Capers With Carroll

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.

There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: 'He has risen from the dead...'"

(Matthew 28:1-7a NIV)

Oh happy day! Jesus, the Christ, has shattered the gates of Hell.

Even as Sichuan suffers from a 6.4 aftershock to the 7.9 May 12 quake, a 5.5 quake has killed eleven and injured over 4,000 in Colombia. Compared to the magnitude of the Chinese quake, the 5,000,000 homeless, and a death toll that may reach 80,000; or even compared to the aftershock, which destroyed another 270,000 homes; this Colombian quake may seem inconsequential. Yet the size of a quake is academic when the boulders rushing down a hillside are aimed at you. Some of the dead in yesterday's quake were swept from the highway pictured below by landslides. I took these photos in 1989, very near the epicenter of the new quake. The taxi I was riding from Bogota to Villavicencio was stopped while crews worked to clear a rock slide from the highway. That may not look like a major highway, but it carries all the traffic between the nation's hub and the eastern llanos.

I had about two hours to study the topography. Farmers had tiny plots of cassava or corn, planted on hillsides that showed the scars of previous landslides. They built brick and cement houses with corrugated Eternit (a composite of asbestos and concrete) roofs to shed the torrents of rain that fell there.Even when the earth sits still, just the rain has the power to bring down great portions of these hillsides. It is hard to even imagine those mountains in a 5.5, or a 6.4, or a 7.9. To the rescue teams, the numbers make a difference, but to the people living downhill, it is all academic.

This picture merges the images from two paintings I have in my living room. I am very fond of Chinese mountain paintings. Or perhaps they are river paintings. Yet before I went to China, I took them to be highly stylized renditions of the landscape. After all, I have divided much of my life between the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California, the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, the Andes of Colombia, and the Alps of Switzerland. I thought I knew mountains, and the rivers that run through them.

But as rescue teams continue to pull survivors out of rubble nearly a hundred-twenty hours after the first quake (and while aftershocks continue to rain down more rubble), and while teams rush to inspect the hundreds of at-risk dams in the quake area, I have an image in my mind of the photograph I didn’t manage to take. Our train from Kunming was racing toward Zhaotong amidst dramatically eroded limestone on our left, when suddenly on the right, a two-second break in the embankment revealed a straight drop of thousands of feet into a great valley, cut by a slender little river. The far side of the valley was nearly as steep, and dotted with giant boulders.

I think of the houses at the bottom of that valley, and a 7.9 earthquake.

China’s limestone provides some of our planet’s most dramatic scenery, cut away by water, shoved at precarious angles by earthquakes, and turned green by ample rains.
At Jin Dao Gorge, in the rural hills of Chongqing Municipality, we hiked several miles between cliffs that were sometimes so close together a person could touch both sides at the same time. Add to that scene the river rushing beneath us. In the quake area, the rubble of collapsing hillsides has plugged similar gorges, creating lakes with the potential to rupture the impromptu dams, flooding hundreds of already suffering people in their paths.

In China, deaths by flooding and mudslides happen almost every year. Earthquakes that kill in the thousands happen several times each century. But the Chinese have responded to those conditions with a remarkable resilience. One of the things I noticed most during my time in China was the degree to which individual people had thrown themselves behind the national goals set forth by the leadership. Where in the United States we are often a nation of individuals, each pulling in our own direction, my impression of the Chinese was a billion and some people working as a team.

That’s a pretty impressive quality, when their stated goal is to develop the world’s strongest economy. Amidst the tragedy of all the fallen schools, in some of those very remote mountains, one of the things I will guess is that a high percentage of those children were studying English each day, because fluency in English (and several other of the world’s languages) is a national goal, as a stepping stone to building their economy. Every English-speaking traveler to China comes back to tell of being surrounded by young children who want to (or their parents want them to) practice their English. For example, that is how I met this cutie, at a butterfly park near Dali:
My friends in China continue to tell me they are safe, and that their families are safe. I am still waiting to hear from Wang Mu, a resident of Chengdu with whom I’ve carried on occasional correspondence since meeting at a tourist stop. (He wanted to practice his English.)

