Sunday, March 17, 2013

What I Really Think: The Ipponmatsu Debate

Let me be clear.  I'm not writing on behalf of Rikuzentakata City Hall, nor have they asked me to speak out on this topic, and this post is by me as an individual.  These are my thoughts, my opinions, my feelings. 

Today's topic is Rikuzentakata's Ipponmatsu.  Translated into English as the Miracle Pine, The Lone Pine Tree of Hope, and several other similar words strung together, it's about the one pine tree that stood its ground when 70,000 other of its tree siblings were washed away by the tsunami.

First, a brief history lesson.  Ancestors of those living in Rikuzentakata now planted pine trees meant to serve as a tsunami barrier along the coast of Hirota Bay, the ocean facing an expansive flat land leading into the town.  This was in the 1600s.  More pine trees were added to this initial planting, and over the past 300 plus years, the number grew to 70,000.  Paths were created so lovers could stroll at dusk.  Park benches were strategically placed.  By all accounts, this pine grove was peaceful, beautiful, and serene.

The key word here is "was."  All but one of the 70,000 pine trees were blown to bits by the tsunami, sending large trunks into buildings, cars, and people.  Even today there is a large pile of this wood in town almost white now with two years of sun exposure and salt bleaching.  They remind everyone who drives past the mound of what was.

Ipponmatsu, the miracle pine is the one tree left standing.  Or, again, was

The short version is this:  this tree, the miracle, the lone survivor died.  Its roots steeped in salt water, the tree was declared dead in the fall of 2011.  The city spent a good amount of time deciding what to do.  On the one hand, the perseverance personified by this tree gave hope to those who were left in the town and to those visiting.  "Life goes on" is what it says.  "If I can withstand a massive wall of water, you can defy hardships as well" is the message it sent out.  The city could cut it down, the tree having served its purpose.  Or, it could attempt to preserve it.  But, how?  How does one go about "preserving" a 27-meter tree?  And who pays for this?

Politicians, businessmen, and visitors to Rikuzentakata made similar suggestions on their trips:  "Why don't you leave old city hall (or the gymnasium, or the library, or the museum) as a monument?  That way people can come here for generations and see what the tsunami did.  It would be like Tohoku's version of the Hiroshima Memorial."  There's some sense to this.  Showing just what the tsunami did, that there was a beat up, bent out of shape car in the lobby of city hall mixed in with chairs and desks and broken glass, that the floor of the gymnasium was covered with several inches of ocean sand with various kinds of artifacts and debris strewn around the floor--this would show the power of the waves, that a robust evacuation plan is a must, that every city everywhere must put time into creating a strategy for how to survive a disaster.  What these same politicians, businessmen, and visitors did not take into account is this:  people died here.  For those still living in town who lost family members, friends, and colleagues, these grotesque buildings are reminders.  Every time they see the gaping monuments they're ripping off the band-aid keeping them together.  Save the buildings?  So others can visit and learn and understand?  What about those with band-aids?

The problem with the analogy with Hiroshima is that no one who made the decision to keep the dome in its place is left to ask how these decisions were made.  Similarly, almost all of Hiroshima was wiped out, hundreds of thousands of lives lost.  It was war.  No apples and oranges comparison here.  Apples and spaghetti, maybe.  War and tsunamis are both disasters.  Apples and spaghetti are both food.  The comparison ends there.

Rikuzentakata City Hall decided to preserve the tree.  The cost for this was unprecedented:  preserving the tree required new technology, multiple processes, and a task no one had ever undertaken in Japan to date.  The price tag is somewhere around 1.5 million US dollars.  That's a lot of money for a tree.  Yes.

Critics say, "If you're going to raise that kind of money, why don't you build temporary homes faster instead?"  Others have said, "You're creating a cyborg."  Still others have said, "You're taking away money from other projects donors might give to."  Here's where I roll my eyes.  Dear people.  Do your homework before you cast stones.  Please.

The only criticism I might agree with is the "cyborg" comment.  Fine.  It's no longer a "tree."  So what?  The tree died.  Would it have been better to cut it down and leave a gaping hole, a stump that would rot, or a plaque reading "here's where the miracle pine was"?  That provides hope?  To whom?  How?

True, the cost for the preservation of the tree is steep.  But, as far as I'm concerned those who don't live here, who don't have to muster up faith and hope and the will to go on need to back off and take a seat.  The Metropolitan Government of Tokyo just spent a huge amount of money luring the Olympic Committee to host the 2020 Olympics.  I live in Tokyo.  As far as I can see, we're fine here.  We don't need tourist yen injected into our city to survive.  Why is no one writing about that?  Where are the reporters (foreign and Japanese) who question whether this was a justifiable or smart use of funds? 

If money was being taken away from other projects, if donors all of a sudden stopped showing up at Rikuzentakata City Hall offering assistance all because of the Ipponmatsu I, too, might question whether all this publicity on one tree was a good thing.  This is not the case.  I've personally worked with organizations still interested in helping the city.  Right there is proof money is not drying up.

As for "build temporary houses faster".... oh, honey.  You really have no clue, do you?  We would be building homes faster if we could.  Typical of what the city faces is this:  thirteen months from three government ministries for paperwork approval to build public housing.  That's the problem.  Not a tree.

Without selling papers, magazines, finding and keeping sponsors for television and internet news, the media can't and won't survive.  I get that.  I do find it rather tedious and tiresome, however, that some reporters have to go out of their way to butcher a story to guarantee sales.  It's the name of the game, I suppose.  Sad, really.

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