‘Life is a journey,’ or so they say. This is not just in the metaphysical sense, I believe. It is also about our actual physical movements over the years from one country, city or locality to another, and even about short family holidays or business trips. ‘Journeys are also part of life,’ might be one way to put it. That’s why we enjoy good travel writing, as I came to discover while editing and writing for an airline inflight magazine in Singapore back in the 1990s. I’ve also found that given Britain’s long history of colonial rule during which some of her brightest youth went out to all corners of the globe as administrators, soldiers, merchants—and de facto correspondents—travel writing has to be one of the things Britons excel at. One gem of an example I came across in the UK daily Guardian a while ago. It’s about the difference between “travelling alone” and “travelling solo.”

Author and veteran traveller Jenny Diski writes: ‘You travel alone, you do exactly as you want.This surely needs no further explanation.’ It sounds to me like the very essence of the “spirit of freedom” with which the English, along with their Irish, Scottish and Welsh “cousins,” seem able to behave and act at ease wherever they go, helped considerably by the widespread use of English, today’s global language of business. I think that mindset behind their confident attitude is relevant to our Canadian Japanese cultural context, because it stands in such clear contrast to the way we Japanese think and behave when we are abroad. Outside our cultural context, we tend to be reserved, non-assertive and sometimes even out of our elements.

Language is obviously a big factor. As one who picked up English as a child, I believe I can relate to and function within the mainstream Anglo-American culture as well as any Nikkei person. But having had many Japanese-Canadian and -American friends and acquaintances over the decades in Tokyo and San Francisco as well as Vancouver, I sense that they, like me, retain some Japanese traits and values that transcend language, such as those above.

Ms Diski notes that ‘there are those who find the word “alone”’ distressing, and quotes a line from the classic French movie Les Enfants du Paradis (1952, Director Marcel Carné): ‘Vous êtes toute seule (all alone), madame?’ which makes toute seule sound like ‘a lifelong terrifying prospect.’ ‘Well then, try “solo,”’ she admonishes, declaring: ‘The difference between traveling solo and traveling alone is a STATE OF MIND (capitals mine).’

A middle-aged single-mother, Ms Diski, who has done a lot of writing and traveling on her own, has noticed that some people become curious and even suspicious when they encounter her. “You tell them you’re a writer and not only is everything explicable but people will stay and talk to you, telling you sometimes wonderful stories about their lives. Use the writer excuse with a different look on your face, and people will understandably leave you alone.”

You may very well say ‘She’s a seasoned professional writer, that’s why she can feel so secure in her solitude.’ Hence the words “STATE OF MIND” in capital letters above. If you make believe you are a “writer” of some kind, then you are. You don’t have to be writing a real book or be on assignment for a newspaper or travel magazine. You could be out looking for observations to scribble down in your own journal or website. You might be just out strolling on a fine spring day, hoping cherry blossoms in their full splendour might inspire you to a line or two of haiku.

And all you camera buffs out there, have you ever “sort of pretended” to be on some kind of a photo assignment? With a camera in hand, you can physically approach things differently in public places. I take my trusted Sony digital camera on walks from time to time, vaguely hoping to capture something beautiful or quaint. With development projects large and small constantly going on here and their, our multicultural, international city Vancouver never lacks for variety of things to shoot.

Coal Harbor on a fine day is one of my choice spots for strolls even if I only have an hour to spare. The presence of large numbers of out-of-towners from near and far makes it easier for me to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes—looking at different parts of my own city anew through the fresh eyes of a tourist. The sea, the trees and the cityscape look as enticing as the first time I saw them 16 years ago.

During one recent stroll along that waterfront, I ran into an old acquaintance, the father of one of my son’s highschool classmates. He happens to be from Penang, Malaysia, where we used to vacation while living in Singapore. Mr Lai and I used to enjoy brief chats while waiting for our sons at school. Several years have elapsed since, but we still appreciate our brief chance encounter. The talk this time turns to an old pond at the botanical garden in Penang, the island city knicknamed “Pearl of the Orient.” It was one of the most relaxing spots on the island for me, and Mr Lai used to go fishing there as a little boy.

Back to Ms Diski. Having ‘chilled out in the Caribbean, encircled America by train, cargo-shipped across the Atlantic and explored the Antarctic peninsula, all solo and at ease,’ she says just think of yourself as a writer on an assignment and ‘the unease falls away.’ With her laptop (It could also be the old, analog notebook and pen, I suppose) ‘as a flag of peace and quiet,’ she never feels awkward in such circumstances as ‘eating alone in a restaurant full of holiday couples and families, lizarding on a beach hoping for perfect peace, ordering a drink at a bar in a small town.’

It’s all about our state of mind. You and I may not go on an Antarctic expedition or a trans-Atlantic voyage, but we can still enjoy the subtle thrills of “traveling solo.” Just make believe you’re a tourist and check out some part of town you haven’t visited lately. The journey of life is spatial travel as well as travel in time. Even for an instant, even just to make believe, you might enjoy “traveling solo” once in a while.

