After eight days of volunteer work I am riding in the bus back to Tokyo. It's nearly midnight and the bus is gliding along the highway as a light rain begins to fall. A typhoon is approaching Japan.
Looking back I feel good about the experience I've had in 陸前高田 (Rikuzentakada). What we accomplished through our physical labor each day left only the smallest impression on a landscape bearing so much wreckage. In this sense the work was humbling. Five hours of strenuous labor and only some piles of garbage to show for it.
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| Unworked field near the sea. May 21st 2011. |
At the end of the day I had to remind myself to think of individual differences made and accomplishments met. "I cleared a yard for this man," or "I helped this woman remove the glass and debris from her property."
At other times I looked out across the fields at all of what I could do nothing about. It was hard to imagine that this place had ever looked any different, that the day to day was anything other than buses and trucks carting people and parts from here to there. But it was. And the more I began to realize the impact on a human scale, beyond the television accounts and numbers, the closer I felt to the land and the work I was doing.
I hope my words are true to the experience.
Before detailing any lasting impressions I'd like to start with the basics... a day at a time. This post will cover the first half of my trip. The next post will cover the later half and my overall feelings on the experience
THURSDAY MAY 19TH-FRIDAY MAY 20TH
At around 10:00 P.M. I boarded a chartered bus in 四谷 (Yotsuya) bound for 花巻 (Hanamaki). The bus was full and the ride was long. We were all volunteers with JAR (Japan Association for Refugees) helping with the relief effort in 東北(Tohoku). Self introductions were followed by silence as we settled into our seats. I managed to sleep most of the night.
The bus arrived at camp early the next morning and from there we changed buses and left 花巻 for 陸前高田. Two hours later we arrived at the volunteer center coordinating relief efforts in the area.
At around 10:00 P.M. I boarded a chartered bus in 四谷 (Yotsuya) bound for 花巻 (Hanamaki). The bus was full and the ride was long. We were all volunteers with JAR (Japan Association for Refugees) helping with the relief effort in 東北(Tohoku). Self introductions were followed by silence as we settled into our seats. I managed to sleep most of the night.
The bus arrived at camp early the next morning and from there we changed buses and left 花巻 for 陸前高田. Two hours later we arrived at the volunteer center coordinating relief efforts in the area.
I've come to volunteer more than two months after the earthquake. The roads in the stricken areas have been cleared and, judging from earlier photographs I've seen, some serious progress is clearly evident. But still the severity of the destruction remains. Near the mouth of the bay only a few gutted concrete buildings are still standing. Everywhere else is flattened and strewn with debris. Designated dump sites are piled with any sort of wreckage and reach ten or twelve meters high.
Another plot of land holds rows of rusting cars and trucks twisted and torn with the glass shattered out. The sea lies calmly beyond. Large trucks grunt and roar as they pass. After we reach the site instructions are given and we set to work.
Breaks come hourly and the tasks change throughout the day. Occasionally, if we are working in a place that used to be a home, the owner will be working alongside. A team of ten workers can usually clear a small field in one or two hours. Dismantling buildings and clearing houses can take three days or more.
The work ends at 3:00 P.M. and it's back to the volunteer center. We clean the tools and wash our hands and faces and drink water or coffee and relax. The bus ride back takes another two hours. Exhausted and sore, the thought of a warm bath at the onsen engulfs the mind like a cloud floating over the sun.
Bath! Bath! The bath is glorious and rejuvenating. Without it the work would wear on the body and linger in the mind. I am beyond thankful for the bath. And for fresh clothes and deodorant. In May the weather in northern Japan is cool and forgiving. The walk back from the onsen feels like a fresh day, as if you've just woken up from a dreamless sleep.
Crickets and frogs and toads, smoke from burning flora. The sounds and smells of the country are all around. Camping out together lends a light air to the whole experience. Cooking and drinking together. Enjoying simple moments getting to know one another. Sharing a laugh and hearing stories from people from all over the world who have come together to lend their support. Beautiful.
SATURDAY MAY 21ST
The daily routine went as such: Wake up at 6:00 A.M. Eat and board the bus with boots, gloves and a backpack full of food, water and sunscreen. Arrive at the volunteer center to pick up tools and get directions. From there the bus ride continues along the main road and after a few minutes reaches the areas stricken by the tsunami.
We mostly spent the days doing menial tasks like dragging debris and tree trunks, fishing nets and small boulders across dried out rice fields. The small piles of wood and metal we collected grew throughout the day with each pull and carry.
