A blog about adventures, academia, adoption and other things starting with the letter 'A'. I'm a geek, a metal head, a shiba inu wrangler and a vegetarian, and I write about all of the above. You have been warned!
I’ve wasted a lot of money on food in Japan. I spent a
fortune on olives and cheese and pesto and other things I like to eat regularly
that are once-a-year luxuries out here in the sticks. I am not a big fan of
Japanese food. I know, I know. I don’t like sea weed or slimy textured food,
and that cuts out 90% of what Japan has to offer that is vegetarian. Because we
have been so very busy the past few years it was easier to just fork out for
the pesto and olives. It takes ten minutes to boil the pasta and voila,
delicious dinner and left-overs that taste good enough cold to pack for lunch.
What could be easier? Except, of course, that it is also not particularly
nutritious, cost a fortune and is full of “empty” calories. So as life is
finally beginning to slow down a little, I thought I’d share some recipes for
cheap vegetarian dishes to make with ingredients that are easy to source in
regular Japanese supermarkets that don’t
taste like fish food or take six hours to prepare.
Unless you are pretty far north, June is likely to be humid,
wet, hot and generally nasty. People often get food poisoning in June because
of the sudden heat and humidity. You need to store your food carefully and
check everything for mould before using it. Seasonal ingredients will vary by
region, but down here June is great for fresh peas, beans, bamboo shoots,
shiitake, tomato and eggplant. It’s hot enough that I want to eat something
cold, but too rainy for anything that invokes “soggy” like cold noodles or
chilled soups. I want fresh, crisp and colourful food to counteract the grey
skies and my perpetually wet socks.
Fresh Legume and Herb Salad
Vegan and mostly free... the peas and beans were a gift from a teacher's garden
This is so simple but really tasty and versatile. I get
given bags of beans and peas at work all the time, and this salad/side works
with anything at all. You can even use frozen edamame /peas / rehydrated white
beans and make it in winter. It’s basically just blanched legumes in lemon
juice/zest, vinegar and whatever herbs you have on hand. No matter how small
your apartment is, you can always grow fresh herbs! But supermarkets stock them
as well.
I had mint and some slightly gone-to-seed coriander in the garden, but parsley, dill, or anything really would be tasty!
I fancied this up by replacing the lemon juice/zest with
diced Moroccan-style preserved lemon (*home-made: easy to make, cheap, lasts
forever and makes everything more delicious, see below for how to make them), feta cheese and some
artichoke hearts from Costco. That makes it much more expensive, but really
really good. The leftovers make a solid lunch just with some crusty bread.
Spicy Eggplant Gyoza
Could be vegan depending on the wrappers used
When eggplants/aubergines are cheap I don’t feel bad
treating them a little badly. These gyoza are not that healthy but really
delicious, and take advantage of the cheap fresh ginger you can get at this
time of year too.
These ingredients made 12 gyoza and cost barely anything
Mince and fry in sesame oil with some garlic and a little soy sauce if it dries out, then stuff the wrappers. A bit more time consuming than the other dishes and quite fatty if you fry the gyoza, but really yummy ;)
Bamboo-shoot Rice
I'm not going to make bamboo shoot rice from scratch, but it takes about two minutes to stick a packet and some rice into the rice cooker and it's tasty, locally made and this brand is actually vegan as far as I can tell.
Crispy Tofu, Tomato and Basil Salad
Usually you press the tofu, dust in flour and fry but I had leftover gyoza sheets and I thought it'd try wrapping the tofu in them instead. It worked really well.
Tomatoes are cheap right now and my garden is full of basil,
so the only question is what to put them on. The answer in this case is tofu,
weird though it sounds. I promise it tastes good! I like it cold but hot works
too.
I would usually use balsamic vinegar not dressing and red onion, but I was out of both
*Making Moroccan preserved lemons
Day 1: The jar eventually fills up entirely with juice
I bought a bag of lemons from Costco and couldn't get through them in time so I tried to find a way to make them last and got the instructions for preserved lemons at davidlebovitz.com
I used a nice cheap jar from Muji and threw in coriander seeds, chillis, cloves and a cinnamon stick then sat back and waited. They're delicious mashed into butter on asparagus and other vegetables, but I've also used them in frosting for banana muffins and mixed into vanilla ice-cream. I only use a little at a time and over a year later they're still just as tasty.
