Coming to Terms

Bear with me, for we all need time and space to vent ourselves out, to unscramble what is all tightly woven inside and throw it out there, out of the system. It is a sort of cleansing if you will.

Today, I believe I’ve made some important realizations about Japan and its people. It all starts with a trip to the gym.

I became a member of a local gym in February 2006, approximately one year and three months ago. I have been going to said gym irregularly but consistently since then. Typically, I do some running and some work with the machines, before showering and enjoying the rather nice communal bath facilities. Unfortunately, it is all a nice pretense for me because it at least gives my life some aura of health, which, with all the smoking, drinking, and generally unfit activities that I indulge in, is otherwise hard to come by. Anyway, beside the point. About one month ago, after I finished and was already in my car, a lovely, young female member of staff ran out to my car and, out of breath, told me that there had recently been a change of management and that they would like to see me for some reason. I didn’t have time quite then, so I told her that I would talk to them next time. In my ego-fueled fantasy world, I was already imagining all sorts of photo ops and benefits coming to me, for why on earth else would the management want to talk to me? But, to my disappointment, the next few times I came, no one mentioned anything and I assumed they had somehow satisfied themselves in other ways.

But, no. As I found out today, they were not satisfied. Having given them my card, as part of the usual procedure, I was in the locker room when a nervous looking member of the managerial staff, one whom I had never seen before, came in and immediately apologized for interrupting me. I figured he was part of the brass, simply because he was never out on the floor but rather somewhere on the insides.

Now, Japanese people are usually very nervous the first time they have to talk to a foreigner they don’t know (unless they’re drunk, of course) and this nervousness manifests itself in two ways. First, they try to dig up whatever minimalist English they remember from the time they all had to study it in school and put it on display. When that gets them past “Hello, how are you,” and they come up against a wall, they go into the second way, which consists of very simple routines in Japanese, usually about where that particular person is from or what Japanese food he or she cannot eat. If the foreigner happens to speak any Japanese at all, he/she is immediately complimented on their fluency. It is only after a little while, when the Japanese person more or less gets that the foreigner can understand that the conversation can turn to more substantial topics. This approach is perfectly understandable because, to the Japanese, it is unlikely that the foreigner will comprehend Japanese but now that the decision has been made to start a conversation, this is the way it inevitably unfolds.

But this man’s nervousness manifested itself in a way that was new to me. Instead of any English at all or even asking me if I understood him, he launched into a long diatribe about something or other using the most polite level of Japanese. Now, I’ve been studying for a little while, but mostly focusing on two levels. The first is what I use with my friends or people I know well. This is the plain form of the language or the one most amenable to quick, colloquial conversation. The other form is the regular polite form, which I use with my superiors or people I don’t know. The main differences between these two have to do with verb endings as well as the presence or absence of some helping verbs. While nowhere near fluent, I have come to understand the differences and when to use one or the other. But, the thing is, Japanese has another level of speech, called keigo, which is very, very polite and comes into two forms as well, the honorific and the humble. The honorific is used when referring to one’s superiors or to people outside the inner circle (whether that be family, company, club, etc.) and the humble is used when referring to oneself, one’s actions, or to the inner circle in any way. The former is all about showing respect to the listener and the latter is about lowering (humbling) oneself in front of them. Now, these forms are not just about verb endings but entirely different verbs, so to know it and to understand it requires a vast amount of additional study. The Japanese themselves often have trouble using it, but everyone must learn it in school. As for me, while I have studied a little bit, it is something I have almost never had to use or been confronted with. Keigo is simply not part of the foreigner’s experience in Japan.

But, nevertheless, here was this man, delivering a barrage of politeness at me and bowing incessantly. I caught bits and pieces, essentials, but overall, the flow of the talk was beyond me. I gathered he wanted to talk to me, so I put on my shirt and we walked back out to the lobby. We sat down and he started again. During the pauses, he would look at me and all I could do was smile, because I really was not understanding him. Finally, through gestures and whatnot, I figured out what we were talking about. It was my tattoo. And from there, I pretty much figured out what the problem was.