The second day was work on a house. I'm not sure how high up from the sea her property was, but even though it rested on a hill well above the bay it was completely destroyed after the tsunami.
A Japanese woman in her sixties, she came back every day to clear away glass and whatnot. We helped and at days end had a good portion of the property cleared, breaking concrete and bolted wood beams and sorting what could be salvaged from what was rubbish.
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| Day two work site |
She told us she came because she couldn't stand to stay in the apartment her family had been provided after they had lost their home. Her husband and their son refused to come back and help. They felt it wasn't worth it, that seeing the neighborhood they lived in reduced to almost nothing was too much. She told us her sister, who also lived in 陸前高田, was killed by the tsunami.
At the end of the day she presented a large box with cold tea and water she had brought for the workers. It was a touching and simple act of gratitude that really resonated in me. I was in a place I had never been before, working to do what little I could to help, and this show of thanks brought it all into perspective.
Numbers and pictures on a TV screen are all most people will ever know of what goes on in the world around them. Without pretension, after hearing this woman's story and spending the day working near her, I felt closer to the disaster in a way others cannot understand. And yet for myself, as a temporary volunteer with the luxury of returning to my life in Tokyo, a great distance remains.
So much of what we assume to know is taken secondhand. The world itself functions mostly on conjecture. It's rare in a way to get this close to something unknown and unsettling. And when its done not out of a perverse curiosity, but from a simple desire to gain an understanding and to support the anonymous peoples afflicted, it can touch you with insight beyond the glowing screens of information we normally look to for our foundations.
SUNDAY MAY 22ND
At the end of the day she presented a large box with cold tea and water she had brought for the workers. It was a touching and simple act of gratitude that really resonated in me. I was in a place I had never been before, working to do what little I could to help, and this show of thanks brought it all into perspective.
Numbers and pictures on a TV screen are all most people will ever know of what goes on in the world around them. Without pretension, after hearing this woman's story and spending the day working near her, I felt closer to the disaster in a way others cannot understand. And yet for myself, as a temporary volunteer with the luxury of returning to my life in Tokyo, a great distance remains.
So much of what we assume to know is taken secondhand. The world itself functions mostly on conjecture. It's rare in a way to get this close to something unknown and unsettling. And when its done not out of a perverse curiosity, but from a simple desire to gain an understanding and to support the anonymous peoples afflicted, it can touch you with insight beyond the glowing screens of information we normally look to for our foundations.
SUNDAY MAY 22ND
The rain came in the early morning hours before the sun rose and stayed with us throughout the day. Because we were a large group of volunteers we were sent to clear a large field.
On the far side a stream was filled with garbage, concrete blocks, tatami mats and clumps of vegetation. Trees lay scattered around and from where I stood, looking out toward the sea, a whole swath of low-lying flat land stretching out for miles seemed broken and littered with all the parts of a village.
The work was not especially hard and the day passed rather quickly. We didn't see any locals and mostly kept to ourselves, working through without incident. That night more than half the group returned to Tokyo and we were only twelve.
MONDAY MAY 22ND
The fourth day was near the bay. Our work site was across the street from the sea barrier. Looking over the concrete wall trees stripped of their branches and rooftops lay listlessly atop the gentle swell of the waves. Nearby, boats and helicopters scoured the sea for bodies.
The fourth day was near the bay. Our work site was across the street from the sea barrier. Looking over the concrete wall trees stripped of their branches and rooftops lay listlessly atop the gentle swell of the waves. Nearby, boats and helicopters scoured the sea for bodies.
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| Sea barrier with debris and rooftop |
It was hard work, ripping apart foundations and digging out large stones. We cleared roughly five hundred square meters so a car park supporting the relief teams could be built.
Tearing apart a house with nothing but a pickax requires an almost unhealthy tenacity. You have to approach each beam and rod as if it were a puzzle piece. And once you start work on prying it loose, nothing is going to come between you and the separation of that piece from it's partners.
The work we are doing is necessary. But the simplicity of it, taken in with the scope of all that is left to be done, can only render a subtle satisfaction.
It reminded me of when I was a kid and I used to dig in the back yard of my old house. I would challenge myself to see how deep I could make the hole. I would go at it for hours and by the end I was exhausted but all I had done was scrape out a small hole in the corner of the yard. Then like now, I felt like something had been done, some difference had been made, but to what end I wasn't really sure.
