Sorrow can be soothed, but history should never be forgotten.
Five years have passed since the Osaka-Kobe earthquake took more than 6,000 lives.
Kobe, like the phoenix, has been reborn from the fire with new, brilliant feathers.
Taiwan, I hope, will be an immortal bird, just like Kobe.

At a stop named Kazenooka (literally, "zephyr hills"), I went up to the observation deck and took in a panoramic view of the beautiful Kobe harbor.

Kobe faces the ocean with mountains at its back. Between the mountains and the ocean is a narrow, heavily populated plain.

At 5:46 in the morning of January 1, 1995, a sudden earthquake turned Kobe into a hell on earth within seconds. More than 6,400 people died and over 40,000 people were injured. Countless bridges, railways, highways, piers and buildings were destroyed.

Five years have passed since then.

Active reconstruction has restored Kobe to its old look. Buildings stand tall, bathed in sunshine, and ships sail across the blue sea. Kobe is truly the Immortal Bird.

The power for rebirth

Down streets that seemed to belong more in a small European town, there was a plaza on which a large tent had been erected. My friends Mr. Maruoka and Miss Hukushima, reporters from the Sankei Sinbun (Sankei News), told me that the NHK building used to be here. After the quake, the building was no longer usable and it was torn down. NHK relocated elsewhere and the lot has remained empty ever since.

Mr. Maruoka pointed out places where buildings had collapsed and buildings that had been rebuilt. As we passed the elevated railway, he told us that a friend of his who worked in a government construction unit had, during the demolition of the station, discovered a ski and a human arm. It is easy to imagine that they must have belonged to a happy vacationer, completely unprepared for the debris that piled atop of him.

In front of the shopping malls that line the bustling central avenue, several volunteers stood raising funds for the training of rescue dogs. Two rescue dogs, each wearing a vest, were displayed, attracting the attention of many passersby who donated in support of the cause. In addition to rescuing disaster victims, the gentle dogs also visit old folks' homes and hospitals to accompany senile old people and children suffering from cancer.

"After the earthquake, looters took advantage of the chaos to steal," Miss Hukushima said. "All the shop owners got together and organized a security team to maintain order." I remarked that there were also thefts in Taiwan after the earthquake, but fortunately no public looting.

In front of Sannomiya Station was the Osaka-Kobe-Awazi Earthquake Reconstruction Support Hall, also known as the Immortal Bird Hall. In front of the hall was a sculpture by a French artist named Cesar, made with steel plates left over from the repair of the Eiffel Tower. It was a gift to Kobe in celebration of the rebirth of the city.

Outside the memorial hall, there was a charity bazaar where people were raising donations. Singers performing in kimonos attracted a small crowd of spectators and won much applause.

Inside the hall, information about the disaster, the reconstruction process, earthquakes in general, active faults, disaster prevention, etc., was displayed through pictures, charts and diagrams, models and multimedia presentations. All major information was thoughtfully presented in Japanese, English, Korean and Chinese. The declared objective of the reconstruction project was the harmonious coexistence of people with nature, people with people, and people with society.

Landing in the night at Kobe

I closed the door and locked myself in my small room. For the first time in my life, I was staying by myself in a strange hotel.

I turned on the TV and flicked between channels. Many of them were showing retrospective specials on the Osaka-Kobe earthquake: the clock in Takarazuka that stopped at 5:46; the remnants of fallen buildings in Asiya; the destroyed Nisinomiya train station; the sky above Nagataku district, lit up by glaring fire; the back of an old man sitting dumbfounded in Kobe; a middle-aged man walking with his head bent on twisted rails; the old woman living alone in a prefabricated house; the five-year-old boy revering his father who had been killed in the quake; the sorrowful mother who had lost her eldest son...

Except for the conflagration, every image, every scene, had appeared in Nantou, Taichung and Turkey. Disaster is a common language that transcends nationalities. Everybody can read it and understand the misery, suffering and pain it entails.

