April 22, 2011.
"We are asking you to go because of your qualification and experience," said Miyuki, the Director of International Programs in Food for the Hungry Canada in our last meeting at her office in Abbotsford. We became very good friends since I moved to Canada in 2007, but she wanted to make sure our work ethics are not compromised on this relief project. I worked with the same organization for 12 years before I moved to Vancouver. While I was serving in the global HR for the organization, the tsunami hit several nations in South Asia. During that time, I received, trained, sent and managed relief staff to tsunami affected countries. With these professional conditions, I was being sent to Fukushima, Japan. However, I had an important reason to come: I am a Korean. The local organization in Japan was ready to receive a Korean and they wanted to start building an international partnership by receiving another Asian among them.
“You are going to Japan now? And is that OK that you can go as a Korean?” That’s the most common reaction I received when I was getting ready to leave Vancouver for a short two week long trip here. Most foreigners already evacuated from Japan because of the fear of radiation, and I was coming in. So people were first surprised to hear about my plan, and my being Korean surprised those who knew the last 150 years of history between the two nations.
“Oh, you are Korean. Why are you going to Japan now?” asked the man who sat next to me on the plane from Seoul to Narita as he was staring at my handwriting on the immigration document. “All Koreans already left Japan,” he continued. I didn’t want to get into a long conversation, so I just said that I was going for business. That’s when finally the 1923 Kanto Great Earthquake came to my mind. It was an earthquake of magnitude 7.9, the second largest one in Japanese history after this year’s Tohoku earthquake. But for Koreans, it was one of the most tragic events that took place during the Japanese occupation in Korea. Panic and fear after the disaster created a lot of rumours among Japanese and Japanese massacred ethnic minorities. Nearly seven thousand Koreans were murdered at the time. One of the worst anti-Korean sentiments that ever existed.
As the plane crew started getting ready for landing, the tearful voice of my pastor in Korea started echoing in my ears, “Are you ready to die?” he asked me over the phone three weeks ago when I told him of my decision. With that question in my head, I didn’t remember hearing any announcement until everyone stood up to leave the plane. The immigration was nearly empty as I was the only foreigner flying in on that flight from Seoul. I finally understood the fear through the voice of my 82 year old pastor was not from radiation, but from the Kanto earthquake, and his childhood and young adulthood living under the colonialism. That moment, radiation suddenly became so small to me. But I was thankful that I didn’t remember about that part of the tragic history between the two nations while I was packing and getting ready to leave Vancouver. I was excited to work again with Midori, and it’s too late to turn around and get back on the plane any way. “I have Midori and others to protect me here,” I had to hold onto something hopeful for peace of mind.
Midori and I worked together in Bangladesh for several years in 1990s and we were roommates when we both lived in Dhaka. My Asian friends often asked me why I was living with a Japanese with cynicism in the tone of their voice. That always reminded me that we could be friends with anyone in Christ, and Midori and I have been always very intentional about that and not afraid to talk about the history between the two nations.
Every church we visited this week, my Japanese colleagues have been very careful about giving a long introduction about me to pastors and church members. “Soohwan works in Canada now, but she is a Korean. We are very glad that she could join us in this disaster relief effort with us.” Was I in their face to remind them of the sins that their parents and grandparents committed to my parents and my grandparents? Is it a good thing that I didn't even remember what that history meant to both nations every day of my life until two weeks ago when I stood all alone facing the Japanese immigration officer with no one behind me other than waves of Japanese people?
Fear became real in that I was no different, but an ordinary person. Most Japanese people did not seem to remember the Kanto earthquake tragedy until they asked me why all Koreans left Japan so quickly last month. I had to answer honestly with the historical fact. Silence was the only response we could exchange. Ordinary people’s biggest fear is the powerlessness that we didn’t do anything about it.
The fear of being nobody and fear of being powerless.
The sin of doing nothing when the world is shaken and innocent lives are killed.
Friendship is a risky gift, and it is not a commodity we can simply exchange with mere networks and partnerships. That is the message of the cross for me today.
(PS. All my blog pieces are posted after Midori’s review – we are in this together!)
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