In Japan, there is a huge taboo against tattoos. Usually anyone sporting them is not allowed into public baths and in general, people do not have high opinions about the subject. I’m not exactly sure why this is but primarily it has to do with the yakuza. Many members of that organization are, apparently, heavily tattooed. We’re talking about whole torso images of dragons in extremely vivid color. And so, to keep the yakuza out of the innumerable baths around the country, anyone with tattoos is not allowed. I have been to many baths, however, and never encountered a problem. Before today, I thought that the Japanese simply assumed that as a foreigner, I could never be a member of the yakuza and I actually appreciated their tolerance toward me. One time, in a large public bath, I was told to drape a towel over myself, but beyond that, no serious problems.

I figured the conversation this time was headed in that direction again and just as I was about to volunteer covering my tattoo in the bath, I realized it was slightly more serious. He was not talking about me not going to the bath any more. Rather, he was, very politely, with a boatload of respect, revoking my gym membership. Frankly, I was rather shocked. After a few moments of a blank stare, I told him that I had been coming to the gym, tattoo and all, for over a year. He apologized some more, said something along the lines that some other members had complained to the new management. Still in a bit of a shock, I told him that I was leaving the gym at the end of July anyway and would it be possible for me to continue just until then. Like a car salesman, he apologized and said he had to go talk to the boss. I waited, rather put off by the whole thing.

He came back, more apologies and the basics of it came down to the fact that they were giving me until the end of May. Until the 31st, please come enjoy our facilities as much as you like, but come June, you’re not welcome anymore. That was the gist. Several times I asked him to clarify, to make sure that it was indeed until the end of May and he put it in plain terms that I could understand. I did not put up a fight or a squabble. When I was becoming a member, I had a Japanese friend with me and he told me tattoos weren’t allowed here. I knew about the rule. But, back then, no body from the gym side asked me about my tattoos and for almost a year and a half I did not have a single problem about it, ever. So, I had long figured that everything was ok and that an exception was being made for my non-yakuza foreigner self. Today, I was shown to be way wrong. I accepted my fate and trying not to be too angry proceeded with my work out.

But of course, I was fuming on the inside. How could they, now? Why? Who had complained? What was the big deal? Questions arising from my hurt ego. And once I realized that that was what it was, I started thinking about the ego a little bit more, in specific relation to the Japanese and, quite accidentally, I stumbled across a subconscious reason I was attracted to and ultimately ended up coming to live in this country.

Ever since I can remember, the schools of thought concerning the spiritual development of man that I have encountered (through reading, conversation, and practice) have all, one way or another, concerned the pacification of the ego. I will not get into it in detail here, but let me just say that, basically, they revolve around the idea that we can develop and grow spiritually by acknowledging that we are ruled by desires, confronting those very desires, and eventually (very far down the line) extinguishing them. The philosophies, religions, and world-views that base themselves on this central tenet have always had an appeal for me (even if it has, for the most part, been purely theoretical). As such, then, it is no wonder that the East has also been a central part of this. The central esoteric traditions of the West (whether it is in Christianity, Judaism, to some degree Islam) concerns spiritual development with regard to a deity. It is through a full and complete surrender of ourselves to a superior God that we can grow and become more complete human beings. This kind of faith-based approach never really hooked me and I was always more curious in what they had to offer over there, that is over here. And Japan, obviously, is a member of the Asian or Eastern club, and along with China, India, and the rest of continental Asia, it has its own extensive systems in operation with regard to this particular topic. When it came time to make the decision to come here, I went through a million reasons for doing so, but never specifically focused on this one. But undeniably, it was there, underneath the shadows, lurking, definitely influencing me. In fact, without it, I probably would not have come here…

And so, sitting there in the gym, I continued to think. How have I encountered this ego-pacification phenomenon here in Japan? In what ways, if any, have I fulfilled my desire to know about the East in this particular sense? And then, it hit me, blatantly. It turns out, the entire system here in Japan is designed to root out the ego. As I have undoubtedly written before, the communal nature of life here in Japan is undeniable. From the earliest social outings all through life’s stages, the Japanese are taught and trained to put the well-being of others first, to commit themselves to something greater than any individual cravings, to sacrifice an immense amount for the glory of the whole. Of course I’d spent countless hours thinking about this before, analyzing both its positive and negative points, mostly focusing on the wonderful attributes of a society that this created. But today, it dawned on me that this kind of mentality, spread across a homogenous nation, was in many ways a natural social extension of the very Eastern philosophy that had attracted me here in the first place.

