Socks for Japan has completed 13 distributions of socks and care letters in Japan’s disaster zone, covering some 322 km (200 mi) of coastline rocked by the March 11 earthquake, slammed by the ensuing tsunami, and partly torched by fire.
On our many excursions, I’ve noticed first-time reactions of volunteers. Most people think they’re prepared for the devastation because they watched it on TV news or saw photos in a newspaper. That’s what I thought prior to my first distribution. The impact of the real place overwhelms everybody, however. Immersing yourself in the rubble, driving between the stacks of crushed cars and splintered houses, covering your mouth and nose to block out the stench of dead fish and old mud and other sources of miasma nobody cares to consider, is more than any news story can prepare a person to experience.
The common reaction is, “This is a warzone.” Everybody says so. I wrote in Drowning Hearts at Lady River on April 12:
It came as a shock to me that seawater gone angry enough inflicts as much damage as the firebombing of Dresden or the nuclear attack on Hiroshima. Onagawa, which means “Lady River” when translated literally, looks today the way Dresden and Hiroshima looked after their calamities.
In our past four distributions, I noticed that Onagawa isn’t alone. Many towns along Japan’s disaster coastline look like pictures of World War II and other conflicts. To highlight that, I collected 32 of my photos covering distributions in Natori and Iwanuma on April 20, Ishinomaki on April 24 and 27, and Minami Sanriku on May 1. I edited the photos to reflect their wartime mood.
Brace yourself, and join me on a journey through Warzone Japan 2011 to appreciate why Socks for Japan continues supporting survivors.
Wide open spaces from the ocean inland enabled the tsunami to sweep much of Natori and Iwanuma clean. It took all of our energy just to keep breathing as we drove along this road:
The coastal neighborhoods of Natori and Iwanuma appear bombed-out:
Among many other places, the tsunami broke through Ishinomaki’s retaining wall:
wiped out the frontage road:
and proceeded into town:
where the military now operates daily:
In Minami Sanriku, the damage lies closer to the coastline, torturing survivors with frequent glimpses of the water that forever changed their lives — and ended the lives of their loved ones:
The main harbor and nearby downtown were hit hardest:
After the earthquake, officials rushed to the town’s disaster management center to announce emergency measures over a public address system. As they warned residents of the encroaching tsunami, it swamped the town more severely than anybody expected. The disaster management center itself succumbed to rising waters, with 20 of the 30 officials working inside it killed by the very danger they warned against. The mayor survived by shimmying up an antenna, still visible on the remains of the center:
Soldiers work everywhere in Minami Sanriku’s desolation:
Back in Ishinomaki, where heaven and hell collided two months ago:
a placard among cherry blossoms on a hillside overlooking the devastation expresses what may be humanity’s most plaintive wish, ever unfulfilled on this violent sphere we call home:
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The grey skies echo a grey dawn, when our biological ancestors first crawled onto a reef or a shore. The dense, life-giving water that served as the spawning ground for higher forms of life is ever able to crush them again. We must always value the day — this day — as a supreme gift, must ever remain true to our connection to the forces of creation. For these very same forces can destroy, can disrupt, can reclaim what was always theirs. Were I a citizen of Minami I would already be thinking of a new beginning, with even more stout defenses against these forces. But always I must be aware that the world is not mine.
A beautiful observation, Greg. We alternately regard nature as sublime or monstrous when in fact it’s just indifferent to our comings and goings. There’s nothing harder to accept than presenting what’s profoundly moving or disturbing or painful to us, and receiving “So what?” in return. We’re tricked by periods of solace, but not for long.
Wow! These pictures reveal the massive devastation in a way the news media photos have not captured it. My heart goes out to you Jason and all your friends and neighbors. I pray that God will be with you and restore this area so you can live peacefully, securely and know your health is no longer in jeopardy.
Thank you, Cindy.
I am Bill Hoover and with my Wife, Libby we are interested to know what we can do to help. Is there anything that might help besides socks? Is there any special items that folks need there like combs, brushes, mail clippers, salves, etc that we could send to you?
Mr. Kelly, I admire you efforts. I lived in Sasebo and in Tokyo (Shibuya) in the sixties. I found the countryside to be beautiful once you left the cities. I have always had a real “soft spot” in my heart for the people because I was treated with genuine respect and friendship.
William F. (Bill) and Libby Hoover
Las Vegas, Nevada
How kind of you, Bill (and Libby)! Survivors are not in need of many supplies anymore, a situation we accurately predicted when choosing socks as our focus. Socks and underwear are the clothing that needs changing daily or more frequently and is what often gets lost in the shuffle. Jackets, jeans, hats, and so on can last a long time. Sure enough, even amid piles of donated clothing and other supplies, survivors are still overjoyed to get fresh socks. Underwear is needed, too, but we’re focused solely on socks. Somehow, “Panties for Japan” just didn’t seem as workable as our angle!
So, the best way to help is to send socks and letters by May 16.
I appreciate your kind words about Japan, too. That soft spot in your heart may be Japan’s most famous monument. It grows worldwide by the day.
Heartbreaking. And even these photos do not quite capture the overwhelming scene when you are standing in it.
In November 2001, I was visiting Washington DC and went by the Pentagon to see what happened to it during the 9/11 attack. I got off the train with several other people, and we all walked in silence around the behemoth building that is our military headquarters to a small hill on the far side of the parking lot. From the long stretch of sidewalk adjacent to the property, I could actually feel the size of this building.
Along one side of the amazingly massive structure was a gaping hole the size of three football fields. No one said a word to each other; we all just stood in silence, each person taking it in and attempting to mentally and emotionally process the scene that was before them. A small tree on the hill was covered with mementos brought by others, and had become an impromptu memorial site filled with ribbons, cards and notes. A scrap book with letters from a third grade class was placed at the base of the tree. I took photos of the building, but they do not capture the overwhelming feeling that invokes an involuntary gasp at the scale of the destruction – which was certainly less than at “ground zero,” and less still than what nature has doled out on Japan.
It is hard to imagine the scale of this kind of devastation by simply looking at photos from the comfort of one’s living room thousands of miles away. To say “It will take years to recover” does not even begin to describe it, but recovery will proceed, as it did in Europe and Japan after WWII. And, there will likely be more earthquakes (and possibly other tsunamis) in the interim. Please keep us posted as to the progress, and if there is anything more we can do, let us know. Thanks again for your efforts.
Bravest of all peoples, the People of Japan: we cry for you and we pray for you and our hearts be with you. (Humberto/Sandra/Amanda/ Flavia – a family from Brazil)
Thank you, on behalf of the survivors!
As a basic survival mechanism, human beings are both blessed and cursed with the ability to reassign painful events to different places in their memories. However, to completely forget would be a great crime. It’s the job of our hearts to make sure such things are assigned to the right places so that we can stay connected and compassionate, but sometimes even the best hearts need a little help to do so. Thank you so much for the photos and your eloquent narratives.
I agree, Leslie, and you’re most welcome.
God Bless you and your organization.
Thank you, and may He bless you.
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