It was getting late and the city became quiet. Through the drizzle, the light from the windows of high-rises became hazy and haloed the streetlamps. On the damp ground, the only moving light came from occasional passing cars. Far away in the harbor, the water reflected the lights on the other shore and scintillated in the dark.

I pressed my face against the cold window and watched a subway train slowly pull into Park Station. A man wrapped in a long coat got off and walked alone along the platform.

Houses, trees, streetlamps, overpasses, all stood quietly in the winter night. The people of Kobe must be peacefully asleep too.

The great silence overwhelmed me. I covered my face with both hands, almost unable to bear the passing of time. Five years ago on the same night, the people of Kobe must have also already entered restful slumber. Who would have known that in a few hours a great disaster would fall on them?

Landing in the night at Kobe, I was not on a passenger boat, nor did I hear bells toll. [Here the author alludes to a famous Chinese poem, "Landing in the Night at Maple Bridge," which describes the melancholy mood of a lone passenger traveling by boat. The passenger's sleepless solitude is accentuated by the tolling of a bell at midnight.] Only the pale moon hung desolately in the sky.

Commemoration in the morning

A few minutes after five in the morning, we arrived at a playground in the eastern part of the central district of Kobe, where the words "117 KOBE" (the earthquake struck on January 17) had been formed in large characters with 6,432 (the number of deaths caused by the earthquake) bamboo containers. Each container was cut diagonally so that the opening was oval-shaped and filled with water. A small white candle was lit and placed inside each container, where it gently floated.

Aside from the families of the deceased and volunteer workers, many reporters were present. It was very cold. The whole place was strangely quiet, enshrouded by a woeful atmosphere.

At 5:46, the loudspeakers broadcast a request for everybody to pay silent tribute to the dead for one minute. All present stopped what they were doing and stood in silence. Some put their palms together and lowered their heads, some began to weep. The memories of that moment were unendurable.

Five years later at 5:46 am, the Lamp of Hope was lit, never to be extinguished. Engraved on the marble pedestal of the lamp were words written by Horiuchi Masami. Miss Semoto, the interpreter hired by Mr. Maruoka, translated the contents for me sentence by sentence: "...This lamp will firmly join the lives that have been taken away and the lives that have survived..."

Some people embraced each other and cried; some held portraits of their deceased relatives in silent tribute. One middle-aged woman stared at the flickering flame. Suddenly she fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands, crying her heart out. Everyone around her wept.

The uniquely designed memorial plaque, "Nature and Coexistence," was located at the end of a winding underground pass, on the walls of which the names of the sponsors were inscribed. At the farthest end was a circular space for meditation. Around me the marble walls were carved with all the names of the deceased. We read the names with respect, names that once belonged to living individuals.

"Miss Chen!" Mr. Maruoka called out to me. On the wall, he had found the names of a Chinese family, also with the surname Chen. Miss Semoto said Kobe was a port city and had always had many foreign inhabitants. It was natural that many of the deceased were foreigners.

A frail old woman faced the wall and wept silently. Another middle-aged woman crouched and caressed an inscribed name with her forefinger--Uejokayoko. Perhaps it was the name of her daughter. Her finger lingered on the inscription, moving back and forth, again and again... After a long time, she stood up and walked out. I followed her out involuntarily and held her tight in the cold morning wind.

Gradually the day began to dawn. Seen from afar, the dozens of snowmen in the center of the square looked like bodhisattvas. Fresh flowers were laid in front of them and also candle lamps from Hokkaido, Okinawa, Nara, Ehime... from places all around Japan.

Water lamps

It was vaguely daylight and the temperature was 8 degrees Celsius [46 F].

Mourners and journalists congregated by the harbor, each holding a paper lamp shaped like a lotus flower to be set afloat on the ocean.