On the ground floor of the school that had just shut down in March of that year after 137 years of history, you see paintings and so on exhibited in the empty classrooms. As you go up the stairs to the 2nd floor, you start hearing children’s voices singing accompanied by a piano. The melody is that familiar song we in Japan used to sing at school, Hanyu no yado (originally composed by Englishman Henry Rowley Bishop in 1823, known as Home! Sweet Home! in the West). As you approach the room, you see on the opaque windows of the four sliding doors silhouettes of pupils singing and a young woman teacher conducting them. You also see something like feathers wafting, falling from above.

Inevitably you reach for a sliding door handle and pull the door open and at that precise moment the voices and the piano stop. You peer inside the “music room” and there’s no one there. Only silence. The curtains sway gently in the breeze coming in through the open windows. Outside spreads the green mountain scenery, and around your feet are scattered pure white feathers and tiny bits of paper cuttings from art class.

“Partly because it was late afternoon, I felt so sad that I almost cried,” reported manga artist Kyoko Ikeda in the weekly Shukan Bunshun (13/10/2011) of her experience. The work, entitled Sudachi no heya (Room After the Children Have “Flown Away”) by Yakan Kobo and others apparently had quite an impact in Japan.

But why was I so moved? Take people suffering from a not-too-severe chronic ailment. They may “forget” their condition from time to time in their daily lives. If one were to use the analogy of an ailment to describe the constant feeling of loss and loneliness many parents feel after their children have moved out, it’s that “chronic heartache” one might forget from time to time. So it must have taken me a few days to “recall” that heartache. Readers who have had a similar experience would understand. To those readers who are bound to experience this in the future, I’d just like to explain why I’d like you to love your kids (different from spoiling them) as much as possible while you still can.

Part of the heartache is having to deal with this business of “his room“ and “her room.” As I sit in my basement study writing this, my son A’s room directly above me is empty and quiet. Only recently, or more accurately until about two years ago, that’s where my son used to play computer games or his electric guitar, often with his friends, late into the night. On more than a few occasions, I had had to shout “Turn down the volume!” Night after night, we had spent our time in front of our respective computer screens. Could we not have had meaningful discussions instead at least some of the time? I can’t help regretting. We still converse occasionally on Skype, but his abode is now a shared apartment in Tokyo, and now we’d be lucky to have him back in Vancouver for as long as two weeks a year. (Once, while talking on Skype, he took out an onigiri he’d just bought, wrapped nori around it and bit into it. As we heard the distinct“crackle, I felt a pang of nostalgia. Nori back in Japan is always “crackling crisp” and fresh.

Our daughter also left around Christmastime last year to lead a life of her own. What she’s doing may not be quite consistent with the “blueprint for her future” her parents had envisioned for her. But among other creative activities she’s held a couple of small exhibitions of her paintings, and she’s also working part-time. I mentioned her in an e-mail exchange with a musician friend, who was nice enough to give me words of encouragement: “You’ve done well to raise her like that.” Herself a mother, she perhaps understands why I always tend to emphasize my daughter’s strong points. Our independent-minded “M-chan’s” room is still more or less in the state she left it, i.e. cluttered. My wife likes to keep the house tidy and I do my share of cleaning chores. So we’ll get around to tidying up her room, but not just yet.

It was some 14 years ago that we moved here from Singapore with our son and daughter, then aged six and four respectively. They have now set off on their own journeys of life as adults (more or less) on courses not necessarily consistent with the blueprint of their parents’ “Canadian dream.” I can understand this rationally, but it will probably take some time for that “ache in our hearts” to subside.

Our kids used to go to a neighborhood elementary school. Whenever I drive past houses where their good friends used to live, to and from which we used to ferry our kids and friends, the smiles on all their faces often as not flash through my head. Scrutinized through the eye of a “left behind” parent, there are “evidences” here and there in the familiar neighbourhood street-scape: an old trampoline showing absolutely no sign of use that’s been out on the lawn from before we came; a basketball hoop and backboard put up over the garage door where I haven’t seen kids play for years and years; and lit-up decorations that keep re-appearing every Christmas or Halloween featuring reindeer, ghosts and other things little kids love. No matter what the circumstances, the heartache of watching our offspring take off on their own must be shared by all parents.

There are at least three ways to cope with this kind of heartache. First, to put more effort into work, volunteer activities and so on. Secondly, to maintain one’s emotional stability by indulging in hobbies and such one truly enjoys, and thirdly, to develop modest but fresh bonds of friendship with young people of the same generation as one’s own children, particularly by taking in English-language students from abroad through homestay programs.

