Tag Archives: Great East Japan Earthquake

Graduation Day

Graduation Day is a milestone in any student’s life, and a great occasion at any school, and today it was our turn. For the students, of course, it is a day of very mixed emotions; the joy of graduating, and the sadness of saying goodbye to the school, their friends and teachers. For the teachers, it’s a formal day, but also a day to celebrate with the students as they come to the end of their school career.

Attire is formal, which in Japan means black, very dark grey or, at a pinch, navy. For men, that translates to a black suit, white shirt and white (or pale and discreet) tie. For women, a black suit, pearls and maybe a corsage. We were ready in the school auditorium by 9:45, and the ceremony started at 10. Since it’s a Christian school, its official title is Service of Thanksgiving and Graduation Ceremony, complete with hymns and prayers.

We started with a hymn and prayers, a psalm (the 23rd) and a reading from the Bible (1st Corinthians Ch.12), then the Choir sang an anthem. Next was my favourite part of the ceremony; the reading of an account of the school’s history, the names of our Founder and first principal, and the total number of graduates over our long history. (This year we are celebrating 125 years, so it is a very long history.) The first graduating class was only one student, but this year (as every year now) there were over 160 and in 125 years there have been over 10,000. This year the account was especially touching and beautifully written.

Then came the most important part; each student received her graduation certificate. It took about 45 minutes for them all to go up to the stage one by one, and was lovely to see each student one final time, and to think about how each one has grown in six years. After that we sang the school song and there were speeches; the principal, the invited speaker, and then an 11th grader wished the graduating class on their way. Finally, there were Speeches of Thanks in Japanese and then English.

Finally, the students (the graduating class plus the 10th and 11th graders who are there to share the occasion) stood to sing the Hallelujah Chorus, we had some prayers and another hymn, and it was over. The new graduates filed out, followed by the invited guests and senior staff, and then the students clambered onto precarious-looking stands to take commemorative photos.

We teachers retreated to the staffroom, where we scavenged for food in the kitchen and wondered when lunch would be. Once the mothers and students had finished their preparations, a delegation was dispatched to the staffroom to summon us to the sports hall. The mothers sat together, and the students and staff (teaching, office and ancillary) sat together at the remaining tables. More speeches, and then the Chaplain said grace, and we could open our boxed lunches. For me, this year, it was an unpleasant surprise, since I don’t eat meat and it was almost all beef and steak. Even the sushi was steak! I quickly shared out the meaty bits to the students around me and ate the remaining rice and fish.

There were more speeches; from the Old Girls’ Association and the PTA, both accompanied by presentations of gifts to the new graduates. The head teacher of the 12th grade made a speech, and then it was announced that there was an addition to the programme. A small group of about eight students came to the front, carrying descant and tenor recorders, said that they hoped we would find their performance relaxing,and tooted their way through a very pretty tune. Then we were back to the published programme, and the whole graduating class stood around the hall to sing two songs in what amounted to surround sound for the mothers and staff sitting at the tables. The songs were rather sentimental, and by the end of the second one a number of girls were crying, but still singing and smiling through their tears. There was a half-hearted attempt to sway with the music, but different clusters of girls swayed in opposite directions, leaving other parts of the long line not knowing which way to sway. It was almost the end of the ceremony. The vice principal spoke and then it was time to put all the remains of our lunch in a carrier bag and leave the hall. We walked back to the staffroom and by 3:30 it was all over.

I’ve worked at the same school for fifteen years, so I have seen a lot of these ceremonies. We even managed to keep going and have one two years ago, only four days after the Great East Japan Earthquake. It’s a formal day and with hours spent sitting on folding chairs listening to a lot of speeches it’s not something I look forward to with unmitigated enthusiasm. But for the students it’s a hugely important day. At some time in their school careers I have taught them all, and the whole day is a very slow goodbye to them. I didn’t cry today, but do feel emotional when I teach them for the last time and think about all the adventures and opportunities that lie ahead for them.

I am deliberately not naming the school, but I wanted to include a photo. What struck me today was the joy of all the students, how much they have enjoyed their six years at school, and how much they will miss each other. Japanese teenagers are more childlike than their British and American counterparts, and sometimes, even in the senior high school, can be endearingly goofy. We spell out the name of the school in pansies in a flowerbed at the top of the drive, the students will happily compete in a quiz and get excited about stickers, and this is a reasonable get-up for fund-raising at the annual Bazaar:

studentsCongratulations to all the students who graduated today!

Not an ordinary day

March 11th has rolled around again. Until just a couple of years ago it was just another day towards the end of the school year, and we haven’t yet planted the date so firmly in our calendars that we see it coming from weeks away. It’s easy to be caught unawares when planning other things. Last month I was trying to schedule something at school with a friend and we decided that March 11th would be the best date, started to write it into our diaries and then stopped. March 11th. It’s not an ordinary day.

March 11th 2011. At 2:46pm a magnitude 9 earthquake hit off the coast of Tohoku, the northeastern part of Honshu. (The six prefectures are Akita, Aomori, Yamagata, Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima, the latter three are the ones most badly affected.) In Tokyo, over 300 kilometres away, it felt very big and very long. The tsunami triggered by the quake caused devastation on a scale that even now is difficult to understand. What followed in the hours, days and weeks afterwards shook the Tohuku region and the whole of Japan and gave us a new normal.

I remember someone asking me in the days following the earthquake, ‘Is this the biggest thing you’ve ever experienced?’ and for many of us it was. Even now, it’s hard to find the words to explain this feeling. I wrote often and at length over the weeks and months that followed, and archived all of what I wrote when I started this blog. When I look back over those original e-mails I find myself back there, in that mix of anxiety and determination; anxiety about what was going to happen, and determination to stay, to keep faith with the people of Japan and hoping and praying, day after day, that it was all going to be all right.

