“The need for change bulldozed a road down the center of my mind.” ~ Maya Angelou
There’s a chinese proverb that says “to know the road ahead, ask those coming back,” or something along those lines. This time on the Tohoku road, after our stay in Ishinomaki for the Kawabiraki Festival (Toro Nagashi + Fireworks) we pushed further north again, to see what was ahead these few months on. Part 3 of 3. To continue awareness through our few words and images. To keep moving with a sense of understanding. And what we found was a mixed bag of all that has come before. A landscape of change… and absolutely no change… since March 11th. Growth and barrenness. A future and nothing. Limbo. We understand there are some who are ‘oh, so over it all’. Who unequivocally do not want to see anymore images of destruction. Perhaps preferring a more positive focus. Or simply basking in ignorance. Either way, we get it. We’ve all heard it. So we apologise (well, Trace says she doesn’t…) but that is some of what we are sharing today. Because this is what it’s like now. Right now. As photographers we share stories. Today we share our final snippets of experience and what our cameras witnessed just this week. Take it or leave it. It is as it is. A current re-visit. Of a landscape that sits while life goes on elsewhere. A landscape smouldering in the shells of burnt cars, possibly fresh green radiated rice, tsunami swept ghost towns, and hamlets the earthquake flattened. Of rivers and waterlines soaking towns still, of swarms of flies that envelope cul-de-sacs and back alleys. And of people who fight and never give up and simply ask that we don’t forget.
So there’s something unusual in the blog today. Not so many people feature. This post is dedicated to seeing what the people living in the region are seeing themselves everyday. What they wake up to some 5 months on. Homes perched above the death zones look down to a new seaside view. Those still in shelters never quite wake up from the nightmare when they open their eyes. Living, breathing in this environment we may not entirely understand but we can all certainly respect that from here strength, resilience and spirit is rooted. As we ventured further up north, we passed through ghost towns, now suspended in devastation. I guess naively we expected there to be a flurry of activity. All abuzz with bulldozers and clean-up crews. And sure in some places that was the case. In others absolutely the opposite.
Most of our time in Tohoku has been spent in Ishinomaki and Oshika here…
On our previous trips, we’ve seen the rescue, recovery and very slow rebuilding phases of people’s lives in this area. Slow and painful, some areas that will take years to look anything like pre-3.11. But to come back time after time and notice the differences, however small, has been both hopeful and positive. A sense of moving forward in spite of the staggering scale of the disaster. So it was both emotional and disturbing to head further north again and see these other towns suspended in time. Not looking that much different to 150 days ago. Well a little, with roads cleared for sure, but in terms of moving forward it’s looking more like April than August.
We pass through those magical Japanese rice fields, looking stunning in the mist. Simply dazzling green. Not sure of their fate now with the radiation/food chain testing.
The rice fields follow us all the way to Kesennuma, up in north-east corner of Miyagi prefecture.
We are met by an intense smell by the sea. Large sections of the affected areas are still flooded and burnt cars still dot the landscape. We have heard that there are concerns for the health of the clean-up crews. But we didn’t see many that day. Sure there were guards here and there directing traffic and a bulldozer and private contractors too. It is so obvious the clean-up alone will take years and years. In some areas foundations lay bare indicating a smattering of work. In others the large mountains of debris reveal just how much higher they are going to get. This is just the tip of a very watery iceberg. After the tsunami, spilled fuel from the town’s fishing fleet caught fire and Kesennuna burned for four days. As of April 2011, the city had confirmed 837 deaths with 1,196 missing.
So in this area of town it was eerie, silent. No voices, yet thousands of stories. And masses of flies. It took the tsunami less than 7 minutes to destroy Kesennuma. Almost five months later it still sits there like this.
These photos were not taken in March. This is now. August. We move on and head further up the coast to an area in Iwate that has been part of Trace’s favourite area in Japan – the Iwate coast. Up to Rikuzentakata.
Driving here is a juxtaposition of beauty and destruction. The mist covering the black-pine clad mountains on our left and the jagged cliffs on the right. A place of once intense beauty, now filled with piles of debris.
Rikuzentakata has essentially been wiped of the map. There has been lots of activity here. There are orderly mountains of remains, the remnants of people’s homes, businesses and lives. Completely bulldozed, the entire town now looks like almost an entire vacant lot.