Eunice, my former student, reported that at the time of the quake, her class at the Sichuan International Studies University (SISU), in Chongqing, was lining up for their senior picture. It is a language-study university. The quake disrupted them for about an hour, but then they took the picture.To me, this picture demonstrates both resilience and teamwork. I compare it to my own country, and wonder how many groups of students here are studying Chinese, or how often visitors from China are mobbed by school children wanting to practice their Mandarin. We are a nation with an earthquake beneath our feet, waiting to happen, and when it hits, I am afraid we won’t have the languages to address it, whether it be Chinese, Portuguese, or Punjabi. China is hurting right now, and I hurt with them. There are 5,000,000 personal tragedies (just the number of homeless). But the quake is only going to disrupt them for a short time. They are like a stream rushing down a narrow gorge, all the molecules headed in the same direction, cutting away at every impediment. Something I’ve learned about mountains: It is often the interplay of earthquakes and rivers that give them their character.

(I would like to credit the photographer for the SISU class picture, if someone can send me the name.)

So soon after I finished my series on the great earthquakes of my life, one of the biggest quakes of our lifetimes hit China. Its epicenter was something like 200 miles from where I spent the summer teaching English four years ago (South West China Normal University), and perhaps 300 miles from the quake I described here. The 7.9 quake that struck yesterday near Chengdu is estimated to have killed over 12,000. Officials fear some 18,000 people may be buried under debris. In some areas, 80% of the buildings have been destroyed.

I quickly wrote to the students I am in contact with, and have now heard back from five. I quote them using the English names we used in class.

Solomon, a graduate student in art, was on a class field trip to Luodai, an ancient section of Chengdu. He writes, “I was right in the Chengdu yesterday seeing about the ancient town. My teacher was injured in the accident. So we came back to Chongqing last night immediately.” Solomon sent me several photographs. He tooked the first at Luodai, in the first minutes after the quake.

Photo copyright Wang Shuo.

The second photo shows students spending the night outdoors at South West China Normal University, Beibei, Chongqing. Solomon says they spent the entire night outdoors.

Photo copyright Wang Shuo.

Carter, going to a university about 900 miles from home, reported, “I am in Shandong now, so the earthquake didn't give me too much trouble. When I heard the news of earthquake, I called my parents and friends in the first time. However, because of the damage to communication system in Sichuan and Chongqing, it was very hard to contact with them. Fortunately, I contacted with them 2 hours later.”

Vera, also at a university in Shandong, writes, “The earthquake happened in the afternoon around 3pm, and ShanDong wasn't affected by that shake. But my home (in Chongqing) was affected by the earthquake, luckily, it was not serious. And I have made phone calls to my parents, and both of them are okay. My father even joked that he was watching the cars in the yard dancing discos.”

Eunice is a graduating senior at a language university in Chongqing. Her parents are both on the staff at a hospital in Beibei, about an hour from her university. “Yesterday was a terrible day really! I was standing on the playground and waiting for our final photographing of graduates at the moment of earthquake. When I saw flood of students running out from the classrooms and dorms I didn't realize for several seconds what happened. People all crowded on the playground with panic expression. Then, about one hour later we still took the pictures and I sent one to you. I think it has special meaning. It is the first time for me and almost all the Chongqing people to experience an real earthquake. We are much terrified. Last night I went back home and found my parents safe, which made me no more anxious. We can still feel some very light shakings every now and then, but they are not terrifying. My family are safe, and my relatives in Chengdu are also safe. The two cities have returned to peace and people are trying to help the destroyed areas in Wenchuan, Dujiangyan, Deyang and other counties of Sichuan Province. My parents aren't sent to Sichuan, but I know there has been a Chongqing medical team sent there.”

Angel is teaching English at a middle school in Guandong, about 600 miles southeast of Chongqing. She writes, “My family and I are well. Like you, I am so worry about my classmates and friends of university, most of whom are from Southwest China. Today when I saw that about ten thousand people have died from the quake, I immediately made a call on them. To my great relief, they are all safe and sound, though their houses were badly damaged. Our school will organize teachers and students to donate some money and other things to the stricken area. It's a good chance to help them. I will do my effort. All hands make work light. Only all of us unite together can we overcome the disaster. Last winter, we suffered a once-every-50-year big snow, and people all around China tried every effort to help and support each other, which resulted in the success over the anti-snow disaster.”

As I hear from other friends and former students, I will add to this post.