I haven't obscured her face because it was so long ago that I can't imagine her being recognisable today
I have no idea who this child is. I was having dinner with
some friends circa 2005, and her parents just walked over, put her in my lap
and took a photo. I’m not sure who was more freaked out about the situation,
her or me.
I was walking with the man-person recently when a little girl,
about five years old, yelled out 外人だ (foreigners!) and broke away from
her mother, running over and throwing her arms around my waist. Beaming up at
me she pleaded 遊ぼう (play with me)??
It’s been the case for a long time that foreigners,
specifically English-speaking foreigners, have been prominently employed in the
education field. A lot of kids have happy experiences playing with a fun,
cheerful foreigner at an “international pre-school”, English conversation
class, baby “let’s sing and play in English” class and of course at elementary
school. It’s not surprising that kids see us and assume that we are there to
entertain and play with them. What is slightly less understandable is the way
adults push children to interact for them.
“Ask her where she’s from” the mother on the bus will ask her child in
Japanese. The child turns to me and says “where are you from?” in Japanese. I
answer in Japanese. “What is she saying?” The mother asks the child, and the
child repeats exactly what I said back to the mother. “Wow, foreign languages
really are easier for children!” The mother marvels. The child and I roll our
eyes in synchronisation.
While I don’t mind at all (I love kids and do actually find
them easier to communicate with), I wonder how safe it is for the children
involved. I guess paranoia about stranger-danger is a very un-Japanese thing, and I usually like that about Japan.
No idea where they were heading after we decided to go home... or what they were doing in the red light district in the first place for that matter. A lot of the working girls bring their children to 'work' with them, but this lady wasn't dressed like the usual employees in the area.
Once when an Australian friend was visiting we were out in the red light district
late on a Friday night, on our way back from some all-you-can-drink karaoke. A
woman with a six year old boy wanted to practice her English and engaged some
of our group in conversation while the visiting friend and I played a wild game
of tag/dragon ball through the nearby park and side streets. His mother never
even turned around to see where he was. While I think it is wonderful that
children are given more freedom and that society as a whole looks out for all
children in a communal way in Japan, I was pretty shocked by that particular
incident. A group of drunk strangers, chasing a very little boy through the
bushes in the red light district in the wee hours of the morning surely
warrants at lest the occasional look-see. Being foreign doesn’t automatically
mean someone is safe to leave your child unattended with, any more than being
foreign makes them automatically more dangerous.
If you haven't read this book, rectify the situation immediately. I'll wait.
I held a hook-like implement in each hand, pulling my lips
out and forward while a girl with hay-fever tried to position a mirror inside
my mouth and a large digital camera just outside it. I tried not to breathe on
the mirror but it was taking forever because she kept turning away to sneeze.
It occurred to me again that had me from ten years ago suddenly been dropped
into this situation, she would have been extremely surprised. The last time I
had thought the same thing was during my first annual medical examination, when,
having no idea what was about to happen, I had followed instructions to remove
my bra and lift up my shirt. A no-nonsense doctor had slapped cold slime onto my
breast and attached a number of suction cups to it, before unceremoniously
pulling down my stockings and attaching a clamp and wires to my ankle. I had no
idea if this was what she was supposed to be doing or not, so I just lay there
passively, thinking: “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen hentai that started more or
less just like this…” and then she ran an electric current through me. It was
an EKG, apparently. Mum and Dad, if you’re reading this at the library, please
don’t google “hentai”. Actually, even if you’re not at the library...
