Sequoia Nagamatsu’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Grinell Review, elimae, Underground Voices, Static Movement, and the One World Anthology. He currently resides in Niigata City, Japan, where he teaches English. In the past, Sequoia worked in marketing and as a large scale event planner. He was also the assistant to the producer for the Broadway revival of A Chorus Line, and two of his own plays were performed by venues in San Francisco. He holds a degree in anthropology and, for a time, co-managed a national campaign for the Sierra Club.

Your work is to be included in the One World Anthology. Whose brainchild is the anthology? Can you give us a brief description of the project?

The One World Anthologyis the initiative of Nigerian journalist Ovo Adagha, and is fueled by member writers. At its outset, the anthology aimed to address imbalances in the world but has evolved by using the internet to connect writers from twelve different countries to comment not only on economic and social justice issues but also how technology has redefined conceptions of political, cultural and geographic borders. One of the first tasks of the team was to name the anthology. Although we wanted to shed light on experiences of what is known as the “third world,” we thought that the term was too oriented to the west so we threw it out and decided on One World. All of the writers have contributed one story and have helped each other critique and improve their submissions. Orange Prize winner, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, has also supported the venture and contributed a story. We have also worked together to create a preliminary online presence (a blog, Facebook, MySpace) and to reach out to publishers. The group in many ways has become much more than a project and a Zoetrope office. There are often lengthy discussions about world issues and there is so much support and warmth among the members. As of recently, the anthology has secured a publisher.

Are all the contributors members of Zoetrope Virtual Studios? Do you have a full list names?

All of the members are active Zoetropers at present whether or not they joined just for the anthology, except for Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The contributors are:

Molara Wood (Nigeria)
Lauri Kubuitsile (Botswana)
Martin A Ramos (Puerto Rico)
Skye Brennon (USA)
Jude Dibia (Nigeria)
Pettina Gappah (Zimbabwe)
Ivan Gabriel Rehorek (Australia)
Chika Unigwe (Nigeria)
Ravi Mangla (USA)
Vanessa Gebbie (Britain)
Emmanual Kwa Dipita (Cameroon)
Lucinda Nelson Dhavan (India)
Adetokunbo Gbenga Abiola (Nigeria)
Shabnam Nadiya (Bangladesh)
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Nigeria)
Ken Kamoche (Kenya)
Elaine Chiew (Malaysia)
Sequoia Nagamatsu (USA)
Wadzanai Mhute (Zimbabwe)
Ovo Adagha (Nigeria)

Chimamanda Adiche used to be on Zoetrope, however, and like her, a lot of the writers included in the anthology are Nigerian. Why such a heavy emphasis on that country, and on Africa in general?

I asked Ovo to comment on this question. This is what he said:
(printed here with permission by Ovo Adagha)

There are 7 Nigerian writers in the anthology. Majority of them have attained international status in the literary world. It is more or less a coincidence that they seem to be in the majority. It might interest you to know that about 50 writers on Zoetrope, and from different parts of the world, worked on this project at one time or the other. Many of them dropped out at some point. It also bears testimony to the rising status of African writers in the international scene.

How does your story/contribution fit in with the anthology’s theme?

My story–which also appears in elimae in a slightly more experimental form–comments on several themes including the extinction of a culture’s language, the acknowledgement of a father’s lessons and beliefs years after his death and the indigenous concept of dreamtime. But at its heart, the story called “Tunapri,” which translates into remember or understand in Palawa Kani, a composite aboriginal language in Tasmania, deals with losses felt by one culture at the hands of another — the loss of place, identity, land, sovereignty and so on. All of the stories in One World are set in remarkably different landscapes and focus on many themes, however, the concept of loss at the hands of another culture is a common thread for “third world” countries and indigenous communities regardless of colonization. I think all the stories, including my own, also attempt to shed light on these other cultures and countries by not necessarily sensationalizing a particular region’s hardships, but by focusing on human universals that can connect the reader to situations that may be completely alien to them.

