「あなたを亡くしてから、なかなか心から泣けていなかった。もっともっと話したかった でも頑張って生きようと思います」
Ever since I lost you, I’ve kept my emotions bottled up. There is so, so much I wish I had told you. But I’m doing my best to keep going.
「父さん、やっと話せるところに来たよ。時々、父さんの気配を感じていたけど、いつも私たちのこと気にかけてくれているんだね。ありがとう。残された母さんのことは最期まで大切にするよ」
Dad, I’m here and finally ready to talk to you. Sometimes I can feel that you’re there, always watching over me. Thank you. I’ll be sure to watch over mom until the very end.
「○○ちゃん、元気ですか？ 笑い声が聞こえたよ。 母頑張るからね」
How are you, sweetie？I swear I can hear your laugh. Your mama is hanging in there.
On a hilltop overlooking the bay of Otsuchi Town in Iwate Prefecture sits a lone, white phone booth. Inside is an old, black rotary dial phone. It has no connection. Called the “Phone of the Wind” (風の電話; kaze no denwa), this booth is a place for the bereaved to come and “call” and speak to their lost loved ones, and in particular those lost in The Great East Japan Earthquake Disaster of March 11th, 2011. By stepping in the booth and picking up the receiver, visitors find a meaningful and private means to connect with lost parents, children, sibilings, spouses, and friends, as their message is carried through the wind.
The phone booth is located in the private garden of an Otsuchi resident, Sasaki Itaru. Two years before the 3.11 earthquake, Sasaki was searching for a way to celebrate the life of his cousin, who at the time was suffering from terminal cancer. Looking to build something eternal in his memory, Sasaki developed his property to become what he dubbed the “Memorial Garden” (メモリアルガーデン), and placed the white phone booth and the rotary phone at its center. Sasaki’s cousin, a calligrapher, left behind the following poem in his passing, which is displayed on the wall inside the phone booth:
あなたは誰と話しますか 風の電話は心でします 風を聞いたなら想い伝えてください 想いはきっと伝わるでしょう
Who will you talk to? At the Phone of the Wind, speak from the heart When you hear the wind blowing, convey your feelings And they will be heard
As fate would have it, the Memorial Garden was finished in March of 2011 – the same month that the eastern coast of Japan was devastated by a massive tsunami after a 9.1 magnitude earthquake struck offshore. The wave submerged half of Otsuchi and took 10% of the town’s population, with 861 lives lost and 421 still missing five years later. The national numbers reached over 15 thousand deaths.
Recognizing the need for these now thousands of bereaved individuals to have a place to grieve and heal, Sasaki opened the Phone of the Wind to the public. For those who have words left unspoken or otherwise feel a need to connect with those departed, this phone booth and garden offer a place to find release.
どんな苦労でもつらいことでも、希望があれば生きていけるわけよ。だからその想いをつなぐもの、帰らぬ人に想いをつなげることができるということが大事だなと思って
No matter how painful their hardship, people can keep going if they have hope. That’s why I feel it’s important for these people to have something they can connect to, and a way to connect to the people they’ve lost.
As news and press surrounding the phone booth began to spread, more visitors starting making their way to Otsuchi from across the country. As of last year, nearly 30 thousand people have visited the Phone of the Wind. A notebook has also been placed inside for visitors to leave written messages for their loved ones. It’s not only a cathartic release for the individual. It’s also a means of telling subsequent visitors who may have been suffering in solitude that they are not alone.
Aside from a place for the bereaved, this garden has grown into a sort of cultural hub and “healing place” (いやしの場) in Otsuchi, inspiring school trips to learn about the effects of the 3.11 disasters, the construction of a library and cafe, and even a concert series within the garden grounds. The Wind Phone has also become the subject of an NHK documentary, a children’s book, grief care books, a CD album, and an upcoming feature film. Sasaki himself recently wrote a book highlighting the history of the Phone of the Wind and current initiatives in grief care.
But the phone booth that started it all was not immune to the flow of time. The wooden booth that originally sat inside a pachinko parlor began to deteriorate in the humid ocean breeze of Sasaki’s garden, toppling over on occasion. While Sasaki was at first resigned to letting nature run its course, people across the nation took action. Volunteers who had visited the booth themselves worked to repair it temporarily, but soon a more permanent solution was needed. Donations came pouring in (near 1 million yen between private, corporate, and student organizations) for the construction of a sturdy alluminum phone booth with a concrete base in 2018. That booth still stands on that hill in Otsuchi today.
The outpouring of public support and steady flow of visitors to the Phone of the Wind speaks to the persistent need for grief support following the events of 3.11 now eight years later. As the nation continues to grapple with infrastructural recovery, so too do tens of thousands of bereaved survivors work to rebuild their lives and move towards healing. The burdens of loss, regret, and words left unspoken are heavy, but those in northeast Japan have found one way to lift that weight and carry it with the wind.