Japanese medical practitioners are very comfortable with
causing discomfort. I’ve written about the ‘flu test before, but it isn’t just
doctors. The first time I visited a Japanese dentist I explained in very clear
detail how sensitive my teeth are and insisted that I would need a lot of
anaesthetic. He was flabbergasted. It was just a small filling, he said, and
surely I could がまん? No, I said, inject away. As soon as he began drilling
I knew that whatever he had given me wouldn’t cut it. I waved my hand in the
air but he didn’t stop. I yelled as much as I could with a drill, hand and
suction tube in my mouth. He stopped. I need more, I said. He couldn’t believe
it. “You know you have to pay for each injection, right?” Whatever, I insisted,
do it and don’t come near me with that drill until I’m numb and drooling. He
injected me again. I could still feel the drill but I thought I’d be able to
endure this much. I couldn’t face trying to stop him again. It turned out that
I couldn’t endure it after-all… I woke up to a very confused room of dentists, hygienists
and even the lady from reception, all of whom had never seen anyone pass out in
the chair before, let alone after not one but TWO injections (I’m not generally
speaking a wuss, but my teeth are crazy sensitive. It-takes-me-hours-to-eat-an-ice-cream kind of sensitive). With this experience under my belt I’ve avoided
visiting a dentist for the past four years, even though basic dental care is
included in the national health insurance. I “splurged” on Australian dentists
and their delightful drugs when I visited home, cost be damned. Unfortunately
that isn’t possible anymore, so I headed to a local dentist who was recommended
by a friend as pain-free. He was certainly very good about drugging me, but the
whole camera in the face thing was quite an experience.
Then there are the kind of medical procedures doctors choose
to perform and how they go about them. Tracheotomies are only done in emergency
situations in Australia. They are quite uncommon, because there is almost
always a less invasive and dangerous way to open the airway. In my schools here
in Japan, I have at least one child in every single class with a tracheotomy
scar. I don’t even know how that is statistically possible (I teach at seven schools).
Injections are frequent and large
(See Tofugu: Scary Needles), even when delivery via needle is unnecessary
(vitamins, for example, are often administered as injections not taken as
pills). Suppositories are a common delivery method for medication. Last time I was at a clinic the person before me was requesting that her oral medication be changed to a suppository. Seriously. Even if you
do manage to get your drugs in an oral form, they are more likely to come as a
bitter tasting powder than as a pill or capsule. Japanese friends have told me
that they find pills harder to swallow, but I think more significantly, some
have also said that taking a pill just doesn’t feel like you are really taking
medicine. You need the bitter taste. Studies have shown that the placebo effect
becomes stronger the more invasive a “treatment” is. Give someone a pill with
nothing in and they won’t get better as quickly as someone injected with
nothing. My personal suspicion is that this is the real reason behind the
invasive procedures. It feels more satisfying, somehow.
Of course, the other factor is the enormous power of the
medical establishment. If a painful and invasive procedure is easier for the
doctor, the patient just has to endure it (obviously this isn’t unique to
Japan… for an Australian example, the idea of spending labour on one’s back was
obviously not one had by a labouring woman). There’s no shopping around in
Japan; even seeking a second opinion risks offending your doctor. Back in the
1990s it was reasonably common for doctors to lie to a patient about their
prognosis if they felt the patient was better off “not knowing”. This included telling terminally ill patients that they'd "be fine". Tofugu has an article that touches on some of these issues. Hospitals that
had used contaminated blood lied to HIV infected patients and told them their
tests were negative, leading to their partners and in one particularly sad case
I studied at uni, their subsequently born children, becoming infected. When
looking online for a clinic near our new house I noticed that the newer fancier
looking clinics and hospitals now prominently display notices about “informed
consent” policies. It is possible they are using the English phrase just to
sound trendier and high class, but I suspect that there may just be no analogous concept in simple Japanese. One of my favourite novels, Secret Rendezvous by Abe Kobo, is set inside a labyrinthine
underground hospital. An ambulance arrives one day and takes the protagonist’s
wife away, although she is healthy and they haven’t called an ambulance. He
goes to the hospital to try and find her, but is confronted by a Kafkaesque bureaucracy
and encounters increasingly bizarre experiments and treatments. While the novel
is surrealist, the hospital is believable in the impunity with which it uses
and abuses its patients. This is the old world of the Japanese medical
establishment, and the phrase “informed consent” is a magical term that
distances modern medical practices from it.