You’re also working on a short story collection that deals with a similar topic—the loss of place, identity, land, etcetera—albeit the series takes place in Japan.

The story collection is actually set in many locales including America, Brazil, France and South Africa, but does focus on the experiences of the Japanese, whether a character is a Japanese national, a person of mixed heritage, a Japanese-American and so on. Although the collection does deal with identity and the search for identity, I’d say the other themes that connect the stories revolve more around life transitions and dealing with personal or cultural tragedies. In many of these stories, I’m also aiming to illuminate cultural differences (even within the borders of Japan) while at the same time showing human universals. Although most of the stories in the collection are set in the present day (give or take a few years), there are a couple that are grounded in history and set in the early to mid twentieth century.

“Love and Living for the Forgotten,” your novel in progress, also takes place in Japan, and illuminates “the isolation and disconnection of urban environments” in Japanese culture. What is it about culture, identity, and place that urges you to continue exploring them through your writing? Why are these subjects important—to you personally, and to people in general?

I’ve always been interested in other cultures, their histories and what elements mold a culture into being unique, and that in part led me to study anthropology in college. Anthropology, linguistics, history, sociology all follow me whenever I write a story because the interactions people have, whether they be in a home, in the middle of a war zone or on the street, are all colored by the spaces they inhabit, their people and the words with which they use to describe their world. But also within this idea are compelling questions such as what is a universal human experience, emotion and situation? When does place supersede your own culture? How does language affect your ability to perceive the foreign? Is there such a thing as a base identity, rooted in genetics that will remain intact despite one’s culture and language? I think these questions and issues interest people in general because it allows a reader to access the unfamiliar while taking a glimpse at their own lives and experiences. It’s the moment where a person asks why the homeless don’t get jobs instead of asking for money and then really stops to think about the reasons and then goes even further and imagines circumstances that could bring them to a similar place.

In “Love and Living for the Forgotten,” as you’ve pointed out, I focus on the isolation and dislocation of urban environments in Japanese culture, but I’d say that this theme is present in all urban environments. In the novel, I want to capture this universal experience while showing the reasons for it in Japan, so that a reader can compare those reasons to experiences in their own cultures and lives.

Later this summer, you will be traveling to Honshu to research a short story that’s set in a small village that claims to be the resting place of Jesus Christ. I’ve never heard of this proposed resting place, nor did I know that there is a strong Christian presence in Japan.

The village is called Shingo and is located in Aomori Prefecture, the northernmost area on the main island of Honshu. The people that live in the village aren’t for the most part Christian, and you are right that there isn’t much of a Christian presence in Japan, although there are one or two religions such as Tenrikyo that do believe in one God. The Cliff’s Note’s version of the legend blends Judeo-Christian Apocryphal texts with claims that documents written in Aramaic were found in Japan detailing the unknown life of Jesus. Apparently one of the brother’s of Jesus had replaced him on Golgotha to be crucified and Jesus journeyed across Russia to Alaska (and perhaps to the present day U.S. which would coincide nicely with Mormon beliefs) and then to Japan where he married a woman named Miyuko and had children. As a lover of history, I’m one to never say never but in Shingo’s case, I am going to draw similarities to the beliefs that King Arthur is buried in Glastonbury or that one of the remaining parts of Atlantis is the Mediterranean Island of Santorini — tiny bits of history here and there mixed with local lore and a desire for more tourism.

Talk about your involvement with Grinnell College and the Grinell Review.

I’m an alumnus of Grinnell College and during my time there, I was involved in various issues of the Grinnell Review, which has been the longest student run publication on campus having roots back to 1905. I think many with a literary bent at Grinnell know that the college had published folks like Paul Engle, Madeline L’Engle, Louis L’Amour etc. and graduated James Norman Hall, author of Mutiny on the Bounty once upon a time in a publication with a more national scope. Somewhere along the line, however, student publications stayed on campus and became chiefly student oriented.