If one is wrapped up in sentimental thoughts while performing tasks at work or during volunteer activities, it could result in time loss or could even interfere with effective decision-making. This is regardless of whether one is a corporate employee, running a family business or a free-lance professional. When one returns home and begins preparing dinner, one may suddenly recall that “we only have two people to cook for,” and feel a pang of that heartache, but only the passage of time may alleviate this kind of pain.

It would do well to spend some of that extra time one gets, now that one’s not taking care of the kids any more, on hobbies and such that one really enjoys. As many readers are already doing, there’s golf, fishing, skiing, sailing, gardening, hiking, group trips for the outdoor-type folks, and pottery and other handicraft, haiku, calligraphy, painting, shogi, go, bridge , singing, playing of musical instruments for the indoor type. Solo or in groups, it doesn’t really matter what as long as there’s enjoyment. I happen to enjoy playing jazz guitar. While taking part in jam sessions or listening to friends play, I don’t think about my kids.

I’ve mentioned before the words of an old couple we got to know when we first moved here 14 years ago. They said: “Now that we’re so old, we can’t travel to different parts of the world . . . so instead, we let young people from around the world come to us.” The retired doctor and his wife, who had a career as a nurse, used to live in Saskatoon, and earlier in Peru and other parts of south central America and the island nation of Mauritius. Now a widower, his wife having passed away about five years ago, Mr A. recently had a party to celebrate his 90th birthday. Surrounded by friends young and old, he was smiling like a child.

To help our household finance as well, we’ve been taking in English-language students from abroad at the rate of two or three a year for the past decade or so. Ranging in age from young students to junior civil servants and their nationalities including Korean, Taiwanese, Thai, Mexican, Turkish and German as well as Japanese, our boarders usually have dinner with us several times a week. As we dine with sons and daughters of parents we’ll probably never meet, and discuss things like their classes and Canadian society, we begin to open up more and more. We come to share their happiness when they, for instance, make significant improvements in English over a relatively short time.

Another great thing, I get to learn more about how things work in countries I’ve always been interested in. For example, it turns that all three German students we’ve had , ranging in age from a high-schooler to a graduate computer science student, were from the southern State of Bavaria.

What impressed me was that the high school boy, aged only 16, was already a “man of culture,” able to discuss in English everything from politics, international relations and history to the arts and music (classical, Beatles, jazz etc.) intelligently. Moreover, a friend of his that he used to bring over often was also like that, meaning high schoolers of such caliber were nothing special. From another student, I learned that even students in schools of accountancy had to study Latin in Bavaria. Isn’t that an amazing level of education?

One more example. We had a Turkish lady civil servant staying with us toward the end of last year. I’d always heard that a key aspect of that society was the tremendous power bureaucrats wielded in the tradition of the grand viziers of the Ottoman Empire. So I asked one day whether it had been necessary to have a “connection” in order to get her civil servant’s job in addition to exams and other requirements. “Yes,” was her answer. As in Japan and many other Asian countries, Turkey too still seems to be stuck in the realm of “connections,” “thank you gifts” and kickbacks.

Back to Asia again. In this global age, it seems many of the Asian minority students growing up and educated on this side of the Pacific are nowadays irresistably attracted by the “powerful cultural magnets” that giant metropolises like Tokyo, Hongkong, Shanghai and Seoul have become. We of the prime of our careers to the seniors age bracket must also make an effort not to get “left behind.”

Burnaby Actor’s Unique Take on Interpersonal Communication

I’ve always liked actor Michael J. Fox, from long before I moved here from Singapore back in 1997, because of his personality that I perceived in his TV sitcom (Family Ties 1982-89) and movies (e.g. Back to the Future trilogy 1985-90) characters. There was this savvy but personable air about him that I found particularly engaging. It was only after we moved here that I learned not just that he’s Canadian but that he attended high school right here at Burnaby Central. As I made new friends over the past 14 years, I’ve come to realize that Fox’s personality embodied the Canadian spirit of fairness and tolerance toward different cultures.

Down to earth and easy-mannered, people in Canada generally are probably among the easiest to approach of all the countries I’ve known, if not the easiest. Over the years I’ve perceived that quality in actors Donald Sutherland, Dan Aykroyd, Donald Sutherland, as well as in musicians Diana Krall and Oscar Peterson and others.

Michael (if I may so call him) was just another movie star I liked until his battle with Parkinson’s disease began in the nineties when he was around 30. He had the strength to overcome a drinking problem, then went on to go public about his condition in 1998. I could only admire the way he overcame a severe physical handicap that would seriously demoralize any man at the peak of his career to become a strong advocate of research into the disease. People like him make me appreciate how lucky I am to be more or less of sound health.

He became one of the public figures I admired, but it was only recently I found out from a magazine interview that he shared with me a major problem that I hereby confess I’ve had as far back as I can remember. I’d never heard or read anyone put it quite that way before in English or Japanese. It’s about inter-personal communication.