For some interesting posts by foreigners about their
experiences with Japanese medical procedures, see:
Later that night, I was having my wife take care of the wound as
instructed. She removed the gauze…and nearly fainted. “Have you seen
what your leg looks like?” she asks, while trying to resist the urge to
vomit. Why no, that particular area of real estate just happens to be
outside the area of my brain’s Google Maps. She gets me a mirror, and
for the first time I’m allowed to see for myself what’s going on back
there.
It really was a hole in my leg.
It was roughly the size of one of those small Haagen-Daas ice cream
containers. For those who lack perspective, let me put it this way –
upon seeing this chasm in my leg, I could clearly picture the Roadrunner
and Wil E. Coyote running down my ass, with the Roadrunner stopping
abruptly before the hole and Wil E. running past it. Wil E. stops,
defies gravity for a few moments as he realizes he’s no longer on terra
firma, silently holds up a sign illustrating just how fucked he is, then
drops down the hole for a few seconds, complete with the “THUD!” and
small puff of smoke at the bottom.
Literally, it was a hole in the back of my leg.
“Is this something doctors are supposed to do?!” The wife asks,
shocked. I too am a little taken aback my having a new Grand Canyon
carved out below my ass, so when the wife insists I go to a late-night
emergency room (*cash register sound* $300…), I don’t put up a fight.
We arrived a little after 3AM. Luckily, there weren’t too many people
there, so I was seen fairly quickly. The on-call doctor was a young guy
who looked like he was fresh out of med school. The wife explained the
situation, and upon showing him the leg his response was “Yup…that’s a
hole all right.” Thank you, Detective Holmes.
Apparently in Japan, doctors only specialize in a specific part of the
body. So, I had to find the Penis Doctor. Luckily we did, and on one of
the two days said Penis Doctor was in.
The ex and I went to the hospital, and after navigating some hallways we
found ourselves in the Penis Clinic (I don’t think it was actually
called that, but that’s what it was for). They gave her an information
form to fill out, and I had to pee in a cup. If you ever find yourself
in a Japanese hospital, you WILL be peeing in a cup. It doesn’t matter
why you’re there, the peeing in the cup is non-debateable. I don’t know
why. I took a quick survey of the other patients in the waiting room.
Mostly middle-aged and older men. Heh, you don’t have to think too hard
about why they’re here. There was another young couple, and I wondered
what kind of sea animal-named maneuver had sent him here. The Sea Horse?
The Jellyfish? The Manta Ray? I decided I didn’t want to know. There
was also a high school girl. By herself. Yes, just a high school girl,
all by herself, there to see the penis doctor. I decided I didn’t want
to know about that either.
He
called the oxygen chamber they plugged into the wall a dinosaur, and
the mask he had to wear the first day was his dinosaur mask. He even
wore it voluntarily one day when he didn't have to: "Dinosaur mask,
on!" The breathing machine was called fever-gone-asaurus and the
thermometer was called the beep beep. We had as much fun as you can
have during quarantine.In
addition to Knox's hospital adventures, the staff suggested that Peter
and I get tested as well so that we can all be healthy and stop
passing cooties around. We both got blood tests and we both have
bacterial infections. Peter has been really sick, but I haven't been
feeling too bad. Either way, we are both on antibiotics now. Again.
What is it with me and Japan and bacterial infections?!Five nights in the hospital and around the clock care cost us about $50. You gotta love National Health Insurance.
The doctor decided in that moment a vacuum extraction would be best and
the next thing I knew he was squirting some kind of numbing liquid on
me, then I felt a needle stab my crotch, followed by a sharp cut. I
actually did scream at him at that moment, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!???" We
had discussed beforehand that I did NOT want an episiotomy unless
absolutely necessary. It was necessary, in this case, but even my
husband, who had no idea the doctor was going to do that until he did
it, was a bit angry that he didn't say something before cutting. [Just
to clarify, it was necessary, and I'm glad he did what needed to be
done, though I'm still not thrilled about the fact I had an episiotomy.]
As for the rest of the stay, during the day each day they did things
like show us how to change a diaper, how to give baby a bath, etc.
(Well, they had my husband practice everything). I've had extensive
experience in childcare so for me what was most interesting about this
was observing the cultural differences, but rest assured if you have no
experience doing anything, they will show you how to do things.
