Edition #10
From a Devastating Tragedy to a Transcending Human Uplift
There are moments in life that will forever be imprinted in your heart and spirit, may they be horrible or magnificent. But rarely can one simultaneously convey a profound transformative and empowering dimension as the devastating tragedy that happened on March 11, 2011, on Japan’s Northeast coast did for me.
I still vividly remember the terrible scene, in an almost frame-by-frame silent movie reel, a nightmare-like souvenir I know will keep on being played over and over in my soul for the rest of my life, a disaster that would end up becoming a pivotal point in the way I would see hope and faith in the midst of unbearable mourning grief.
Toronto, March 11, 1am
We had just arrived in our hotel in Toronto after the first of 3 concerts we were scheduled to play over the course of the weekend during the Canadian Music Week. The atmosphere was cheerful and everyone was pretty upbeat. The Canadian Music Week had invited my band, Your Favorite Enemies, as a featured artist and we had a whole get-together weekend organized for the occasion. We had people from all over the world joining us, we were about to release the deluxe edition of “Love Is A Promise Whispering Goodbye” internationally, we had an Asian tour coming up, and had all sorts of other incredible news to share. After years of inner struggles, it felt like we finally had our issues settled and were able to sustainably focus on the band’s uprising trajectory for the first time in a long time. And it was paying off! We had the necessary momentum to take off and that weekend was the starting point to that very positive motion! It was imperative for us to commune that joyful new season with our loved ones.
We were probably 15 in a 3-room hotel suite. We were totally broke but had managed to collect points to exchange for a hotel stay – just barely enough to rent what we needed. We figured that since the hotel was a large one, the 15 of us (way over capacity) wouldn’t have any problem coming in and out yet staying unnoticed by the hotel lobby staff. Everyone did manage to sneak in. It took forever to set up, but we had a place to stay for the few days we were in Toronto. The initial plan was that 2 of us would go down to the lobby in the morning, have breakfast, and use what was there to make sandwiches for the others. The alternative? It just had to work. We didn’t have one. But we were used to it, and we were laughing it off as we were sharing all sorts of tour stories while looking over the details for that weekend in Toronto. It was all fun and games until we turned the TV on and watched the news. Party was over. Immediately.
I remember Jeff getting into the room only to find me, livid and crying, in front of the images that were playing non-stop, repeating the disaster in an endless loop. Jeff sat beside me, silent. We were stunned. We couldn’t believe it. We were both paralyzed. Until I heard Momoka and Kosho, 2 of our friends from Japan, about to get into the room. I stood up, dried my tears, and walked towards them. Needless to say, they were confused by the change in my attitude. I took them both into another section of the suite, and I tried to calmly explain what was going on, without losing my shit myself. Thinking back, I don’t think they understood what I was talking about…. I asked them to come with me and went back to the room where the TV was.
Kosho fell to his knees, while Momoka fell in my arms. At that point, the 15 of us were in the room, and we all were in a state of shock, crying and terrified by every new video and testimony that was broadcasted. We were particularly concerned as several friends from Japan were set to arrive in only a few hours. They were unaware of the ongoing horror. Jeff and I discussed it… Should we go to the airport and wait for our friends? Should we use our social media platforms to connect people together? Should we cancel the whole weekend altogether? Everything was on the table and we couldn’t care less about the band and whatever was set and organized around it. It was about family. So we got online to chat with our friends right away. No one slept that night.
We converged at the Starbucks at 6 am, exchanged the gift cards my mom had given me for coffees and spent most of the day there. We let our friends use our band’s MySpace account to relay information and transmit messages between people. The concert cancellation was already a given for Jeff and me. Until we realized that everyone kept on asking us to play for Japan’s hope that night. How could we do that? We were all in some emotional disarray and it felt so inappropriate to go on stage at that point. Until Kosho and Momoka insisted that we do it and explained why it was so important for everyone that our weekend would happen. We agreed, but I was totally against that perspective. I didn’t want to be disrespectful, I was devastated by what was happening, and I believed I would be way more helpful to keep on connecting people than sing and jump that night… But it looks like I was wrong.
Jeff and I talked with the multi-media crew that came for the weekend. We asked them if it was possible to broadcast the concert on our MySpace page as we had done in the past. We didn’t have the proper equipment to do so until one of our friends took her credit card and said she would pay for whatever may be necessary to make it happen. The team started to go from music renting places to another, trying to find what we needed in the middle of a full-blown music festival happening all over the city. It was like trying to find a needle in the haystack, but they finally did, thanks to a last minute cancellation. So we had the gear. Now it was a matter of setting everything up. We had 2 gigs that night, one at 9 pm and the other one at 2 am. We rushed to the first place to try and make it happen.
My friend Tomoaki had a special gift for me, it was a big Japanese flag, which I decided to tie to my microphone stand, where it remains to this day with the French one I added following the Bataclan’s barbaric event. So we played the concert, broadcasted it live, I addressed my indefectible support and empathy, and we kept the weekend going as I promised. And even if I didn’t understand at first, it was indeed important for them, as I would learn later that it was a statement of life against the spirit of death and hopelessness that had the power to do far worse than what we were witnessing. Without that hope, a friend told me, we wouldn’t have the faith nor the courage to stand into the storm, to look for survivors, to protect the weak, to comfort those who have lost more than they believed they had, nor have the resilience to mourn and rebuild. I will never forget that conversation, as it had a tremendous impact on me.
Back in Montreal, I started working on the “HOPE” project with friends. The concept was to send postcards to schools in our area, so the children could write encouraging messages or draw something that would represent hope to them. These postcards would later be relayed to the Japanese kids who had been directly affected by the tsunami. We had partnered with the Red Cross to deliver them. We had amassed more than 50,000 postcards.
As our Asian tour approached, we managed to make a change in our schedule and stay a little longer so that we would be able to visit a shelter in Minami-Sanriku, one of the most affected areas. We refused absolutely any medias coverage of the event, not wanting to turn this into a Canadian social statement about how empathetic our government was towards Japan. Government which told us not to go, and that if we went anyway and that something bad was to happen, we were on our own. So much for empathy…
The breaking point, for me, came when we passed the ruins we had seen on TV the first time the images were broadcasted. We were all in the taxi that was driving us as far as the road could take us. Kosho, who was with us, kept thanking us. It was a very poignant moment for all of us. And nobody felt like that deserved any thanks for answering what our hearts had inspired us to do – visit that shelter where we had sent the HOPE postcards. It was only a few weeks after the disaster, but already, they were begging not to be forgotten. How heartbreaking is that? How moving and touching a message is this? We felt compelled to answer…
Once on-site, we were able to sit down with the people, to share with them, to hug, to cry, to sympathize, and to receive the most incredible gift there was: the incarnation of what “hope” truly means, of what “faith” truly implies, of what “resilience” truly involves. I could go on and on… It was so humanely rich. And before we left, an elderly woman approached me, with her magnificent eyes staring right into mine, and she said: “I heard you are a writer, so please, keep on writing about us, to encourage others who might face tribulations and devastation in their lives. Living is the only way we can honor those we have lost. But love and joy are the only gifts that can defeat hopelessness and desperation.” I promised. She smiled.
Therefore, every year, on that very day, I take a moment to remember those we have lost and reflect on how I can not only keep my promise but on how much further I am willing to go to do so. What I’ve learned through it all is that no matter how horrible and terrible a tragedy might be, the greatest disaster of all will always remain someone’s loss of hope. So again, if you feel like you’re losing your balance, don’t hesitate to reach out… You’ll be welcome!!!
There’s hope in dark days… always!!!
Your brother and friend,
– Alex