Crisis and Community
“Umbrellas keeping us in the shade came from relief workers.”
All Things Considered host Robert Siegel being sheltered from the sun by farmers in Red Flag village.
Photo by Christopher Turpin, NPROne moment from our time reporting here in China that lingers with me. It occurred in the magnificently named village of Red Flag.
Robert Siegel, Art Silverman, along with our loyal NPR listener turned interpreter, Xiaoyu Xie, had visited this picturesque hamlet a couple of days earlier, just after the May 12th earthquake. They'd discovered a place where no relief aid had yet arrived.
They decided to return to see if things were any better.
A Gift of Shade
We arrived unannounced in the heat of a blazing day. As I was taking pictures, I realized one of the village women was at my side. She stood close and sheltered me from the sun with her umbrella. As if on cue, other villagers came out of their makeshift tents to shade Robert and Xiaoyu.
Simple Acts of Humanity
It was a simple gesture, but an extraordinary one. These residents of Red Flag had every right to be consumed by their own grief and discomfort. Their homes were shattered; their lives turned upside down, the entire village reduced to rubble, and most of what they owned destroyed.
Yet, what remained standing was their thoughtfulness towards visitors. We learned that even the umbrellas keeping us in the shade had been provided by the relief workers who had finally turned up with food and water.
It's a cliche that the worst of times bring out the best in people. Yet, like most cliches, there is a grain of truth in it.
Sense of Community
My grandmother told wonderful stories about the Blitz - the bombing of London by the Germans in World War Two - and how it created a remarkable sense of community in that city's East End. It's what happened briefly in New York and Washington in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. And I've felt that same spirit in Sichuan these past two weeks, whether in the tiny village of Red Flag or the city of Chengdu.
Last Monday, after television and radio stations announced the government believed a giant aftershock was imminent, tens of thousands of residents in Chengdu took to the streets. I think we called it a panic, at least initially. But where I was -- the downtown soccer stadium -- there didn't seem to be much angst. Friends drank beers, played cards and chatted. Couples used the occasion as an excuse for a little romance. One family was sitting on the grass playing with their little dog. The mood was more festive than fearful.
Automobiles do the threshing along Sichuan country roads.
Photo by Christopher Turpin, NPROne final image; back to Red Flag for a moment, six days after the quake. Farmers are out in the rice paddies, canola is drying in the sun, and rice husks have been spread in a thin layer across the road so passing cars will do the hard work of threshing.
Who knows whether the Red Flag villagers will stay in the country, or ultimately be forced by the earthquake to join the largest urban migration in history? But for now the familiar rhythms of country life are returning--the harvest can't wait.
- - Christopher Turpin
8:40 PM ET | 05-24-2008 | permalink
