Death in Syria, Japanese Politicians Fail Again, and the Myth (?) of Energey Conservation

Blame insomnia.  Or, perhaps it's the combination high-temperatures and humidity.  I'm cranky.  For my self-imposed Japanese lessons, my attempt to keep up with current events while adding to my vocabulary, I turn to my "trusted" news source:  TV.  The coverage of the news over the past several days is anything but happy.  Grim, stupid, and disappointing, I struggle to keep from turning it off.

Pick a channel, any channel, the news being reported focuses on the death of Ms. Mika Yamashita, by all accounts an incredible, brave, and well respected journalist who was shot to death in Syria.  Those around her are adamant in saying she was in Syria to cover the plight of women and children.  I keep seeing myself in her.  Not the whole "incredible, brave, well respected" part.  I'm not that arrogant.  That there are other women out there who do things few understand, following a drum beat perhaps only they can hear, that she will no longer do this, that some asshole took her life, I really can't describe the sadness and rage I feel.  What a waste.  What an incredibly stupid, stupid act of violence.

Then there are the politicians and those who feel entitlement in commenting on the acts (or lack thereof) of said politicians--here I'd like to make a suggestion.

The gist is, foreign policy in Japan is in shambles.  It's in shambles because the prime minister and his cabinet are busy fending off those who want a new group in power (again), and because there have been four foreign ministers in three years.  The ever-revolving door of politicians is tiresome.  This, too, is stupid.  I understand the consequences of what I'm saying.  I stand by it.  It's not rocket science.  With new people at the top every year or so (sixteen prime ministers in 23 years) how can they possibly be effective?

Here's my suggestion.  Stick it out, folks.  People want your head?  Say you won't go.  No more "I take responsibility, and I'll resign."  No.  Show some umph.  Show the country and the rest of the world you have the courage to fend off criticism.  Fight.  I mean it.  Fight.

Because, and here's a biggie, mothers are taking their children to protest Japan's nuclear energy policy, standing outside the Prime Minister's residence in the heat.  The Japanese are taking to the streets.  There are real protests, perhaps unlike anything seen here since students made noise about the Viet Nam War right around the time I was born.  These protests are a big deal.  I've stayed away from the nuclear issue, especially as it pertains to Fukushima, as it's a highly emotional topic for both sides, pro-, and anti. 

But, I will say this.  After the Fukushima Plants went down last year everyone in Tokyo was bombarded with daily reminders to conserve energy. (Tokyo got its energy from these Fukushima Plants.)   Trains cut their air conditioning, turned off lights, and used fans to circulate air.  Not well, mind you.  Department stores used giant fans.  All we could get was sort of cool, very stale air.  I can't think of anywhere I could go last summer to experience real air conditioning.

Not so this year.  Some buildings are almost cold.  Trains and subways are back blowing cold air, most welcome.  Air conditioning is back.  Which begs the question.  Where is Tokyo getting its energy?  Not Fukushima, of course.  There's energy left to spare?  Since when?  Where's it coming from?  Japan does or does not have an energy crisis?

Between the senseless murder of an otherwise incredible woman half way around the world, politicians who just don't get it, mothers who are teaching their children to speak up, and confusion over whether we get to or don't use this energy that may or may not exist--you can see why summer in Japan makes me a bit cranky.  Let's see if fall changes anything.

Summer Joy

It only makes sense, and this is truer if you can visualize what Tohoku looks like today seventeen months after the tsunami tore it apart.  Seasons change.  The only constant element is nature.  Life, growth, death, and rebirth is all around.  In nature, those of us in Tohoku see this daily.  While nature destroys, it also recreates.  My last trip up north made me realize this all the more.

Outside the apartment where I stay in Ofunato I see this everyday.  I only wish they could sing, a chorus of songs only sunflowers could manage to voice.  I would gladly wake up to singing sunflowers.  I would even wake up without complaint.

The reminder "life goes on" has never been clearer.  We want beauty in our lives.  I don't know anyone who doesn't want a bit of color in our daily routine.  Bright is good.  Cheerful is better.  Sunflowers capture summer joy like I've never felt before, and evidently I'm not alone.

