37 Frames : Great Tohoku Earthquake & Tsunami 2011 Japan… Graveyard Views & Grateful Thanks

“I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.”  ~ William Shakespeare

Thank you. With heart. We heard it often in Tohoku. From neighbors to friends, family to strangers, survivors to officials, evacuees to volunteers, the lost to the found, an old man on a bike to me. It meant so much. A little word. As recipients sometimes it was just too harrowing, and much too sad to hear. Too big a concept for was what ultimately such a small gesture. Too much for those who had lost so much to have to thank people for a natural response. And we all understood that. On some level I just wish I wasn’t there, wish that we never had to meet. Wishing away waves and sorrow and polite, grateful, deep tear-driven thanks. But that is not the case. Sadly wishing doesn’t make it so. The effort however in helping, assisting, reaching out, simply connecting with this serial catastrophe equally deserves a voice.

So in today’s post we give thanks to all those working so hard. Homage to humanity and giving back. The volunteers on the ground in Tohoku and those around the world all doing what they can, with their voices loud and small, assisting in creating ongoing awareness, helping to illuminate through their actions and experiences this gruesome true story. People naturally turn away, it’s done, it’s over. On to something else, moving on.  But honestly let’s keep it real, in this case the old rules of desensitisation just shouldn’t apply. There’s simply no need to make it louder, bolder, more horrific, more dramatic, more compelling. Because it simply… Just. Is. And we need to remain acutely aware. And thanks to tremendous volunteer efforts any potential receding apathy for the most part, in the grand scheme of things is giving way to a movement. Volunteers are needed right now, you are so very wanted.

When we arrived in Ishinomaki on our first visit last month you could count the number of tents on 2 hands. We slept in our car due to the extreme cold and were pretty much alone in the car park. What we saw last week was an explosion of colour and shape. Tents, people, mobilisation underway. And space at a premium in the car parks. Couldn’t land a spot anywhere near the portaloos if you tried. The volunteer center at Senshu University is buzzing. Putting people and projects in motion. Whether you go with a group or by yourself, there will be a place and a need. From cleaning, mud-shovelling, deliveries, moving, food prep, sorting, unloading, local support, skilled or unskilled the needs are huge. No matter how minute the task amid the magnitude of destruction, just like Oscar Wilde said, the smallest act of kindness is worth more than the grandest intention. It was an honour to document teams, and individual efforts, at best trying to show exactly the situation and at the very worst feeling like putting the cameras down and undertaking the back-breaking, dreadful, often toxic work. Aid at a grass-roots level.

We start with the Smile Project. A simple idea, bringing back a sense of dignity, clarity and cleanliness to the streets downtown. Where buildings remain and conditionally, life tentatively can continue at some point. Teams cleared the roads, hosed streets down, revealing walkways, brickwork and paths to normalcy. It was meditative work. Not only did they clean between the bricks, between tiles, between the grooves, but also the minds of those near by; left to pick up the remains of lives. The streets revealed a point of departure and a way forward, backward, a way somewhere. Not unlike a Japanese summer when you may see shopkeepers cooling down hot roads with splashes of water. In this way it was equally a cleansing ritual with very well-earned breaks.

What a store. The meaning is inherently intrinsic. Hope + more. Here we hung out with the Chuo mud-shovelers. Pile upon pile of toxic sludge was tediously removed from Hope’s 100-year-old bicycle shop. The team working so hard to clean this Ishinomaki institution. The bikes had long been deposited elsewhere, only tangled spokes and dangerously damaged roller doors remained. And then of course all that mud. It is actually known as “hedoro”. – sludge. Apparently a cocktail of industrial waste, whatever organic matter is living at the bottom of the sea plus the chemicals picked up on the tsunami’s destructive ride. We had been warned about its hazards and toxicity and several cases of tetanus have of course been reported. Masks, goggles, heavy-duty gloves de rigueur.

It was then time for Corry and Jane to get seriously hard-core and do some mud-shovelling of their own. Meaningfully enough they were to assist in cleaning a local beauty salon. You can just imagine the combination of toxicity in Spash. Not only was the hedoro putrid, but combine it with shampoos, hair dyes, perming solutions and hairspray. Beyond a coif of comprehension, a bad hair day to end them all. The whole team worked so hard. Not just moving the mud but they also removed irreparable salon chairs, fittings and fixtures, appliances. Their work was slow and steady. We left them after they had suited up to continue documenting our way through town.

There are plans afoot perhaps during Golden Week to systematically clear most of the shops on main street. We took this before photo, with it’s pile of stuff waiting to be cleared to compare it the next time we are back in town.

We then had the pleasure to meet Abe-san, a simply beautiful spirit doing so much to coordinate the volunteer efforts and support the basic needs of her community. We made a visit to her almost 100 year old family kaiseki restaurant to discuss the situation should she wish to and simply to just check in and thank her for all her efforts. Her smile as so compelling and illuminating, her presence calming, welcoming and graceful in what is certainly chaos. It is only now a week later after going through the images that we realized how red her eyes were, stained, rimmed from endless tears.