There is a long-running,series of interviews with celebrities in a set Q&A format called “Proust Questionnaire” on the very last page of the monthly Vanity Fair that I particularly enjoy, as it reveals the way the minds of successful people work. In the interview in the December 2011 edition, VF noted that the actor’s Michael J. Fox Foundation had raised over $264 million for Parkinson’s research, and then asked, among other things:
Q: “What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
A: “I’m a serial interrupter.”
Q: What is the trait you most deplore in others?
A: “Serial interruption.”

It made me sit up in my seat. As readers who know me personally can attest, I tend to talk a lot, maybe partly because of my background as a journalist and language teacher. And I’ve been known to cut in, and how. To be quite honest, as far back as primary school, when I only spoke Japanese, my parents were already telling me: “you talk too much, and don’t listen enough.”

But this was the first time I’d heard my problem summed up succinctly as a “serial interrupter” by a celebrity whom I happened to admire. Moreover, he went on to laugh at himself for deploring the very same fault in others.

I can well imagine Michael at Burnaby Central, being just like his sit-com characters: smart-talking, savvy but affable. But if my own experiences are anything to go by, chances are he was constantly being told off at home: “Michael, when someone is speaking, you must let him or her finish.” In Asia, based on my experiences in Japan, Singapore and elsewhere, people seem somewhat more tolerant of garrulous old men if only because of traditional values, but having lived here for 14 years, I’ve come to appreciate that “letting someone finish” is one of the basic tenets of good manners.

The way I communicated as a child, and perhaps still tend to despite efforts to control myself, was that as soon as I had something to say in response to what someone was saying, I would blurt out the words whether the other person had finished or not. Proper conversation must be analogous to throwing a ball back and forth. The other person throws the ball, you catch it and throw it back, in steady tempo. You don’t suddenly snatch a ball in mid air and snap it back fast, or throw another ball while the other person is about to throw his, or even throw two balls at the same time.

I do have a couple of friends who don’t seem to mind my “erratic” way of communicating, who seem to know when to tell me to shut up. To all others I might have offended, or may still offend occasionally, my excuse is still “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” as feeble as it sounds. (Michael might understand.)

What’s the relevance of all this to the Japanese Canadian experience? Just think about the vital importance of verbal communication—not just between, say, Japanese-speaking emigrants who came after WWII and the Nikkei folks in their 5th or 6th generation and beyond, but also among generations of ijusha themselves (do I/we speak English or Japanese?), or among Japanese Canadians (perhaps a subtle “I-know-more-Japanese-than-you-do” one-upmanship now and then?) and even between Japanese Canadians and Canadians in general. Maybe it no longer happens much in long multi-ethnic Vancouver, but I’ve heard conversations like: “You speak English very well.” “Yeah, like I’m Canadian.”

Focusing on this business of interruption, I realized from the time I was a talkative kid in Tokyo that in Japanese—an “agglutinative” language*—you can keep adding phrases on and on, and then deny it all with one negative. So if a speaker is not sure how much he or she is going to say when starting to speak, especially when making an abstract statement or a qualitative judgement, the other person might falsely assume half way through he or she has already finished, and cut in.
In English-speaking and other Western cultures, preciseness and clarity especially in technical contexts are greatly valued. You have to know what you’re going to say, where you’re going to put that final verbal “period,” before you open your mouth, but once you do, then the other person as a rule has to let you get to that finishing point.

In Japan, bad speakers, if they are corporate leaders or top politicians, are too often allowed to dribble on and on, to the derision of the bemused media. In the west, corporate and political leaders know they always have to watch their statements in public because of myriad legal issues and socio-cultural sensitivities involved.

If I were to arbitrarily interpret Michel’s response, in conclusion, it sounds like: “I know I’m full of words and sometimes even mixed up, and I also know I get riled by people like myself…” But the clearest message between the lines must be “Hey, I’m still trying,” and that’s from someone who’s already “made it.” I read he moved back to Vancouver from L.A. some time ago. Wherever you are Michael, I take off my hat to you.

*adding information such as negation, passive voice, past tense, honorific degree and causality in the verb form. Common examples would be hatarakaseraretara (???????), which combines causative, passive, and conditional conjugations to arrive at the meaning “if (subject) had been made to work…” and tabetakunakatta (????????), which combines desire, negation, and past tense conjugations to mean “(subject) did not want to eat.”

In this age of the internet, we can electronically and instantaneously check out peoples, places and what’s happening around the globe with ease using English, the informal international language. But when we physically visit a place for the first time (the Canadian East Coast, the US, Japan, Mexican or Caribbean resorts, wherever) the first real contact/conversation we have with the locals is often the taxi driver who takes you to our hotel.

