How's this for the butterfly effect? A man steps in the shower seeking respite from the horrifying footage of carnage and destruction on television. Feeling helpless, he has a light bulb moment, realizing: "The people up there have no water, no food, no blankets, and I'm in a position to do something about that." He runs out the shower and tweets his idea to his followers.
How's this for the butterfly effect? A man steps in the shower seeking respite from the horrifying footage of carnage and destruction on television. Feeling helpless, he has a light bulb moment, realizing: "The people up there have no water, no food, no blankets, and I'm in a position to do something about that." He runs out the shower and tweets his idea to his followers.
In just three weeks, thanks to the thousands of tweets and retweets that pinged back and forth like so many pachinko balls, a book was born: written, translated, edited, and illustrated by more than 100 people from 13 countries. As the man in the shower realized, "Give people a chance to help, and they will."
The book in question is "Quakebook," or #quakebook, as it became known on Twitter, and it pulls together 89 personal accounts of the devastating earthquake that struck on March 11 at 2:46 p.m., the worst disaster since the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake.
With the same speed that the book was produced, all proceeds from its sales will be funneled to the Japanese Red Cross, providing hot meals, clothing and daily necessities for those affected by the massive earthquake.
Twitter has been heralded as changing the way we communicate, think and work. It's been instrumental in revolutions, and now it's changing the way we respond to disasters, too. Yet, although it's only a few years old, it echoes the ancient art form of "renku," a collaborative reciting of haiku, where a single idea sparks the creativity of the rest of the group.
While most of the contributors were in Japan when the earthquake hit, others were in Canada, Scotland, South Korea and New Zealand, showing how widely the quake's repercussions were felt around the world. Even Yoko Ono and cult sci-fi author William Gibson pitched in with their own experiences.
In Tokyo, Yuko Kato's contribution, titled "Underneath," says: "I asked a friend the other day, 'I wonder if this is a bit like living in a war zone?' She said, 'Darling, this IS a war zone. We're just lucky we have no enemy to hate.' Right. So I'm now in a war zone. So the streets turn dark at night. Right. We put on extra jumpers and socks to keep ourselves warm."
The man in the shower who started the whole thing goes only by the moniker "Our Man In Abiko," which also serves as the title of his blog and Twitter account and is a reference to the town in Chiba Prefecture where he lives.
"It's not about me," he insists. "The whole point of this project is to help the people up north, who are really suffering."
Despite his modesty, he did cut an interesting figure on Twitter, even hidden behind his avatar, a silhouetted secret agent.
Judging by the frequency of his tweets, he didn't sleep at all for three weeks--although he confesses, "I got about three or four hours a night, but it was fitful." He rallied his troops through a nonstop stream of encouraging messages, urging them to meet the book's final deadline, 2:46 p.m.--the fateful moment--exactly three weeks after the quake.
The response was overwhelming, and made it clear that he was not the only one desperate to help but feeling helpless. As an ex-journalist and English teacher, he at first thought he had nothing to offer.
But when 74 people responded with submissions in the first 15 hours, and a band of willing cohorts--"my minions," he says jokingly--popped up from places as diverse as Brisbane, Australia, Los Angeles and London, he realized he might be on to something.
While working in the different time zones made it difficult to coordinate, it also meant that work could literally go on around the clock. Denver-based graphic designer Mari Kurisato designed the logo and the cover, while others from China, Germany, Brazil and more helped with translation, formatting and design. Efforts were made to keep the accounts honest and true to the authors' own words.
While a project like this would usually take months, a one-week deadline was set for the contributions. Our Man was eager to put out the book as soon as possible, concerned that any delay would mean the accounts would be no longer be "primary sources."
"My memory of 2:46 is clouded by what I now know about it. One week after, the aftershocks were still regular and it was still raw and fresh," he explains.
By then, the collective efforts had gained attention, with the chief of Amazon's Japanese arm inquiring what the #quakebook was all about.
They managed to cut a deal to get Amazon to publish the book on Kindle, allowing all proceeds to go directly to the Red Cross.
After that, a print edition is planned, and translations into Japanese, Spanish and other languages are also in the pipeline.
Our Man seems thrilled, if a little overwhelmed, at all the attention his brainchild has garnered. Now, he simply hopes to make enough money to make a difference to people's lives in the quake-stricken areas. He is also optimistic that something positive might come out of the tragedy for his adopted country: "Japan's had a terrible shock but now it's going to rebuild, which gives it a chance to show the rest of the world how to live in the modern age without wasting resources."
For now, that's exactly what he will be doing at home as he tries to return to ordinary life after his three-week slog, passing on control of Quakebook's operations to one of his team members, while remaining a figurehead.
"I'm the emperor, he's the shogun," he quips, before remembering that he's English. "Or I'm the queen and he's the prime minister." Whichever it is, his empire of willing helpers just go to show that if you give people a chance to help, they will.