The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. ~Attributed to James A. Garfield
It is error alone which needs the support of government. Truth can stand by itself. ~Thomas Jefferson, Notes on Virginia
My phone rang late yesterday afternoon. A friend was calling around for volunteers to make and deliver finger food to the young Navy guys who've been working almost non-stop for the past 24 hours to book "voluntary evacuees" on airplanes. I was the third person she called, but the first to answer the ringing telephone. Whoever asked her to muster volunteer cooks -- and I'm pretty sure I know who instigated the errand of mercy -- had specifically asked that this request not be circulated via facebook. What a shame.
I pondered that "Please do not post this on facebook" directive while frying up the lumpia I found tucked in the back of my freezer. This was my first stab at making lumpia. It took longer than I expected to achieve a golden brown color approximating the package illustration. I had a lot of time to think. If you're looking for a human interest post, maybe you should stop now and check back later today.
Authority changes hands fairly regularly in the Navy. While it might not have been true yesterday and it may no longer be true tomorrow, right now the people who happen to hold positions of authority here seem fearful of what they refer to as "social media" and I know as "facebook". These leaders have been quick to label facebook as "evil" and blamed facebook users for inciting widespread panic by sharing misinformation; they have been slow to see the potential benefits of using facebook to transmit accurate information.
What was the sticking point? Did they simply have no "official information" to share? Were they just unwilling to acknowledge the limits of their authority?
In the absence of "official information", they circulated "worst-case scenarios" through the Ombudsmen. An Ombudsman is a Navy spouse who volunteers to serve as the primary communication conduit between a Commanding Officer and the families of sailors who serve under that Commanding Officer. This is not a paid position. There are many ombudsmen here because there are many commands. Each ship has its own Commanding Officer and there are also many shore commands, like the hospital, ship repair, legal services, and facilities. Those are called tenant commands. The base command, called CFAY, is the landlord and has its own ombudsman.
I have the utmost respect for Ombudsmen and am amazed that people, primarily women, actually volunteer for this mostly thankless job. "Mostly" here is in deference to the dinner held in their honor every September and the fried chicken available in the back of the room during their obligatory 10-hour training session. Like many current and former CO spouses, I am a graduate of Ombudsman Basic Training and I've provided some version of that fried chicken dinner for subsequent classes.
In the aftermath of the earthquake/tsunami, the base leaders have met with the Ombudsmen at least daily and often more frequently. Imagine these women trying to find babysitters on short notice while their phones are ringing off the hook and their e-mail boxes are overflowing with questions from 23-year old semi-hysterical mothers of infants and toddlers. Then they dash off to the meeting, ask a lot of "what-if" questions, get a lot of "perhaps this, perhaps that" non-answers
but nothing in writing, and are sent home to write up a summary of the discussion and distribute it to the families within their command.
If there are twenty Ombudsmen, there are twenty slightly different summaries. This stands to reason. The summaries are e-mailed to the families. Sally in apt. 1 receives the USS George Washington summary, Mary in apt. 2 gets the summary from the hospital ombudsman, and Jill in apt. 3 sees the summary from the submarine ombudsman. Do you see where I'm going with this?
In the absence of "official information", neighbors and friends share those slightly different summaries. People start getting confused. They want clarification and the quickest way they know how to get it is to log into facebook. Quick is important because they have two or three children underfoot. They have two or three children underfoot because the school principals understood those "perhaps this, perhaps that" non-answers as Gospel Truth and cancelled school.
At a hastily-convened "town hall" meeting last Monday, the base commander blamed the Ombudsmen for spreading misinformation. I had already left the meeting at that point (to help paint the stage set for the now-postponed production of Steel Magnolias), but I understand he was taken to task by one of the more senior Ombudsmen. Bravo for her.
This all might have been averted if only someone on the CFAY staff, someone who actually gets paid to communicate say, had been tasked with preparing a written summary of each meeting that could have been distributed as a unified message by all the Ombudsmen via e-mail and facebook.
I, for one, would have appreciated seeing a refreshingly honest introductory statement, along the lines of:
Please remain calm. We are doing everything in our power to assure your safety and well-being. Unfortunately, and contrary to popular opinion, no Naval officer assigned to Japan has been delegated the budgetary authority to pay for the departure and subsequent return of those of you who no longer wish to be in Japan. Please do not be overly concerned that our own spouses have departed the base. They do not know anything that you don't know. We have simply asked them to leave in order that we can focus on your needs without the distraction of our own families.
The person I thought was responsible for instigating the errand of mercy posted something interesting on facebook late last night. She thanked two ladies for delivering cookies to those hardworking young sailors. I guess she didn't know about the lumpia. I guess "Please do not post this on facebook" did not apply to herself.
I am darn certain those kids would have received more food had I elected to disregard her directive.
Excuse me while I figure out how you "un-friend" someone.
Sue was not my only friend on the tour bus. Erin, whose husband is on the Seventh Fleet staff and currently sailing the ocean blue with the Ancient Mariner, brought her three boys: studious Ethan, mischievous Matthew, and - my special friend - the irrepressible Seth who was plotting his disappearing act when this picture was snapped. You might recall that Sue's husband, an emergency physician, was sent to Afghanistan in January and will not be returning to Japan until October. What an honor it was for me to spend a Sunday in the presence of these inspiring young Navy wives.
Why does this statue look so familiar? Gadzooks, it's Nichiren, the radical Thirteenth Century Buddhist saint who died in that place in Ikegami where the mysterious old lady kidnapped the Explorers just a few weeks ago. Kuon-ji, as it turns out, is the head temple of the sect Nichiren established, Nichiren Shu, and the place where he asked to be buried. I think I might prefer to be stalked by Van Morrison's moon shadow than the ghost of a radical Buddhist monk.
This is a statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, regarded by Nichiren as the Eternal Buddha as preached in the 16th chapter of the Lotus Sutra. Which, I presume, explains the lotus on which this Buddha is perched.
After inhaling some incense to purify our thoughts (note lotus blossom beneath incense burner), we rode the tram back down to the main temple where we flagged down a passing monk who was surprisingly amenable to having his picture taken.
This weeping cherry tree is over 100 years old, hence those timbers supporting its limbs.
We spent an hour or so wandering around the temple grounds, admiring the splendid buildings and lovely cherry blossoms. Since my buddy Seth decided to wander further afield than the rest of us, our fellow pilgrims were treated to the sight and sounds of a six-foot tall frantic American mother racing back and forth across the plaza, which is about the length of three football fields. This is the point when I checked out those 287 stone steps, saw they were as steep as a Grand Canyon cliff, and prayed (to St. Nichiren, of course) that Seth had disappeared in the opposite direction so I wouldn't have to rappel down to fetch him. My prayers were answered.
Our next stop was the temple town for shopping, which I eschewed, and festival food, which I embraced. On offer was sakura (cherry) ice cream, bananas and strawberries dipped in chocolate (above), and footlong hot dogs (below) plus a bunch of other stuff that did not stand a chance of passing between my lips although I was more than happy to egg on a young sailor sucking up his courage to taste something exotic before he moves back to the States in a few weeks.
A bun would have been a welcome addition in terms of soaking up residual hot sake.
Leaving Mt. Minobu behind, our bus took us to Katsunuma where we toured the Shirayuri Winery and sampled L'Orient wines. One tiny sip of cherry blossom wine later, I was elbow to elbow with Ethan, Matthew, and Seth at the grape juice station, comparing the virtues of white grape juice vice purple.
