With today being the 24th anniversary of the Great Hanshin-Awaji earthquake, I was reminded of the walk around Nagata-ku before heading to Kobe Luminarie last December. We also observed a minute of silence at 08:31 in school this morning to remember those who were victims of the earthquake that devastated the city of Kobe. . . When I first came across the idea of going to the Kobe Luminarie, the first thought that came to mind was the festive lightings all set for Christmas. It usually takes place two weeks before Christmas in Kobe, near JR Motomachi station. The cold, dark wintry season would be made more cheery with these illuminations. That was what I thought. However, when I learnt about the significance behind them, the stark truth made me felt so ashamed of my ignorance. It was then when I began to read more about the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake that struck Kobe on January 17th, 1995. I was only 4 years old then, living in a bubble in Singapore and clueless about the happenings that took place around the world. I grew up learning that the Japanese have a high level of emergency preparedness due to the frequency of natural disasters occurring every year. Buildings are constructed with earthquake-resistant materials so that damage is reduced as much as possible in the event of another unfortunate incident. I read about how the locals rendered a helping hand to each other in times of crisis. The police forces, fire-fighters who were constantly activated and dispatched to areas that demanded their time and attention. Communication from the headquarters was key. Quick decision making and foresight by the governors was paramount too. But what I failed to realise earlier was that this level of emergency preparedness and coordination was a cumulative result of harsh lessons learnt, many lives lost and tremendous damage suffered. Roads and bridges were sundered. Transportation networks were destroyed, limiting access to aid and provisions. Electrical and telecommunication cables overhead snapped. Gas leakages ensued, coupled with restored electricity, leading to widespread fires that grew in intensity. Water pipes broke and supply was cut off, aggravating the chaos that reigned. It was an utter unimaginable pandemonium. Watching their houses in the neighborhood collapse, people crumbled underneath, trapped in the rubble, their limbs too numb to break free. There were the deafening sounds of destruction, mass stampede coupled with the desperate pleas for help. It’s heartbreaking when I read the chronicles but it also made me think deeper about the systemic issues involved – the importance of urban planning, civil engineering, public relay systems and manpower deployment during crisis management. I used to find how these systems too mind-boggling. I mean, I still do but this time round, it amazes me how much planning goes into disaster recovery and reconstruction. Going forward, how can systems be improved and architecture bolstered to reduce the impact of another (possible) natural disaster? I sat in front of Tetsujin-28 鉄人28号, a massive steel cartoon robot weighing 50 tonnes. It was built in memory of the Great Hanshin-Awaji earthquake with a magnitude of 6.8 that struck Kobe in 1995. I went in search of it after walking around the neighbourhood in Shin-Nagata 新長田 upon alighting from the subway on the Seishin-Yamate Line. Nagata-ku 長田区 is situated in the West of Kobe, near Awaji island 淡路島 where it was the earthquake’s hypocenter. I walked past Shell, a huge petrochemical industry with tankers on the grounds. There is also a port in Nagata. It used to be an area housing many industries, which attracted many job-seekers of different nationalities in the past. They came to Kobe in search of a better life. In fact, Nagata-ku was one of the areas that was hit the hardest during the earthquake. I saw the difference in the housing arrangements between Nagata and Shin-Nagata. The latter looks as though it has been given a breath of fresh air, freshly recovered from the ruins of the earthquake. A newly reconstructed neighborhood with public spaces, shopping streets that create opportunities for people to get together. While walking from Nagata to Suma, where both wards are located right beside Osaka Bay and Awaji island, I noticed signboards detailing information of what people should do in the event of a tsunami or earthquake, places they must avoid and where they can evacuate to. This is the power of machizukuri, I thought. I recently stumbled upon this word, machizukuri. It essentially means the practice of community led place-making with care. Residents staying in the neighborhood are seen as active agents of change. Machizukuri has a connotation of residents building their own environment and reflecting their own values and lifestyles, as a radical departure from the conventional approach to planning that, at best, consults through a bureaucratic, tokenistic process (Sorensen and Funck 2007, Heins 2001). You can read more about it here: Place-making after a disaster: Japanese practice of Machizukuri (written by Ljubica Mamula-Seadon, Ikuo Kobayashi and Norio Maki) I used to wonder why active citizenry is relatively high in Japan with festivals and community events bringing people residing in the neighborhood together. The local community spirit is truly admirable. There will always be something to look forward to every weekend, whether it is a local market fair selling autumn harvest or pottery, momiji viewing events or a concert that people could go to enjoy themselves. I love how I find myself a part of these local community initiatives too. When I see Tetsujin28 standing tall at 18 metres high in Wakamatsu Park, his fist pumped out with his rocket pack behind him, I realised why it really felt like a symbol of strength and recovery after its completion in 2009, 14 years later. It was a monument erected to remind people of the earthquake that happened. It gave people the reason to heal through memory sharing as they build it through collective action. People relied on the strength of local community spirit to rebuild and continue with their lives. Walking along Motomachi towards Higashi Yuenchi Park near Sannomiya and being a part of the crowd at the Kobe Luminarie, immersed in the sights and sounds, I am glad I now know a bit more of the significance behind it. Having read the chronicles made going to the Kobe Luminarie more meaningful. It felt almost like I was on a pilgrimage – to remember, in loving memory of the victims of the earthquake, to be reminded to take precautionary measures and be prepared for emergencies and to witness the indomitable spirit as people rebuild their lives with strength, resilience and hope for the future.
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