New EcoSangha Committee Member Shares Views on Interconnectedness

My name is Kelli Hata and I've just emerged from the crucible of academia with a Master of Arts in Religion, with a focus on the intersection of Religion and Ecology from Yale Divinity School. 

I was raised Jodo Shinshu Buddhist, yet my intellectual journey has been steeped in Christian theologies. Now, I find myself desiring to reconnect with my Buddhist roots and explore this rich tradition that has profoundly shaped my thinking and becoming. 

As I navigate the spaces that lie in both, in between, and in beyond Buddhist and Christian perspectives, I look forward to journeying at the margins in the work of EcoSangha.

The relationship between humans and the land is intrinsic, yet it takes on a uniquely profound dimension for Japanese Americans. One such dimension, rooted in Buddhism, is the notion of interconnectedness, which stands in stark contrast to the Western Baconian penchant for control and categorization that often treats nature as a resource to be bent for human purpose and confined within tidy, geometric boundaries.

For Issei and Nisei, many of whom toiled in agriculture and carved their identities in the soil, they passed down a legacy of relationships that fostered a deep-seated dialogue with the environment. 

In Buddhism, the concept of "thusness" (nyoze/tathata) posits that every being possesses its own intrinsic nature or essence. In this context, Japanese Americans often engaged in gardening as a means of manifesting and nurturing this principle. 

This was highlighted in my research at Yale, where I explored the intersection of environmental justice and eco-theology within World War II internment camps. 

The ornamental and victory gardens cultivated within these confines were not merely acts of survival; they stood as powerful assertions of religious and cultural identity and justice against forces that sought to erase them.

At the same time, as the landscapes of internment camps like Manzanar were rendered barren and stripped of their natural integrity due to aggressive water extraction practices, these cultivated gardens reasserted the freedom and flourishing of both interred people and the land itself.

I reflect on this interconnectedness through my childhood experiences and how they have shaped my academic pursuits. I often recall the church song, “Swim, swim, little fish, Buddha loves you, little fish,” finishing with a playful smack of my lips. 

Certainly, my life has been deeply influenced by non-human beings. Growing up in the Central Valley, I wasn’t just a passive observer; I was an active participant in a complex and interconnected ecological community. I forged bonds with stray cats, became the sentinel of ants and blue-bellied lizards and helped my grandparents, Makoto and Harue, pull weeds at the old Fresno Betsuin Buddhist Temple. 

I watched the rhythms of the farm workers tending to my grandpa’s grapevine fields. I evaded tumbleweeds and carefully avoided stepping on worms that surfaced onto the concrete during the rainy season. I listened to the coyotes' cries at night, drove my grandpa’s golf cart through dusty fields, tossed my mother’s vegetable scraps over the fence into a field where bugs and birds foraged, and experienced the pang of guilt when my cousin showed me how salt cruelly turned snails into bubbly victims. 

I’ve dug imaginary tunnels to China with my sister and cousin, swatted flies with grandma’s battered fly swatter, yet saved bees and insects from my Auntie Rona’s pool. And, I concocted makeshift soups from dog food for my grandpa’s canine companion, Poochi.

These moments were profound lessons on coexistence. They not only highlight examples of mutual flourishing, but also reveal relationships marked by injustice, power imbalance, suffering and death. The term “interconnectedness” effectively describes the ecological realities of sharing this planet with others. 

Indeed, injustices such as the World War II incarceration of Japanese Americans and ecological degradation reveal the challenging dimensions of interconnectedness — a web of relationships that is, nonetheless, imbalanced and unjust.

Therefore, in my new role as a member of the Fresno Betsuin Buddhist Temple’s EcoSangha Initiative, I hope to contribute my perspective on “interconnectedness” as a prescriptive way to be, suggesting more life-giving ways of ecological care rooted in Jodo Shinshu teachings. 

As I write this, I’m observing the wild birds feasting at my window feeders, who also enrich the soil and plants surrounding my apartment. This practice is part of my commitment to mutual flourishing and my effort to assist other beings in cultivating “thusness.” As a new EcoSangha Committee member, I look forward to exploring how Jodo Shinshu can extend Amida Buddha's compassion to include all beings.