The Kobe harbor was devastated by the earthquake five years ago. The shore wall sank and all the cargo on it was submerged in water. The crumbled pier at the American Park was kept intact for later generations to see. It was a shocking sight.

Following the crowd, we made our way across a railing and came to the sea. We lit our candles and carefully put the lamps on the water, where they joined the swaying streams of other lamps and gradually drifted out to the ocean.

Each red lamp on the sea looked like a blossom, brimming with remembrances and blessings for the deceased. They were also like small boats that carried the pain and sorrow of the surviving to be buried somewhere far away.

A journalist from the Asahi Sinbun (Asahi News) asked me why I had come such a long way to participate in the activity. I said I had come in quest of "good things that sprang from the earthquake."

"We must call for the public not to forget the sad experience of the earthquake. A little over three months have passed since the September 21 earthquake in Taiwan, yet people's memories of it already seem to be fading."

He said, "If not for the fifth anniversary, the Osaka-Kobe earthquake would also have been forgotten." I asked him how the survivors now reacted to the memory of the disaster five years ago.

"Some miss their deceased relatives dearly and say that they will never forget them because they once lived in the world," he said. "Some are unwilling to recall the past. They don't even want to talk about it."

The sun was rising and the sky brightened up brilliantly. I pointed to the first rays of the morning sun and said to Miss Semoto, "No matter how strong the wind and rain or how dark it is, eventually the sun will still shine and the world will be bright again. Therefore in life we should always harbor hope."

The sound of people singing accompanied by a band drifted in the cold wind, evoking in me an indescribable feeling.

A home for the old

After breakfast, we came to Kobe Municipal Senior Citizens Home at Nadaku Mayakaigan.

There are more than one hundred beds in the home, eighty of which are for permanent residents, and the remaining thirty for old people temporarily staying there. For instance, if family members are traveling or sick, they can pay to send an old relative there for a few days.

In addition, the home also provides daytime care for the elderly. Old folks can go there at nine in the morning and return home at four in the afternoon. In the home, they can chat with each other, watch TV, play games, learn skills, nap, bathe, etc.

The interior of the home was bright and tidy. All the old people were neatly dressed and in good spirits. The only thing that seemed to be missing were several tatamis (Japanese straw mats) in the recreation room. The staff member guiding us explained that some old people were not used to sleeping on beds, so they moved the tatamis to their own rooms.

In front of the home, there is a U-shaped public apartment complex for 1,800 families, currently inhabited by more than 3,500 people. The apartments are leased to households affected by the earthquake at a very low rent. However, most young people are reluctant to live there and it has in effect become an old people's home since seventy percent of the dwellers are senior citizens.

We visited Sirota Tadakaz, a single old man aged 73. He pays 20,000 yen [about US$190] per month and has been living there for one year and four months.

Behind the iron front door was a small foyer, leading to a living room also used as a kitchen and dining room. At the back was a bedroom the size of five tatamis (108 sq ft). In both the bedroom and bathroom, there were emergency buzzers in case the old man needed help.

In view of the fact that after the earthquake many lonely old folks living in prefabricated houses passed away in solitude, some volunteer organizations have already begun to visit old people living in the apartments. At the same time that they open the cold iron doors, they try to open up the hearts of those old folks.

Rainbow House

There was no signboard, no indication. Judging from its simple appearance, one would not think it was any different from other building. However, once inside, one could see the attention to detail everywhere. It was a home of love for the psychological rehabilitation of children orphaned by the earthquake.

The Yu Ying (literally, "cultivating excellence") Association has its headquarters in Tokyo. For thirty years, it has been dedicated to helping orphans by ways such as providing scholarships. After the Osaka-Kobe earthquake, it actively located more than 570 orphans, of whom 110 had lost both parents. Most of the orphans were already being taken care of by the remaining parent or other relatives. Only four were living in other orphanages.

