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Today when the world thinks of Japan, it sees nothing but apocalyptic devastation: tanker ships stranded in cabbage fields, logs balancing on rooftops, mile upon mile of rubble and clouds of radioactive steam billowing from damaged reactors.
That's the downside to globalization and relentless 24/7 media coverage; it's hard to shake such searing images.
But it's not fair to think of Japan as broken, pathetic and toxic, and my friends in the Japanese diplomatic corps bristle at this notion. It does a proud people a disservice, as the media circus will have moved on before the world registers the strength of Japanese character in the face of adversity - one of stoicism, courage and perseverance.
So let me give you a different picture of Japan, one based on a happy memory.
Over 3,000 islands dot the inland sea of Japan. Often shrouded in fog, they rise up from placid water in picturesque clumps, the ancestral home of ogres in Japanese folktales. Some are too small to be inhabited, others contain surprising bits of industry.
One of these islands is called Naoshima, and it is one of my favorite places on earth. Except for a smelter perched at one end and a traditional village of Tokugawa vintage on the other, it is otherwise an island covered with site-specific art installations and fabulous concrete confections designed by the legendary Tadao Ando.
This "island of art" is the brainchild of Mr. Soichiro Fukutake, whose Benesse Corporation owns Berlitz, among many other lines of business. He is a billionaire of James Bond-ish proportions. As part of a delegation of Japanese American leaders, I had the chance to meet him once. He was perfectly affable as far as billionaires go, but he did have one flaw. He liked to keep his island guests in the dark...
I hesitated as I stood on the threshold of a single-story rectangular building whose wood exterior was black and charred, as if made of charcoal. Walking in meant plunging into a vast darkness so complete it was like being shut into a box; I couldn't even see the hand in front of my face.
Some people in the group flipped out and had to leave, it was such a freaky experience to be so suddenly and utterly stripped of sight. We slowly walked into the room, arms extended in front of us like zombies, silenced by the novel sensation of being able to seeing nothing at all.