It’s not an earth-shattering connection by any means, perhaps even obvious, and actually I was kind of disappointed in not having seen it so clearly before. But nevertheless, I don’t think it can be denied. Many schools, especially the Buddhist ones, teach us that man is essentially trapped in an endless cycle of suffering. Most in the West refuse to see it this way, but in the East, I think it could be taken as a given. From there, the schools go on to formulate the causes of this suffering (primarily some form of individual craving or desire) as well as ways out of it (the Middle Way, mediation, asceticism, yogism, etc.). Such it has been from the time of the Buddha on down and, if one chooses to believe so, embedded in the wisdom of the ancients, far older than even the truths of the Enlightened One, which are over 2,500 years old. Much like the Judeo-Christian way (with its Islamic offshoot) dominates the way most of the Western world thinks and behaves, the Eastern approach has come to permeate the way of life in many nations in this area of the globe. I have seen it first hand in many countries here. And, thus, logically, it cannot but make sense that the Japanese as a people and the way they have structured their society in many ways complements this tremendously old philosophy.

Whether consciously or not, the Japanese accept the suffering of life as natural and as a result, they are not a particularly ecstatic people. Recently, I read about a survey of the world’s youth that attempted to rank the degree of happiness of those between the ages of 18 and 30. To no particular surprise, the Japanese came in last, with something like 24% of the respondents claiming to be happy. Ok, so they acknowledge that life is not about the pursuit of happiness. But at the same time, the philosophy offers a way to extinguish the suffering by first realizing its causes and then working diligently to correct them. Being primarily a Buddhist nation, there is a collective approach in Japan to addressing this suffering. As mentioned, children are taught that it is the needs of society (on however small (family) or large (nation) a level) that are paramount. Individual needs are not important. They are considered products of a selfish ego and must be discarded in favor of communal ones. I see this play out in school all the time. There is almost no individual action. Most everything, from answering questions to eating, is done in groups. Of course, there are instances, such as taking tests, when students work individually, but again the justification here is that they need to do well in school so they can go to the best college so they can enter the best companies where they will work their best, sacrificing so much, for the benefit of their extended national family. The mentality is everywhere and I can continue listing example after example. That is not necessary however.

So, the point is that, here in Japan, the first step of that particular path is in many ways institutionalized in society. What results is a nation where selfishness is not clearly evident and sacrifice can be seen almost everywhere. This is exactly what attracted me and I am extremely grateful to have been able to witness it firsthand like I have. Whereas in the West, where the culture of individualism fuels the fires of ego rather than extinguishing them and anyone interested in following this path must fight society, in Japan, society itself is fundamentally conducive to the endeavor. If this is accepted and is indeed true, then the logical extension is that this is, if not the ideal, than at least a really good place to be if one wants to follow this path. Personally, I have always been interested in it and someday do hope to follow it more seriously, so the question becomes, shouldn’t I stay in Japan? Shouldn’t I remain in a place that is so welcoming of this philosophy as to make it a fundamental building block of society?

Well. Actually, the answer is no. I am indeed coming back to the United States at the end of July. I think, with due consideration of everything that has been written above, this requires an explanation. Here’s the paradox of it. The fact that it is institutionalized is not, as it may seem, a crucial starting point. No, quite the opposite. It dooms the entire endeavor from the start. Whoever a person is, no matter the background, country, location, biases, etc., etc., this path is always something that has to be undertaken individually and practically. A person cannot take anyone’s word for it. One cannot simply believe that suffering is everywhere, but rather has to experience it firsthand. The sages say that indeed we are all experiencing it constantly but the overwhelming majority of people are simply not aware of it. They frame their experiences in different ways and refuse to acknowledge that their lives are fundamentally flawed. Unless one practically tests, experiences, and discovers a truth one has been told or has read about, that truth will remain nothing but a theory, a handy explanation of things but with absolutely zero application to actually bringing about change.