During the first six months after the earthquake, association volunteers took the children for outings and arranged group activities for them. Later on, they felt the need for a permanent establishment where long-term assistance and counseling could be carried out for the children, and so they actively began to raise funds. Four years later, they built Rainbow House in the eastern Nadaku district.

All the workers, including volunteer teachers and college students, in Rainbow House were once orphans themselves. Hosomi Kazuo, who received us, lost his father in a car accident when he was young.

"Children orphaned by the earthquake often have a deep sense of guilt," Mr. Hosomi observed. "For instance, children who were ten when the earthquake took place are fifteen years old now. They think that if only they had been their current age, they might have been able to do something to save their parents. They regret having been too young at that time. Some children think that if it weren't for them their parents could have survived. So their hearts are filled with insecurity and pressure."

The earth revolves eternally--it doesn't continue for Emperor Yao (a benevolent ruler in early Chinese history), nor does it stop for Emperor Chieh (a tyrannical ruler also in early Chinese history). Grownups do not necessarily understand this concept, much less children.

Rainbow House has rendered the children a home of absolute safety and peacefulness. Different spaces have been designed for children of different ages. For instance, there are a toy room and a playroom for young children, an art room and music room for teenagers, a "volcano room" for releasing emotions, a meditation room for those who want to be alone and reminisce, a conversation room for people to share their thoughts, and a "Rainbow Square" for common activities.

"This Japanese-style room is multifunctional," said Mr. Hosomi. "It can be a conversation and recreation room, a classroom where the tea ceremony and flower arranging are taught, and a temporary bedroom for children visiting from afar. If a child doesn't want to go home, he or she can apply to stay here for a few days. When single parents have to go out, they can also let their children board here. When a disaster happens, this is where volunteers stay."

Behind Rainbow House, there is a student dormitory that accommodates forty orphans. There is also a kitchen, a canteen and a library for these children to use.

After the great earthquakes in Turkey and Taiwan, staff members from Rainbow House went to the devastated regions to hold activities for children. Mr. Hosomi said that Rainbow House and the Family Support Center in Taichung will work together to do more for orphans from the earthquake there.

The Immortal Bird

After the Osaka-Kobe earthquake, more than 1,300,000 volunteers swarmed into the devastated region. Seventy-three per cent of them were people under the age of thirty, of whom seventy percent were first-time volunteers. Since then, volunteer organizations have been founded one after another and formed a league among themselves. This movement has come to be known as the profoundly influential "volunteer revolution." Because of this, the Japanese call 1995 "Volunteerism Year One."

Yamamoto Matiko is a fifty-four-year-old housewife. After the earthquake, her sister, whose house had been damaged by the disaster, stayed with her for four months. Seeing the miserable situation of other victims, they joined the ranks of volunteer workers.

They started out cooking meals for survivors. Then they visited lonely old people living in prefabricated houses and organized discussion groups in their community. They plunged into the work with happy enthusiasm.

Ms. Yamamoto said that because of the earthquake, interpersonal relationships became more intimate and people learned to care about and help each other. After the earthquake, Mr. Maruoka started a volunteer association at the Sony Insurance Company, where he worked. A total of 2,500 people responded and each month they donated three million Japanese yen [almost US$28,000] which was contributed to various charity works.

Rainbow House also sprang from the earthquake. With specialists and scholars supporting its operation and with comprehensive facilities, the house can help not only the orphans, but all people with emotional problems. Both children and adults need and benefit from the assistance it provides.

Because of the earthquake, the number of rescue dogs has increased and rescue equipment has become more advanced.

"When a disaster occurs, people's hearts become warmer and gentler," said Mr. Maruoka. "However, as time goes by their memories fade and they become apathetic again. It's a pity. The road of reconstruction is difficult and long."

Sorrow and pain can be soothed, but history should never be forgotten. Although earthquakes are unavoidable, we can work hand in hand to carry out reconstruction. Kobe has emerged from the disaster like a phoenix reborn through fire, full of new energy and beauty.