1995 – Disaster
A little while ago, I listened to a talk about earthquakes. As is often the case, it was quite a shock (yes, I know, pathetic humour). The shock was that the speaker overturned yet another of the things I thought I knew. I had always believed that earthquakes occurred along ‘zones’, places where two of the huge plates on the earth’s crust are being forced against each other. Since I have lived well away from such places, I have assumed that they are of little personal relevance. Wrong! Yes, there are zones where earthquakes are frequent, but quakes can occur anywhere – even in apparently stable Canberra (geologically stable, of course, I am not making a comment about other forms of instability …). Indeed, not just one but two tiny earthquakes were recorded near the capital in September and October of 2021.
Naturally enough, I wanted to know more and discovered not only is Canberra not so stable, but it is the Australian city most at risk of devastation during an earthquake. That the nation’s capital has the highest earthquake hazard potential in Australia is the result of a major fault line running through Canberra, which extends NW from the State Circle area across Lake Burley Griffin to Belconnen. It’s the Deakin Fault. Research suggests earthquakes occurring along this fault could result in a major uplift, damming the Molonglo River. That’s almost next door to where I am living. No-one told me about this when I decided to move to Canberra, and we’ve just had those two mini quakes. I wonder if I can ask for my money back, on the grounds of inadequate disclosure by … by somebody?
It is easy to write casually about earthquakes because I’ve never been exposed to their real force (I did feel a small one in Adelaide in 1975). However, together with volcanoes, they are the reminders of the enormous energy that sits below the Earth’s crust, where molten rock circulates, always seeking an outlet. Some earthquakes are major disasters, and in recent times, one of the worst was the Great Kanto earthquake of 1 September 1923, claiming more than 100,000 lives and devastating Tokyo, the port of Yokohama, and surrounding areas. Apart from those known to have died, another 40,000 went missing and were presumed dead. The huge death toll was the result of the earthquake striking at lunchtime when people were cooking meals. Large fires started immediately, some developing into firestorms that swept across city areas. The single greatest loss of life was caused by a fire that engulfed the former Army Clothing Depot in downtown Tokyo, where about 38,000 people had taken shelter after the earthquake. A strong typhoon brought high winds to Tokyo Bay at about the same time as the earthquake. As a result, the fires spread rapidly. Over 570,000 homes were destroyed, leaving an estimated 1.9 million homeless. The damage is estimated to have exceeded US$1 billion (or about $15 billion today). There were 57 aftershocks.
On top of the disaster, Ethnic Koreans were massacred after the earthquake, the result of a false rumour that Koreans were taking advantage of the aftermath and were responsible for arson and robbery. There were even claims they were using bombs. In the confusion after the quake, mass murder of Koreans took place in Tokyo and Yokohama. Independent reports suggest as many as 6,000 to 10,000 died. Army and police personnel colluded in the vigilante killings: of the 3,000 Koreans taken into custody at an Army Cavalry Regiment base in Chiba, 10% were killed . Moreover, anyone mistakenly identified as Korean, such as Chinese, Ryukyuans, and some Japanese speakers of some regional dialects suffered the same fate. About 700 Chinese, mostly from Wenzhou were killed (you can still see a 1993 monument today, commemorating the lives that were lost in Wenzhou).
Back in the 1920s, Japanese commentators interpreted such disasters as acts of divine punishment, a rebuke to the Japanese people for their ‘self-centred, immoral, and extravagant lifestyles’. In the long run, however, the response to the disaster was to realise Japan had been given an unparalleled opportunity to rebuild Tokyo, and to rebuild Japanese values. It was a complex process. In reconstructing the city and rethinking Japanese values, the earthquake created a culture which embraced catastrophe and reconstruction, amplifying the contrasting themes of moral degeneracy and national renewal in Japan. Following the earthquake, a reconstruction plan of Tokyo with modern networks of roads, trains, and public services was developed, with parks were placed all over Tokyo as refuge spots, and public buildings were constructed with new, stricter standards to accommodate refugees. Despite the plans, the outbreak of World War II limited resources, slowed and even stopped some preparation and recovery. Nonetheless, the importance of obtaining and providing accurate information following natural disasters has been emphasized in Japan ever since the Great Kanto disaster. Earthquake preparation literature in modern Japan almost always directs citizens to carry a portable radio and use it to listen to reliable information, and not to be misled by rumours in the event of a large earthquake.