Another semi-related, side note complaint was finding out the gender of
the baby. My doctor informed me that it is "impossible" for her to tell
the gender of the baby before 28 weeks pregnancy. Considering that I
found out that I was having boys for both of my previous pregnancies at
20 weeks and have access to the internet, I am not sure how she was
expecting me to swallow this one. In Canada, there are private
businesses that specialize in 3D/4D ultrasounds where you can book a
session to get photos of your baby and find out the gender if it wasn't
possible during your 20 week anatomy scan. Unfortunately, there are none
of these private ultrasound businesses here, or at least in Fukuyama,
so I had to book a secret appointment at a different clinic and pay out
of pocket for the extra ultrasound. Secret, because I am almost certain
my doctor would have been offended if she found out that I booked an
ultrasound with another doctor.
Matt Alt from Alt Japan and co-author of the book series including Yurei Attack!: The Japanese Ghost Survival Guide
and Yokai Attack!: The Japanese Monster Survival Guide recently gave a talk entitled How to Survive a Kappa Attack. You can listen to it and listen to the recoding at http://www.pechakucha.org/presentations/how-to-survive-a-kappa-attack. You may recall that I happen to absolutely love kappa, but that doesn't mean that I am unaware of their potential danger. When I ventured around the ancient temples of Kyoto waving a cucumber, I knew what I was doing. Do not try this at home... unless you have listened to Matt's talk and you know how to survive.
53317 dogs were killed at Japanese shelters in 2010 (image source)
I just got back from a large interdisciplinary academic conference in Osaka and my mind is full on a million new ideas and projects. Because of the interdisciplinary nature of the event I got to hear academics speaking about topics I never new existed, or topics I was familiar with but using an entirely different set of methodological tools. A highlight for me was a talk I ended up in completely by accident given by Tsung-huei Huang of the National Taiwan University titled Imagining the Alien Other: The Representation of Animals in Postmodern/Posthuman Art(click the title to read her abstract).
She spoke about two art exhibitions that drew attention to the huge numbers of animals killed in government shelters on the island and the issue of animal abandonment. The first exhibition she discussed was Lishan Chang's Ashen Atrocities on a Desolate Island. It features a huge mound of ashes and bone fragments of animals killed in these shelters, piled in the center of a darkened room. Chopsticks* and envelopes are provided and visitors are encouraged to write messages on the envelopes and pick out bones to place inside. The envelopes are then piled in a separate mound. As the exhibition progresses the pile to bones dwindles and the pile of envelopes grows. At the close of the exhibition the envelopes are sent to the relevant government bureaus. Click here to see some photos. I can't share images here for copyright reasons, but take a look at the link. Even in pictures it is a powerful exhibition, I can't imagine what it must have been like in person. The second exhibition discussed was Yu-xian Chen'sDeparted Ever-being. I can't find any images or even information to share with you unfortunately. When dogs are found or brought to shelters in Taiwan they are photographed and documented, with descriptions of their personality and so on, before being killed after a short holding period. Departed Ever-being was comprised of two elements. On the walls were hundreds of these "reports" with photographs and descriptions of dogs now dead. Then in the center of the space on the floor was a vast pile of empty dog collars, drawing the viewer's attention to the fact that these dogs were once part of families; they came to this fate as a result of human actions.
What is really interesting about these two exhibitions is the different reactions. Yu-xian Chen was asked to close Departed Ever-being early because of a large number of complaints from visitors who found the exhibition upsetting and complained to the museum. How typically human to complain to the museum for reminding them about the dead dogs, but to not complain to the government about killing them... Anyway, Professor Huang pointed out that the difference is in the invitation for action included in Ashen Atrocities; after being made aware of the slaughter visitors are given a vehicle for their emotions and an immediate action to perform that is both symbolic yet also effective. In Departed Ever-being there is no external way to direct the negative feelings the exhibition provokes.
