Like many, I’ve been watching the grim news accounts of the deadly and devastating tornadoes that have been ripping through the central and southern parts of the United States this spring. Destruction in the hardest hit towns is total, and my heart goes out to the shocked and dazed survivors – most whom have lost everything.

However, at the same time, my empathy is laced with anger – anger that we, as Americans, allow scenes like this to play out each and every single year in tornado and hurricane zones across the nation. To call these calamities “acts of God” is actually an affront to The Big Guy, since it is easily within our means to drastically reduce the effects of even a direct hit by most tornadoes or tropical storms – if only we had the vision and drive to do so.

What do I mean? Well, let me put it quite bluntly: Anyone who builds a wood frame or standard brick/cinder block house in a tornado or hurricane zone – especially a house without a basement or a nearby reinforced underground shelter area – is either ignorant or guilty of criminal neglect.

 We know where the highest threat areas are in the U.S. for such recurring climate extremes, yet, despite this fact, we continue to blindly build and occupy millions of relatively flimsy frame and trailer homes in these regions. It’s an absurd and totally unnecessary version of climatological Russian roulette that costs this country billions of dollars each year, and an inestimable value from loss of life.

From 1985-1991, while in the U.S. Air Force, I lived and worked at Kadena Air Base on the small, semi-tropical island of Okinawa. A prefecture of Japan, Okinawa is located in the middle of the East China Sea, about 350 miles south of the Japanese mainland. And while most places on the planet have to deal with their fair share of natural disasters, the million-plus residents of Okinawa have two very serious and ever-present natural threats to reckon with: Typhoons and earthquakes.

In the case of the former, Okinawa is situated in the middle of the most active tropical cyclone region on Earth. In the case of the latter, the island sits on the western edge of the Pacific Ocean’s “Rim of Fire,” in an area classified as a seismic Zone 3. This makes quakes with magnitudes of 7.0 or greater a never-ending threat.

There were no major earthquakes on Okinawa during the six years I was stationed there (just a few teeth-shakers), so, while I didn't get to see first-hand how the island’s typical concrete or reinforced masonry structures held up to that particular threat, boy did I ever get to see how they held up against typhoons!

Each year, about 30 typhoons affect that general region of the Pacific Ocean, and each year, about 6-8 typhoons hit the island of Okinawa. That means that during the six years I was stationed at Kadena, I observed the effects of something like 35 typhoons – including several “super typhoons” (Category 5 storms with winds in excess of 150 mph).

Let that sink in for a moment.

Imagine what it would be like if Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi or Florida were hit with 35 hurricanes during a six-year period. Kind of boggles the mind, doesn't it? I know it sure shifted my extreme weather paradigm.  

How did Kadena Airmen and their families respond to this ever-present threat? Pretty darn well, as it turned out.

In almost every case, the process went like this:

-- As soon as it was certain the track of a typhoon was going to pass over or near Okinawa, everyone on base started making preparations. Loose objects outside were gathered up and brought inside; windows were shuttered or taped; sandbags were placed against all doors of larger buildings/hangars (except for emergency entrances/exits); and any aircraft that could fly was evacuated to some safe location elsewhere in the Pacific. A skeleton crew was then detailed to stay in all major structures as storm custodians, and everyone else on base was sent home, where the same preparation procedures were repeated.

-- When the typhoon hit, everyone just hunkered down until it passed. Unlike in the United States during a hurricane or tornado, rarely did the electric power go out. The reason? Many of the power lines on base ran along underground concrete channels, and were thus unaffected by the high winds associated with typhoons. This made passing the time during the worst of a storm much more bearable – almost routine, in fact. Most people watched TV or videos, read, slept, or even got together with friends for “typhoon parties.”

-- When all was clear, the preparation process was reversed, and things were usually back to normal in a matter of hours.

The process for native Okinawans living in the civilian community wasn’t much different.

So it seems pretty clear to me that the only difference between Americans stateside and the Okinawans is that the latter build their homes and businesses to take extreme weather (and earthquake) punishment, while we continue to build relatively flimsy homes that provide little protection against hurricane direct hits and virtually none against tornadoes.

I think the main reason for this stark difference is due to our different attitudes about dealing with extreme weather. For example, a major component of hurricane response in the U.S. is evacuation, but that’s just not an option on a small island like Okinawa. When a typhoon hits, it basically hits everywhere at once. People there have no choice but to sit out such storms, so homes are constructed with an entirely different mindset than in America. Even the most modest structures are like mini-fortresses, and all homes share design similarities that reduce the likelihood of damage during a typhoon. Such features include flat concrete roofs, concrete overhangs, smaller sealed/elevated windows (sometimes shuttered or barred), sealed metal doors, etc.

It’s true that some of these hardened homes are bland-looking by American standards, but many more are downright beautiful. In fact, as I drove through various Okinawan neighborhoods during my time on island, I remember being impressed over and over again by the attractiveness of many of the residences. And while it was obvious the difference in appearances had everything to do with one’s means and social level, the fact remains that even though some of the poorest Okinawans lived in little more than concrete boxes, they still had homes, lives and possessions after even the worst typhoons had passed over the island.

Unfortunately, many victims of extreme weather in the U.S. can’t say the same thing – and I think that’s a national disgrace.