The limits of what had been achieved became apparent on the morning of January 17, 1995, when an earthquake struck Hanshin, in the southern part of the Hyōgo Prefecture. The epicentre for the earthquake was on the northern end of Awaji island, about 20 kms away from Kobe. 6,434 people lost their lives; about 4,600 of them were from Kobe. It was Japan’s second most deadly earthquake in the 20th century, and the first time that an earthquake in Japan was officially measured at the highest level of seismic intensity, Level 7 on the scale. Damage was widespread and severe. Structures irreparably damaged by the quake included nearly 400,000 buildings, numerous elevated road and rail bridges, and 120 of the 150 quays at Kobe port. Once again, fires were a major issue, with 300 fires raging over large portions of the city. Water, electricity and gas supplies were disrupted, and many residents feared returning home because of aftershocks that lasted several days. Among the television reports, one of the lasting images for me was the sight of many elderly Japanese sitting by the roadside, too frightened to move or act, patiently but passively waiting for help.
I suppose it is unnecessary to point out that earthquakes will always occur; what is important is what is learnt and how that learning is used. The Hanshin Earthquake exposed several building issues. One in five of the buildings in the worst-hit areas were destroyed, and a similar percentage of offices in Kobe’s central business district needed demolition, together with over half of the houses rendered unfit for occupancy. However, high rise buildings constructed using the 1981 building code suffered little, even though a few did fail. Most of the older traditional private homes had heavy tiled roofs to protect against typhoons. These weighed as much as two tons, and with supports little more than flimsy wooden frames many collapsed. When newer homes were built, they had reinforced walls and lighter roofs to avoid this risk, but, of course, this would leave them more susceptible to typhoons.
After the earthquake, the extensive damage to highways and subways was a shock. Most Japanese believed they were safe, using steel-reinforced concrete. However, those that were damaged were constructed before the 1960s codes were introduced, and even these 1960s regulations were later found to be inadequate. Each subsequent improvement in standards saw less damage from the earthquake, but the new standards were for new structures only. The lack of damage to the newly completed artificial island for Osaka’s Kansai Airport was striking. The epicentre was about 20 km away from the airport, which had been opened just a few months before. Despite its proximity, it escaped unscathed, mostly due to the use of sliding joints. Even the glass in the terminal windows remained intact. It was a dramatic illustration of the value of construction methods using the latest standards.
If there is one clear message in this, it has to do with using what is learnt from disasters. The common approach is to revise standards for the future, but often not enough attention is given to going back and revising what was already in place. In some cases, it can be worse than that. One of the practices I used to emphasise in working with emergency management staff was ‘potential problem analysis’. The example I used on one course has been on my mind recently. In that course, I created a pandemic scenario, and we simulated what Australia would need to do to contain the spread of a dangerous virus while efforts were being undertaken to find a cure. As a result, heads of fire, ambulance and police agencies developed and refined comprehensive response plans based on their experience. Years later I learnt the Commonwealth Government cut funds for many of the plans that were developed over the next few years: preparedness was allowed to decline – just in time for COVID-19!
The sheer size of the Hanshin earthquake caused a major decline in Japanese stock markets, with the Nikkei plunging the day after the quake. However, this wasn’t just a domestic matter. Over in Singapore, a futures trader at Barings Bank, Nick Leeson, had been making bets on Japanese and Singaporean derivatives. He was convinced their value was about to change. After he’d lost out on a series of unsuccessful options, Leeson tried to recoup all his losses with one final placement in the market. The plunge in the Nikkei meant this final bet incurred irretrievable losses, which became the immediate cause for the collapse Barings Bank unable to meet the costs of his unsuccessfully speculating vast sums on those Japanese and Singaporean derivatives. Not all traders make millions, they can lose them too!
The Hanshin Earthquake saw volunteers arrive from all over Japan in Kobe. For many non-Japanese this wasn’t surprising, but in a country where the government was expected to deal with disasters, it is generally regarded as a turning point in the emergence of volunteerism as a major form of civic engagement. In December 1995, the government declared January 17 a national ‘Disaster Prevention and Volunteerism Day’, and the week from January 15 to 21 a national ‘Disaster Prevention and Volunteerism Week’, with lectures, seminars, and other events designed to encourage voluntary disaster preparedness and relief efforts. At the same time, the Hanshin Earthquake was a major wake-up call for Japanese disaster prevention authorities. New measures to absorb shocks in buildings and new building codes with retrospective requirements were put in place. Again, while not surprising to outsiders this was when the authorities established a centralised command base for fire responses in major disasters, rather than the confusing patchwork of local fire departments trying to work together. Japan now has a network of special disaster prevention routes and many cities have built earthquake-proof shelters in public parks, fitted out with emergency supplies.
