Good thing we wore sneakers. Alex, Gordon and I pushed and tugged and got squooshed along with about 25,000 other people as we competed on Sunday, October 10, 2010 in the one of the world’s largest tugs of war in Naha, Japan. Naha is the capitol city of Okinawa, the largest island in the Ryukyu archipelago, which is in the southernmost area of the country of Japan. In fact, Okinawa is so far from Tokyo that it is closer to Taiwan.
The tug of war is an annual event. Apparently, it was the Guinness record-holding tug of war until this year, when a Chinese contest took the crown. Well, it certainly was the largest tug of war I have ever seen; and it is the only one I have ever been to on an island in the East China Sea. The city of Naha, about 300,000 in population, prepares for the tug of war by laying a large twisted cable down the center median of its main thoroughfare. As we arrived in Naha by car, driving down the main street, we couldn't help but notice the cable bisecting the road, looking much like a very large sewer pipe waiting to be laid. It stood about four feet high in diameter, with braided rope wrapped in a spiral around it. The middle section of the rope was disconnected by the width of the principal cross street, to allow traffic to pass until just before the start of the tug of war. The two ends of the rope came just up to the sides of the four-way intersection. One end of the rope was twisted into a hook and the other was twisted into an eye formation. Before the contest could start and after the traffic was cleared from the roads, the crowd of tuggers was directed by the festival officials to push the two segments together into position, which connected the rope.
Shortly before the start, the police closed off the road to busses and cars. By the time the 3:00 PM scheduled start time approached, the sidewalks and street had become swollen with people, moving toward the rope. The competition is open to anyone who wants to participate. Onlookers positioned themselves in the windows of upper floors of office buildings lining the street. We found a spot very close to the center of the rope, just beyond the four-way intersection where the two pieces would be joined together.
Right after the police cleared the streets of auto and bus traffic, the streets filled with eager people. We wriggled our way through the crowd to get close to the rope, and all three of us managed to get a grip on it. Contest official men were dressed in black pajamas with white piping and looking very serious, standing on top of the rope, spaced about every ten feet. I was standing right under one of those guys. He never smiled.
There was an air of excitement and anticipation as we waited for the contest to start. It didn’t start for about another hour because first, there was a parade. So, we stood, pressed against the rope by a large crowd of people eager to begin tugging and warring. The parade featured about twelve very tall poles. The crown of each pole was decorated differently and festively; all with long banners streaming. We were told that each pole represented a different district. I’m not sure about that – it sounded too much like the explanation got confused with Palio in Siena, Italy. Anyway, the poles were probably taller than utility poles and just as wide. Each of the poles was led down the street by a group of men, also wearing pajamas, balancing them to try to keep them upright as the parade moved forward. The image was dramatic – with the tall poles advancing through the crowd; noisy horns and drums throbbing as the pole-holders wove their way forward. Their balancing acts were made harder because the crowd kept filling in the voids in the parade, giving little leeway to the pole-balancers’ needs to step back to correct the angle of a leaning piece of lumber bigger than a traffic light pole. I will admit that I did find it scary to see a swaying telephone pole come tilting my way; with no escape from the throng of people.
Some Okinawans and Japanese were sprinkled throughout the crowd where we were located. But, the majority of people participating were American military; both men and women. Many of the guys in the crowd surrounding us were holding beers or cups that used to have beers, or bottles of alcohol as an alternative to beers. Those guys were the loudest and rowdiest. However, the longer I stood there, the more I began to take in the quieter people in the crowd. There were two military women standing near to me, who I found interesting to talk with about their tours of duty on Okinawa. One was very enthusiastic about all the festivals and all there is to do on the island. I did notice that she was wearing sandals and I wondered about her feet getting stepped on once the pushing and tugging got started. I stood next to a crew-cutted 40-something year old Marine who handles logistics. As the delayed start moved into its second hour, he said he wished he had taken advantage of the opportunity to use the bathroom before getting up to the rope, because he really had to go, but couldn't get out now. Even he saw the amusing irony of poor potty planning by a logistics guy.
A whistle sounded and the officials gave a signal ordering us to push the rope forward, so that the ropes’ two ends could be connected. The officials uncoiled nests of guide ropes which had been piled on top of the main cable, and spread those smaller lines out into the crowd, as tentacles, extending the reach. Instead of pulling back, like one does in a tug of war, we pushed forward, to get the two big ends to meet in the center of the intersection, to form a single rope. The heaving and hoe-ing was intense. I felt my ribcage getting a bit squashed and did not like that one bit. At that point, my personal strategy became one of holding my arms up at waist level, creating a bit of a cage with my elbows. I hoped that the two ropes got connected quickly, preferably before I got crushed and unable to breathe. I wanted to quickly escape from my not-so-prime-anymore spot next to the rope before the real tugging began. As soon as the crowds succeeded in moving the ropes forward into position to connect, I squirmed out of the throng and onto the sidewalk. Right on my heels were the military girl wearing sandals, and Alex. Gordon stayed on for the duration.
After the hook and eye were connected, a giant wooden pin was inserted to secure them together. Lots of pajama-wearing officials swarmed over, under and through the connection to guide the big wooden pin into place. There was a final ceremony before the contest began. Two costumed ancient warriors strode the length of the rope – each began at opposite ends and met in the middle at the intersection. They acted out a sword fight at the center of the rope.
High above the warriors’ heads, at the center of the rope, about ten stories in the air, a gold-colored ball was suspended over the intersection. It hung from a line, much like the ball that gets dropped on Times Square on New Year’s Eve in New York. The moment the warriors finished, the ball was burst open. It spewed balloons and streamers, signaling the start of the tug of war. For about eight minutes, there was a lot of heaving, ho-ing, screaming, drums, whistles and other ear-ringing noises. The competition ended in a tie.
Everybody wins. Tradition is to take home a piece of the rope for good luck. We secured a big long piece and set off in our sneaker-clad feet for the trek to the monorail station. All along the way, we walked with throngs of happy celebrators with ropes looped around their necks and waists. I was quite happy leaving with pictures taken from the sidewalk instead of blisters from rope burns.