She was very composed throughout our meeting and very openly discussed her chance meeting with Nakajima-san, our PB group leader, and how they might combine efforts to help with the local cleanup. She said her role in this was just by chance – guzen. But even after just a few moments with her, what was clear was her kindness and strength and desire to work so hard. She said she cannot believe the wonderful work of the volunteers. She is actively working with them to schedule cleaning downtown shops based on local needs. She has created a very systematic list of all that needs to be done. On our visit the cleanup had started, not so many stores checked-off her list. But more would be. Personally she has refused all help to her business until the list is completed. On this she is resolute, very firm. We cannot wait to see her list next time. She told us one story, which speaks both to the heart of suffering, grief, the mindset and the power of people and good.

A local man was alone in his store. Tsunami-wrecked, ravaged badly. All gone. He worked alone to clear the mud, the memories, the life. Abe-san suggested a team of volunteers help him. He refused. On this level perhaps we can relate. The process of cleaning by oneself dovetailing with the need to grieve, mourn privately. At the same time taking on the guilt of the living, facing the aftermath independently, not to burden anyone else, to be defiant to the situation, to live without waking up, not have to communicate feelings, to remain in tremendous shock and simply not to put your needs or situation above those of others. Abe-san said for the most part his face was furrowed. The line between his eyes such a deep valley of sadness. He continued to refuse help after repeated suggestions. Until finally he gave in, why no one is sure, but he opened himself to the enormous task and possibilities. The team came in. And he watched them work.  Then together they cleared the mud. Creating new memories of working together, reaching out and being there. When finally his shop was clear, Abe-san said so was his face. The furrowed brow replaced by clam and a sense of peace. A positive take-down as an affront to the obscenity of nature. He was grateful, his face and condition fully changed, reflecting the depth of feeling.

Abe-san told us this story and others. She remains living in her restaurant, the large 2nd floor, which was once the main party room, now functioning as both a supply drop-off center and local meeting point. People came and went often during our time together. She very generously gave us one of her last remaining restaurant brochures. Such a treasure. In 2 years her restaurant will be 100 years. She has invited us back. We will show no restraint in accepting the invitation. She fully believes in the power of people helping people. And she said over coffee time, through tears and brave smiles that “we must work hard, for all those lives lost, for all our loved ones, now gone, we must work hard”. Or something much more elegant than my basic translation. With many thanks we left her, soon descending to the first floor with its once beautifully maintained genkan, now wearing it’s dusty, muddy tsunami coat.

And then it was on to Hiyori-yama Park. A pleasant enough walk on any other day pre  March 11th. Located on top of Hiyori-yama, a 56-meter-high hill in the center of Ishinomaki City. Now it is a dark, heavy walk retracing outrageous sadness, loss and death. The course many took in trying to outrun, the out runnable waves. On the way up we heard the story of the couple running together up the hill holding hands. When they could no longer embrace, keep the pace, with the water lapping around their knees the husband begged and begged his wife to let him go. Faced with that unimaginable decision they dreadfully parted. He was swept away. The wife continued to keep moving uphill. When she finally felt the water was someway behind she horrifyingly looked back. And saw hundreds drowning. Directly in front of her.

Upon reaching the top of Hiyori-yama Park there is the promise of a spectacular panorama view, the hint of glorious spring blossoms and stunning natural beauty from city to sea. However that view is now a haunting memory. One we would never see.

So we took the photo of the map board (the image below this one of the Manga Island now), proudly describing this loved landmark and the ethereal cherry blossoms so famed and visited. Now the view is utter desolation. A mass, mass graveyard. There is no other way to describe it. From the sea, to the port to the town, it is the most sickening skid mark, an epic trail of carnage, not even photos or words can describe. Factor in the toxic fumes which do anything but waft. And it is an assault on all senses.

A before photo we found on a sightseeing board…

And the after again…

Minato Sho-gako in the distance.

People came and went. Most often they simply starred. Some cried. Others prayed. Some bought flowers, others tokens. Others swapped stories, memories. Children ran around. Then stopped. Pointed. Mothers stood in deep shock. All mourning the death of a family member, friends, neighbours and loved ones.

We met this man who had lost his home. He came and talked to us. His daughter, from Yokohama, had come to help him. He had lost his home. What to do? He came to the hill like so many others to see the aftermath. Embarrassingly I felt I had to explain our presence.  He thanked us for being there. Grateful the world was around. We felt even smaller. And then he left, his fugue like state resonating even now.

It seemed even more shocking to witness what would be a dramatic sunset over the agony. That big red namesake of a sun, starting to set for another day. Tremendous in it’s chorus of life and radiance. Hopeful that it would shine again tomorrow. But for now knowing darkness was on its way again.

We made our way back down the now dry hill. We passed old, ancient shacks like this one. Up until now they have been without life or tenants, hopelessly vacant for many years. The signs taped to the front doors now say that these have been taken. Someone will move in soon. Any housing so desperately needed.

