Life in Venn Being strewn by circumstance into another country, especially in a culture as segregating as Japan, can be daunting and not always enjoyable. After the thrill of the new wears off, it's easy to get bitter about the less charming aspects of what's foreign to oneself. The result is an almost bipolar relationship with one's host country, alternating between varying extremes of love and hate. Some would say that in Japan it could be easily summed up as "we love them, they hate us."But of course, things are not so simple, nor are they so black and white.
The more one gets accustomed to another culture, remaining a foreigner in the eyes of the host can become annoying. It's a common complaint by most foreigners in Japan (at least the ones who refuse to become charisma men). Books have been written about it. Sociologists, Psychiatrists and Anthropologists have dedicated volumes to this particular brand of underhanded racism. It would be foolish to believe that it only happens in Japan, though I dare say that here it's far more conspicuous. Institutions are built on the "us" and "them" mentality, a sore remnant of nineteenth century racialism and millenary exposition to Chinese cultural absolutism.
Walking through my local immigration office in a bid to renew my visa (which anyone can attest to as being far from easy), a poster looming over the main counter caught my attention. Colourful and cartoonish, it warned to the recent change in Japanese immigration laws. Indeed, as from 2003 these were tightened to secure an even more draconian approach to illegal foreign workers (and, one could argue, legal ones, too). Bigger fines, longer prison sentences, more paperwork and necessary proof of labour - all these items underlined in pink, with a somewhat stylish lettering and surrounded by horrid childish drawings. At the bottom, a smaller font paragraph claimed that "these laws are to ensure a better co-operation and understanding between Japanese people and foreigners, and to ensure a smooth transition into the effective internationalisation of Japan." It was all managerial-style wank, of course.
While illegal immigrants from poorer Asian countries abound, Japan has revered the time-honoured practice of exploitation for many centuries. Starting with the burakumin, the Japanese establishment has for centuries found ways to deprive minority groups of citizenship. The legend above is nothing but a testament to deeply-ingrained xenophobia, based on the shaky grounds of an all-pervasive national identity. The herrenvolk still lives within the labyrinthine bureaucracy of the Japanese establishment.
What is the effect of this, then, on a foreigner's ordinary life? Surely not all Japanese are racists - at least not consciously so. Yet a lifetime of being exposed to ideas of racial purity (though oftentimes stripped off its more virulent aspects), converges into feelings of uniqueness: they are not like us, therefore they cannot and will never live like us. It is common foreigner lore that one can live in Japan for decades, but still have the same conversation over and over again. Perhaps it is a natural result of believing that one is able to define a fellow human being based on where they come from. And though superficial differences may well exist at first, human beings are extremely adaptable creatures. If the outside is inevitably defined by the inside, isn't there a point where the two must inevitably dissolve?
The more one gets accustomed to another culture, remaining a foreigner in the eyes of the host can become annoying. It's a common complaint by most foreigners in Japan (at least the ones who refuse to become charisma men). Books have been written about it. Sociologists, Psychiatrists and Anthropologists have dedicated volumes to this particular brand of underhanded racism. It would be foolish to believe that it only happens in Japan, though I dare say that here it's far more conspicuous. Institutions are built on the "us" and "them" mentality, a sore remnant of nineteenth century racialism and millenary exposition to Chinese cultural absolutism.
Walking through my local immigration office in a bid to renew my visa (which anyone can attest to as being far from easy), a poster looming over the main counter caught my attention. Colourful and cartoonish, it warned to the recent change in Japanese immigration laws. Indeed, as from 2003 these were tightened to secure an even more draconian approach to illegal foreign workers (and, one could argue, legal ones, too). Bigger fines, longer prison sentences, more paperwork and necessary proof of labour - all these items underlined in pink, with a somewhat stylish lettering and surrounded by horrid childish drawings. At the bottom, a smaller font paragraph claimed that "these laws are to ensure a better co-operation and understanding between Japanese people and foreigners, and to ensure a smooth transition into the effective internationalisation of Japan." It was all managerial-style wank, of course.
While illegal immigrants from poorer Asian countries abound, Japan has revered the time-honoured practice of exploitation for many centuries. Starting with the burakumin, the Japanese establishment has for centuries found ways to deprive minority groups of citizenship. The legend above is nothing but a testament to deeply-ingrained xenophobia, based on the shaky grounds of an all-pervasive national identity. The herrenvolk still lives within the labyrinthine bureaucracy of the Japanese establishment.
What is the effect of this, then, on a foreigner's ordinary life? Surely not all Japanese are racists - at least not consciously so. Yet a lifetime of being exposed to ideas of racial purity (though oftentimes stripped off its more virulent aspects), converges into feelings of uniqueness: they are not like us, therefore they cannot and will never live like us. It is common foreigner lore that one can live in Japan for decades, but still have the same conversation over and over again. Perhaps it is a natural result of believing that one is able to define a fellow human being based on where they come from. And though superficial differences may well exist at first, human beings are extremely adaptable creatures. If the outside is inevitably defined by the inside, isn't there a point where the two must inevitably dissolve?
1 comment:
Indeed. Breaching a xenophobic or hermetic country's borders and landing squat in the middle of such pearls of wisdom as "There are no gay and/or black people in Chile" and "This rock you see here --pointing to low-quality marble, referred to locally as cumbarbalita-- can only be obtained in Chile and one other place in the world" leave you wondering if you were also required to declare your sanity at the customs desk, as that ain't allowed in our god-loving country.
Petty-mindedness and self-referential pride (as opposed to educated and informed pride, to indulge in some optimistic nomenclature) can be found pretty much anywhere. The "I'm unique" complex takes very little to get started.
It's just an annoying part of human nature, and won't change.
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