If you’re the curious type, you’ll probably try to get some up-to-date info on what’s happening in town—where to visit or shop and so on. That’s why you often see a quote or two from a “local cabby” in stories by travel and other features writers. At the same time, the driver’s occupational habit will have him sizing you up, trying to guess which country you’re from, what line of business you’re in, whether you’ve got money, etc etc. Below are some of my memorable encounters.
Tokyo Whether arriving from Singapore (1981-1997) or from Vancouver (1997 to present), I’ve always made it a point to chit chat with the first cabbie I encounter, just to get a feel of how things are in my home town of yore. There’s a good chance he will be listening to a baseball game or sumo on his radio, which is also a good conversation opener, like “What’s the matter with the Giants this season?”

And sometime during my stay, a cabbie will invariably remark: “You speak Japanese very well.” I’ve been hearing that from Tokyo cabbies ever since I started using taxis occasionally in my late teens when I began teaching English at a school three-days a week. If you’re a hapa or even a 1/4-something, taxi drivers will inevitably notice and assume you’re a foreigner speaking Japanese. I know I should be used to being reminded I don’t look “quite Japanese” after so many years, but somehow it’s still a jarring experience. Look at it this way: in big cities of North America or Europe, cabbies don’t even care what you look like or what kind of accent you speak with (as long as you pay, of course).

Moscow (1965) With the money I earned as interpreter during the Tokyo Olympics in 1964, I made a journey to Helsinki across the then Soviet Union by rail and air, stopping off in Moscow for a couple of days’ stay. I still remember my anticipation as the rickety old cab headed toward the capital from a suburban airport on a nearly deserted highway late at night. Feeling excited as I discerned the lights of Moscow up ahead, I wanted to hear Russian melodies, so I pointed to the car radio and said to the driver two words I thought he would understood: “Radio (pronounced rah-dio), musik (like in German).” He replied: “Rahdio, kaput!” Busted car radios must have been common in those days of shabby consumer goods that were the norm of the communist economy.

London Nothing to be proud of, but nevertheless a memorable episode with a taxi driver one night in early summer, 1967, shortly after my news agency colleagues had given me a traditional send-off at a Fleet Street pub below our office on the occasion of my posting to our Rome bureau. The “tradition” was that I somehow had to drink every pint of ale bought for me by my many colleagues, who took turns coming down to the pub during their dinner breaks. I don’t remember how many I had, but on the way back to my Earl’s Court flat in a taxi, I reached a point where I knew I had to upchuck. I remember clearly it was on a mall approaching Buckingham Palace, which I could make out in the distance, but what I also recall clearly is the lightening speed with which the cabbie stopped, dashed around the taxi and opened my door so that I could so I could sort of lurch out to the sidewalk. Britain is a country where traditions die hard. I’m not sure if that of ale-guzzling journalists is still alive and well. It probably is.

Singapore When I got there in July of 1981 to join a new English-language daily, Singapore was well on her way toward joining the ranks of the world’s industrialized nations as one of Asia’s “four tigers,” i.e. rapidly growing economies, along with Hong Kong, Taiwan and South Korea. As it was very expensive to own a car, I, like many others relied on the economical taxis to get around the hot, tropical island. One night when I arrived home in a cab, I tried to tip the driver a couple of dollars. Remember this is Southeast Asia where the predominant cultures are all about making money. But not this driver. “No sir, I don’t accept tips because I’m Singaporean!” he declared. I felt the esprit of the then newly-emerging young nation. Are there still such cabbies in Singapore? Not so sure.

The Singapore cabbie whom I can’t forget is the one who tried to give a “bit of advice “ to a colleague of mine, a seasoned old local journalist, with whom I happened to share a cab part of the way back to our office. The colleague laughingly told me later at the office what the cabbie had said. “I see that the guy you were with is a half-breed, and let me tell you, half-breed people are always cunning and scheming so you’d better be careful.” Is what he said related to the fact that the Japanese military government during the WWII years, when it renamed the occupied colony Shonanto, had different policies toward Singapore’s different races? Chinese were treated harshly, Malays not so harshly, the Indians encouraged to join the pro-Japanese Indian nationalist movements, and so on. Some Eurasians (mixed-race) are said to have cooperated with and profited from the Japanese. Many things that happened during the Shonanto years are still taboo subjects in Singapore today.

Rome Arriving for a family vacation back in the summer of 2003, the taxi driver who took us from the airport to our downtown hotel had us gripping our arm rests in sheer terror. All the way via a suburban highway and into the cobble-stoned city streets, he practically flew at around 70 k.p.h., or as fast as he could – most of the time his front bumper only about four or five meters behind the car in front. Italians do make good racecar drivers, they say, but many Roman taxi drivers just drive that way by temperament. Having lived there back in the 60s, it took me some time to recall that. Until then, it sure was scary.
Lecce (ancient city located at the “heel“ of boot-shaped Italy): Later during that trip, a taxi driver there bragged to us that “We were a civilized Greek city long before Rome was established.” I checked and according to legend, a Greek city called Sybar already existed there at the time of the Trojan War (around 12th century BC.)