Tohoku is awash with sunflowers.  The streets are lined with rows of their strong yellowness.  

Someone planted them, and I find this reassuring.  They're beautiful.  Tall, proud, showing off their colors, they bring joy.  Their faces scream, "Look at me! I'm pretty."  Summer is about the culmination of growth, what was planted in spring.  We harvest, appreciate, and admire what the season has done for us.

It's impossible not to grin around these flowers that exude happiness.  Clearly I am not alone in feeling this way.  Wanting to return to a sense of normalcy, that nature can bestow and not just ruin, the choice (deliberate or subconscious?) of many in Tohoku to plant flowers of joy, the epitomy of summer has not gone unnoticed.  I see grandmothers stopped on the sidewalk admiring the mustard-yellow petals.  They point at the bees on the brown faces of these flowers.  I stand back and watch, grinning once more at the fact there is joy once again here in Tohoku.

Peaches from Fukushima

There's simply no other way to put this.  No amount of money spent on advertising, neither on television nor in print, like these posters hanging in trains running through the Tokyo underground will ever convince me. 

And, I'm sorry about that.  But, and really, peaches grown in Fukushima?  An advertising campaign is supposed to make me go buy them?

They are grown with care.  The farmers in Fukushima "put our hearts and souls" into these peaches.  They're juicy and sweet.  So the posters tell me.  I'm sure they are grown with care.  I have no difficulty believing the farmers did everything in their power to pick the best, ripest, pinkest peaches to sell.  They might even be extra juicy.

But, and really, but they're grown in Fukushima.  People.  I can't.  I just can't. 

Can you really prove to me they're safe?  The radiation levels may have been measured and measured again.  I'm not actually coming out and saying I don't believe the results.  I'm just saying, again mind you, they're grown in Fukushima.

That the farmers in Fukushima need income I get.  That the farmers in Fukushima need hope I understand.  It's the getting from "wanting to help" part to "buying food raised in potentially radioactive soil" part that I have difficulty with.  This is why this ad blitz confuses me.  Do they really hope to change our minds?  My mind?

Here's the thing.  It is peach season.  And, white peaches here in Japan are something else.  There's no eating them without a towel in hand.  Juices drip down my chin.  They're practically messy they're so wet and full of pulp.  Peach season is summer.  Watermelon, barley tea, muggy weather, fireworks, mosquitoes, and peaches--this is summer in Japan.  That Fukushima is trying to be a part of traditional Japan, summer food, family fun, I want to help with this.  But, sorry.  Dear Farmers, I just can't do it.  I'll let you know if I change my mind.  'Til then.

On Not Mincing Words and 100 Yen Shops

Growing up, confrontation, blunt talk, saying what one really means was simply not a part of daily life.  Subtlety, implications heavy with nuances, hidden intent not clearly spelled out, all this was normal in Japan.  Imagine my shock then, fast-forwarding several decades when it's now okay to say what until now was kept inside.  Don't get me wrong.  It's not that all polite talk has been replaced with directness.  Make no mistake.  For the most part, tact still rules.  There are, however, exceptions.  These are noticeable.  These stand out. 

There's this, for example.

It reads, "How many times I gotta say it?!  If you drink, don't drive."

This is blunt in Japan.  It's almost shocking.  It's the smack across the head to those stupid enough to break rules.

Then there's this.
"It's not that you can't.  It's that you don't."  Particularly applicable post-March 11th, for those Japanese (in particular) who are "too busy" and for whom "Tohoku is alright, right?"

I find this refreshing.  There are those here in Japan who will say this kind of frankness is the result of an educational system that promotes self-assertion, a no-no until several decades ago when group-think was the norm.  As an American, I know it's not my place to plug any one "norm" where it's not welcome.  No one culture is superior to another. 

