mission
it was last week i received a photo of some homemade, good looking pad thai via internet message. it gave me an idea.
the next day i followed the intermaps to a nearby restaurant once more. the tables were occupied and just as i spotted the dish on a laminated picture on the wall, a small table on the far side became unoccupied . i placed the order and sat down, charging my phone, watching the other people who ate or were waiting for their food to arrive. almost exclusively americans. a group of four friends, a father with his son, a couple sitting by the door. hair and body stature making affiliation with the military obvious. my pad thai arrived. tasty. only i did not know if i liked the prominent taste of the flaming wok. it made the show in the kitchen but stole it on the plate.
i finished and flung the rucksack onto my back. on the way out, the guy from the couple at the door struck up conversation. what, where, who—and ended up with an invitation to the easter mass of his church. “just a stone’s throw away” said ron and added that there will be a feast at the end of the ceremony.
that’s how they lure you in—with the basic needs. they have yet to offer clean toilets for taking a holy dump!
i thanked him and said that if i had time i would come by. the thing being, i have all the time in the world.
easter sunday, after drying my sleeping utensils, wet from the night’s deluge, i went to church. a three-story building poured from okinawan concrete. on the ground floor, the church - heaven above. just kidding, a tattoo studio on the second floor. at the door stood families in sunday dress. they were greeting each other before slowly pouring inside. i crossed the street and there was ron. he seemed like some vip member of the church, with a laminated card dangling from a keychain around his neck. he was happy i actually followed his invitation, shook my hand, patted my shoulder, and guided me inside.
picture 100 sqm of grey carpet with rows of folding chairs—black cushion, silver tubing. the altar consisting of a slightly raised section with space for the band. a central presentation desk, flanked by two flat-screen tvs. spread across the rooms ceiling, about six more tvs displaying the name of the church in slightly animated font. filling the room, apart from military personnel and their families, was a scent cacophony performed by shampoos, deodorants, and perfumes. my musky sleeping-outside-in-the-rain eau de toilette playing a minor role.
you drink coffee?
yes, definitely!
please, help yourself.
there - in the entrance area - where you might find a bowl of holy water in a european church, was placed a coffee buffet. four large thermos jugs escorting a tray of condiments and teabags. think hotel breakfast. to the left of it, a smaller table with the mass condiments: a tiny plastic shot glass with a cracker—“gluten free”—and a sealed plastic cup holding grape juice. i decided to skip body and blood and sat down with a cup of strong, black coffee.
the mass started with a short disclaimer of what would happen today, that there would be some baptisms and a feast after the service. the first and maybe my favorite part was when the priest explained how he prepared a question to ponder. but instead of letting the people think or even speak their mind, he followed up, explained that he also prepared the answer, and gave it. after this first highlight, it was time for a song. the chairs creaked as everyone stood up. a guy with an amplified acoustic guitar and a receding hairline—which he was trying to compensate by beard growth—accompanied the singing. the screens on the ceiling were now showing the text line by line and i could not help thinking karaoke. if the japanese stole this concept from the americans or vice versa? the answer i have not prepared. the transition from song to the next bit of preaching was managed by the screens as well. a weird animation, with sounds reminiscent of many youtube “end cards“. next, in true powerpoint manner, a headline and some bullet points were shown. an explanation of the task which the lord gave to each of the church members: “he sends us to make disciples.”
this was eye-opening for me. the people around me thought i got discipled because i was scribbling away in my notebook - devouring the teaching of the savior. in reality, something clicked.
“he sends us to make disciples”—this is what the us does. there is a clear parallel between the church’s approach to make “disciples” and the usa’s imperialist big brother attitude, having built bases around the globe—far away from the spiritual capital washington. this is an ideology which is well known as "manifest destiny" but in this moment i realized its meaning and origin in person. the genocidal pushing-the-frontier of the american settlers or the imperialism of the 19th and 20th (21st) century is very much in tradition with the religiously motivated crusades around the 11th century. the essence of this still persists in the us-ideology today. the basic principle being: we are convinced we know what is right, and we have to convince other people of what we think is right. and because we are right, we have every right. (note inherent racism: stupid other people). right! soldiers do not go on a /mission/ for nothing.
when i woke up from my thinking, everyone rose once more. the service had progressed to yet another song. it was followed by more absolute statements and elaborations in black and white before cracker and juice were enjoyed. after the snack, it was time for the baptisms.
about seven or eight kids between ten and 23 were called upon the stage. they formed a line next to a metal bathtub. on the tvs: a live image from a camera installed directly above the water. before sitting and being pushed underwater, everyone had to give a reason for their bath. the older ones were speaking freely and mostly gave something along the lines of “i want to take the next step” or “i want to show my commitment.” the younger ones had memorized their text and spoke fast. the last person was a girl of about nineteen. she took the microphone and excused herself for going back a bit further. a month ago her father had died. she started to cry and described her feeling of grief, what line of the bible the father underlined last, and how the priest helped her with her mourning. i was sorry, but it seemed the priest saved best for last and i thought to myself: a church is such an important part of the military family. if a father trades his wife and child for death on the battlefield, the child still is able to call someone father. god bless—the male figure eternal, everlasting. roaring applause for all the wet people on stage. the baptists were wrapped in towels. the doors to the parking lot opened and a woman with a vip pass announced the feast. after passing the buffet, my paper plate held two different types of meat and vegetable curries, cucumber salad with fresh coriander, and overcooked rice. the sun came out and made sure the meal wouldn’t go cold. i sat with ron, who was chatting to a couple.
welcome my best german friend in japan!
they were from illinois originally. she went to art school for oil painting. he is in the navy and the reason for the relocation. she had a tattoo apprenticeship lined up but the move rendered it obsolete. he always loved video games and now flies drones. usually, i am trying to be careful with stereotypes, but everything went out of the window when he showed picture on his phone. outdoors, a table with various antennae, cables, and one of those apocalypse-ready-looking laptops. connected to it, a black xbox controller with blue lightning design.
yes, we use xbox controllers.
he left me speechless, mouth open. the others continued to talk about the different types of drones: hawk, reaper, raven, switchblade.
you can see them flying here sometimes...i hate war but god, i love the military complex.
this made me close my mouth and swallow. what a statement. sounded to me like: “i hate spoons but god, i love to eat soup” or “i hate cooking but god, i love a good stove, an oven, and a bbq grill.” the feast's food was alright, though the thai curry tasted like my mom’s go at asian cuisine. hi mom. i went for a second plate with ron, who introduced me to a men in front of the soggy rice. he was a friendly-looking middle-aged guy. wearing square glasses he was missing the usual "fade and muscle" of the army - he works in public relation. we sat down and i wanted to ask some questions about the relation to the okinawan people. his answers were like the food. mild, chilly-free and a little soft. integration with the locals? "i think we are well integrated into the community." do you speak japanese, as a pr-guy? "no, there is japanese staff at our office concerned with the translation and when you go to a restaurant, the local people just speak english with you. that makes it hard to learn the language." and the people are happy about the american military bases around the island? "the majority of okinawans appreciate the presence of the americans..."- i could not have put it better, if i was a pr-guy. this talk went back and forth a little before we came across a stray chilly-seed, hiding in the green curry: it would meet some resistance if germany decided to build a big air-force-base in texas. though maybe it would help people to understand that side. — well, that’s it. new german military base in texas. remember, you read it here first. let’s see what happens next -kunde
ps: let me know what you think about the manifest-destiny/imperialism/ crusade/mission-part. i am still thinking about it and am not sure if i hit the nail on the head.
pps: (recommendation): great okinawan photographer ishikawa ryuichi, for example: isbn 978-4-86541-133-1