Mount Takao, an hour west of Tokyo by train, is one of the city's favorite getaways. It also happens to be the stomping grounds of a yokai known as the Tengu -- mountain goblins from folklore. Don't believe me? Look at how many we spotted up there this weekend!
Tengu come in two distinct "species" -- the Karasu-, or Raven-Tengu, and the Hanadaka-, or Longnose Tengu. Check the faces and you'll see what I mean.
Japan has a long history of using cute mascot characters in situations that can surprise Westerners. In fact, quite often the more terrifying or distressing a situation, the cuter the visual description of it becomes on official posters here.
This may sound counterintuitive or even a little condescending at first, but when you start thinking about it, it makes perfect sense. Whereas, say, photos of damage or devastation would probably cause people to avert their eyes, this sort of presentation lures people into actually reading the sign -- particularly children, as tsunami education needs to start early.
Of course, there's no way to know how many lives public-service campaigns like this saved in the 3-11 earthquake and tsunami. But similar to the ancient stone tsunami-warning markers found dotting the countryside, these cute characters are another example that natural disasters are never far from the minds of people in Japan.
A 2007 poster for tsunami evacuation drills in the Sagami Bay area of Kanagawa prefecture (southwest of Tokyo).
A sign spotted in a Shizuoka suburb, explaining how trees can act as wind and wave breaks.
We found this one on a hiking trail in Iwate prefecture several years back. He marks the portions of the trail that pass by the ocean, reminding hikers to beware of tsunami in the event of an earthquake.
The April 11th edition of Nikkei Shimbun, Japan's top financial newspaper, ran an interview with Yuri Okina, Executive Vice President of the National Institute for Research Advancement. In the interview, which is titled "Japan Needs English-Language Press Conferences," she touches on linguistic issues that have affected foreign media coverage of the earthquake and tsunami. In keeping with fine Japanese tradition, it is only available in the print edition (p. 11 for those who happen to subscribe), so I am posting a translation of a relevant excerpt here. Nikkei's questions are indicated in italics.
We hear you have issues with the way information about the earthquake and disaster has been disseminated.
Okina: A vast quantity of information has been broadcast, published, and posted in the wake of the disaster. Foreign mass media put a great deal of effort into covering the impact of the earthquake and tsunami. The seriousness of the situation was widely reported abroad by international television stations such as CNN and newspaper reporters from Europe, China, and across Asia. But that said, even a non-specialist such as myself was struck by inaccuracies in much of the foreign reporting of the situation regarding the Fukushima Daiichi plant.
Narita Airport was flooded with foreigners attempting to flee in the wake of the accidents at the nuclear plants.
Okina: I attribute that to the fact that neither the government nor TEPCO did enough to communicate the facts of the situation in English. As a result, foreign journalists began to get the idea that "Japan is hiding something" or "they aren't telling us the truth" which contributed to coverage that heightened anxieties. This in turn led to a sense around the world that all of Japan was in serious danger. Countries restricted the imports of Japanese foods and products, and tourists cancelled plans to visit even areas of Japan unaffected by the disaster.
There is an urgent need to improve the ability of Japan's civilian and government agencies to communicate objective facts about the situation to those abroad. The government held daily press conferences led by Chief Cabinet Secretary [Edano] for the domestic audience, but they also need to directly engage the foreign media with press conferences that disseminate proper information in other languages. And they should add scientists who can interpret the situation to the mix as well, since a firm grounding in science is necessary to understand the problems with the reactors.
Koganei Park was packed (and dusty.) The "self-restraint" preached by Tokyo politicians seems to have affected only corporate hanami (cherry blossom viewing) parties; families and private gatherings were out in force.
People of every era, I suspect, tend to believe that their experiences are new and unique. But this often isn't the case. It particularly isn't the case when it comes to natural disasters in a county as natural disaster prone as Japan.
This animated clip, from the great, great series Manga Nippon Mukashibanashi (Animated Japanese Fairy Tales), was produced in the 1970s. The fairy tale upon which it is based is hundreds of years old.
In it, a young mother and child from the island of Kessenuma Oshima happen across a statue called the michibiki jizo -- the guiding bodhisattva. According to local legend, the soul of a person that is about to die appears before this particular jizo the day before they pass away. The mother and child are shocked to see a whole parade of spirits appear before the statue -- male and female, old and young.
When they return home, the father laughs it off as a figment of their imaginations. But the very next day, when the family is fishing at the seashore, the tide pulls out and doesn't come back in. Minutes later, a massive tsunami wipes out the entire town as the mother, son, and father watch escape to a hilltop. They are the only survivors.
Given the fact that Kessenuma is in the headlines today for the very same reason, there is no doubt that this "fairy tale" is based on a true story. It's particularly haunting in light of the ancient stone markers that dot the Japanese coastline warning of tsunami from times of old, a literal message to future generations from ancestors long since shuffled off this mortal coil.
History repeats. In this era of science and technology it is tempting to brush off myth and legend as superstition. Sometimes, however, they're more than just stories.
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