area, she tells us, say that they can feel the presence of spirits of the death; some even see them. It is important to take these stories seriously in order to help people overcome their suffering; i.e., to talk to people about spiritual issues in a language they can relate to, so that they feel acknowledged. That is arguably more beneficial than calling their experiences symptoms of ‘mental illness’ and sending them to a psychiatrist.

It is not very common to meet a female head priest who talks about spiritual issues. As a matter of fact,  the shrine world remains very masculine, even patriarchal. There are female priests, but they usually work in small shrines they took over from their parents, rather than making a career in any of the famous and powerful shrines. Most of these shrines do not employ women to work as priests. Yet, I think, it might be a good thing if there were more female priests in the Shinto world. Perhaps the focus might shift somewhat: away from hierarchical social structures and nationalist symbolism – although these will undoubtedly continue to be part of the Shinto package in one shape or another – towards more attention to pastoral care, community well-being and, who knows, spirituality and non-regulated devotional practices.

The priest of this shrine is not only empathetic, she is also remarkably bright and optimistic. She has to work in a container without electricity or running water, yet she seems happy, laughs and tells jokes. The lovely wooden Edo-period shrine building has been destroyed completely, but she cherishes the one remaining wooden statue – probably a piece of the roof – of a guardian spirit, that was found underneath a pile of debris, a couple of hundred metres away. And although it may take a while before there is a new building, the reconstruction activities have begun: recently, Japan’s most famous ecologist came here to plant trees, and create a new shrine forest together with the community. The young trees are standing around the space of the former shrine building, bringing some green to a grey landscape, bringing some hope to an injured place. In a few decades, they will constitute a lovely small forest.

I will come back to have a look.

Ishinomaki

Het volgende nieuwsbericht heb ik op verzoek van een vriendin van het Japans naar het Nederlands vertaald. Het is geplaatst op de website van de NOS. Voor wie het gemist heeft plaats ik het hier ook nog een keer. Het is een triest verhaal, maar er spreekt ook hoop uit, en daarom denk ik dat het de moeite van het delen waard is.

'Ik weet dat de leraren alles geprobeerd hebben'

Door Mihoko Nishio en Aike Rots

Van de 108 leerlingen van de basisschool van Ishinomaki, in prefectuur Miyagi, zijn er nog maar 24 in leven en terecht. Ondanks het vele leed is het schoolhoofd van plan om de afstudeerceremonie voor de kinderen in groep 8 gewoon door te laten gaan.

Op de dag van de aardbeving hadden de kinderen het vijfde lesuur van hun dag erop zitten en liepen het schoolplein op, toen ze de grond voelden schudden. Samen met de leraren gingen ze terug het schoolgebouw in. Anderen vluchtten naar het nabijgelegen gemeenschapscentrum. Maar al snel werden ze verrast door de tsunami, die beide gebouwen verwoestte.

Schoolhoofd Noriyuki Kashiwaba woont in Osaki, verder landinwaarts. Hij had net deze middag vrijgenomen. Direct na de aardbeving wilde hij teruggaan naar de school, maar de weg was verwoest en onbegaanbaar geworden. Uiteindelijk slaagde hij erin om op een vlot de rivier af te varen, en zo de plek des onheils te bereiken.

Schuilplaatsen

"Op de berghelling liggen lichamen van kinderen, boven op elkaar, tussen het puin", zo werd hem verteld door de vader van een leerling. Hij begreep hoe verwoestend de ramp moest zijn geweest.

Hij hoorde dat de mensen die zich direct na de gebeurtenis in het schoolgebouw bevonden veilig waren en kreeg nieuwe hoop. Maar later werd hem duidelijk dat het gebouw volledig was ingestort.

"Waarom heb ik het als enige overleefd? Waarom hebben de kinderen en de andere leraren het niet gered?" vroeg hij zich af. Hij ging de verwoeste stad rond, op zoek naar schuilplaatsen waar zich leerlingen of leraren zouden kunnen bevinden.

'Meester!'

Twee dagen later hoorde hij dat een van de leraren, een 50-jarige man, het had overleefd. De man was naar het gemeenschapscentrum gevlucht, maar toen hij de tsunami zag aankomen, rende hij naar een berg, die hij zo snel mogelijk begon op te klimmen. Hij nam een jongen uit groep 5 aan zijn hand mee.