For people outside the Tohoku region it has been. Western Japan was of course affected because the whole country was worried about what was happening, but in terms of everyday life they were not, and a lot of people in Kanto went to Kansai when they felt a need to get further away from Fukushima. In Kanto we were of course closer to Tohoku and specifically Fukushima; we felt the aftershocks and were more directly affected by the unfolding situation. But really, by Golden Week (the block of national holidays at the end of April and beginning of May) life was back to normal.

For the people of Tohoku it has not been. According to figures in the newspaper this morning, 700,000 people in Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima lost their jobs or took leave after the earthquake, and this was 27.8% of the total workforce. The majority of those took leave but in the time since then many have changed jobs and been affected by lower pay. Looking at other figures in the same newspaper, it’s shocking how much has not been done, and even those figures present a picture more positive than the reality, according to local officials. Least progress has been made in what is referred to as ‘town reconstruction’; while all debris has been cleared away from the towns and villages, it has not been disposed of yet. What seems to me to be the most pressing need, for new housing for people who lost their homes, was the worst of all; 20,600 houses are planned, land for only 7,405 has been secured. No mention of how many have actually been built. Two years on, many people are still living in temporary housing.

On Sunday I saw a headline which read, ‘¥1.4 trillion to be carried over in quake-hit areas: most unused funds related to reconstruction’. Apparently this is caused mainly by a shortage of manpower and materials, but really, Japan is in a recession, unemployment is high (for Japan) and people need homes and infrastructure. Just get on with it. Make it happen. Communities have been decimated, as people of working age have moved away to find employment and a safer place to raise their children, leaving behind the elderly. I heard about a school in the affected area from one of the students at school, after she returned from doing some volunteer work there. Of 104 students before March 11th 2011, only six remain.

When I think about the earthquake and all the horror that followed, my memories are contrasting ones; of the facts and figures, of trying to make sense of all the information, but also of how everyone got through it together. We walked softly, we spoke gently, we all kept a lid on what we were feeling. I remember sitting on buses and trains and feeling the air crackling with emotion, but everyone staying outwardly calm. I remember going cherry blossom viewing in Yoyogi Park and feeling so glad to be outside, in the sunny weather, with thousands of other people. Most of all, I feel proud of just being here, witnessing this great country coping with something unimaginably awful. Yes, there were things done badly; TEPCO officials ran circles round the government and only months later did we hear that there had indeed been a meltdown and a partial meltdown at two of the reactors at Fukushima Dai-ichi. But ordinary Japanese people were amazing, and it was a privilege to be here, the scariest and most inspiring time of my life.

Here are the numbers: 15,881 dead, 2,668 missing, 315,196 homeless. Behind every single one, a life lost or changed forever. What does that look like? This photograph was on the front page of the newspaper this morning:

3:11This afternoon I attended a memorial service at St. Andrew’s Cathedral. We prayed in silence from just after 2:30 until 2:46. It felt right to be there, in the same place I was last year, with other members of the diocese, silently remembering. It has taken me a long time to write this, the words didn’t come easily. Because really, there are no words. There is a deep sadness that drags you back down into those dark days, a reminder that for the people of Tohoku they still live with the aftermath, today and every day, but with that there is also love, pride and ultimately speechless admiration for the resilience of the human spirit.

Right where I’m supposed to be

It seems like it’s that time in the term, that time of year, when ‘where has the time gone?’ becomes ‘how am I going to get everything done?’ and it’s all too easy to stay at home doing piles of marking or feeling guilty about not doing piles of marking. So I decided that this afternoon I would not to succumb to either hours of wielding a red pen or sitting at home casting around for what I have been reliably informed is ‘displacement activity’, but that I would go out and meet a friend for coffee. What made this post bubble up in my mind, though, was not the hours spent putting the world to rights, but the journey home.

10:30 and I needed to get back to Shibuya station to catch my train home. I briefly considered waiting for a bus, but must admit it was a flicker of consideration really, before I flagged down a taxi. It wasn’t a long journey, basically a minimum-fare trip straight down Roppongi Dori, but the taxi driver turned round several times to check where I wanted to be dropped off. Since the station is big and has a number of entrances, I told him that any would do; not a satisfactory answer. He turned round again to ask for more clarification. Just as I was starting to wonder, ‘What kind of taxi driver are you?’ he added to his apology for not being clearer about directions, ‘I’m from Tohoku.’

I asked him how long he had been in Tokyo (6 months), whether his relocating had any connection to the aftermath of the Great East Japan Earthquake (yes), and if he had been a taxi driver in Tohoku (no). It was just a 5-minute taxi ride, but it was also a few words that stopped me in my tracks. ‘I’m from Tohoku.’ A whole life behind a sentence. I wonder what he has been through in the last 18 months.

On the train down to Jiyugaoka it was quite crowded, but not squashed. Just enough that it was a little difficult to find a strap or bar to hold onto. Twice, a woman about my age, standing with her young son, almost went flying as the train slowed down. I was tucked into a corner, but reached out and caught her. The first time she smiled but said to her son that she was embarrassed. The second time I grabbed her she laughed out loud and held onto my arm for a moment as we nodded at the perils of commuting.

A transfer at Jiyugaoka and I was almost home. At 11 the train was still full enough for some people to be standing up. Near Ookayama the lights in a university were still blazing, Tokyo seemed hours away from sleep. I walked home under a clear sky full of stars with Pizzicato 5 turned up loud on my iPod. Some days I get lost in work, today was not one of them.