A natural disaster the likes of which Japan hasn't suffered for more than a hundred years. Villages swept away in a matter of minutes. Thousands dead, thousands more missing and hundreds of thousands homeless. And then the aftermath — shortages of power, food, fuel, warmth. A
nd then the world's biggest nuclear power-plant crisis since Chernobyl. Enough to drive anyone to despair, to anarchy even, isn't it? Well, not the Japanese. Yet.
Looting hasn't been the news in the aftermath of the country's tsunami devastation, as it has been in other disaster-stricken countries. Neither crime. Were journalists even looking for it, one wonders.
Or were the "parachuted" reporters from the world's media giants dropped in to peek at the week's, possibly the year's, biggest story, so pushed for time that they were only able to see what they expected to see? "The Japanese don't loot! It's such an ordered society. A stoical, homogeneous, all-for-the-greater-good type of bunch." And so on. Even some Japanese have a soft spot for this national character — some, but far from all.
Yes, on the whole the devastation and ongoing crisis wrought by Japan's earthquakes last month haven't given the world images similar to those taken in disaster zones elsewhere: window smashing chancers grabbing a TV or two, fights over food, increased reports of rape and general breakdown of law and order.
But there has been crime. Of course! It is just the scale of it that astonishes regular disaster watchers — it just seems … so low, and everything so calm. Professor Masahiro Sakuma, who teaches Sociology at Tohoku Gakuin University, in Sendai, the region hit by the earthquake, says the reaction the world has witnessed has much to do with the type of places it occurred in.
"The earthquake and tsunami happened in farming and fishing villages and small towns with a long history of community. They have a culture of support and know each other well. So in this kind of area, crime will be low," he says, suggesting that should a similar disaster hit one of the country's big, impersonal metropolises, things may be different.
However, even in this tight-knit, rural north, there are reports of looting, and many people driven from their homes in the affected areas are worried about returning and bumping into burglars, who are, according to the villagers, people from outside the area.
Debates about real or perceived threat aside, there have been genuine reports of break-ins. And one of the biggest-growing areas of criminal activity has been scamming the vulnerable and the well-meaning. The Consumer Affairs Centre of Japan has reported on various fraudulent activities, including the sales of heaters and filters that are supposed to take radiation out of water and bogus drugs to protect from the effects of the power-plant leaks.
Generous folk across Japan have been tricked by fraudsters into donating for good causes — helping relatives in the north, the price of a ticket home and other ruses — only to later realise that they had been had by a fast-talking opportunist.
Some stories are apocryphal, others verified by the authorities. The point is that the Japanese are not quite the rigidly disciplined faceless mass outside observers tend to see.
But, and it is a big "but", this has mostly been a tragedy followed by patience and consideration for others.
People have been waiting in line for meagre rations, helping each other, not running about grabbing what they can and generally being grown-up about the whole situation. Why? Because it is the best thing to do.
"What kind of scene would you imagine if we are not patient?" professor Sakuma asks. "Scenes of violence, people desperate and killing, stealing and raping?
"It is logical not to take such a course if you're the slightest bit sensible. Supporting and helping others who are in the same circumstances produces better results. The Japanese have that level of sense."
So, is that it? The Japanese are simply more sensible than the rest of us? If so, how did they get this way?
Sachimi Hanyu, an architect from Okinawa in the south, mentions the morality classes given at Japanese schools and says this helps instil a strong sense of shame when compatriots act without care for others.
And the nation's main religions, Shinto and Buddhism, although not as well followed as they once were, have inspired a strong sense of humility among individuals about their place within the group.
Added to this, the Japanese are simply well taught, with school lessons and emergency drills, in what do when an earthquake strikes — how to act and not panic, where to go and how to prepare supplies in advance. And any foreigner new in the country will soon comprehend the severity of one of the many tremors by watching the reaction of the Japanese around them.
As for loud public mourning, forget it. As Sachimi Hanyu says: "We're not always good at showing emotion in public but that doesn't mean we don't have deep feelings. We don't hug each other like Westerners do but many Asian cultures are the same as us. To be sad you don't need to be loud and we're not brought up that way."
But coming full circle, professor Sakuma suggests it is, in fact, the dangerous environment itself that has shaped the Japanese character. Yes, the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the volcanoes.
In other words, Japanese people have dealt with the disaster well because they have always been dealing with it. They act pragmatically because nature has shown them it is the best way to survive. They work together because their lives on the volatile Ring of Fire would not continue if they didn't.
"To the Japanese, nature is changeable," the professor explains. "There is a proverb in China which says, ‘Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure.' There's a contrast between the changeable human society and the unchangeable nature — mountains and rivers are always there, we are not. You have to accept change.
"But the Japanese are not patient about everything. As with all cultures, some things will bother them and some won't. Moderate earthquakes are not unusual in the Japanese archipelago, so if you cannot accommodate a few earthquakes you cannot live here.
"As for patience, in the Arabian Peninsula, where you have high temperatures, the Japanese would not be able to take it — but other people can live there."
A pragmatism for the environment. An acceptance borne of familiarity. But as professor Sakuma points out, the Japanese accept some things but not others.
The reaction towards the man-made disaster at the Fukushima Daiichi power plant is one of these "others" and tempers are reaching boiling point.
People are not just grumbling into their chests and accepting it as "the way of things" — they are angry and getting angrier. They talk daily about the power plant's owner Tepco and the government's role in the mess with real hatred, and the voices are growing louder.
Andy Gayler is a writer based in Okinawa, Japan.