Further down the hill we met many locals, as much buzz was surrounding one of the large shelters where the next day a large food event would be held for evacuees. Our appearance, the blondes barreling along, caused quite the commotion and we found ourselves happily talking and engaging with locals for a long time. We met students and a remarkable deaf group. The former all together too happy to use a little English vocab all very giggly… and the latter incredibly able to understand my bad Japanese and in turn sign it to each other. Thank goodness for Meme who assisted in translating, very kindly facilitating in understanding and smiles. Truly grateful.

Feeling incredibly unwashed, unkempt and disheveled we reluctantly posed for photos. For the most part this was always an opening to photographing the situation as a whole. Generally most people were very happy to be photographed if we could have the ubiquitous group shot first. They certainly bought out the smiles and radiated sincere hope. And got great joy in looking at the back of the camera. We then felt comfortable enough to run off some individual shots with people relaxed and trusting, understanding of our vision and small effort to create ongoing awareness. We will be back with the promised prints… To document the Tohoku people graciously and carefully always considering their comfort and sensibilities is of upmost importance. We are humbled but at all times uncomfortable to be in front of the camera. This is all about them. Always.

On our way back through town we met this father.  While he quite strongly expressed his feelings on the current state of affairs, his lovely kids happily interacted on their way home with needed supplies. Those happy smiles and sparkly eyes, wanting to play, having to do so in safety helmets. Such a dangerous irony. We asked the dad about the future, particularly about school. When was it opening? What were his plans? He said with the amount of aftershocks, dangerous conditions, unstable foundations and uncertainty he felt very unsure about allowing his children to go to school. No, he would keep them at home. They would be safe there. He was firm.

We have since heard several schools in the area have opened, or are planning to. Certainly while a hopeful step, still at odds with differences of opinion within the greater community.

We left him and passed the infamous boat intersection that had been such a shocking site a few short weeks ago. Here you may remember was the spot where the big red boat was horrifically moored. Now gone, perhaps at a more final resting place.

We visited one last team, this time an international crew working so hard to muck-out a local printing shop. Inside the available light was as black as the mud, made even more swimmingly toxic as the hedoro now coddled with inks and printing chemicals. The team worked side by side with the owner in such horrid, awful conditions to bring light and hope to all that was gone. With the iso on the camera bumped to about a million I was able to expose a sense of the scene.

Outside we made time to document the volunteers. Their spirit, energy and goodness simply oozing through, mud notwithstanding.

The owner, his spirit low, he still managed a smile even when he said he was beyond exhausted. There was not much to save from inside. But he couldn’t thank the volunteers enough. We were told it wouldn’t be right to show this following series. But they were shot in a quick succession and truly speak to the heart of Tohoku. The depth of his bow is so low, so truly grateful, saying more than words ever could express. We include it because this is what really happened. This is the true story. This is the true endless depth of his gratitude. He would have bowed through the ground if he could. This is the effect of volunteering. It is powerful and moving.

And with endless surprises. At the end of each day, as the sun sets, the volunteers find their way back to the water station and they thoroughly first clean all the spades, buckets, wheelbarrows and tools. I wonder if this would happen anywhere else? Would anyone bother? Perhaps it speaks more to a cultural point of reference, a cleansing ritual. I’m not sure.  Washing away the mud, clean, ready for more mud, much more mud tomorrow. And then came the physical, personal hose downs. With the high pressure hoses. Jane and Corry were thoroughly hosed, major body parts receiving special attention. They will get over it eventually…

We wish we could document all the volunteers. This goes out to you all, past, present, future. The young; those amazing young people galvanised, focused with so much purpose, defying all the current stereotypes. The older; facing back-breaking work, leaving families, jobs, responsibilities to help others. The international; those flying in, ignoring governments and over-cautionary travel warnings to simply be there and help. To all those in between, with so many stories and experiences. You may remain faceless, nameless but we see you in the smiles, the tears, the tales, the results, the challenges, the hopes and the thanks of all those surrounding you.

Tohoku remembers you as we all continue to remember Tohoku. Whether you can do something for a day or longer, work locally or from abroad what we keep in our hearts is that there is always something to do plus a little bit more. There are no words to adequately describe the thanks.

“I’ve seen and met angels wearing the disguise of ordinary people living ordinary lives.”  ~ Tracy Chapman

More about The Great Tohoku Earthquake & Tsunami 2011 Japan:

Read The Black Mouth here…
Read Dead Zone Ganbaro & The Fruit Shop Story here…
Read Sweet Philosophy, that Ishihara and The Bath House Story here…
Read Graveyard Views & Grateful Thanks here…
Read Sequels, Smili’s & The Gumboot Story here…
Read Children of the Tsunami, Lady Gaga and the One about the Clock here…
Read Dark, Heavy & the one about the Drum here…
Read Strangled Blossoms, Trespassing & the One about Sinking towns here…