Geëmotioneerd vertelt het schoolhoofd: "Met gevaar voor eigen leven heeft deze leraar het leven van een van zijn leerlingen gered. Ik ben er zeker van dat de andere leraren hetzelfde geprobeerd hebben." Van de dertien leraren is dit de enige met wie hij contact heeft kunnen krijgen.

Op maandag zag hij de geredde jongen in een tijdelijk opvangcentrum. De jongen zag hem, riep luid "meester!", en vloog hem om de hals, zo vertelt hij.

Ceremonie

De meeste van de 108 leerlingen van de school waren minder fortuinlijk. Van slechts 24 is bekend dat ze de ramp overleefd hebben. Behalve de jongen die door zijn leraar gered werd, zijn dat kinderen die al met de auto of fiets waren opgehaald.

Het Japanse schooljaar duurt van april tot maart en de afstudeerceremonie zou deze vrijdag plaatsvinden. De 24 leerlingen keken er reikhalzend naar uit.

Kashiwaba staat erop de plechtigheid te houden. "Een perfecte ceremonie zal het niet worden," zegt hij, "maar toch, het is een ceremonie. Dit wil ik de kinderen geven."

Japan, ten days later

Ten days ago, Japan was hit by one of the strongest earthquakes ever measured. The earthquake was immediately followed by a tsunami of massive proportions, which destroyed entire coastal towns, killed thousands of people and left hundreds of thousands homeless. It also hit a nuclear power plant, leading to serious damage, radiation leaks and fear of a nuclear disaster, and tragically exposing the mismanagement and failures of Japan's nuclear industry. Fortunately, the large-scale nuclear disaster that most foreign governments apparently feared (as evidenced by their advices to leave the Kanto region) has not happened. The situation continues to be serious, though, and confusing. Optimistic news reporting significant progress and pessimistic news reporting new drawbacks continue to follow each other. Scientists have come up with contradictory interpretations - some have insisted that there are no serious health risks whatsoever, other have warned that health risks may be severe - thus contributing to the falsification of the myth of objective science, and causing widespread confusion and uncertainty. Foreigners living in the Tokyo region, nuclear lobbyists and Pavlov-scepticists seem to have joined in an unholy alliance, blaming "the Western media" for being sensationalist and spreading wrong information - suddenly, Tokyo seems to be full of nuclear experts. Not only do they generalise, they also personally attack journalists whose narratives do not correspond to the reality as they perceive it. While some of their criticism is undoubtedly justified, the simplistic scapegoating of "the" media as the cause of all fear and stress is as misleading as some of the articles they criticise. We all need the media in order to get information, and while filtering and critical assessment of opinions and interpretations is always important, I do believe that quality media such as the BBC, Der Spiegel or The Financial Times are valuable and useful in understanding developments. Furthermore, paradoxically much of this criticism of media is actually published by those very media. Based on the information I have got from a variety of sources, I believe it is perfectly legitimate and even necessary to be concerned about the possible health risks caused by nuclear incidents such as this one. I am not the only one who remains suspicious of the nuclear industry - several prominent Japanese and non-Japanese scientists also actively oppose it.

That said, as I said in my last post and in the interview I gave to the Norwegian national news channel NRK, the true suffering takes place in the northern part of Japan, and is caused by the tsunami. I do agree with the media-bashers on this issue: because of the extensive media coverage of the events in Fukushima, the victims of the tsunami have not received as much media attention as they should have. Now that other tragic events elsewhere have come to occupy the front pages of newspapers, it is likely that the situation of the victims will receive less and less attention. However, their situation continues to be difficult: reportedly, half a million people are homeless, and there is still a lack of food, shelter and medicines, as my friend in Sendai has confirmed. Despite popular images of Japan as a wealthy and affluent country, in the course of the past two decades the Japanese economy has faced a series of major and minor crises, and the current economic challenges are huge. The rebuilding of the destroyed areas may give a boost to the economy - it would not be the first time - and it may even help to symbolically unite a nation that has suffered from collapsing social structures, increasing poverty and exploitation and widespread anxiety and dissatisfaction. Thus, in the long run, the tragedy may have some positive effects as well. Right now, however, the challenges are enormous.

