Mnemosyne walks on a Forest Wall

What if rural areas took center stage in the movement for resilient, secure communities—getting the same attention as urban environments? What if seawalls and groynes weren’t just lifeless barriers but thriving ecosystems, forests, walking routes for storytelling, art trails and canvases for culture and nature? The growing impact of natural disasters is nature’s response to the Anthropocene or simply Earth’s natural dynamics and rhythm. Regardless of the cause, one thing is clear: we must act. While the forces of nature remain beyond human control, their impact can be anticipated, mitigated, and approached with respect and wisdom. 

The Great Eastern Earthquake and the tsunami that hit the Tohoku area in 2011, the so called 3.11, remains the most powerful earthquake ever recorded in Japan and directly affected four prefectures: Aomori, Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima. Shocking images of the disaster travelled around the world. The construction of higher concrete seawalls along the Pacific coast has been in the limelight, sparking debates among locals, public authorities, scientists and designers. Local and international artists and photographers created art works showcasing these controversial ‘boundaries’. Yet, a few years later, hopeful and colourful images emerged, filled with trees, people and life.  

I visited the Tohoku area for the first time in 2022, fascinated by the area’s recovery force and eager to take a closer look at the seawalls and the post-tsunami landscapes. The Miyagi Prefecture set in motion a project, promoting coastal forest regeneration in cooperation with the national government, local municipalities, seedling producers, volunteers, and others. Looking beyond the grey, engineering structures, an additional layer of flood protection based on the Miyawaki reforestation method was introduced. The Great Forest Wall extends on a 10km stretch along the coast, built on a landscape-led masterplan vision, an exemplary reference, in my opinion, for placemaking in rural areas. A multifunction boundary has been created; it serves as flood protection, restores ecosystems, enhances biodiversity, celebrates natural heritage, and prioritises people’s well-being and community empowerment. To my astonishment, the Millennium Hope Hills project stands as a remarkable example of collaborative reconstruction – where volunteers, local communities, the government, and experts worked together to transform a disaster-stricken area into a resilient landscape, a symbol of hope and rebirth.

In Japan, the pine tree is often associated with the Shinto belief system, where it is viewed as a tree of divine presence, offering protection from evil spirits and misfortune. Coastal pine forests have long been part of this belief, viewed as sacred guardians of the coastline. Pine trees, such as the Japanese black pine (Pinus thunbergii), are deeply rooted in Japanese culture and aesthetics, a common reference with my Mediterranean heritage. They are often featured in traditional art and are part of coastal shrine landscapes. The first systematic plantings of coastal pine trees in Japan date back to the 17th century. The coastal forests in Miyagi and other parts of Japan are known as “Uminomori” (海の森). The city of Sendai is known as the ‘City of Forests’, which dates to the Edo period, when Date Masamune devoted himself to creating coastal forests. However, large-scale coastal reforestation efforts began in the early 20th century, especially after the 1896 Sanriku earthquake and tsunami, when the need for coastal protection became more urgent. In the 1950s and early 1960s as Japan’s rapid post-war industrialisation and urban growth began, the government started implementing large-scale projects to safeguard the coastline, including the construction of concrete seawalls along vulnerable areas. Yet again, the coastal landscapes were ever-changing. As Japan’s coastline continued to be impacted by natural disasters, seawalls grew in height and length, becoming even more common in the next decades. Unfortunately, the disaster in 2011 revealed that seawalls and the pine trees alone could not withstand the tsunami force. The image of a few survivors along the coast still remains vivid in my memory from my walks by the ocean – an abrupt reminder of how the flooding transformed both the landscape and people’s lives. Japan re-evaluated its coastal defence strategies, emphasising hybrid solutions that integrate natural barriers – such as green embankments and wetlands – alongside reinforced, higher seawalls. In a way, the planting of the new Pine Forest is a gesture of revival honouring the area’s history and culture while the Forest Wall stands for a celebration of natural heritage, biodiversity and hope for the future.

During the visit, a Park Management officer who explained to me that the Millennium Hope Hills Parks were built in an area that was declared uninhabitable and has since been transformed into an amenity greenspace consisting of six parks, fourteen evacuation hills – created from disaster debris – and pedestrian and cycle routes with views to the ocean. She proudly described the design concept to me, which consists of four layers: the existing seawall, the ‘Forest Wall, an elevated road and a canal. This placemaking project aspired to bring life back to the area, create memorials as part of the cultural healing process, act as a disaster prevention area and restore the local ecosystem. Sustainability, ecology and community engagement were at the forefront of the regeneration process. An impressive initiative engaging an estimated 34,000 volunteers also contributed significantly to the local ecology with 300,000 newly planted trees. They described the planting process as a time to honour lost lives, reconnect with people and learn how to plant trees, guided by prof. Akira Miyawaki. While he acknowledged their traditional and cultural significance, he often argued that pine trees alone are insufficient for providing effective ecological and disaster-resilient coastal protection and the post-tsunami damage of the existing trees proved him right. Based on his reforestation method, an additional layer of native tree species was planted on embankments to reinforce the Pine Forest. This method not only accelerates the growth of the forests but also creates self-sustaining ecosystems.  Once the forest is established, it requires minimal intervention, as the plants will continue to thrive and naturally regenerate. To my surprise, as a landscape architect who works with planting plans, volunteers told me they were simply advised to mix the species, plant them in close proximity (approximately at 200mm apart) without alignment, cover the soil with hay afterwards, and—most importantly—to be careful not to injure themselves!