In Japan, that very truth is drilled into everyone from the get-go and most everyone is certainly familiar with it, even if they don’t think about it on a daily basis. But rarely is it taken to the level that the philosophy requires. Rather, it is taken for granted and, like a mass-brainwashing, everyone falls in line, acting in accordance with tradition and social norms. Just because those social norms happen to coincide with some of the elements of the philosophy does not mean that they are practically applied. And so, what is the result?

Well, instead of a nation of enlightened beings who have freed themselves is a collective of like-minded masses that are still tied up in the same problems that everyone else has. (BTW, I have to beg forgiveness for the massive generalizations that are being made all over the place; I am just thinking on paper, not trying to write an academic thesis) But here’s the key difference. While individual egos are indeed trampled upon resulting in a society that is quite unique and unlike anywhere else, what emerges is a collective ego, a huge beast that is beyond conquering. While the idea is to stamp it out completely, this particular ego is so huge that it pulsates with the rhythm of an entire country of 150 million. True, this can potentially be applied to any country with any kind of national pride, but here in Japan it is evident to a much higher degree, partially as a result of the very institutionalization and corruption of that same philosophy.

The Japanese are very proud, as is any ego. Japanese food, culture, history, what have you is considered highly unique. Foreigners are not really expected to fully understand it or partake in it because they are not part of the collective ego. When a foreigner demonstrates an ability to somehow penetrate a part of the Japanese experience, the outward reactions to this, dictated by trained etiquette and reflective of individual rearing, are ones of surprise, disbelief, and ultimately encouragement. The Japanese are proud of what they have and want others to come to appreciate it almost as much. But not AS much. Inwardly, I suspect, many people unconsciously deny the possibility of outsiders coming in. This is precisely the nature of the conditioning of the collective ego. The uniqueness of the Japanese as a people is such that no one else can be like them, can even come close.

Like any ego, the Japanese one has its insecurities that it continuously tries to mask. Individual Japanese will always deny that they are good at anything. Asking my students if they are good at baseball unequivocally produces a negative response. Giving someone a gift is almost always preceded by pointing out how inferior it is. In fact, the most common way to start anything is by way of apology. This kind of humility, rejection of pride and the self on an individual level, certainly can be applauded. I continue to be amazed by it everyday. By extension, the collective ego, one would think, does the same to the rest of the world, bowing down, claiming inferiority. And yet, is this really so? Where are the best cars in the world made? What is the world’s third largest economy? Where is the standard of living among the highest in the world? What is considered to be the safest country on the planet? The Japanese themselves cannot deny the answer to these questions and the collective ego effectively addresses any concerns or fears of weakness that individuals may harbor. Again, I can go on and on.

For all the benefits of being in a society that functions based on the premises of an institutionalized Buddhism, the reason I cannot stay in Japan is essentially two-fold. The first part concerns a rather tragic layer that exists across almost all the individuals I have encountered (which gives me some leeway in extending this across the entire nation). In suppressing individualism in favor of a greater, collective good, not only the bad parts (selfishness, greed, dishonesty, etc.) are squashed, but the good ones as well. Such things as creativity, confidence, and imagination, which are all part of the bright side of individualism, fall by the wayside. One of the more difficult questions that my elementary school kids have trouble answering in my English classes is simply what their favorite thing is, whether it be a color, a food, an animal, etc. From first grade forth, they are instinctively drilled in the English language words for these things, so the trouble does not come from not knowing the vocabulary. Rather, it comes from the necessity to choose. It is almost like the favoritism of showing something a particular preference is somehow seen as a selfish act that cannot be allowed. With the older kids, any time I try to do an activity that requires some sort of independent thought or creativity, it always bombs, resulting in blank stares that portray a bafflement in having been asked to produce such an individual thing. This same quality is everywhere. Things are done in accordance with tradition, with the way they have always been done, and even though modernity sometimes forces changes, it is only when the collective accepts something that individuals will even begin to embrace the thought of change. To me, this is stifling beyond compare. I cannot be in a place where my creative freedom will always be at the mercy of some overarching thought police. I cannot give up my right to express myself how I want to and my right to express judgment based on my own individual beliefs and values.

