THE READY ROOM: Paparazzi & Dangerous Thoughts The Eve of Dolphin Inferno
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The word coming back from Rasta’s friends in Taiji, some 80 miles and three hour’s drive to the east, was that the fishermen having been tipped off to a media onslaught of some sort, had taken down their nets and the green plastic tarps that shield the dolphin kills from prying eyes or the occasional Tokyo tourist driving by. The schizophrenic killing cove had reverted to its placid exterior.
With media attention ramping up strongly since the killings were first exposed to the world in the mid 1980s, the fishermen have become increasingly frustrated and bitter with what they consider an outside attack on their culture and livelihoods. A line of no retreat has been drawn, with the Japanese people as a whole sympathizing with the fishermen on nationalistic grounds. While most Japanese have not eaten whale since the meat shortage following WWII, and fewer still eat dolphin on a regular basis, any criticism of their culture (historically called “Dangerous Thoughts”), especially by outsiders, is considered ignorant Japan-bashing.
“No matter how viciously the environmentalists and animal-rights activists condemn us, we will not give up whaling,” wrote former Taiji mayor S. Hamanaka in an open letter to the world, “…because it would mean to us not only a significant economic loss but also the loss of our pride and unique culture of our own.”
The Japanese authorities, especially the powerful Fishery Agency, are particularly alarmed by anything that threatens their fisheries, a near-sacred tenet of “Japanese-ness” in an island nation that consumes over 30 percent of the world’s seafood.
As Rastovich wound up the briefing, he was adamant to point out that this action was not a protest, but a traditional surfers’ ceremony honoring the spirit of a fellow departed wave rider—in this case 20,000 dolphins killed each year in the waters off Japan. “What we want to achieve here in Japan is to bring awareness of this issue and if there is anything the Japanese surf community would like to do, they have our support.”
The group listened intently to Rastovich’s brief. Despite the seemingly innocuous nature of the paddle-out, Rasta and the participants are running a certain degree of personal risk. Any public ceremony or protest performed without a permit is technically a civil code violation, especially true in the case of foreigners. By now, the fishermen had convinced the city fathers and police that the town was to be over-run by a crew of marauding surfers bent on riot. Based on Rasta’s advance intelligence, there’s a good chance that the group could be met by a police blockade and turned back or arrested without ever reaching the cove.
The possibility of violence is remote, but real. The tension between animal-rights activists and the fishermen has escalated each year beyond shouting matches to shoving, blows and the occasional arrest. The local police, while polite and professional, are charged with keeping the peace and come down squarely on the side of the fishermen.
And it’s never wise to antagonize an angry fisherman wielding a sharp flensing knife. In case of a worst-case scenario, all the participants and media have signed a standard death and dismemberment liability waiver hastily adapted from an online skydiving contract.
Rastovich for his part has already planned on getting arrested if it comes to it, as does his wife Hannah, a willowy but determined beauty who plans to swim out in her custom designed mermaid tail for a bit of media-friendly guerilla theatre. A Tokyo attorney is standing by, but under Japanese law a person can be held for up to three weeks without being charged. “I’m looking forward to a long rest with no cell phones or internet,” Rastovich jokes.
The briefing over, the crowd disperses back to their rooms or dinner. The call is on to have boards in the lobby ready to go by 6:30 Saturday, morning after next. Rastovich, exhausted after three days of little sleep, nonstop interviews and juggling the logistics of getting thirty rambunctious surfers herded into vans and singing off the same choir sheet, is looking forward to a day of sleep and quiet meditation.
On the way back to the hotel he took a call from one of his Taiji operatives. Apparently one of the Taiji locals, very likely one with direct ties to the fishermen, wanted to talk with Rastovich. In person. Now.
Next: The Road to Taiji.
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