Ramblings from the Wrong Side of a Lava Flow

LavaMalama

Plume from the lava flow approaching Pahoa Town

As a kid growing up on the north side of Chicago I never imagined my house might one day be in the path of a lava flow. (Lava only flowed in Saturday morning movies, and usually involved dinosaurs). Never once did I entertain the notion that I’d someday live on an active volcano; it was an undreamt future that, against all odds, somehow came true.

It happened eight years ago when my family decided to trade in the brutal Chicago winters for life in the subtropics. We up and moved to the Puna district on the Big Island of Hawaii, at the foot of the world’s most active volcano. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

When lava started flowing from the north flank of Pu’uo’o vent on June 27th of this year, I wasn’t paying much attention, nor were many other people. After all, the flow front was still well over ten miles away, plenty of time and space to sputter out.

So everyone went about their business: homes were bought and sold, progress on the new park and shopping center didn’t miss a beat. Restaurants continued serving food, stores peddled their wares, the town loiterers loitered. Life went on as it always did in lower Puna.

But the pesky flow kept coming. Weeks later it was advancing in an easterly direction with no hint of slowing down. It now had our undivided attention.

Clueless about the subtleties of our island’s topography, I rationalized: it’s clearly going east into the cracks in the rift zone; with a little luck it’ll drain into an old lava tube and come out somewhere downhill, far away from my neighborhood.

And the lesson here is, don’t believe everything you think, especially the wishful stuff. I had no idea.

Living On the Edge of a Lava Flow

For a while we were doing okay, right up until the lava overflowed from those darn cracks, spilled over onto the north slope, and started flowing in a northeasterly direction. It was now headed directly for our beloved town. And beyond Pahoa, downhill just a few more miles, is my subdivision, Hawaiian Shores.

Yikes.

ProjctdLavaFlow

Notice the location of my house, I’m living on the edge of the projected flow path

And still I was hopeful—or maybe delusional is a better word. But even in the depths of denial I couldn’t help but worry. Surely the flow doesn’t have the legs to reach Pahoa Town…does it?

Well, as of today it’s had just enough “legs” to crawl within a few miles of Pahoa. And based on the topographical information provided by county scientists, it’s now poised to roll right through the middle of town in the general direction of our Post Office. It will literally cut Pahoa in half.

For better or for worse, the flow has stalled for the past several days, but it’s slowly starting to advance again, so who knows? Talking to the folks from the county, all their plans and actions moving forward are predicated on the assumption that the flow will continue to advance and eventually cross the highway. They urged all residents to plan accordingly.

And that’s exactly what we’ve done.

Waiting for Pele

The downside to our holding pattern is how nerve-wracking uncertainty can be. And yet, we’re always being reminded that uncertainty is part of life. Intellectually we know it’s there, but it feels so good to pretend it isn’t. Slow-moving lava has a way of shoving uncertainty in your face.

And here we are–waiting for Pele.

This disaster is a strange one; so devastating and yet forgiving. It’s all happening in slow motion. On the one hand it will allow nine thousand souls to escape a fiery death in orderly fashion. But it will also leave every one of them to a future that promises only uncertainty. What we know for sure is that no matter what happens, life in lower Puna is about to change forever. Some would argue that it already has.

We’ve resigned ourselves to accepting whatever Madame Pele throws at us, which we’ve concluded isn’t so horrible. In the event that we lose our home, we take comfort in knowing we’ll live to fight another day. We also know that things could be much worse, and it makes us thankful that they aren’t.

Still, part of me wishes Madame Pele would be a little more decisive here, just so the nine thousand people in my community can move on with their lives.

But we all know that’s not how the fiery lady rolls. Until the flow actually crosses the highway, those of us who remain on the “wrong side of the flow” will continue to flounder in lava limbo.