Zhaotong City, Yunnan, August 10, 2004, 6:26 p.m. (5.6 Richter).

That summer, I taught a three week English class at South West China Normal University, at Beibei, Chongqing. When it ended, I took a vacation into Yunnan with some of my new friends from the university. I asked to put Zhaotong on our itinerary, even though few tourists consider it important. I wanted to see what was left from the work of Samuel “Bó GéLǐ” Pollard (柏格理), a British missionary who lived there from the 1880’s until 1914. I once read an abridged version of his diary, and was deeply impressed. In the afternoon, local officials took us to see Pollard’s legacy.

The school that started in his home had grown into a very large and modern-looking institution.

The forty-bed hospital was sparsely equipped but professional looking. (No doubt, by that evening, it was full.)

The church displayed the distinctive beauty of its heavily Miao (Hmong) membership. My English-speaking Miao tour guide was a student at the seminary. Both the church and the seminary operate under the “Three Self” government authority.

The one building I was not allowed to go into was the crumbling two story building where Pollard ministered (downstairs) and had his bedroom and office (upstairs). In Pollard’s day, construction was done with mud bricks, and it was so old the officials were worried about it falling down.

Later, we drove outside the city to the compound of Long Yun (龙云, 1884-1962), the warlord/governor who ruled Yunnan from 1927-1948. This had once been a very elegant estate, with dozens of beautiful buildings. These also had been constructed of mud bricks, but their thick walls had been surfaced with fine tiles. The buildings were falling apart and had been abandoned, but were still very pleasant to view.

I even found some spiders to photograph.
The Chinese have investigated the possibility that animal behavior changes just before an earthquake and can be used for predictive purposes. If this spider was trying to tell me something, I missed it.

We enjoyed visiting with the crowd of local people who took an interest in us.


Then we returned to town in our taxi.

Sometime during that trip, the earthquake hit. It killed four people, injured another 594, collapsed 6,185 houses and damaged 21,867, leaving 126,000 people homeless. Yet riding in the taxi, we never felt anything.

We only realized there had been an earthquake when we arrived back at our hotel. Dozens of people came running out of the tall building to escape one of the aftershocks. Later, we went to an internet café. While sending emails to say I was okay, I was aware of several aftershocks. I never actually saw any damage and only realized the severity of the quake after we had moved on. We had to be on the train at 4:00 the next morning, so I have no idea how Pollard’s original building or Long Yun’s fared in the quake. I may have been among the last people to see some of these historic relics standing.

So from this quake, the seismological lesson is that whether the spiders warn you of the coming quake, or not, take a taxi if you possibly can.

Now that I am back from Mount Hermon, I can get back to my series remembering the most dramatic earthquakes that I’ve personally experienced.

Colombia, near the base of Nevado del Huila Volcano, June 6, 1994, (6.4 Richter). I was on the ground floor of a four story building in Bogotá, nearly two hundred miles away from the epicenter, sitting on a sofa and reading the newspaper. When everything began shaking, my first thought was that I was too far away from anything that I could potentially get under, so I sat where I was, while people streamed down from upstairs. It seemed like the quake went on for a very long time (maybe 20 or 30 seconds, but time during an earthquake may not correspond to normal time), so I eventually did get up and walk outside. Although some buildings were damaged in Bogota, the worst damage near the quake came from the lahar that followed. The quake shook a giant hillside into the Paez River, which then backed up to create a lake, which then washed out the dam and sent a 100 foot high wall of mud at 60 miles-an-hour down the valley. Several hundred people were washed away by this lahar, perhaps over a thousand. The number was hard to assess because many of those lost had been members of an outlawed band of revolutionaries, or they had been illegally growing heroin poppies

The area around Nevado del Huila belongs to the Paez and Guambiano people. I had two very good Guambiano friends at the time, a husband and wife. When they had not heard news from their families after a month, the husband made the very laborious trip by bus, to see what had happened. He was not a picture taker, but I bought him three disposable cameras, and asked him to take as many photographs as he could.

My friend came back with a remarkable story. The elders of his people had been so concerned about the illegal activities among their people, and the destruction of their culture by the easy-come drug money, that they had set a week of fasting and prayer. The earthquake occurred on the last day of their fast. The lahar washed away many of the poppy fields, and had sparked a religious revival among the people. Couples that had only been living together were getting married, and people were coming to be baptized and join Sunday school classes. There was continued physical suffering, but spiritually, a great turn for the better had come out of it. The seismological lesson is: we call these ‘acts of God’ for a reason.

