{"id":82049,"date":"2021-06-17T17:47:37","date_gmt":"2021-06-17T08:47:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/voyapon.com\/?p=82049"},"modified":"2024-02-27T14:36:42","modified_gmt":"2024-02-27T05:36:42","slug":"traces-2011-tsunami-japan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/voyapon.com\/traces-2011-tsunami-japan\/","title":{"rendered":"On the Traces of the 2011 Tsunami in Northeast Japan"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Ten years after a monstrous tsunami devastated the Pacific coast of Tohoku<\/strong> (\u6771\u5317) on March 11, 2011<\/strong>, it\u2019s still a deeply moving experience to travel through the region in its traces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Provoked by the undersea magnitude-9.1 Great East Japan Earthquake<\/strong> (\u6771\u65e5\u672c\u5927\u9707\u707d) far out in the ocean, the massive tsunami crashed over 500 kilometers of coastland across three prefectures<\/strong>. By now, we have all seen images of the terrifyingly powerful black wave pummeling ashore, swallowing everything in its path. Survivors speak of the overwhelming stench, the crumpling of houses and the crunching of debris, the roar of the earth, or the groan of the sea. Its aftermath has been compared to the hellish landscape of annihilation following the explosion of a nuclear bomb. Experiencing a real-life tsunami is so surreal that the rest of us can only try to imagine what it was like and piece together a fragmented impression from what now remains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The 2011 Japanese earthquake<\/a> and tsunami killed over 20,000 people and displaced tens of thousands more. But despite the underlying trauma in this collectively scarred region, many Tohoku residents in the most severely hit areas have cultivated resilience to rebuild and revive their communities and even welcome visitors<\/strong>. At the same time, they have preserved artifacts, refurbished buildings into memorials, and documented as much as possible in order to tell stories of the disaster and recovery to future generations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So many of these initiatives now exist that they have been connected through a grassroots network called \u201c3.11 Densho Road<\/a><\/strong>\u201d (3.11\u4f1d\u627f\u30ed\u30fc\u30c9). It\u2019s a sort of pilgrimage route with the mission of passing on memories, testimonies and lessons learned<\/strong>, stretching from Iwaki in Fukushima (\u798f\u5cf6) prefecture to Hachinohe in the north of Tohoku, although most of the sites are concentrated along the Sanriku Coast<\/strong> (\u4e09\u9678\u6d77\u5cb8) in Miyagi<\/strong> (\u5bae\u57ce) and Iwate<\/strong> (\u5ca9\u624b) prefectures<\/strong>. The memorials range from ruins and stone markers to dedicated exhibitions, museums, and parks. 3.11 Densho Road\u2019s mission statement: \u201cLessons save lives.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"silhouettes
Dusk on the Teizan Canal in Sendai, Miyagi prefecture <\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Beyond Sendai\u2019s Coastal Bike Paths, a Skeleton School<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

To tell the truth, I had no idea that such a pilgrimage route even existed when I first traveled to Tohoku. I had arrived in Sendai<\/strong> (\u4ed9\u53f0) to visit a friend who was working there temporarily as part of a touring show, and everything about this port city seemed perfectly functional and modern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t until I hopped on my bicycle and headed out to the coast for a scenic ride by the seaside that I came face-to-face with the shock of Sendai\u2019s unseen reality<\/strong>: clusters of loudspeakers overlooking stark farmlands, 11-meter-high evacuation mounds, freshly cemented roads littered with orange cones and cranes, infinity seawalls, stretching out to the horizon in either direction<\/strong>. Almost a decade after the annihilating tsunami of 2011, this modern city\u2019s coastal area still screamed: \u201cUnder Reconstruction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"No
\u201cDo not enter \u2014 no evacuation route beyond this point”<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Further out, newly paved, totally deserted bike paths lined the Meiji-period Teizan Canal<\/a><\/strong> (\u8c9e\u5c71\u904b\u6cb3) surrounded by dry grasses and wild trees inhabited by large birds. The atmosphere was both peaceful and eerily apocalyptic. After riding along these paths for several kilometers without meeting another human being, I stumbled upon a sign pointing inland toward a school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"bike<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

The skeleton of Sendai Arahama Elementary School<\/a><\/strong> (\u4ed9\u53f0\u5e02\u7acb\u8352\u6d5c\u5c0f\u5b66\u6821), founded in 1873, stands alone in a wasteland less than a kilometer from the shore. On March 11, 2011, the school served as an evacuation site and lifebuoy for 320 people<\/strong>\u2014students, staff, and neighborhood residents\u2014as the thick black wave surged around the building up to the second floor. They were trapped there for 27 hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The gutted school has since been preserved as a memorial<\/strong>, whose twisted balcony railings, damaged ceilings, and bent walls bear witness to the overwhelming force of the tsunami. Inside, marks still show the highest level of the rising water, while rooms on the fourth-floor exhibit photos, documents, as well as blankets and food reserves used by the evacuees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n