Life Goes On

Even with all the talk of gloom-and-doom, life goes on in Puna today. The postman just delivered our mail. Folks are hauling their garbage to the dump (now the closest point to the lava flow). The electric company is servicing power lines, our favorite restaurant  is still packing in hungry crowds. Many other shops are open too. Even our loiterers seem to be sticking to their routines.

But beneath the façade of normalcy tension simmers, you can feel it. Uncertainty is in the air. People are scared. Some are desperate–they have no place to go if the lava flow cuts off access to Hilo.

The worst case scenario for lower Puna would be if the lava ever reached the ocean, a potential reality that would cut off lower Puna from its last two direct lifelines to Hilo. In other words, the main highway and both alternate routes on the east side would be covered in lava, and the twenty-five mile drive to Hilo would turn into a seventy-plus-mile trek on a very substandard road, at least a several-hour one-way commute under the best of conditions. If and when the situation ever reaches this point, you can bet there will be lots of houses in lower Puna sitting empty.

But no one knows for sure what will happen, that’s why this story is so compelling. And it’s one reason my wife and I have chosen to stay: we need to watch it unfold and share our perspective, even if it’s from the wrong side of the flow.

Stay tuned for more pictures, updates and perspectives. In the meantime, some recent pictures of Pahoa.

Kaleos

My favorite restaurant, their food rocks. Was thrilled to hear the owners say they’ll stay open “until the lava reaches our steps.”

MikesPizza

Ah Mike’s New York Pizza, an enigma. Mike and I had a rough start but I learned to like his pizza and overlook his shortcomings, lol. Mike’s not even there anymore. My wife says we should call it “Not Mike’s New York Pizza Anymore.” Need to eat there at least one more time.

BoogieWoogie

Boogie Woogie Pizza

Akebono

A true relic of the past. Based on current projections, it won’t be close to the flow.

Luquins

Luquin’s, our Mexican restaurant

PelesKitchen

Pele’s Kitchen, a great place for breakfast

PahoaPainting

Classic Pahoa!

Sukhothai

(Blogger’s Note: Through all the sadness and human tragedy associated with this flow, I am completely captivated by this story and can’t stop watching. The flow is creating genuine human drama in our community; a contrived reality show couldn’t be more compelling. We’ll cover the ripple effect of the flow in future posts, with a focus on the cross-cultural ramifications.)

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014

Aloha in the Aftermath of Iselle

IMG_2694

The Puna district on the East side of Hawaii Island took a direct hit from Tropical Storm Iselle on August 7th. Here’s what every other street in my neighborhood looked like.

DeadEnd

DownAlbezia2

In our case the power was out for five days. Got our internet back a couple days after that.

And we were one of the lucky ones: we were well prepared for the worst-case scenario and, thanks to the fortuitous direction of the winds, we suffered minimal damage.

Unfortunately, not so for all our neighbors. The good news is that no one died from the storm, truly amazing in light of the devastation, especially if you see what happened in Kapoho.

But even dire situations have an upside. Witnessing so many acts of kindness in our community from friends, neighbors and complete strangers has been uplifting and inspiring. For whatever reason, disasters seem to bring out the best in people. In our case, on two different days two different strangers showed up at our front gate with free ice. We didn’t need it but their kindness and selflessness made us feel wonderful. (On both occasions we humbly accepted the ice then paid it forward by sharing with our elderly Japanese neighbors.)

Our Kona friends and island neighbors also pitched in. A shout out to Hawaiian Airlines for doing their part in flying over pallets of bottled water donated by Hawaiian Isles Water Company. (Mahalo HIWC!) Another shout out to Kona’s Liz Heiman for rallying her neighbors around Puna in a time of need. Also special thanks to Mike Sato (Reptillian Tank) and friends who organized Ride the Breaks and solicited donations for Puna. And last but not least, a heartfelt mahalo to local comedian Augie T who showed up at Maku’u farmer’s market to lift people’s spirits and raise awareness for the cause.