I suppose it was always in the back of my head that the Grinnell Review could and should be more, and after talking to other alums, I approached the current student editor of the publication and we began discussing the future of the journal. Funding is less of an issue with the college’s endowment and support of student ventures, but I also looked into Iowa grants, national grants and began feeling out for possible well-known contributors (including alums, those with Iowa connections and past visiting professors) including Ed Falco and Steve Almond. A website and on-line submission system was in the works (and is practically ready should the time come) but we ran into an issue that other universities have had to deal with, and that is supporting the on-campus writing and art community while also growing as a journal. I think that students feared that by opening submissions up to the general public, it would take away from a long standing showcase of student work, and that is definitely understandable.

At this point, we’re at a wait and see, and I’ll be discussing further with the on-campus editor and students during the fall. If necessary I will discuss options about two journals based on campus (the second staffed more by alums and outsiders but still definitely with student involvement).

Tell us about working on the musical A Chorus Line.

I had been involved a lot in arts event production prior to this in terms of event coordination, venue logistics, opening night galas for various festivals and performances and when I saw an opportunity to get a taste of a Broadway production even as the slave to the producer, I jumped at the chance. I think luckily, the HR person went to Carlton College (similar to Grinnell in that they are both small, private, liberal arts Midwest deals) and I was offered the job as assistant to the producer. Mostly I helped him organize his days, sat and watched rehearsals in the theatre, sifted through his correspondence with his law firm and walked around starry eyed as I was surrounded by folks that were responsible for The Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables and so on. I have always loved the collaborative nature of theatre and this experience gave me a new found love of such creative collaborations.

You’ve written two plays. One was co-produced and performed by CounterPulse, a non-profit dance venue in San Francisco. The other was showcased at APAture, a visual and performance arts festival associated with the Kearny Street Workshop, which is the oldest Asian Arts studio in the United States. What were the plays about? Do you still write plays?

My play, Gnome, was co-Produced by CounterPulse, however, I did the casting and hiring myself in terms of actors, choreographers and video editors. Although I have been involved with APAture as one of the organizers and as a member of curatorial committees, I was not able to showcase my second play, An American Way of Death, with KSW due to an personal emergency that forced me to leave unexpectedly. My second play has only been performed in selected excerpts, more for my own notes than anything else. Gnome was a performance that blended modern dance, video art and traditional theatre to tell the story of the end of Gnome civilization at the hands of environmental irresponsibility, threatening a magical world. It focused on the trials and suffering of one Gnome family during this time and the sacrifices parents can make in order to protect their children. The other play dealt with linked tragedies among a group of friends from a small town in Oregon, how death can sometimes not involve dying at all and how hardships have the ability to alter even the strongest of relationships.

I don’t write plays at the moment as playwriting is something that never stops with the actual writing and requires a kind of collaboration that is difficult while I’m in Japan. I suppose with that said, I definitely take a more theatrical approach when I write fiction and outline character histories and profiles a bit more and imagine scenes instead of passages. I’m sure I’ll write and produce again but that will have to wait until I’m back in an English speaking country. There are definitely a couple of short stories of mine that I want to transform into performances.

What other art events you were involved in while working in San Francisco?

I worked for a time for the San Francisco International Arts Festival as an event organizer. The SFIAF brings in artists (esp. dancers and performance artists) from around the world to produce collaborative works with local artists. I also helped with tech and stage management for the SF Fringe Theatre Festival and with coordination and on-site management of the SF Theatre Festival.

At one point, you worked for the Sierra Club. How did you become involved in environmental causes? Did you have a specific cause you worked for?

I became involved in environmental causes in college when a friend of mine down the hall took me to an environmental activist club meeting (Free the Planet). I suppose on top of that, Grinnell College is also well known in activist circles around the country as being a power house. I’m the sort of person that becomes obsessive when I find something to latch onto and activism became the forefront of my life for a while. I was involved in many causes, from Global Warming to Arctic National Wildlife Refuge conservation to Indigenous rights to local clean water monitoring, but my passion was with Endangered Forests. Specifically, I helped coordinate national protests, educated student groups around the country about forest issues and helped target companies that were using material from endangered forests.