The bond people share with rural places differs significantly from that in urban settings. Rural communities tend to develop profound attachments to natural elements such as forests, rivers, the sea, and mountains—often fostering a spiritual relationship with their surroundings. These deep connections are reinforced by multi-generational ties to the land, storytelling, and rituals that preserve cultural heritage. In the aftermath of a disaster, community bonding becomes essential for both survival and healing. Beyond ensuring physical safety, preserving the memory of those lost and passing on lessons to future generations is of paramount importance to local communities. In interviews with the Iwanuma City community, nearly every respondent emphasised the significance of feeling protected from future tsunamis and expressed appreciation for the memorial sites within the parks. Local festivals, held monthly or annually, play a crucial role in uniting communities. Tree-planting initiatives have also emerged as powerful communal activities, reinforcing an emotional connection to the land. In Japanese tradition, the act of planting a tree carries profound symbolic meaning, making it an especially poignant gesture in the process of remembrance and renewal. These initiatives continue today, with projects such as the Flower Kakehashi Project in Natori, which invites people to plant seedlings along the shore and within the gaps of seawalls. Meanwhile, nature itself is reclaiming these spaces—filling the gaps in seawalls with flourishing biodiversity. In areas inaccessible to humans, the landscape speaks loudly for itself, showcasing unexpected pockets of wilderness, thriving ecosystems, and a delicate balance between remembrance and regeneration.

It is worth noting that the Millennium Hope Hills Parks don’t stand in isolation from the rest of the region’s coastal experience. They are seamlessly integrated into a network of paths and roads, as part of the iconic Michinoku Coastal Trail, a visionary initiative of the Green Reconstruction Programme. Since the 1960s, Iwate Prefecture has been developing trails along the Rikuchu coast, gradually giving rise to parks along the Sanriku coastline. In the wake of the earthquake, the idea of transforming these spaces into a unified, revitalising force for regional reconstruction resonated deeply with both authorities and local communities. Embraced by all four prefectures, this 1,000 km-long trail now serves as a lifeline connecting landscapes, communities, and traditions, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Tohoku region and the power of nature to connect, heal and inspire.

Visiting the area 11 years after the disaster, I was fascinated to witness the creation of a place built on the will and courage of the volunteers to recover, remember and reconnect. The greater nature’s force, the stronger the community became. In my view, the Millennium Hope Hills project has been highly successful as it has evolved to be simultaneously a place of remembrance, resilience, ecology and community empowerment. Key elements of the masterplan – safety, ecological enhancement, social cohesion, permeability and connection to the ocean – are reflected in various design features along the parks. However, challenges remain along with opportunities to enhance the usability and function of these spaces. Accessibility remains a challenge as the parks are currently only reachable by car. Residents and small businesses continue to take responsibility for maintaining healthy plant growth, volunteering to this day. Despite achieving the desired growth rate, maintaining the green embankment remains an ongoing, time-consuming effort, as noted by the people involved. Integrating the seawall into the park experience is an opportunity worth exploring. Initiatives such as planting on the wall or creating hiking and art trails along the coast could strengthen the connection to the sea, transforming it from a boundary wall to an inspiring amenity space. Additionally, opportunities remain to introduce more activities in the parks such as concert areas, canteens, an outdoor museum, outdoor classrooms for schools and themed playgrounds.

Japan has long been compelled to mitigate the extreme forces of nature, but it is not alone in facing the challenges of coastal flooding. Around the world, numerous regions—such as India, the Philippines, Indonesia, Florida, New York, England’s East Coast, Australia, and the Netherlands—are highly vulnerable to rising sea levels, storm surges, hurricanes, typhoons, tsunamis, and heavy rainfall. In response, governments and communities have implemented long-term strategies, advanced flood defences, and predictive modelling to mitigate these risks. An amalgamation of hard engineering solutions – such as seawalls, tidal barriers, and groynes – and soft, nature-based approaches – such as wetland restoration and sustainable drainage systems – works to protect both the environment and human settlements. Yet, flood-prone coastal landscapes need not be seen as places of threat, fear, or loss. Instead, they can be designed as reminders of our coexistence with nature, embracing an ethos of resilience and adaptation. Placemaking, an approach that fosters meaningful, inclusive spaces, invites us to celebrate rather than isolate these rural areas. While protective structures may be necessary, they can also serve as opportunities for enhancing biodiversity, fostering social interaction, and creating spaces of reflection and joy. How wonderful it could be if a seawall is transformed into a vibrant, accessible space, offering walkways, art, green corridors, and recreational areas. These interventions not only fortify coastal defences but also nurture a sense of coexistence, unity, healing, and environmental awareness.

By reimagining these landscapes, we can balance safety with beauty, and pragmatism with creativity. We can experience the built coastline with fresh eyes—not just as an unavoidable engineering barrier to the ocean, but as an opportunity to re-establish our relationship with nature. A walk along a seawall can be immersive, therapeutic, even playful—a place where we might imagine encountering Mnemosyne beneath a tree, guiding us as we look toward the future.

​The Phase 1 of the research project was funded by the Daiwa Anglo-Japanese Foundation.

Image credits: Eleni Mente and Yuhei Nakajima.