I’d be remiss not to mention all the hardworking folks at HELCO who made things happen very quickly. I’ve never been a big fan, but have to give them their props on this one: they stepped up their game working late into the night under tough conditions, even during heavy downpours. Very impressive how quickly they restored our power, so a big mahalo from all of us.

HELCO

Thanks to lots of hardworking folks our personal situation is now stable here in Pahoa. But lots of other folks are still without water and electricity. Help from both inside and outside is still needed and much appreciated.

It will take time for Puna to recover. But our community has pulled together and we’re stronger for it. Didn’t realize just how tight-knit we could be until this happened, the proverbial blessing disguised as a disaster.

In light of the massive scale of devastation, Puna’s pace of recovery is much faster than anyone had anticipated (although admittedly the folks in remote and devastated Kapoho might beg to differ–my heart goes out to all of them).

I can only speak for myself, but the aloha around me continues to inspire. Didn’t think it was possible, but I love this place even more than I did before. So proud and thankful to be part of this community.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014

The “Cool Japan” They Don’t Show You on TV

KeniTimCrop

“Dad, your friends are so cool!” said my 13-year-old son after meeting my running buddies from Japan for the first time. He said it with genuine surprise. Hard as he tried, he just couldn’t fathom the notion that anyone “cool” would ever be friends with the likes of me.

This all happened about fifteen years ago when, after more than a decade of living in the U.S., I finally brought my family back to Japan for a visit. My kids had only heard stories from me about our former life in Japan. My stories obviously fell short in capturing the coolness of my friends.

But have to give my son his props–his assessment was spot on: my friends really are the coolest people you’ll ever meet. And on my recent trip to Japan earlier this year, I was reminded just how precious and wonderful these friendships are. Or maybe I’m just getting sentimental in my old age? But thinking back over my ten-year stint in Japan in the 80s, I was so lucky to be on the receiving end of so many kindnesses from the coolest friends a guy could ask for.

How Japan Adopted Me

I got to Japan in the first place thanks to Uncle Sam. Two and a half years later when my Navy enlistment was up, instead of going back to the US and starting civilian life like most normal Americans, I took my discharge in Japan and planted roots.

Problem was, my Navy roommate at the time was being discharged too. He had just married a lovely Japanese lady, so parting ways was in the cards anyway. My friend chose the conventional route and took his wife back to the States. (He would return to Japan five years later and never leave, so turns out his route wasn’t so conventional after all.)

Well, I was in dire straights at the time and needed to find shelter, preferably with a compatible roommate. The stars aligned one night in a bar called Bonanza, when I befriended Keni Inoue, a great guy and wonderfully talented musician who played soulful guitar and made a living doing it. When my Navy gig ended he was kind enough to let me move in with him. Soon after, Keni took me under his wing.

In all we lived together for four years and I had the time of my life. Keni’s influence will forever be tattooed on my soul. He became a big brother; he taught me that modesty was cool; he coached me to err on the side of polite speech, and encouraged me to speak “beautiful Japanese.”

He taught me to indirectly suggest rather than hit people over the head with the blunt truth. He taught me to pay attention to subtleties I’d otherwise have missed.

Here’s a true story that still makes me laugh.

When Keni and I would go out to eat together, I had a bad habit of ordering extra cheese on burgers, pizza, etc. Most Japanese folks don’t request extra condiments like that, they tend to go with the flow and accept whatever the honorable chef offers up. But not me. I was the quintessential pushy, individualistic American who wanted extra cheese damn it! And I was more than happy to pay for it.

Unfortunately I always failed to articulate the part about paying extra when I ordered. So Keni, concerned that I wasn’t communicating my intentions properly, instructed me to say this:

“Tsuika ryokin wo haraimasu node, chiizu wo takusan nosete kudasai!” (追加料金を払いますので、チーズを沢山のせてください!)

Translation: I’m happy to pay extra, so please add lots of cheese!

(Reflecting on my behavior back then, it’s painfully obvious what a bloody, clueless, insensitive American I was!)

