Japan on a whim

Throughout the day, multiple renditions of “Irasshaimaseeeeee!” (“welcome”), “sumimasen” (“excuse me”), and especially, “Arigato gozaimaaaaaaasu!” (thank you very much), ring out effusively and as a matter of course by any number of shop-servers, waiters, train conductors, and members of the general public. Leaving a fancy bar, you might be escorted to the lift by a tuxedoed barman, still midway through his head-below-waist bow as the doors close. Weary bus drivers keep passengers constantly informed of the next stops, final destinations and upcoming sharp turns, punctuated with the soft whisper and hush of “mairimaaaas…kudasai…gozaimaaaaaaas”. As the mighty Shinkansen, or “bullet train”, hurtles along at 200mph (and sometimes you do feel the speed), the conductor courteously announces his arrival and gives a dutiful bow upon entering and leaving each carriage.

The train scampers through the boxed utility of the endless sprawl; economy of space in seemingly perfect organised chaos. For only the briefest moment, transfer here for the Keiyo Line, the Musashino Line, the Nambu Line, the Yokohama Line, the Yamanote Line (sic)….Sharply dressed suits of black, blue and grey syphon off in a hundred directions. Yet across the road in the labyrinth Tsukiji Fish Market, the salarymen feel very far away. Gruff fish cutters operate with speed and purpose, zigzagging in motorized carts through gawking tourists. Such juxtapositions are everywhere – a serene, sparsely beautiful shrine gives way to the frenzied din and acrid smoke of a pachinko; turn away from the kooky, teeny-bopping Harajuku and face an ornate temple or bronze Buddha. A quaintly preserved Edo-era street lies opposite a manga shop and a karaoke bar. Out of the peaceful heritage and evergreen trees into the explosive technicolour neon of the urban arcade. At the shrines, visitors are invited to write prayers or wishes on small wooden plaques (“ema”) and hang them up. Suggestions for wishes include happiness, health, enlightenment - or academic attainment. Itsukushima shrine on Miyajima Island is dedicated to three goddesses, worshipped as deities of sea, fortune, accomplishment - and traffic safety. The Japanese are nothing if not practical people.

Rich tradition and contemporary glitz sit alongside bizarre western pop culture, like xylophone instrumentals of The Monkees “Daydream Believer” on Seven Eleven’s nationwide playlist and life-sized sexy Santa figurines in the Christmas market under the Tokyo Skytree. Walking the city streets during the festive season (which begins right after Halloween), with Christmas muzak on a constant loop, things start to feel more Groundhog Day than the patronizing orientalism of Lost in Translation. The real-life Bill Murray is Tommy Lee Jones, face of Boss Coffee, reprising his time-honoured Men in Black look on every vending machine across the land. Once you’ve finished your can of Boss, you might search the streets in vain for a bin, yet notice that paradoxically there’s no rubbish on the streets. That’s because people take their litter home, or wait until they find one of the recycling points that has a section for three different parts of a plastic bottle.

The strong sense of civic duty and emphasis on the collective over the individual is evident in various forms. It is frowned upon to make one’s feelings known at every turn. On the one hand, people genuinely look out for others and seem less me-first than in Western society. Citizens habitually sweep the leaves from their neighbours’ pavement, in spite of the swirling wind. Sports stars downplay their own role in victory, apologise for their mistakes, and pay homage to their team mates and coach. On the other hand, this tendency possibly reinforces a culture of passivity and reluctance to dissent. Historically, the Japanese population have tended not to openly question or rebel against authority. There remains a stigma over quitting a job just because you don’t like it, while a bad government has typically been met with resigned compliance.

This might be starting to change though. In the economic boom and rapid urbanization of the postwar recovery, high employee integration gave Japan an edge over foreign competitors. The gap between the lowest and highest paid workers was much lower in Japanese companies than comparable western ones. There was a perception in the 1970s that this was a country of “a hundred million people, all middle class”. But in the early 1990s the notion of a “job for life” came to be viewed as a rigidity that interfered with free-market capitalism and prevented companies shedding labour. As a result, 21^st century Japan has witnessed a casualization of the workforce, the introduction of performance-based employment, and a rapid growth of the working-poor. In 2008, a third of the labour force consisted of part-time, contract and temporary workers. The nation’s younger generations are propping up the final-salary pensions of a huge retired population that includes over 60,000 centenarians. These themes are explored in the funny and moving documentary, Japan: A Story of Love and Hate.