40% of Rikuzentakata’s population is dead and approximately 8,000 houses were swept away. It just no longer exists. The story here is heartbreaking and one everyone has come to know so well. The harbour gates of the town failed to shut as the tsunami approached, and 45 young firemen were swept away while attempting to close them manually. About one-third of the city’s municipal employees, were killed. The town’s mayor, Futoshi Toba, was at his post at the city hall and survived, but his wife was killed at their seaside home.
Driving through the vacant lots we spotted a lone tree on the coast, in the distance. In 1940, this two kilometre stretch of shoreline (Takata-Matsubara), lined with approximately seventy thousand pines, was designated a Place of Scenic Beauty. After the 2011 tsunami a single, ten-metre, two hundred year-old tree remained. The miracle tree. We could only take a shot out the car window as we drove along Route 45. But you can get a sense.
There are measures being taken, including the erection of barriers, to protect the surviving pine.
Nearby stands a building. Alone, like the pine. It’s hard passing through not to think of all the people in offices and apartments like this one those 20 weeks ago. And how they must have felt, what they must have seen and the unfathomable horrors they experienced.
Sitting in the car and looking at the Navi we were meant to be surrounded by convenience stores, a Mos Burger, a gas station, a stadium and other things. But looking out the window, reality tells a much different story.
You can see the tsunami in Rikuzentakata here.
Heading further north still we arrive in Ōfunato.
We’d heard stories of Ōfunato from our friend Corry when she listened to the Mayor speaking at an event in Yokohama in April. He talked of bodies swirling in the water, an open, heart-breaking account of his towns plight. We had some deliveries to make to the some of the shelters up here and were just broken to see it as it is now. Doubly painful as reflected in pools of stagnant water.
Ōfunato is well-known for its beautiful scenery, traditional houses, and jagged coastline. All Hands in Ofunato has been doing a phenomenal job up this way. We spent most of our time around the affected downtown area.The local fisheries down by the port has been cleaned up and is looking operational. In some parts the focus is now on gutting buildings, preparing them for the next stage of clean-up if the structure is sound. There is some life here and there. People pull up in cars, inspect buildings. But certainly the overwhelming task of rebuilding, and cleaning up seems insurmountable and barely underway in some parts.
Neighbors and survivors on the nearby hill overlooking town live with this.
The big crosses and spray-painted dates still break the heart. You see them often. And the tears come freely knowing that these were the dates checked for bodies rather than survivors.
This area has been hit twice before with massive tsunamis. In 1896 the Meiji-Sanriku earthquake caused a 25 meter tsunami which killed 27,000 people. And again in 1933, the 8.4 magnitude Sanriku earthquake produced a 28 meter tsunami that killed 1522 residents. This time in 2011, the tsunami reached almost 27 meters in height, funnelled in by the narrow bay and continued inland for almost 3 kilometers. At least six of the town’s designated evacuation sites were inundated by the tsunami. We can only hope that we learn from history, and measures are taken for the future generations of this ruggedly beautiful, but violent coastline.
The next day, it was time to head back down the coast and head to spend a few days in Minamisanriku. Many of our friends and clients have volunteered in this area and we had supplies to put into the hands of some who needed them.
The story of Minamisanriku has been around the world and back. The amazing work of OGA for Aid and other volunteer groups in the area just so phenomenal and ongoing. But Minamisanriku is still a shocking and a heartbreaking scene all these months later. In this re-visit, as time moves on, it’s important to pause and remember and reflect. In those times there is some clarity. We then finally see and understand. The comprehension coming after the tides settles.
95 percent of the town was destroyed by the tsunami. Roughly half the population is dead or missing. The town had two evacuation centres where residents could go in the event of a tsunami, one on the southern headland overlooking the town, the other back from the centre of the town. However, although both were 20 metres above sea level, the tsunami inundated them and washed people away. This story, one of the first to come out in days following the disaster will always stick in our minds. An English teacher at the local high school located on a hill above the tsunami was interviewed, “The entire town was simply swept away. It just no longer exists. There were around 7,000 of us on the hill that day. Perhaps a few thousand at the school on the hill opposite. But there are 17,000 in the town. All the others have gone.” Since the schools were all on high ground, many children were orphaned.