The second part of the reason concerns the above-mentioned ego. I will simply never find a place for myself within it nor will I ever be accorded one. Even if I start a Japanese family or engage in work of a highly beneficial nature, there will always be a barrier. I will always feel like an outsider. As much as Japan is trying to become a globally-aware country and for all of its efforts at internationalization, for as long as I remain in Japan, the Japanese will genuinely continue to be impressed by my ability to use chopsticks or to say konnichiwa. Maybe these are just things that are said out of a discomfort or simply the need to say something, but the very fact that there is a discomfort and that it is these particular things that are said and not a compliment about clothes or some other ice breaker, is definitive enough for me. I have come to realize, on a personal level, that Japan is a country for the Japanese . . . that I will remain an outsider on the outside, no matter how deeply inside I can glance.

Of course, I am saddened by all of this. Like I said, there are so many great and wonderful things here that are simply impossible anywhere else. I will certainly miss them, both in the near and far future. In fact, I cannot even fully picture all the different things that will inevitably be lacking once I return. But, alas, this is how it must be. For all its promise and greatness, the fruits of Japan remain for the Japanese and whether they will someday take full advantage remains an open question. Many people will probably disagree with me and my experience in Japan has been just that, mine. But, nevertheless, I stand by these words. I have to. For the decision has been made and I must justify my actions to myself.

Let me conclude (wow, expectedly yet unintentionally this turned into another rather long one, starting with my desire to convey an isolated incident and ending with a beginning of sorts of a coming to terms with my experience over the last two years) by going back to the gym. I finished my workout, took a bath, and went to the counter to retrieve my membership card. It was handed back to me with a solemn apology as well as a note notifying me that I had two weeks left as a member. This would put the revocation at the end of April, not May like I had been told and had confirmed multiple times. While working out, I had suppressed my desires to just quit on the spot, in a bit of a minor outrage, and, having briefly thought about the above, I had settled with finality on the thought that “this is Japan.” I had decided to accept this rule about tattoos and take responsibility for having violated it. A rule was indeed broken and regardless of the virtues of the rule itself, it was a pretty solid case. But, or so I thought, I would at least have until the end of May, another month and a half, to continue using the gym.

Fat chance. The paper said two more weeks. So, naturally, I wanted to speak to the man from before, to have this clarified, to find out why such a discrepancy had occurred. I was told by the lovely lady to have a seat and wait. I waited, watching them run around, back and forth between the inside and the outside. Finally, another of the young ladies (staff, not management) came up to me and said hello, in English. This was followed by slow, clearly articulated questions of whether I spoke Japanese. And finally, I was told, in Japanese fit for a baby, that the manager had told me until the end of April. Definitively. No ifs, ands, or buts. I looked her right in the eyes and calmly, methodically produced my best Japanese to clearly tell her that he had in fact told me until the end of May. She smiled a beautiful smile, bowed, apologized, and told me that this simply was not true. Case closed.

Obviously, I had misunderstood the managerial Japanese…


P.S. I am well aware that this entire entry is the result of nothing else but a hurt ego, which kind of throws everything into doubt, eh?

P.P.S. My utmost condolences go out to the families of the Virginia Tech victims and to their memory. As it does to many, this event really baffles me and I am as concerned as ever about living in the United States, even though I know it’s where I want to be. At the same time (and here I allow myself a political incorrectness that is typically suppressed in public discourse) I cannot grant this event any more or less importance than, say, the scores of people, of innocent people, killed everyday in the markets in Baghdad. Their deaths are just as meaningless and their lives are just as valuable, in my eyes. And yet, nowhere is this connection made. We grieve for that which is close, familiar, and on home turf, but that which is far away, hidden deep inside our televisions, is not worthy of our compassion and our thoughts. So please, a moment of silence for all the suffering in the world…