Too many kindnesses from Keni to list here. Suffice it to say he opened up a whole new world of understanding about Japanese culture, and introduced me to so many cool folks who also became good friends.

And without Keni, it’s unlikely I’d have met my best friend and wife of thirty years. So as friends go, he was definitely a game-changer.

Real Friends, Fake English Students

So many other Japanese friends have had my back over the years. Shortly after my discharge in Japan when I was unemployed and desperate, thoughtful Japanese friends once again came to the rescue. My good friend Tatsumi Nagasu pushed free food and drinks on me at his bar for months, knowing I was struggling to make ends meet. He also made sure his Japanese patrons knew I was available to teach English to anyone who wanted to learn. (When I started school at Waseda and later ICU, he’d help me with my Japanese language homework while I ate, drank and socialized at his bar–did I mention I was having the time of my life?)

Several of Tatsumi’s patrons eventually became my students, even though (as it turned out) they really weren’t much interested in learning English. They simply took pity on the poor foreigner, and refused to let me fail. Without them, I would never have lasted long enough to get financially stable and survive. How can you not love friends like that?

And as these friendships deepened and my situation stabilized, I eventually stopped teaching them English and started drinking beer with them instead. The irony is that they ended up teaching me Japanese. Thirty five years later, we are all still friends.

So where are all these “cool friends”?

As fate would have it, you can see most of them in the three youtube clips below, all shot recently.

The first clip is a blues jam in late March of this year. The lead guitarist is none other than my ex-roommate Keni Inoue. On awesome harmonica is my ex-Navy roommate Dave Steenken. The tight rhythm section is Hideo Inoura on drums, and Takashi Onzo on bass. (These guys seriously rock.) I’m the white guy sitting in the middle, pretending to play the acoustic guitar.

The second clip was taken the same evening, Inoue Ohana making beautiful music. It’s an original by Keni, a sweet “feel-good” guitar instrumental called Sunset Surfing. If you enjoy this kind of music then check out Inoue Ohana’s facebook page, and throw ‘em a “like” if the spirit moves you.

The third clip features the other thoughtful friend mentioned above, Tatsumi Nagasu. Did I also mention he’s a talented musician? Oh yeah. Tatsumi playing live at Paradise Honpo (at a previous gathering last year), with lots of happy friends in attendance.

Enjoy.

 

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014

Intercultural Twilight Zone Hits a Milestone

JILogoHiroshige

The Intercultural Twilight Zone just hit a milestone: 100,000 hits.

Granted, lots of those hits were bogus bots, or seekers of illicit material (boy they must’ve been disappointed when they stumbled onto my anthropological ramblings without the naked pictures), or perhaps fans of the Twilight Zone series?

I didn’t set out to accumulate x number of hits when I started writing my blog in 2008. I started blogging because writing is a therapeutic outlet for me, and it’s an incredible feeling to know you’ve connected with people through words. (You know it when you get lots of hits on a given post and when people take time to comment.) It’s worth mentioning that I intended at one time to write another book, but have found blogging much more attractive. Why? Instant publishing, instant feedback, instant gratification, and I can write whatever I want.

A big mahalo to all my subscribers and to everyone who takes time to read my ramblings.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014

One Japan…Scratching the Surface

Just got an email from a lady who stumbled onto my blog. She attached a vimeo link and asked me to check it out, says she’s promoting it out of love  ;) (her boyfriend made the movie) and because “it’s really very good.”

Happy to report that love wasn’t blind on this one: I think it’s better than “very good.” Anyone interested in modern Japan will love this clip, a story told with beautiful visuals, and a soundtrack to match. Thanks for sharing Jes, and well done Davey Martin!

Shot in Osaka, Nagano, and Kyoto…Enjoy.

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/95289235″>One Japan</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/davymartin”>Davy Martin</a> on <a href=”https://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

If I Could Turn Back the Clock & Talk to My Mom Once More


MomDadOval

A philosophy professor told me years ago that the essence of culture is transmitted from generation to generation through mothers. Indeed the magnitude of a mother’s influence over her children runs deeper than any other influence imaginable.