New York During a short stay there with my wife around December of 1994 we took a cab one day and I noticed that the driver named Wong was listening to reggae music. I looked at him and saw he had African complexion and Chinese eyes! Like the three blind assassins who appear at the beginning of Thunderball in Ian Fleming’s classic James Bond series. Having read Thunderball back in the 60s, I knew about them. Now I was seeing one for the first time. He was a cool brother.
It was also during that stay that the driver of a taxi we took back to our hotel one night kept nodding off, probably high on something. I remember him heading toward Central Park, seemingly away from our hotel and me saying “Why are you going that way?” I do remember repeatedly shouting close to his ear, ”Do you want to stop for a coffee or something?” But I don’t remember exactly how we eventually got him to take us to our hotel.

Montreal It happened to be at the time of the famous Northeast blackout of 2003 that the four of us were visiting Quebec. One day, we took a bus from Quebec City back to Montreal, and took a cab from the bus terminal to our hotel. I started chatting with the driver, a member of the large Haitian community there, about the blackout hitting parts of Northeastern and Midwestern US and Ontario – but not Quebec which was on a different power grid. Interrupting me, he said: “You know why we don’t have a black-out? Because we have a lot of LOVE here!” Montreal is a first-class city with a heart.

Vancouver About three years ago when I flew back to Vancouver International from Tokyo, the driver of the taxi I took happened to be a Sikh, many of them being in that occupation as you know. As soon as he found out I was Japanese, he announced: “India beat Japan in (field) hockey yesterday!” Having had Sikh airline executives and Sikh advertising agency managers among my clients back in Singapore, I was sort of familiar with how they show their racial pride from time to time. Certainly a far cry from Japanese cabbies who routinely address you as “Okyakusan,” or literally “honourable customer.” But as the old Japanese saying goes, “tokoro kawareba hito kawaru (loosely, “Different places, different folks”). India can beat Japan any time they like . . .  I thought as I leaned back in my comfortable seat.

We have in and around Vancouver people from practically all over the world who bring with them their cuisines and other aspects of their culture. Its one of the main reasons I like this town. Thanks for reading my articles this year. Do have a Merry Christmas and an early “Akemashite omedetoo gozaimasu” to you all.

The views of the Canadian husbands above can be summed up as: While Canada is more welcoming toward immigrants than many other countries, they should forget the notion that “marrying out of Japan is an ‘easy way.’“ They might do well to consider how much their lives would change,” said one “James” in his e-mail. “The cultural, language, social, philosophical barriers are difficult to overcome,” he pointed out.

I’m using “mixed marriages” as a term of convenience in a broad sense to include those marriages involving Nikkei and Japanese people in which: 1) a Japanese person marries a Caucasian or other non-Japanese; 2) a Nikkei person marries a Caucasian or other non-Japanese; and 3) a Japanese marries a Nikkei person. So 1) and 2) are marriages between people of different races, while 3) would be more accurately a cross-cultural marriage. The expression kokusai kekkon (international marriage) that’s commonly used in Japan would apply to 1), 3) and a portion of 2) as well.

By the way, I’m of course no expert on the subject of mixed marriages. I just wanted to offer my views based on first-hand experiences and knowledge. These include things concerning my father and uncle who were raised by a Japanese father and a Finnish mother, my own experiences being raised by a mixed race father and a Japanese mother, as well as those of raising my own son and daughter with a wife of Indian Singaporean origin (now Canadian). I just wanted to share my ideas with you, some of whom might have family-related experiences similar to my own.

“Separation through time, distance and cost from your family [in Japan] cannot be underestimated,” James also pointed out. That might apply to emigrants in general. One major factor seems to be differences in age and generation. “As my wife is native Japanese and much younger than the Issei who came here several decades earlier [and the Nisei], it’s not easy for her to make friends,“ James noted adding, “. . . and the working holiday Japanese are by now too young, and again are more interested in partying, socializing for the short stay, [and] have little in common with her.” As James and his wife are of the “Genereation X” age, who are number fewer than the Boomer Generation or the Y Generation, the generational gap they feel seems to get in the way of enjoying life in Canadian culture to the full.

Leaving aside the important language issue and the difference in social system for another occasion, one thing is worth considering with regard to differences in the way of thinking and values. One of the biggest differences must be that between the Japanese habit of always seeking solutions in “harmony (wa) within the group” regardless of objective reasoning, and the Western habit of basing decisions and actions on principles based on religious and other values. Basic to the Anglo-Saxon way of thinking, I believe, is the “spirit of what’s fair is fair” that one supposedly picks up, as the cliché goes, “on the playing fields of Eaton.” It’s the idea that everyone regardless of age, social position and race should get a fair, objective hearing if he or she has something to say. It can become a window dressing, as long established ideals often do, but it was with this spirit that Britannia once ruled the world.