During this time, you organized a multi-state festival aimed at bridging the gap between activists and using the arts to create effective change. Were any conclusions made? How can activists appeal to the general public? When they protest, for example, what steps can they take not to alienate those who aren’t directly involved in the cause?

I think one conclusion that was made from talking to people at the festival (and I think an article about it summed it up nicely), is that activism for any given issue comes in many forms, and although activists don’t always have to agree about tactics, they should always recognize that they have the same goals and that there is a time and place for every method. It is very easy for activists to alienate the general public and I’ll admit that even I sometimes make an effort to cross the street from talking to a guy wearing a Greenpeace shirt that is holding a clip board. It’s important that activists don’t interfere with the daily lives of people too much and remember that many people may already agree with them. Things like activists flooding San Francisco city streets to block traffic to protest the war doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, it’s San Francisco! What does that accomplish except for making people that already support the cause angry and causing tax payers to pay more money? Activists are a funny bunch . . . many enter with commendable ideals in mind but some forget along the way why they even started in the first place and become more concerned with their own career and “climbing the ranks.” I think for me, using the arts is one of the most effective ways of getting people to stop and think. If you put art work that comments on homelessness in an art gallery, you can be sure that all kinds of people will be exposed to your message — art lovers know no political bounds. At a protest you can change the minds of perhaps a small handful (on a good day) but with art you can change the minds of thousands or more.

“If you put art work that comments on homelessness in an art gallery, you can be sure that all kinds of people will be exposed to your message…” I think you’re right, Sequoia. I think art can be an effective way to expose people to social issues that may not directly affect them. Perhaps this is why literature that honestly and compassionately speaks to such things becomes immortalized, or classic. Do you think artists should consider addressing social issues a responsibility?

I think it all depends on the artist and the environment in which the artist finds him/herself. In some situations, the act of creating itself (doesn’t matter what) could be considered political and/or radical. Time also can put the political label on artistic works esp. when church, state and wealthy patrons with their own agendas have historically funded artistic and literary projects. Currently, the world of literature, visual art and music is driven by market forces and people in general are all influenced by capitalism and globalization. I could go on with some of the other ideas floating around on this issue but I personally think a lot of this (as with much of art history, although fascinating) can turn into cyclical, intellectual masturbation.

Personally, I don’t think that artists should feel that they have to address world problems when they create something, but I do think that they should always remember that they have a tool with which to reach a potentially large and diverse audience and once their creation is out in the world, it will be interpreted through the eyes of a particular society with their own ideas of what the creation means. If an artist wants to create work with his own excrement, as an Italian artist did in recent years, then so be it, and the audience, regardless of the artist’s statement, can either appreciate the work as canvas with “shit” on it that may or may not make pretty pictures and leave it at that, or interpret it as a cultural and consumer icon that comments on a system where people would be willing to spend thousands of dollars for human feces on paper. Art in all of its forms is a relationship between the creator and the audience . . . an artist can have all the good intentions in the world when making a piece but an art lover, a book lover, may just admire the scenery if the work is not placed in context.

You’ve made several career changes in your life. You obtained a degree in anthropology, went to work in marketing and event planning, became involved in the environmental movement, and now teach English in Japan. What do you see yourself doing next?

I think through it all writing and the arts were definitely constants and I’ve come to realize that I want this to be the case for the rest of my life in some way, shape or form. I’ll be applying to both MFA (writing) and PHD (either literature or anthropology) programs in the near future and if I can have my way, will remain in academia indefinitely with my toes in the grassroots.

Contact Sequoia: sequoia AT alumni DOT grinnell DOT edu

Read:

“Tunapri”
in elimae