Samurai Stoicism
Stoicism is a much-valued attribute in Japan, where many regard it as a carryover from the days of feudal samurai, whose code of Bushido discouraged them from expressing great emotion.
My experience in decades of living here is that many people have great perseverance, and the ability of so many to cope with natural and other disasters has filled me with empathy and admiration.
But I had always been dismissive of the claims of stoicism, citing the exaggerated use of bandages, crutches and other medical paraphernalia for apparently minor injuries, or the outrageous lengths people go to coping with the rain, including umbrellas, rain shoes and heavy duty wet-weather gear.
As these displays were far more common than those bearing and overcoming adversity, I tended to brush off the claims of samurai stoicism in much the same way as I regard the similarly stereotypical view of the little Aussie battler as bullshit.
But boy did I get proven wrong last weekend.
I was part of a residents’ volunteer group cleaning the estate where we live. We were using a woodchipper to cut up branches and leaves to make a huge pile of compost. I had been feeding the chipper for a couple of hours until we took a break. It was pretty easy work, just stuffing foliage into the machine, which chopped it up. Occasionally, it would stagger if I tried to shove too much in, so I would need to withdraw a branch or some leaves to allow the machine’s blades to work unfettered.
The machine was fairly loud and I would sometimes see a guy wearing soundproofing earmuffs looking at me working and guessed he probably wanted to do what I was doing. He remarked a couple of times about the noise of the machine. Being the youngest of the group and feeling a bit guilty for not having taken on a more physically demanding role that I could probably handle better than some of the others doing that work, I silently moved aside to allow the guy in earmuffs to take over the task of feeding the woodchipper and joined those gathering the detritus to shove into it.
Things proceeded normally until what had been a huge pile of foliage about 1.5 meters high and stacked for 20-30 meters was almost gone. We worked smoothly as a team, passing bundles along a relay line to the woodchipper, which ground the vegetation and spewed it into a pit. I would sometimes have to hold my bundle if the chipper wasn’t grinding smoothly. I thought nothing of this until the chipper stopped and the bloke in the earmuffs began fiddling with it.
“Call an ambulance.”
The guy in the earmuffs had spoken nonchalantly to the woman organizing our group. He was so collected, I wondered why. It took a couple of minutes to dawn on me and the rest of the group what had happened. Trying to unblock the woodchipper, the bloke had gotten his hand caught in the blades and was unable to free it. I didn’t realize how bad it was until we removed the protective cover of the machine and freed his hand. Or what was left of it. The bloke never uttered a word. I would have been screaming in agony, and almost was, just at the sight of his mangled paw.
Paramedics, police officers, doctors and firefighters came and carried the bloke away. I don’t know how he is, or the prognosis. But he was one tough, stoic motherfucker. And I am praying that he makes as quick and complete a recovery as possible.