Coalinga, California, May 2, 1983, (6.5, Richter). Caedmonstia might remember this one. We were about 70 miles away from the epicenter. Her mother and I were in the kitchen, with at least one of the kids, and we leaped to stand in the doorway. However, once we were under the doorway, I kind of thought it was a fun little shake. This hit a more rural area than the 1971 quake, but there were six deaths and considerable property damage. Vicki later told me about an aftershock, but I had been driving in the car and didn’t feel it. Personally, we had no lasting effects from the Coalinga quake.
So, how big does an earthquake have to be for people to feel it? The seismological lesson is, folks seated or supine on stationary furniture will detect a smaller quake than people driving in a car.

After I wrote about all the earthquake activity around Guadalupe Victoria, Baja California (which had another 5.0 the next afternoon), Caedmonstia asked, “How big does an earthquake have to be for people to feel it?” Someplace, I’m sure there are wonderful scientific answers to that, such as, “It depends.” But I am thinking more experientially. In this new series, I will be describing the Standout Moments of My Personal Seismological Memory:

San Fernando, California, Feb, 9, 1971, 6:01 a.m., (6.6 on the Richter scale). I was about twenty miles away, on the 5th floor of a UCLA dorm building. It woke me up with the thought that a railroad train was coming through the bedroom. Those who were coherent enough to run to the windows reported seeing a wave of green explosions as transformers went dead across the still-dark city. Sixty five people died in the earthquake (most in one hospital that collapsed). The quake was much worse at my parents' house (a freestanding cabinet fell across my sister and her bed), only about ten miles from the epicenter and downstream from a large earthen dam. For me, it was the only time I ever remember everybody being awake and in line for breakfast when the dining hall opened at 7:00. But for what? Classes were canceled. I had been tutoring ESL at Castelar Elementary School in Chinatown, but the main building was sufficiently cracked that it could never be used again. A mile south of that was the Hall of Justice, which included both the DA’s and Sheriff’s offices, courtrooms, and several floors of jail. It also suffered damage and had to be evacuated and boarded up. It still stands empty, today. That made it difficult for me to research it when I wanted to use it as a location for my novel, Friday 10:03. Eventually, I talked to my father's cousin who had worked there, and it became one of my favorite locales in the book.
 

The quake was followed by numerous aftershocks, four of them greater than 5.0. That quarter, I was taking a class in Chinese history from a Prof. David Farquhar, quite well known in his field, and quite able to get totally lost in his lectures. The aftershocks had loosened a couple of the acoustical tiles in our classroom, so he told us that if a quake hit, we were permitted to stand and move to the sides of the room. Once he looked up from his lecture and found everyone ringed around the room, and said, “Oh, did we have an earthquake?” So, in answer to the question, “How big does an earthquake have to be for people to feel it?” the fact is, undergraduates listening to a lecture on Chinese history will detect a smaller quake than a scholar giving that same lecture.

A little over two years ago, I stumbled upon a USGS site that gives a real-time earthquake map of California and its near-neighbors. It presents a one-week history of whatever has been shaking. I find it so interesting that I give it a brief check several times a day. I’ve even taken to keeping a file of the maps that I might want to refer back to at some later date. During most of that time, the totals for a week’s worth of quakes have run from a low of 342 (Jan 31, 2008) to a high of 651 (May 31, 2007), but suddenly, the number has shot up, and this afternoon hit 1018.

Most of the recent activity has been just across the border into Baja California, at Guadalupe Victoria. In honor of Vicki’s birthday, they had a 5.4. Three days later they had a 5.1 and then a 5.0. They’ve also had a constant jiggling of fourzies, threezies, twozies, and onezies. Middle Son, living in La Jolla, reports he hasn't felt any of them. But they sure look impressive on the map.I can afford to watch all these earthquakes with some emotional distance. I live in the eye of the storm. In all the time I’ve been watching, this is the closest an earthquake has come to Visalia, a 1.8 in Lindsay (19 miles away; the bigger quake was a 3.0 at Kettleman City, 54 miles away).