Forty years ago, when I was starting out as an architect, I lived in the Kitano district of Kobe, an area known for its scenic rows of gracious Western-style houses built for foreign residents in an earlier era. In fact, 80 percent of my designs stand in the Hanshin area between Osaka and Kobe.

On the day the Great Hanshin Earthquake hit, I was in London. When I heard the news, the first thing I remembered were the faces of my friends and acquaintances. I immediately returned to Japan and walked around the stricken area the very next day. To my horror, that familiar, stylish cityscape nestled between the ocean and the mountains had been reduced to rubble.

Recently, I visited Kobe's Nagata district, one of the areas that was hardest hit. Traditionally, Nagata had been a typical working-class neighborhood of shoemakers.

Having come from a working-class neighborhood in Osaka, I felt close to the rows of tenement houses and small factories in Nagata. The cluttered alleys were filled with human warmth, something lacking in modern cities. The streets also vibrated with energy and a sense of community. Such ties had served as the backbone of the community's small manufacturing businesses.

Until several years ago, except for area in front of train stations, there were still many vacant lots in Nagata. Now, they are occupied by modern high-rise apartment buildings and newly built detached homes that have mushroomed one after another. Even though residents were unable to receive adequate public subsidies to rebuild their livelihoods, they stayed on. Their enduring and patient effort to overcome the damage caused by the earthquake have eventually paid off.

However, when I look at these streets lined by modern buildings, I feel an indescribable sadness. They make me ill at ease because the town lacks the vitality of a human community. It is true that individual buildings and homes filled with modern conveniences have contributed to improved standards of living compared with the time before the earthquake, at least in a material sense.

The problem is that the community that links its individuals remains severed. I don't feel any warmth in the way people go about their everyday lives. Re-development projects continue to advance, wiping out old memories, while the ties that once brought the community together remain cut.

For the people who chose to stay in Nagata even after the earthquake, the rebuilding of infrastructure and homes was an overriding priority. We cannot deny that process. But as a person who recalls the atmosphere of old Nagata, I can't help but feel uneasy.

When I look at the superficial facade of the town-cut off from its past both in terms of time and space-I feel weak, like a tree with its roots severed. No matter how much money and equipment are poured into it, without a sturdy frame in the form of a community, the buds that lead to a promising future will not sprout. It won't be easy, but for the next 10 years, Nagata residents need to concentrate on restoring human ties.

They cannot count on the government, which only continues to implement desktop policies, following a ready-made master plan. To begin with, one of old Nagata's characteristics was the way it developed naturally in the everyday life of residents, something that had nothing to do with city planning. That's all the more reason why people have no choice but to take the lead to rebuild their community themselves in a spirit of autonomy. I urge the administration to support it.

After the earthquake, Nagata Ward and a local women's group began planting dogwood trees along roadsides and in parks. The city of Kobe is supporting the initiative from the sidelines. Residents too are planting dogwoods and magnolias, whose white flowers are dedicated to the memory of the victims of the earthquake.

The quake severed communal ties, but citizens must advance this movement to restore the broken network and bring people in the community together again. People plant trees and flowers and raise children. Along the way, they themselves grow and learn that humans cannot live alone.

Restoring human ties and the local community is not something that's physically visible. That is all the more reason persistent efforts are needed to tackle it. But the hard work will certainly pay off 10 years from now in the form of a vibrant community.

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The author, a noted architect, is the chairman of the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake 10-Year Reconstruction Assistance Committee, which has implemented projects in the stricken area. He contributed this comment to The Asahi Shimbun.(IHT/Asahi: January 24,2005)