Those subjects alone could turn into several dissertations, so I'll save them for another day.  This notepad, the one on the right was bought at one of Japan's many 100 yen stores.  My new Mecca, I pretty much decorated my entire apartment with items brought here.  Some stores are small "hole-in-the-wall" shops while others take up four floors of a department building.  The merchandise sold here is not high-end, and it's most certainly not fashionable.  It "passes" which isn't bad for someone on a budget.

After dinner one night, I passed one such store as I made my way back to the bus stop.  At first I kept going, but then turned around and made my way down into the basement.  I could afford 500 yen on items I didn't otherwise know I needed.  It's a short-term shopping fix. 

The notepad caught my eye.  I don't need it, of course.  It begged to be bought.  The notebook fairy called out, "Buy me.  Buy me."  I obliged.  If nothing else, a conversation piece it would be.  "Who do you think it's referring to?"  "It's true, don't you think?"  "It's okay to be that blunt if you're telling the truth.  Or no?"

I will pull it out of my bag at hopefully just the right moment and see the reactions both it and I receive.  Blunt talk and 100 yen shops.  An unlikely duo if there ever was one.

Conspiracy Theories and the Price of Food

After having spent almost a month up north, I'm back in Tokyo.  Holed up in my apartment, air conditioner on high, I'm avoiding people.  Anyone I don't absolutely have to see I don't.  I need space.  I need to think about the benign.  I want my weekend to be uninteresting.  My sponge, body and mind and soul is full.  Watching mindless television, doing nothing productive, I'm slowly wringing out my sponge.  Which is why I have the luxury to contemplate the following.

With no need to dress up in Tohoku, I live in cut-off jeans and t-shirts.  Make up is reserved for the days I see someone who hasn't seen me without.  I walk around town in my sandals.  Flip-flops, really.  My feet are dirty at the end of each day, but I see this as a mark of where I've been, what I've accomplished, and not anything negative.

Walking on sidewalks, running around pre-school playgrounds with kids in sandals, a natural conclusion might be "your feet must be taking a beating."  Not true.  The conclusion of wearing flip-flops for a month?  No blisters.

Which is why, after day three of being in Tokyo, I marvel in disgust at my feet.  They're once again covered in blisters.  I'm wearing the same sandals I've worn in Tohoku for the past month.  What gives?  Why do Tokyo sidewalks give me blisters when Tohoku sidewalks don't?

If this phenomenon were an isolated incident, if somehow I walk funny when I'm in Tokyo I might dismiss this.  I am not, however, and I say this with a combination grin-grimace, the only woman in Tokyo who has "foot problems."  Indeed, blistering feet is the norm here in Tokyo.

This begs the question...what are Tokyo sidewalks made out of that ruin our feet so?  Is this why people in Tokyo walk fast?  Is this why people seem to be busier?  In a hurry?  Do people get more done in Tokyo, walking fast from place to place so we can finish our days sooner, all in avoidance of the blisters we know we'll have when we get home?  Is there some secret ingredient in the concrete concoction?  I'm only half-kidding.  Conspiracy theory anyone?

Freedom to contemplate the absurd doesn't stop here.  I continue to be amazed at the price of food in the supermarkets.  Do people really pay six dollars for two nectarines?  Seven dollars for a mango?  Do they taste better?  Are they worth the price?  The 100 dollar watermelons displayed at high-end shops aside, I've begun to wonder if I'm really that poor or if the average Japanese housewife really has managed to tuck away that much money for fruit.

Then there are the tomatoes.  I've read the labels.  I've looked at where they're grown.  I can't seem to find the "secret" that makes tomatoes in Japan worth paying this much for.  Simply put, they're delicious.  Juicy, sweet, bright red balls of goodness they are.  For these, I'll gladly pay four dollars for six small ones.  Why do I not trust the mangoes to be as good?  Probably because I can buy five of the same mangoes for five dollars back home.  No one mango can be that good, and certainly not worth seven dollars.  Tomatoes though, ah.  For these, I gladly make an exception.

Evidently there's something to be said for a weekend spent doing nothing.  The tomatoes I had for my afternoon snack clearly gave me fuel and inspiration.  As did my new blisters.