Perhaps this is the scene that will always be one of the most shocking for us and important to be remembered…
These photos show the roof of the Crisis Management Department building completely submerged at the height of the inundation, with some people clinging to the rooftop antenna. When the earthquake struck, the mayor of the town, Jin Sato, was talking at the town assembly. This is the three-story building – the town’s Crisis Management Department – which Sato escaped to. It was submerged by the tsunami, and out of the 130 people who worked at the town hall, Sato was one of only 30 who reached the roof and one of only 10 who survived. He endured the torrent under the tsunami for about 3 minutes.
And as it is today… The three-story headquarters of the department remains standing but was completely gutted, with only the rust-colored steel skeleton remaining.
Now memorials and mini-shrines are scattered among the destruction. And people come to pay their respects in the shadows of housing foundations and mangled cars.
A major heroine of the Minamisanriku Crisis Management Department was 25-year-old employee Miki Endo. She continued to broadcast warnings and alerts over a community loudspeaker system as the tsunami came in. She was credited with saving many lives. In the aftermath of the disaster, Endo was missing and was later confirmed to have died.
Leaving town is haunting and very real. The way it is now. A very interesting and timely read of this town in limbo can be found here.
We had wanted to stop at Matsushima on the way home. Designated one of the three most scenic spots in Japan.
Matsushima lies just south of Ishinomaki and was also seriously damaged by the tsunami, a terrific blow to the tourism and the aesthetic nature this area is renowned for. On arriving we remembered the 260 small iconic pine dotted islands from a trip down the coast in 2006. Now battered and beaten.
Honestly by this point in the journey it was almost too much. But we realised again the importance of looking and really seeing. As hard as it can be. It’s easy to turn around and come home, leaving it all in the rear vision mirror. We have that luxury. Someone elses problem. So seeing, recording, is the least we can do. And while certainly it is frustrating not to understand when and what and how change will take place, by who, when plans are decided, initiated and enacted. At least in the meantime we can see and be part of the process of ongoing awareness and support in some way. The scale of what is left to do is staggering. But everyone continuing to do all we can, when we can, is at least moving forward.
Following the hope and light of the Kawabiraki Festival there was much to be positive about in Tohoku. Kind of. Then the road north became more defined by a blueprint set in limbo. The compass of those coastal towns not true north yet. But that is for just for now. Tomorrow is another day. Keep on moving, pushing forward, supporting and taking care of the heart.
So we leave Tohoku. Just for now. Aware that when defeat seems tangible then it’s time to look some more. Look and see. If only because we can. And then among the devilish remnants only a dual catastrophe delivers, you see it. There. Beyond the hedoro and suffocating concrete chaos. Finding the sun. Little green leaves. Sunflower sprouts. Tiny buds. Finding a voice, climbing up. Oh, so strong. In Minamisanriku, right at the base of the Crisis Management Building…
“Difficult things take a long time, impossible things a little longer.” ~ André A. Jackson
Read Part 1: Back on the Tohoku Road: Light + Lanterns
Read Part 2: Recovery road + that glittering sky
Read Part 3: Ghost towns, a miracle tree + the August view
Read previous Tohoku stories from March, April & May here…
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5 comments
I’m speechless. I had no idea it was like that further north of Ishinomaki – I just assumed that the whole coastline was being cleared up at the same pace. I wish I could understand what was happening. The maps are great btw – the scale is huge. Keep telling the story.
Lest we forget… we’re all very lucky to have someone to remind us that although our lives go on, for others its paused in a horrific moment in time with constant reminders around them ….
Your images and words are so powerful. Thank you for continuing to tell the story.
Such awful reminders that we can’t forget what has and is still happening in Japan. Not much change from our visit in June. Maybe the piles of stuff are growing bigger.
Unfortunately the world has moved on and attention has now focused on other events, largely man made and either preventable or fixable in the short term. The world needs to be constantly reminded that there are events of far greater magnitude that have devastating effect on Nations and Families.
You are doing a wonderful job in bringing this to our attention. Segments of your reporting such as the survival of the lone pine give rise to deep reflection. Again I have tears of sadness at the stories from this reporting. History will record and Humanity will recognise the wonderful work you are doing in documenting the magnitude of this catastrophe.