Difference 3.11
震災から一ヶ月経った4月、はじめて被災地へ行った。釜石市の高台で、私はカメラを取り出すこともできないまま眼下に拡がる町をみつめていた。そこで地元出身の方から「となりの大槌町はもっとひどい。広島に落ちた原爆が落ちたみたいだよ」という話を聞いた。広島出身の私はその表現に驚き、大槌町へ向かった。
車の窓ごしから見た町の印象は、確かに写真で見たことのある被爆直後の広島に似ていた。県道から海側へ、JR大槌駅のあった周辺を一人で歩いた。一面に茶褐色のがれきが拡がり、復旧用の道路が数本、白く交差していた。吉里吉里へ抜ける大槌橋から見ると、遮るものが無くなって、町を囲む山並みだけがくっきりと見渡せた。
冷たい海風が吹いて、肌寒い。砂塵が舞って目を開けていられない。焼け焦げた匂いと魚が腐ったような匂いが鼻をつく。折れ曲がったトタンが音をたてて転がっていく。骨組みが剥き出しになったビルの残骸がぶら下がったまま揺れている。よく見ると、がれきの間に行方不明者を捜索する人の姿がある。大槌町で見た光景は、3月11日以降、テレビやインターネットで繰り返し見てきた被災地の写真や映像の印象とも違っていた。いままで写真を撮ってきて、見たように写ったことは一度もない。もちろん、それを望んでもいない。歩いている間、たくさんのイメージが頭の中に浮かんでは消えていった。私はここで、はじめてシャッターを切った。
大槌町を撮影した後、津波の痕が生々しい三陸沿岸をゆっくりと南下していき、さらに、目に見えない原発の災禍に見舞われた阿武隈山地へと撮影地を拡げていった。あの釜石の高台で聞いた言葉の直接的な響きが、いまもずっと身体の奥に残っている。
*笹岡啓子「ステートメント Difference 3.11」、『Remembrance 3.11』株式会社ニコン ニコンサロン事務局、2013年、pp.17-28
It was one month after the earthquake in March 2011, I went to the disaster area for the first time. Standing on high ground in Kamaishi City, I looked out at the town extending below, unable even to take out my camera. ‘Ōtsuchi, the next town over, is even worse,’ said a local person who was standing nearby. ‘It looks like the atomic bomb that fell on Hiroshima was dropped there.’ As someone from Hiroshima, I was taken aback by this observation and decided to head to Ōtsuchi.
My impression of the town as I surveyed it through the car windshield was that it did in fact resemble the Hiroshima in the aftermath of the bomb that I had seen in photographs. I walked alone from the prefectural road to the seaside, where the JR Ōtsuchi Station used to be. Spread on one side was dark reddish-brown rubble and a few white restorative roads intersecting each other. From the Ōtsuchi bridge which passes through to Kirikiri town, no obstructions remained and only the mountain range that surrounds town could be seen with clarity.
The cold sea breeze blows and it is chilly. Because of the dust clouds I am unable to keep my eyes open. The burnt smell and smell of decayed fish sting my nose. A bent sheet of iron makes noise as it rolls by. Remnants of a building where the framework was exposed are hanging and swinging. Looking closely, there is a figure of a person searching for missing people among the wreckage. The sight I encountered at Ōtsuchi also differed from the impressions I had formed in seeing photographs and footage of the Tōhoku disaster areas over and over again on television and online following March 11. In all my time taking photographs, never once had I captured something like what I saw there, nor would I ever have wanted to. So many images ran through my mind as I walked around. It was at this point that I took my first photograph at the site.
After I had photographed Ōtsuchi, I expanded the range of my shooting, heading slowly south toward the Sanriku Coast where the tsunami had left pronounced scars, then on to the Abukuma Highlands, an area that was experiencing the invisible effects of the nuclear disaster. The direct surprise that I felt on hearing what the person on the hill in Kamaishi said to me is something that even now has not left my body.
*Keiko Sasaoka, Statement: Difference 3.11, Remembrance 3.11, Exhibition Catalogue, Nikon Salon, 2013, pp.17-28.
Keiko Sasaoka 