I only experienced one significant earthquake when I lived in Japan. Five years after the famous Kobe earthquake, I was sitting at my desk on the 17th floor of a 30-story office building on a reclaimed island just off the Kobe coast. The building I was in had been evacuated after the Great Hanshin Earthquake, but had been deemed safe for occupation two years later. Wherever I pulled up the false floor to check or run cables beneath, I saw large cracks in the concrete below and wondered whether it had been passed inspection simply because there were too many other buildings that were in worse condition.
My quake hit in 2000. I remember noticing the water sloshing in a jug on my desk before I felt the motion myself. I don’t know how long I stared at it before I became aware of my colleagues screaming and diving beneath their desks. It would have been sensible to follow their example – they’d survived the great quake and had been trained for such circumstances. Instead, I looked out the window to see if I could see – I don’t know – perhaps the ground being torn apart like a hollywood end-of-the-world film. In the mall far below, people ran – for cover or for open ground, I wasn’t sure. Water in the one-foot-deep pond ran from one end to the other in waves.
Fascination overcame fear. Everything in our computer room – heavy equipment which had jumped around in the great quake – had earthquake-proof anchor bolts right down into the concrete, so they weren’t going to fly through the wall and crush me. The building had been designed with a counter-balance to withstand earthquakes and the chances were this second one wouldn’t topple it, but if it did, I thought I’d rather go quickly than be stuck for days under a desk with no food, water or light and not much air. So instead of panicking, I opened up a new email window and raced off a quick email to friends and family to say how exciting it was and if they didn’t hear from me in a couple of days, thanks for the good times.
That earthquake (Richter 7.6 from memory) had been bigger than the Great Hanshin Earthquake (Richter 7.2), but it had been offshore so the impact had been less. My reaction seems even more flippant in light of the latest quake to hit Japan. At 9.0 on the Richter scale, it was about 25 times the strength of the one I’d experienced and about 60 times the Great Hanshin Earthquake. I watched facebook with relief as the reports came in from friends and colleagues to say that they’re alright, but somehow felt detached from the whole experience. Ten thousand dead and missing was both too small a number to be significant in light of Japan’s population (the chances of someone I know being affected were miniscule) and too large to comprehend (what, they’re just GONE??).
That changed last night when I got an email from a close Australian friend who’d been back in Sydney on an urgent trip when the earthquake hit. While many would have stayed away until the situation with the nuclear reactor had stabilised, he went back to Japan. His email said that his company had lost 20 offices and still had 60 employees unaccounted for. He’d kissed his wife goodbye that morning and they’d both gone to work to see what they could do to help. Their companies, like everyone in the area, had to deal with multiple disasters at once, some of which they’d never planned for. By the end of the day, my friends were on their way to different cities, not knowing when they’d be together again.
It’s knowing and loving these people and hearing their personal stories that gives news teeth. My thoughts will be lost in the mass of well-wishes and prayers being sent by people everywhere. Knowing that gives me some comfort.