As more Japanese join the growing ranks of the global precariat, their traditional stoical obedience appears to be fracturing. Conservative Prime Minister Shinzo Abe’s militarisation and new rounds of austerity and privatization have contributed to a sudden eruption of political rebellion. In August and September, hundreds of thousands of young activists, leaders of opposition parties, trade unionists, workers, and others held intense, nightly demonstrations against the Abe administration, a force of direct political action unseen in Japan for many years. The protests were initially sparked by the government’s “reinterpretation” of the celebrated Article Nine of Japan’s constitution - which prevents the country from having a standing army and prohibits non-defensive military action of any kind. The change gives Japan the right to exercise “collective self-defence” - military action if one of its allies were to be attacked. This will align Japan’s armed forces more closely with the United States, and is partly in response to the rise once more of China. Critics say it opens the door for Japan to fight in foreign wars and invokes the nation’s imperialist past. There is also anger that Abe circumvented the constitutional amendment procedure. One of the most prominent opponents has been film-maker and co-founder of Studio Ghibli, Hayao Miyazaki, who like a majority of Japanese citizens, objects both on principle and on the grounds that a single government should not be allowed to change the constitution on a whim.

Such fierce resistance also has its roots in the devastating experience of World War Two. When Japan refused to surrender after the end of the European conflict, the United States, with the consent of the United Kingdom, dropped the first nuclear bomb in warfare history over Hiroshima, killing 75,000 people almost instantly. Three days later, with primary target Kokura obscured by cloud and smoke after nearby firebombing the previous day, a chance gap in the clouds opened up over Nagasaki. The second A-bomb was dropped, destroying the city and taking tens of thousands of lives. In both cities, thousands more lived on in half-dead agony for several months before eventually succumbing. There are stories of children who grew up in seemingly good health, only for diseases like leukaemia to manifest in their teenage years and take their lives within months.

At the harrowing Atomic Bomb Museum in Hiroshima, the prevailing message is “never again”. People pass through the exhibits sombrely, reflecting on images of an apparently more barbaric, less enlightened past. Yet there are still some in the west who would maintain that the act was necessary to end the war; that the murder of 150,000-200,000 people can be justified. Today we insist on the need for nuclear weapons to stop nuclear catastrophe, while Japan is in fact “protected” under the US nuclear umbrella. The solemn earnestness feels a bit dishonest when just down the road we have weapons hundreds of times more powerful than those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. But maybe that’s a naïve attitude. Better that the civilised countries call the shots and not North Korea or Iran, right? And jobs don’t grow on trees after all.

For all that though, Hiroshima and Nagasaki have recovered remarkably well. Nagasaki is especially scenic, with its sloping hills and picturesque bay. Its unique history adds to the charm. Under the policy of Sakoku, for two hundred years no foreigner could enter Japan or any Japanese leave the country. The artificial island of Dejima, in Nagasaki Bay, where Dutch traders were stationed, was the only outside presence during this period, as dramatised in David Mitchell’s boldly imaginative novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet. This legacy makes it easier to understand why Japan remains one of the most ethnically homogeneous societies in the world, and why immigration is still treated with wariness in the country today. While the aging population and shrinking workforce has undermined traditional gender roles and broadened opportunities for women, relaxing border controls seems to be the elephant in the room. Don’t expect an influx of Syrians any time soon. Demographic realities cannot be ignored forever, though, and there may come a point in the coming decades where this stance is changed. Japan has a very self-contained culture, but the warmth, generosity and respect its citizens show visitors makes one hopeful that it has the capacity to embrace generations of new Japanese, who can share in this fun, honorific, innovative, eccentric and utterly unique society.