Successful cultural assimilation is not about how well accepted you are by the members of another ethnicity. Rather, it is how diligently you strive to understand and accept the cultural, moral and behavioral differences of another nation or group of people. In Japan, stark cultural differences can often become a source of alienation or personal conflagration for foreigners. A high regard for respect and a maintained social order have remained prominent here—from bowing to show reverence and respect (to the bus driver, your peers and elders, and often even to a passer-by), waiting your turn in line no matter how hot and humid it is outside, or giving up your seat on the bus or train to an elderly passenger—all are commonplace in daily life in Japan. Maintaining wa, a sense of social peace and harmony, has been indelible to Japanese ideology and behavior for centuries. Despite an influx of Western ideas and influences pouring into Japan throughout the 19th and 20th centuries (stemming from Commodore Perry’s “opening of Japan” and the Meiji revolution) and the fact that the casual, irreverent behavior of many Japanese youth today stands in complete contrast to the dignified, honorable social complexion of past generations of Japanese—despite these sweeping changes, wa and a sense of harmony and balance remain unequivocally pertinent to Japanese society today.
A major factor in the resistance against cultural distillation and maintenance of cultural values in Japan is its geography. A small island nation located in the very East of Asia, homogeneity and standardized ideologies flourished for thousands of years. In recent history, Ieyasu Tokugawa’s sakoku, or closed country, policy kept Japan isolated for over 250 years throughout the 17-19th centuries.
As mentioned, Japan has become an openly international nation in the post-war years and any visitor to any major Japanese city would surely find the mix of sights, sounds, tastes and experiences invariably broad and cross-cultural. Yet due to its history underscored with xenophobic sentiments, some Japanese people today may still feel uncomfortable in the presence of gaijin (lit. “outside person”). Before coming to Japan, I often heard complaints from friends who came in contact with such individuals: upon asking for directions in clearly intelligible Japanese, in lieu of a reply the only response granted was a large X made by crossing the forearms, signifying dame! (No way; no use!) So abruptly ends the confrontation. Hostility soared sky-high in my friends’ voices: “Why the fuck couldn’t they just answer me? Are they racist or something?”
I too have had similar experiences since arriving in Japan. Upon asking a woman where the nearest bus stop could be found, she gave me the ol’ dame! (in this case, most likely “I don’t understand you”) and walked off. Sure it irked my ire. I had somewhere to be and all I really wanted was a short answer to a simple question. For that woman, speaking to a foreigner was either out of the question or she was hesitant to speak to strangers in general; it is not my place to come to a rash, hostile conclusion. Most likely she was not used to speaking with foreigners and felt that she didn’t have to answer at all. I could easily recall that moment with rage, yet I choose to see it as an example of Japan’s uniqueness and volatility as a nation and group of people. It is ultimately due to Japan’s historical circumstances and geographical location that this woman chose not to speak to me—very possibly, born as another person of another race that single soul would not have let a mere shred xenophobic notion unravel our brief confrontation and equally entangle my mission to find the nearest bus stop.
To view others—and more importantly one’s self—as individuals with their own set of moral values, personal characteristics, and spiritual consciousness is an entirely Western mode of thinking, and as one human being striving for a humanistic, intellectual existence empowered by self-affirmation and individualistic expression, I cherish the blatant, verbose and often times soul-surrendering expressivity such a personal evaluation allows one to inhabit. Yet in Japan and the East, wa and the importance of group mentality have played a much more important role in thought and ethical structure. In accordance, in my confrontation with the woman and the quest to find a bus stop in Chiba, Japan, the woman’s blunt refusal to even recognize that I was comprehensibly speaking Japanese and help me along my way is most fastidiously examinable through a Japanese mode of thought—placing importance on harmony and peace—which is namely that manifested through wa. Therefore, utilizing a simple humanistic and even Christian value—to place one’s self in someone else’s shoes—it can be seen that the woman was not adamantly choosing to reject me as a person and therefore embrace xenophobia, but rather her existence as a middle-age Japanese and certain personal and national-identity factors caused this apprehensive response within her.
Through a reevaluation of the perplexities that surround the understanding of another culture and the morally and spiritually challenging obstacles that crowd the path toward cultural assimilation, it has become clear in my consciousness that the more one struggles, the more adeptly the spirit grows and becomes accustomed to mentally extenuating circumstances. Learning to accept and understand another culture (and, gradually, becoming accustomed to being accepted in that different world) is the most precious experience an individual can behold. Yet, the spiritual and mental crossroads that must be traversed—often in a second language—is a perilous journey. Literary faculty and a boldly individualized expressiveness aid any on this path, yet a true humanistic desire to respect and love other humans—even in the face of disregard or discrimination—is irreplaceable throughout the entire journey of life.
May 01, 2005
Turn the other cheek or I'll make you meek . . .
As a child, upon misbehaving I was often informed flatly, “You’re going to be in a world of pain.” More often than not, such was the case: belt lashes across my backside or verbal degradation, like spikes hammered into the soft, fleshy crevices of my young mind, constituted nothing short of an entire universe of pain and remorse. I was constantly reminded of my own inferiority as a member of a family, and the consequent invalidity as a part of the whole of society; yet over the years, whenever I did something that was deemed wrong, the verbal or physical abuse that came as a retort was like second nature to me. It was only natural that when my actions caused a disruption in the moral consideration of another (“Do not hit your brother, that is wrong!) I should be punished according to my actions (“Smack!”). Accustomed to such a moral juxtaposition, it was inevitable that the ideological Christian lesson, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” would become incomprehensible to me. According to the bible, an individual who becomes the focus of pain or suffering in any form (i.e. having one’s eye gouged out) is obligated to put himself or herself into a respectively similar amount of physical torment (gouging out your other good eye does more than suffice). In my life, the bearer of my ill-behavior and unruly disobedience—unpleasantries I think typical of any child—was nearly always one of my parents. Even if I performed an act of physical violence towards one of my siblings, the objective bearer of my wickedness, they were the ones to have their “eye gouged out” by my insubordination. In accordance with Christianity, the religion my parents were instructed to believe in and therefore chose for their children, “turning the other cheek,”—in this example perhaps turning away from their children’s misbehavior and allowing such sinful nature to take it’s course—was hardly ever the conclusion that was reached. Engulfed in their own rage, turning away from their own children’s misbehavior, allowing such sinful actions to go on would be personally unacceptable. Blinded by a sense of righteous indignation, as humans they felt the desire and need for vengeance. Physical or verbal punishment directed at their children was inevitably the quickest, most effective form. A smarting lash across the rear or the roar of reproach—either served equally efficient in silencing any disobedience. This moral concept found in Christianity sticks in my mind to this day with impassive furor and unmatched relativity to the personal moral and spiritual schism gaping wide in my consciousness today. In spite of my Christian upbringing, drowned in a world of physical and verbal violence I was as apt to embrace such an idyllic Christian concept as a mentally damaged newborn would be to grasp the overbearing love and concern and compassion flooding his or her parent’s minds.
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