But motherhood is so much larger than culture. Without mothers, human life grinds to a halt and our species is gone. That’s one heavy burden to bear.

And yet here we are, precisely why we celebrate the very people who shoulder the burden of humanity: our mothers.

For the record, I’m not big on commercialized “Hallmark-greeting-card days.” But I’m willing to make an exception for Mother’s Day because if anyone deserves their own day, it’s our moms. And at the very least, Mother’s Day invites reflection.

So in lieu of a greeting card here’s my reflection: Almost twenty years ago I lost my sweet, loving mother. If I could turn back the clock and talk to her once more, what would I say?

Thank you for giving me life.

Thank you for taking responsibility to care for and nurture me.

Thank you for talking to me when I was a toddler.

Thank you for singing to me.

Thank you for kindling my appreciation for and love of music.

Thank you for teaching me the cha-cha when I was four years old.

Thank you for making my transition to kindergarten an exciting adventure instead of a scary leap into the unknown. I still remember you saying over and over, “Tim, you’re such a big boy, you get to go to school, it’s going to be so much fun!” :)

Thank you for calming me as we entered kindergarten class that first day and the crazy kid in front of us threw a tantrum, knocked over the card table, and scattered tags and pins all over the floor. He’s not a big boy yet, Tim,” you whispered in my ear, “but you ARE!” And at that moment, in my 5-year-old head, I believed I was a big boy.

Thank you for continuing to encourage and build me up through all my trials and tribulations in grade school (especially that horrendous year in fifth grade with the crazy nun who made my life hell).

Thank you for putting up with my adolescent moodiness and aloofness, and continuing to love me even when I wasn’t at all lovable.

Thank you for sticking with me through my rebellious years, and for keeping me connected to my family during my darkest days.

Thank you for helping me reconcile with dad when I was convinced he didn’t care. (You were right, he did.)

Thank you for writing to and encouraging me in my transition to military life, you have no idea how much your letters and phone calls helped.

Thank you for your understanding and support while I spent ten years carving out my niche on the other side of the planet.

Thank you for being the loving, nurturing person that you were, and leaving a legacy of kindness, compassion and respect for others. Your spirit lives on in your children.

And thank you to all the good mothers out there for doing what you do. Enjoy your special day.

A final thought: how about we all try to love, appreciate and celebrate our mothers and spouses and children and siblings and friends every single day of the year, and see how that goes?

In the meantime, Happy Mother’s Day!

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014

The Joy of Gnarly Cross-Cultural Gigs and Reducing Secret Meetings

The client approached me for help. Productivity was down, tensions were high, the American staff felt disrespected, and Japanese managers were perceived by the locals as arrogant and unwilling to adapt their management style to American culture. Same old story.

This time I really did have my work cut out for me. More accurately, the client’s staff had their work cut out for them. But it was too early to break the news that outside consultants can’t solve a company’s internal problems, that my job is to help them better define their “current situation” so they can figure out for themselves how to best solve their own problems. This explanation would come soon enough. For now I would tread lightly and work on educating both sides to understand the deeper causes of their intercultural struggles.

The endgame in my workshops is to get both sides talking to each other without all the accumulated misunderstandings and accompanying emotions muddying the waters. It’s kind of like marriage counseling, just without the marriage part.

My approach is a bit unconventional but there’s a method to my madness. I spend several hours un-muddying the waters by educating American and Japanese staffs on each others’ cultures separately, then bring them together for a joint session at the end where a meaningful dialogue can unfold. It’s never easy.

At the beginning of each separate session I have participants make a list of what they like about working with the other culture, and also what drives them crazy. As you might expect, the “drives-them-crazy” lists are always longer than the “like” lists, a statement about human nature for sure. I also spend a good part of the separate sessions explaining the meanings, misunderstandings, and cultural ramifications of the listed comments. This provides badly needed context. Then in preparation for the final joint session, both lists are translated so both sides clearly understand what the other side is saying about them.