I had an opportunity to spend three days in London back in June, and there was no way I could skip making that nostalgic visit to the old yellow-brick building out in Wimbledon, where I used to live with my parents and sister in the third-floor flat over 50 years ago After some twists and turns over the decades, I ended up living in Singapore for 16 years, and since 1997 I’ve been with my family here in Canada. It seems the cultural climate of the (formerly British) Commonwealth nations suit my temperament. I feel somehow secure, knowing that that spirit of fairness is at the foundation of it all.

The spirit is alive and well whether in negotiations between governments or dealings between businesses or in the microscopic interpersonal relations of our daily lives. Relying on superior social status or “face” as many do in Asia, or citing emotional stress on one’s part usually does not produce results. For example, if one were to say—and this is where English translation becomes more difficult—”So-and-so is going around saying bad things about me, making me lose face and putting me in a very difficult position. I’m emotionally stressed and very upset,” sympathy is about all one will get. Like for a kid who fell down and hurt himself or herself. On the other hand, if one can feel that “I had my own reasons for doing such-and-such, so my conscience is clear . . . to those who want to hear it, I can explain it calmly and rationally,” and be at peace with oneself, emotional stress would also be minimized. The very bottom line is the idea that we’re all members of the same multi-racial, multi-cultural society. I know it’s easier said than done. At least that’s what I strive for in my interpersonal relations.

Next, the question of differences in age and generation. As you know, the way people think about age and generational differences in Canada is different from Japan. Generally speaking, people are not as conscious of their own age in Canada and other Western societies as they are in Japan.

Words and deeds based on individuals’ values are deemed more important. This difference accounts for the difficulty one encounters when trying to translate such common Japanese expressions like “junen hayai (literally a decade too early for someone to start doing something), “ao nisai (equivalent of wet behind the ears )“ and “akai chanchanko (literally red vest that was traditionally worn when one reached the age of 60).” Seniors, those of active working age, youth and children are all recognized as having their special roles and needs in the West too. But the society is considered to be the sum total of individual one-to-one relationships, and in those relationships, age difference is not as important as in Japan and other Confucianism-influenced societies.

In Japan, it is relatively more difficult for old folks including retirees, widows or widowers to continue to lead independent lives with a sense of purpose. There are groups, services and such for old people, but their greatest source of sadness must be not being taken seriously any more by younger people, apart from shop clerks and other service givers. Those middle aged and younger in the prime of their working years tend to feel, even if they don’t say it out loud, that “I’m too busy working and taking care of my wife (husband) and kids to bother with the old folks.” Of course, this is probably something of a universal trend in urban societies of the industrialized world by now.

We all get old. But there is an encouraging theory, supposedly fairly well-known, for Nikkei and ijusha folks living in Canada. Quote: “Nikkeijin seniors in Canada are 10 years younger than those of the same age in Japan.” (Ijusha folks who have lived here for decades with their families would also be included.) I’ve mentioned this here before, but that “theory” came from a Nikkei friend, a lady I’ve got to know through work and volunteer activities. She’s definitely more senior to yours truly in my 60s, but is full of youthful vigour as the saying goes. She travels around the country for work and volunteer activities and also regularly visits one of her sons and his family in Japan.

I’ve known her for several years, and she always looks the same—happy—while I have the impression I’m looking more like an old man all the time. By the way, I should mention that not all old folks in Japan are idle in their pursuit of the remainder of their lives by any means. In recent years, the way some lady seniors are enthusiastically tackling their work as they take part in volunteer and other projects both within Japan and abroad is apparently beginning to attract wide attention. Decades ago, they may have been labelled “pushy old ladies (sorry!),” but not any longer, not in this day and age. I heard this from a cousin recently in London, where she’s worked for many years for an agency promoting exchanges between Japanese and British businesses.

It doesn’t matter what, if it’s a hobby or avocation that enriches your life, you can seek and find people who share your interest and who don’t care how old they—or you—are. Before you make your initial approach, you should bear in mind that we Japanese as a race have a tendency to be extremely sensitive to “those around us” and mindful of our outward appearance. Forget such trivial thoughts as “am I higher or lower than them in status” or “am I better or worse at it than they are,” and take it to them straight and simple: “I like such-and-such very much too. Can I join you all?“ Of course, it might not always work out, but there’s no need to feel dejected. Remember the spirit of the common Japanese expression “damemoto,” which for once happens to translate perfectly into “there’s nothing to lose.”

When starting something new, some measure of emotional commitment is necessary. So the most recommendable are “projects” as small as possible that one can try out almost casually. Whether it involves a Nikkei or ijusha group, or entirely different people essentially doesn’t matter. Just within the scope of this magazine, there are volunteer activities and various hobby type activities like haiku and poetry circles, choral groups, handicraft , dance and even shogi and poker (the last two more for guys?) sessions. For those who prefer outdoor activities, groups are organized for long and short visits to places of cultural and historical interest. There’s trail hiking, fishing and skiing. You are bound to find like-minded souls to go with. There are also natural food enthusiasts who only eat vegetables they grow themselves Usually newcomers are welcomed. Apart from sports activities and such requiring physical strength, it very unlikely that you’ll be told: “How old are you? Oh…then you can’t take part.”