There will always be disasters. You might recall 1995 was the year in which members of the Japanese cult Aum Shinrikyo release sarin gas on three lines of the Tokyo subway, killing 13 people and injuring over 1,000. Domestic and international terrorism is an ongoing issue, and while monitoring of potential threats is increasingly sophisticated, there will always be an unnoticed disgruntled individual who suddenly decides to act. 1995 was the year Timothy McVeigh, a Gulf War veteran sought revenge against the federal government for the 1993 Waco siege. He hoped to inspire a revolution against the federal government, and killed 168 people, 19 of whom were children, and injured more than 680 others, destroying one third of the building and damaged 300 others in the town. In court he defended the bombing as a legitimate tactic against what he saw as a tyrannical government.
When disasters are the results of human actions by people who are mad, bad or dangerous, we want an explanation: why did they act? When we turn to natural disasters, again we want answers. However, these are always less satisfactory, as there is no human motivation to be uncovered. Scientists can point to stressed tectonic plates or small rock fissures slowly expanding under pressure. Those scientific explanations are always after the event, and because they are impersonal, they remain inadequate. We want a better story.
One way to tell a better story is to make the events personal. For example, Pele is the Hawaiian Goddess of volcanoes. As the Hawaiian legends tell it, Pele has frequent moments of anger, which can bring about eruptions. She could cause earthquakes by stamping her feet for volcanic eruptions and releasing fiery lava by digging with her Pa’oa, her magic stick. Long strands of volcanic glass have been called Pele’s hair. Many of her stories explain some of the odd but beautiful structures that can be seen in Hawaii. For instance, how did a series of rocks that look like tree trunks appear? “Pele is a skilled rider of the holua, a wooden sled that slides down steep stone ramps. Papalauahi and other chiefs challenged Pele to see who was the best holua rider. Papalauahi proved by far to be the most skilled. Pele lost her temper. She produced a great flood of lava which overran many of the chiefs and onlookers and they became stone pillars.” No wonder Pele is treated with respect!
You won’t be surprised to learn there are many myths about volcanoes. One from the Philippines concerns the Mayon volcanic cone in Bicol, which the locals claim has the world’s most perfect cone-shaped crater. How did this come to be? The story about Mayon comprises three epics with three fierce warriors battling evil mystical creatures attempting to seize their lands. The first warrior, Batlog, had accidentally stumbled upon a vast area rich with vegetation and forest because of its fertile soil. He fell in love with the area and decided to settle there, moving his people to this new land which he named Ibalon. Batlog’s kingdom prospered in Ibalon, but then evil mystical creatures attacked to grab the land. First a giant man-eating wild boar ravaged the country, destroying crops and killing people, but, with difficulty, Batlog wrestled the giant wild boar to death. Years later huge wild water buffalos or carabaos, winged sharks, and giant crocodiles lined up to attack Ibalon. Batlog kept fighting, but eventually old age began to catch up with him.
Then Handiong came to rescue old Batlog. He proved a violent warrior, defeating the huge creatures and Ibalon enjoyed many more years of peace and prosperity under Handiong’s leadership. But a mere mortal, Handiong soon grew old. A new batch of rampaging creatures appeared, once again wreaking havoc on Ibalon. Now a third warrior, Bantong, came to Handiong’s rescue, wiping out all the ‘halimaws’, the evil creatures, and this time, a volcano with a perfect cone appeared on the scene, symbolic of the heroic exploits of the chieftains and a perpetual guardian over the vast land of Ibalon, now known as Bicol. This myth is said to remind us that humans are mortal, and no matter their achievements, they will someday leave the scene of greatness and pass away. But monuments and symbols will ensure they are remembered by posterity, especially the heroism of the Bicolanos.
Perhaps Pele, Batlog, Handiong and Bantong are the answer. Forget about random events, circulating magma and similar explanations: so unpredictable! Much better to think about major disasters as the result of personal characteristics, the result of heroism or anger. If I want to sleep well tonight, the best way to avoid an earthquake is … to be nice to everyone. Or, if that is looking inadequate, I could call up Bantong and ask for his help. I’d be happy to thank him by having a small but perfect volcano in my back yard. Yes, I am joking!