Sounds dangerous, right? That’s what I thought the first time I launched this program ten years ago. Happy to report that not once have I had to break up a fight. But it isn’t a love-fest either. It’s like incrementally turning a battleship around in the water with no single definitive turning point.

In my world, every workshop takes on a life of its own, so no paint-by-the-numbers magic. Lots of improvisation but it starts with education. Then I build on that foundation with humor, facilitated dialogue, self-reflection and structured brainstorming on improving relationships. But if I have a “go-to” technique it’s humor, a natural output of discussions that take place in the joint sessions. Indeed, cross-cultural interactions are ripe with humor, but only if you’re paying attention and seize those opportunities. Sometimes humor even happens by accident.

I once facilitated a joint session between Japanese and Americans in which the Americans had complained (as they always do) that the Japanese held “secret meetings,” implying they were intentionally withholding information from the Americans. The expression “secret meetings” took the Japanese by surprise. They simply took for granted that behind-the-scenes negotiating was how decision-making was supposed to happen.

In the course of the training the American participants learned that that these private meetings weren’t aimed at shutting out the Americans, that their Japanese counterparts in fact routinely held small private meetings off-line even in their own country when working only with fellow Japanese. This revelation went a long way in placating the American staff.

At the end of the session, after the Japanese had thoroughly reflected on comments made by American counterparts, the Japanese managers addressed the “secret meeting” complaint. Not knowing the proper English words to describe their off-line meetings, they defaulted to the “secret meeting” description. With a straight face, one of the Japanese managers faced the American audience and proclaimed in earnest, “We are so sorry. It is true that we Japanese have many ‘secret meetings.’ So our corrective action will be to reduce the number of secret meetings!”

To the Japanese presenter’s utter surprise, the Americans burst out laughing. They understood from context what he was trying to say. But try, if you will now, to imagine if context had not been provide upfront: it could have easily been a communication disaster!

The Battleship Does a U-Turn

Admittedly, this particular workshop was a tougher nut to crack than most I had administered in the past. In the initial American session the tension was palpable. It would take most of the session to get the American managers’ collective heads wrapped around the problem.

The Japanese session was a bit easier, although they were shocked to hear just how much resentment had built up with American counterparts.

Then in the final joint session the battleship did an unexpected and sudden U-turn. After hearing numerous comments from the American staff that they felt “disrespected” and “unappreciated,” the top Japanese executive present asked me to interpret. Here’s what he said:

“I suspect that I am guilty of offending you, and for that I want to offer my sincere apology. We Japanese come from a tiny-island country with no natural resources. America has kindly allowed us to build our factory here in this huge, wonderful market, and it has greatly benefitted our parent company. We are very grateful for that. So we have absolutely no intention to insult or belittle you. We will do our best moving forward to change that perception, and would like very much to work together. We are on the same team, have the same goals, and want to work together as one team.”

I could almost hear the tension escaping from the room. The Americans immediately softened, it was written all over their faces.

The rest of the session was fun, engaging and productive. Everyone left the room at the end of the day with the agreement that they would all work harder to communicate, cooperate, even socialize outside of work. They also agreed to hold similar joint sessions periodically to ensure proper follow up, and keep the lines of communication open.

Postscript

At the end of all my sessions I get a “report card” from each participant, ranking the effectiveness of the training on a scale of one to five (one being the worst, five the best). Also included is a comments section. This session yielded a 4.5 average ranking, a score to be proud of for sure. But two comments really stuck with me: in both cases, the participants said that they had low expectations coming into the training. Both said they were “very surprised” at how effective the training was, and thanked me for administering the workshop.

Nothing beats turning a battleship around in the water, turning conflict into harmony, and connecting cultures. Can’t wait for my next gnarly gig.

Copyright © Tim Sullivan 2014