The Japanese spirit cannot be broken
By Brita Siepker
Sun contributor
Brita is a native of Glen Arbor. Her mother, Barbara, owns the Cottage Book Shop.
For the last 10 months, I have had the opportunity to live in Tokyo, where I have worked for the legal division of a Japanese trading company. We sit elbow to elbow in a room of about 100 employees, have lunch together everyday, and have dinner and drinks together regularly. I have studied the language and practiced the ancient art of Shodo (Japanese calligraphy). I have made kind and generous Japanese friends. I have come to appreciate the order and decency of Japanese society, and the strong will of the Japanese people.
Life in Japan was turned upside down on March 11. A 9.0 earthquake struck in the north of Japan, followed by a massive tsunami. The Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, damaged by the tsunami, stands at the brink of nuclear meltdown. Tens of thousands are dead or missing. Entire towns were wiped off the map. In a country that is ostensibly well developed and best prepared to deal with such natural disasters, the authorities and the people appear to be at a total loss.
The earthquake hit at 2:46 p.m. on a beautiful spring Friday afternoon. We looked at each other across our desks, thinking initially it too was one of the relatively minor tremors that shake Japan every week or so. As it started to intensify and continued shaking, we grabbed our company-issued helmets and dove under our desks. My books came tumbling down, my computer screen was rattled off its perch, and my desk drawers slammed open and shut, as I sat under my desk frantically blackberry-ing my fiancé and my parents. “It feels like the entire island may tumble into the sea,” I wrote.
After three minutes of shaking, the tremors quieted, and we all went back to work. The first aftershock 20 minutes later was smaller and shorter, but at the moment there was no way to know that. Another one or two minutes of shaking and another series of frantic texts later, I climbed out from under my desk, packed my bag and put on my sneakers. We trooped down the 16 flights of stairs, noting all the cracks in the cement around us. As soon as we heard that the trains in Tokyo were not running, we set off for the long walk home. Luckily, most expats live relatively close to downtown and could walk home together, but my Japanese colleagues live very far out in the suburbs and travel by train an hour or two to get to work. They spent the night at the office, curling up under their desks with the company-issued blankets and dining on the company-issued emergency food.
Friends were stranded all over the country, including a friend who spent 12 hours on a shinkansen (high speed train) that was abruptly stopped due to a power outage and significantly delayed due to track damage. I slept with my helmet and sneakers on that first night, and for the week after the quake was awoken every hour or so by aftershocks. At home, the only evidence of the quake were two cherished possessions that I found on the floor: my laptop computer and my painting of Glen Lake by the late artist Suzanne Wilson.
The quake and many of the aftershocks hit off the shore of a major city, Sendai. I had visited Sendai, and neighboring tourist attraction Matsushima, in October. It is a region not unlike the coast of Maine, with pine tree-covered hills and rocky coastal islands. My friend and I were accompanied on a tour of a local shrine by an octogenarian volunteer. He eagerly shared with us the history of the region and of the temple, citing proudly that Matsushima is one of the three most beautiful places in Japan. As we were leaving, he told us of visiting Los Angeles in the 1970s for a business trip. We asked if he planned to return to the States, and he said that Matsushima was his home and he was very happy there. At neighboring Entsuin shrine, I left an omamori (an amulet dedicated to Shinto deities requesting protection) to the god of marriage praying for protection of my fiancé and me.
From the news reports, it appears that Matsushima, like many other coastal towns around Sendai, was obliterated, and I can’t help think our generous tour guide and the small figurine on which I wrote my prayer may be among the many losses. I feel honored to have visited the region and come to know its spirit before the quake and tsunami changed destiny.
Life in Tokyo was significantly affected, despite the distance from the actual damage and danger. My gaijin (foreigner) friends exited the city or the country in quick succession over the weekend and early in the first week after the quake. The Japanese friends and colleagues that remained in Tokyo continued working and living as though the earthquake hadn’t happened and as though radioactive contamination wasn’t happening. The grocery stores sold out of food and beverages by the morning after the quake. Restaurants were closed, and those open were serving limited menus. Considering recent reports of radioactive contamination of the food and water supply, shortages are unlikely to get better in the short term.
The eastern electric grid experienced rolling blackouts to save power for relief efforts and compensate for the nuclear plants that are currently offline. The trains continue to run on limited schedules, which is crippling in a city where no one owns a car and many live an hour or two away from the city center. The airports and train stations have long lines of people trying to get out of town. The embassies have suggested that their citizens evacuate and have chartered planes and buses to get them out.
The weekend after the quake, we went for long walks and runs around the city, and found it eerily deserted.
I left Tokyo for Osaka on the Tuesday after the quake, amid sensationalist news reports of spiking radiation levels and explosions at the Fukushima Daiichi plant. I left Japan for Thailand the next day for a vacation I’d long been looking forward to. I am now camped out in Hong Kong, working remotely and eagerly awaiting a safe return to Tokyo. Exposure to hazardous radiation is probably quite unlikely, but the consequences of such exposure are quite risky, so for now I am not able to return.
My Japanese friends in Tokyo continue to live and work as they normally do, including late nights and long weekends at the office and limited time with their families. I am awed by their resilience and perseverance in the face of adversity, and believe that, if any country can come back strong from such devastation, Japan can and will. The Japanese spirit cannot be broken.