Japan has asked the international community for financial aid - something they would not do if they did not consider it absolutely necessary - and many countries are contributing. In northern Japan, local volunteers actively help others whose situation is even worse. Religious organisations in Japan seem to be very active on a grassroots level. Japanese NGOs help by providing food and other assistance, and need financial support. So do international NGOs that are active in the area, in particular the Red Cross and Save the Children. You can help these organisations by donating through their respective websites. It is also possible to transfer money to the Red Cross in your own country (e.g., here or here) - they will sent it to their colleagues in Japan. And, of course, you can attend a charity event. Friends of mine organised such an event in the Siebold museum in Leiden, where people gathered to make one thousand origami cranes, following an old Japanese tradition. In the end, they managed to make five thousand cranes (and collect more than three thousand euros in the process). Besides, there are several charity concerts, which anybody can attend - for instance, tonight, there is one in Oslo; this Sunday, one in Amsterdam. I am convinced there are many more local initiatives all around the world to help the victims. These events are not only important because they raise money, but also because they send a message to the people in Japan that they are not alone - that they are truly members of an international community, and that this international community cares about what has happened. Help your friends in times of need.

The disaster in Japan: My account of the past week

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.

Aardbeving!

Het is woensdagavond, een uur of half 12. Luisterend naar mooie muziek ben ik druk bezig met het inhaleren van de Japanse woordjes die ik voor de overhoring van de volgende dag moet kennen. Ik zit aan mijn bureautje; mijn voeten rusten op de vloer.



Plotseling wordt die rust verstoord. De vloer begint te schudden. Snelle, onregelmatige bibbers. De muren, de kast en het bureau schudden mee. Sommige van de kaartjes in de kast naast me vallen om. Uit een luidspreker in de gang klinkt de stem van een man, maar aangezien de muziek rustig doorspeelt kan ik niet horen wat hij zegt. Ik zit op mijn stoel, mij afvragend of ik iets moet doen - maar al vrij snel wordt duidelijk dat het blijft bij licht schudden, en dat het niet erger wordt. Langzaam vindt de aarde haar rust weer terug.

Het enige dat nog een beetje bibbert zijn mijn benen.



We wonen heel mooi met zijn allen in door ons gecreëerde huizen in door ons gecreëerde steden in een door ons gecreëerd systeem met een door ons gecreëerde ideologie die in stand gehouden wordt door door ons gecreëerde instituten. We hebben een hele mooie wereld gecreëerd waarin de angst voor te weinig voedsel gecompenseerd wordt door de supermarkt om de hoek, waarin de angst voor warmte en kou gecompenseerd wordt door centrale verwarming en airconditioning, waarin de angst voor de dood gecompenseerd wordt door de ontkenning ervan (resulterend in een obsessieve drang naar het tegennatuurlijk en onnodig verlengen van mensenlevens, en in een blinde, evenzeer tegennatuurlijke focus op 'jong blijven') en waarin de angst voor zinloosheid tegemoet gekomen wordt door de televisie. We hebben een hele mooie wereld gecreëerd waarin natuur gereduceerd is tot amusement en derhalve geconsumeerd kan worden - zoals alles in onze samenleving. We hebben een hele mooie wereld gecreëerd waarin consumptie niet meer dient om het leven mogelijk te maken maar waarin het leven dient om consumptie mogelijk te maken.

Onze wereld is prachtig, want we kunnen haar volledig controleren. Idealiter, althans.

En als je het leven kunt controleren, hoef je niet meer bang te zijn.



Maar als de wereld begint te schudden, al is het maar zachtjes en al duurt het maar eventjes, als de vloer onder je voeten zich plotseling niet meer op dezelfde plaats bevindt als even daarvoor, dan wordt gedurende een kort ogenblik haarscherp duidelijk hoe fragiel en kwetsbaar onze creatie is, en tegelijkertijd hoezeer ze ons afsnijdt van een belangrijk bewustzijn - het bewustzijn deel uit te maken van een groter geheel, en daarvan volledig afhankelijk te zijn.



De kracht van de natuur is immens. Het is mooi om daar weer even een heel kleine stukje van te mogen voelen.

Stabiliteit is een geschenk, geen vanzelfsprekendheid.