Punishment in Droneland

The news yesterday that Japanese Economy, Trade and Industry minister Banri Kaieda had threatened to punish Tokyo firefighters if they failed to comply with orders to carry out a spraying operation at the Number 2 reactor of the Fukushima Daichi plant was hardly surprising. Nor was the subsequent apology which was nothing more than a hollow face-saving measure. Behind the scenes, I'm sure, "punishment" will go on. When you sign up to be a drone, you don't dress in the Queen's clothes; a drone never even thinks to say "No, I'm not going to do that." A drone has only one purpose: to work for the good of the hive.

But what the punishment means within droneland is anybody's guess. All military-like organizations have their means: ostracism, bullying, assigning the punished the nastiest work; never again promoting them — the form of punishment is really only limited by the sadist's imagination.

I like what the late Richard Feynman had to say about disrespect for authority. He started with the simple observation that we're all human beings — every one of us has to get up in the morning, eat, shit, walk on two legs, cry wolf, etc. Just because someone's wearing a uniform or a funny hat doesn't make them inherently more magical or powerful.  There's no reason to bow to someone —whether it's the pope or five-star general — just because they're wearing a pope cone or five-star general thingies on their shoulder.

Now, I don't want to disparage the bravery and self-sacrifice and loyalty to the colony that so many workers in and around Fukushima have exhibited. But I do think it should be within anyone's free will to refuse to carry out insane commands. I'm not going to Afghanistan to kill people, so don't ask me. I'm not hosing down that reactor either no matter how many days off or how many yen you're willing to dangle in front of my nose.

Last night, at a local shipbuilding company, I was in the middle of a conversation with a student about just this topic when another student, whom I rarely see, trudged into the classroom. His face was a whitish-purple behind his white allergy mask; his hair disheveled and greasy; his uniform dirty; his hands a pink color from what looked to be a rash.

We both looked at the newcomer with a mixture of fascination and horror, asking almost simultaneously what had happened to him. Just work, he said. He had spent the afternoon inspecting paint jobs in various dark and cramped nooks of the bulkheads of a carrier. He had the blinking, dazed look of a man just released from a prison hold.

I'm sure that that man would go anywhere and do anything on that ship that his superiors ordered him. I don't doubt his loyalty or bravery or heart. But I do think he should watch the Feynman video. We need fewer foot soldiers and drones in this world, not more.

Talismen

Climbing Fanta Hill yesterday, just below the crest which opens onto a view of the reservoir, I stumbled upon a little heart-shaped zippered pouch. Like clutching the lottery ticket just before scratching off those boxes you just know will reveal your waiting millions, I had a lovely vision of a nice little bundle of ten thousand yen notes.

Instead, what greeted me was a moldering note and a precious little piece of burnished wood. I ripped off the leaf of a nearby weed, and plucked the block out.

A nice two-toned hardwood, it fit nicely in my hand, its smooth, gently beveled surface perfect for worrying.

It was a talisman, akin to a rabbit's foot or a little jade Buddha, a lucky charm to guide the bearer through the year.

I felt slightly guilty taking the thing — after all, this good luck charm could be patiently waiting here on this hillside for its owner to return. Was I unwittingly disturbing the course of events of the owner's life? Further, if the amulet had been abandoned or lost, it is, by legend here in Japan, believed to have protected its owner from some dire consequence. In that case, had it used up its powers, and was now nothing more than a nice-looking burnished piece of wood? Or had it taken on, absorbed that evil, and was now an unlucky charm?

The skeptic and the dreamer in me battle. The dreamer in me says of course things have spirit; of course we shouldn't disturb them; of course sentience runs through everything.

The skeptic in me scoffs. If that's the case, then what you're saying is that maybe the earth under Daichi was getting irritated and decided to scratch this massive nuclear zit lying on its shoulder.

The Shintoist in me says yes, that's just about right.

Whatever the case about animateness, I have the thing now, and I justify its presence in my pocket as a necessary piece of research.

Back home I introduce him to my other talisman, a rock plucked from shore of the Mekhong in Laos several years ago —

— and a bearing scrounged from god-knows-what industrial site in Providence, Rhode Island:

So here's my criteria if you're gonna be my talisman: you've gotta be smooth; you should fit snugly in my hand; you shouldn't too heavy or too light; and you must, must, must be made of an all natural material, something elemental: wood, metal, or stone.

I have a crystal that's just the right size and weight, but it has sharp edges, so is relegated to the shelf. The ball bearing is perhaps too small, he gets lost often, but always reappears at opportune times. Echosquirrel tells me that when she was packing our things to move from Oregon, the little guy just sort of popped out of nowhere and started rolling across the floor. A week later it greeted me, perched atop a care package of books and other goodies.

But all that's by the way.

Talismen, meet your new talisman friend: