* Any views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author and not of Thomson Reuters Foundation.
Sendai, Japan
In the last year the tsunami-ravaged coastline of Japan’s north-east has undergone a clean-up never seen before in human history for its sheer scale and speed. From Ishinomaki to Onagawa, Shichigahama to Kesennuma, the landscape has been drastically altered as Japan presses on with the world's costliest disaster recovery to date.
Town after town has been razed to the ground. Houses, schools and busy markets have all disappeared. Almost everything that was damaged has been flattened and cleared. The horizon is now marked with towering stockpiles of scrapped cars, recovered metal and millions of tonnes of cleared debris. Some colossal industrial units, however, will take longer to dismantle. The great fortresses of Japan's economic power- they stand like grim mausoleums, annihilated by the brute force of tsunami waves that tore through their steel ramparts as if they were made of paper.
Much like their nation, Japan's tsunami survivors have also put on a brave front to their immense loss and suffering. As the world watched the news on March 11 with disbelief, the survivors were making an orderly queue to receive emergency relief. There was shock and great tragedy, but little public display of emotion.
One year later, tsunami survivors are still mourning their dead. Many are waiting to hear about their missing relatives. Over 340,000 are still living in temporary accommodation, most among strangers, unsure when they will return to their homes. Despite all this the tsunami survivors rarely speak out and least of all complain about their circumstances. In the privacy of their modest temporary homes or in public spheres, they put themselves last in the order of priorities. For them, to be seen needing help is a dent in self respect and actively seeking it is akin to betrayal of those who need it more.
Even with such overarching altruism and valiant attempts to live up to the national characteristic of stoicism, tsunami survivors, especially children, need help.
Almost the entire discussion around Japan's plan to spend 13 trillion yen ($167 billion) on recovery over five years has remained centred around economic revival and economic benefits. But the urgency to get back to ‘business as usual’ has somewhat blurred the focus on pressing human needs of survivors. The emotional impact of a disaster and its accompanying loss cannot be addressed by reconstruction and physical recovery alone.
For thousands of tsunami-affected people, life has not moved further since March 11 as they come to terms with their loss. Regardless of a nation's advancement and riches, disasters affect everyone. Earthquake, tsunami and the fear of nuclear radiation has put a significant Japanese population under stress.
Japan's mental health professionals readily furnish data to show how years after the 1995 Kobe earthquake that killed over 6,000 people, the number of psychological cases continued to rise. The 2011 tsunami that killed nearly 16,000 people dwarfs Kobe disaster in its casualties, magnitude and geographical spread. The experts fear if emotional needs of affected people are not addressed immediately, it could have long term ramifications on general psychological well being of those at risk, especially children.
Under such compelling circumstances global child rights organisation Plan launched its aid response in a developed country as an exception. The organisation, which runs all its programmes in developing countries, set up an emergency response unit in Sendai, the capital of Miyagi prefecture which suffered the highest number of causalities. Within days of the disaster, Plan Japan started responding to overwhelming emotional needs of tsunami affected children and their care givers such as parents and teachers.
Emotional support or psychosocial care in technical terms, involves helping people relate to and deal with their circumstances. Simple things such as group activities, games or creating opportunities for people to talk to each other can play a significant role in the healing process. Best still, expressing emotions and sharing feelings can prevent high risk people from advancing into stages where they end up needing specialised mental health care involving psychiatrists and clinical psychologists.
Aid work in a developing country can be challenging due to numbers of those in need or the hostile operational environment. Aid work in a developed country like Japan where those in need may never seek help, threw even greater challenges. Plan Japan staff met the toughest test in their professional careers – in reaching their own, very private people.
Tea parties were used as an excuse to bring people together so they can talk and share their feelings. Psychosocial care had to be rebranded as child support to avoid its common association with much stigmatised mental illness. Only through such approach deeply disturbing stories like children playing tsunami games or being scared to flush toilets as it reminds them of tsunami waves have come to light. Psychologists working with Plan have reported grown-up children showing anxiety, wetting beds and adults going through depression and in some cases developing alcohol and gambling addictions.
Mental health experts believe the events of March 11 have exposed a worrying neglect of emotional well-being in Japanese society, a sentiment also reflected in the tsunami recovery plan. For prided stoicism and economic realities, the pressure is intense on Japan and its tsunami survivors to resume business as usual.
However, tsunami survivors, especially children, need emotional support. Reaching each one of them within their social context is a vital part of recovery. It is a great challenge and a humanitarian need that must be met.
(Davinder Kumar is an award-winning development journalist and press officer for child rights organisation Plan International. He is also a Chevening Human Rights Scholar. This is his first article of a special three-part series on Japan's tsunami.)