It was interesting to hear about these exhibitions relatively soon after seeing a Japanese film about dogs being gassed in government shelters that included online and off-line campaigns to raise awareness about shelter dog deaths. In Taiwan 97% of dogs who come into shelters are killed when their twelve days have passed. I don't know what the percentage in Japan is, but the shelter featured in the movie has a seven-day time limit. I was curious to see that Himawari to Koinu was supported by the shelter featured in the movie: the shelter and its director were not portrayed particularly sympathetically. Likewise I was curious about how the two artists obtained the ashes and capture reports used in the exhibitions discussed.
*I have no knowledge about Taiwanese culture but in Japan the family of a deceased person uses chopsticks to pick out bones from their loved one's ashes to place in an urn which is then interred in the graveyard. I am making an assumption that the use of chopsticks here is similarly intended to show respect and care towards the dead animals.
“She’s Chinese” the home room teacher said, pointing to a
seven year old girl, a look of frustration (disgust?) on her face. “She doesn’t
understand a word of Japanese.” “That’s ok” I said. “I’m teaching English.” At
the start of the class I gestured some feelings (yawning for sleepy, smiling
for happy) then asked the children their feelings. When I asked the girl, the
teacher leaped in between us. “She’s Chinese, from CHINA” she said. “Yes,” I
said, “I know. She can gesture just as well as everyone else.” The girl looked
at me uncertainly and smiled. “Hap-py?” I gave her a thumbs up, and the teacher
backed off. I taught them some animals (happily no cocks in this class), then
distributed some bingo sheets. I said the first animal, and the girl looked at
her sheet uncertainly, then looked at the kids beside her to see what they were
doing. The teacher bustled over. “This is bingo” she said loudly, wringing her
hands together violently. “BINGO. BI N GO. BINGO.”
She turned to me, threw her hands in the air as if to say “this is
impossible” and stomped back over to the corner of the room. And sat down next
to the girl and repeated the name of the animal. She pointed to the correct
square. I circled it. Then I pointed to three squares in a row vertically and
gave her a thumbs up, then horizontally, then diagonally. “OK?” I asked. She
squirmed excitedly, catching on quickly, and nodded vigorously. Not being the
most gracious person, I shot a look at the teacher with my eyebrows up. It’s not that hard to communicate. It really
isn’t.
If you live… I was going to say a multicultural country, but
really, pretty much anywhere in the world except Japan, you will at some point
have spoken with someone who was not fluent in your own language. For many
Japanese people, nothing fills them with more dread than the thought of trying
to communicate with a non-Japanese person. The stated aims of English lessons
(literally “foreign language activities”) in elementary school are to encourage
students to think openly about communication, using both verbal and non-verbal
ways to communicate. The lessons are based on communicating things that matter
(do you like soccer? Can you swim? How do I get to the library?) rather than
the “this is a pen” type fare we teach in JHS. The communication aspect of the
curriculum is, predictably, the section most often ignored by the Japanese
teachers, who instead agonise over the correct intonation for “tomato”. As
little kids, communication comes naturally. When the six year olds talk to me,
if I can’t understand what they say they will gesture, point, draw a picture or
think of a synonym. By the time they are in JHS, if they say something I don’t
understand they say “it’s impossible” and give up. There’s nothing innate about
this behaviour, it is learned. Or rather, the openness of the young children is
knocked out of them as they get older. I appreciate the stated aims of the
elementary lessons, but I wish we could put all the teachers through a crash
course in communication too.
Of course, it isn’t just communication. At another school,
three young children from Spain with no Japanese ability began attending classes.
The teachers used google translate to communicate with them fairly effectively,
but they treated the children in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable.
One little boy, aged seven, was having a particularly hard time settling in.
The girl who sat next to him was very kind and helped him a lot. One day he
threw his arms around her neck, proclaimed that she was his very best friend,
and kissed her cheek. The teacher dragged him into the staffroom so violently
that he fell and was literally dragged across the floor for the last few
meters. She flung him to the ground and shouted at him in Japanese for a while,
until he started crying (having no idea, I imagine, what he had done wrong).
The principal came and used google translate to tell the boy that he had done
something terrible and that he had scared and hurt the little girl. They told
him that he was never to touch another student and that he was going to be
moved to a new seat so that his victim didn’t have to be traumatised by sitting
next to him. In the middle of this the girl herself came into the staff room
and said that she had been a bit surprised, but she wasn’t at all upset and
that she understood that he had only wanted to thank her. The teachers said she
didn’t know what she was talking about and to go away. After raining a heap
more abuse on the little boy they sent him off to the counselling room. After
he was gone the teachers discussed the shocking situation. “Foreigners” they
said, oblivious to my presence, “are just like animals.”
At no point did anyone venture a thought that there may be
cultural contexts in which kids kiss and hug each other. At no point did anyone
wonder why the little boy was so confused about the trouble he was in. I wrote
before about my frustration with the way intercultural differences are treated
as cosmetic with no deeper consideration or discussion.
When that is how your education system treats other cultures, situations like
the one I described above are inevitable. And if you can’t imagine that other
people think in different ways and about different topics, you can’t
communicate with them effectively (let alone negotiate) even if you share a
language. Eryk has a thought-provoking post about this very problem here: On Having no Comment in Japan.
I’m not suggesting that all non-Japanese kids have a hard
time or are treated badly in Japanese schools. In fact, Beppu City in Oita
Prefecture provides simultaneous interpreters to attend classes with students
who don’t speak Japanese until they get settled in, as well as a comprehensive
range of other supports for international families. But the thought processes
that lead to unpleasant situations like the ones I have described are
depressingly common.
In this excerpt from the 1996 Shunji Iwai film Swallowtail Butterfly (スワロウテイル), a Caucasian character talks about being born and raised in Japan, speaking only Japanese, but never being accepted as Japanese by the people around him. It isn't enough to be ethnically Japanese, in order to be Japanese you must be racially Japanese as well. Interestingly, it goes the other way~ those of undiluted Japanese ancestry raised else where are also rejected as being truly Japanese. The character from Swallowtail Butterfly is not as hypothetical as you may assume. In this video, David Ury (who plays the youtube character Ken Tanaka, a white American adopted by Japanese parents back when white babies were fashionable) is excited to encounter another "white Japanese":
When I wrote about being not Japanese in a Japanese school, I mentioned some European children whose parents had moved to Japan for work. That is not what I am talking about in this post. When I say "white Japanese", I mean Caucasian children who are ethnically Japanese; raised entirely in Japan, speaking Japanese as a first language. It is not as uncommon as you might think, but again, my personal experiences are limited and I do not intend for this post to be read as an objective assessment or generalisation. I'm writing only about my experiences observing how my co-workers dealt with these students.
For children raised in Japan, the constant reminder of their foreignness must be difficult to cope with. Being referred to as "my gaijin friend" by someone born in the same clinic as you and who attended the same pre-school and elementary school as you must be frustrating. Likewise being constantly asked when you are "going home" and people addressing you in English. My students' background is from a non-English speaking country and they speak English about as well as their classmates (hint: not at all), but because they are blonde and pale-eyed strangers constantly attempt to engage them in English. My most recently graduated student has a bi-lingual first name spelled in Kanji; it wasn't exotic enough for one teacher who instead called her "Elizabeth" for three years. While marking one of her essays a Japanese teacher commented that "when I read her homework or talk to her mother on the phone, I forget that they are foreign!" This caused great laughter in the staffroom. Just imagine, forgetting about race?! Hilarious. Anyway. One would assume having been raised and educated entirely in Japan that the kids' Japanese would be native level, but this seemed to be a source of constant surprise for their teachers. Despite having graduated from Japanese kindergarten, elementary school and junior high school, and having sat and passed the same entrance exams as everyone else, the high school of one of my graduated students still telephoned the JHS to ask if there had been any "communication difficulties" with him. While I haven't observed any particularly negative stereotyping or exclusionary behaviour towards these students, the constant reminder that they were somehow 'outsiders', no matter what, can't be easy for them.
Edit A: Another video on the topic of experiences of Caucasian kids growing up in Japan
Edit B: On the topic of being treated as an outsider in your own country, I recently read a couple of American stories about similar experiences that provide an interesting (if depressing) reminder that Japan isn't the only country that has these issues:
and Yokai Attack!: The Japanese Monster Survival Guide
recently gave a talk entitled 
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