To dwell briefly on my own daily life, I’m lucky enough to be able to lead a more or less fulfilled existence doing some work along with for-all-intents-and-purposes “amateur” jazz guitar and my share of housework. I’d also like to mention two things that “I’ve wanted to do for a long time but have not been able to because of time and money.” More accurately, one which I did eventually get to do, and one which I still have not been able to realize.

I’d been interested in the activities of Japanese families who live on Salt Spring Island, that famous enclave of natural food growers and artists, but didn’t do anything about it for about 10 years. Then suddenly in the summer of last year, almost on a whim, I looked for and found one such family who take in guests at their farm house. So I took my family there and stayed for a couple of nights, our new friends showing us around the fascinating island. My circle of friends and acquaintances has expanded a bit, and it all started with a single e-mail.

What I haven’t been able to realize is sailing the strait between Vancouver Island and the mainland on a yacht. I’ve seen the activities of Nikkei and ijusha “men of the sea” who operate such yachts for fishing and for tourists on the internet. The expression on their wind-blown faces is enough to tell me they’re truly in their elements, and remind me of the blissful moments I spent sailing around Singapore.

There is no time limit. Why not try and find at your own pace a small joy or two to enhance the quality of your life in Canada? Opportunities abound. A minimal amount of creative thinking and emotional commitment is all it takes.

Allow me to conclude by observing, as someone who’s seen and experienced mixed marriage families over three generations, that one needs “love and patience” that override the value systems of individual national cultures to maintain a family life that will withstand the challenges it will inevitably encounter. If you are to ask me how we’ve managed, I‘ll spare you the details but I can tell you I’ve been amazed more than once or twice that we’ve been able to keep it together this long.

And I’m supposed to be used to living in the English-speaking world since childhood. I know I’ve had it a lot easier compared to those of you who came over from Japan as adults. It would be presumptuous of me to say “I know how hard it must be for you,” so all I can say is: “I take off my hat to you.”

One lazy, late-summer afternoon in this big Vancouver shopping centre, beautiful piano music is echoing through its cavernous interior as shoppers stroll back and forth. It’s coming from a baby grand piano set in the middle of a concourse—but there’s no one playing it! Black and white keys are going up and down as if by magic. No, it’s not “the invisible man” at the keyboard, but a built-in electro-mechanism that automatically plays pre-programmed tunes. But might not an imaginative two- or three-year-old think, if only for an instant, that the music is a creation of some fantastic, invisible being?

Lest people, especially fascinated kids, lay their hands on the expensive instrument, a large red placard with the stern warning in white lettering—DO NOT TOUCH THE PIANO—has been placed squarely on the seat. It obviously dispels any illusion of an invisible man and such.

Bent on some crazy mission to save that fleeting illusion, if only for naïve, dream-struck kids, yours truly must confess here and now to having resorted once or twice to the “urban-guerrilla-street-art-like” tactic of quickly and surreptitiously transferring that ugly placard from the seat to the top of the piano. Apparently someone (a security guy?) does check, because once I casually sauntered by later to look, and the placard had been put back on the seat, as if to proclaim: “We’re in charge here!”

Why so much ado about a little placard infringing on some “magical” illusion, anyway? Because it’s about one of the causes I’m most passionate about—to promote and share the almost magical “joy of making music” that can enrich one’s life so much.

As you musicians out there know full well, the joy of making music and sharing it with others is so great and “potentally productive” in a life-long context that it should be the aim of introductory music education for all kids and the “young at heart.” This is only my humble opinion, as some music teachers far more qualified just might disagree.

Think of some kind of sport activity as an analogy. You loved playing it as a kid, and found that the more you worked at it, the better you got. As you improved, you started playing with better athletes, and maybe even got invited to join good teams. Or, more realistically, you realized sooner or later that you were either not good enough or you had developed other interests, and gave up on the dream of making it as a professional.

But you still enjoy the sport so much that you keep playing with other like-minded souls whenever you can. As the years go by, you see younger athletes with more energy coming up, but you manage to hold your own with your experience and guile, but only for a while. You eventually retire as a player and maybe take up coaching as a hobby, or just continue to follow it on TV.

The stages of one’s development in music are comparable in many ways. Typically, you become familiar with an instrument or two through school music curricula. It was mainly a cheap “recorder-type” bamboo flute when I was attending primary school back in Japan. In Canada nowadays, school bands made up primarily of brass and percussive instruments seem to the introduction for most kids. Some kids are lucky enough to receive private piano or violin lessons, and of course the electric guitar is the instrument of choice for myriad teenagers chasing that illusive dream of becoming a real rock star.

Some of the youngsters, for whatever reason, will discover the joy of making music during this process. They might play in better school bands, and some will join groups outside the school like taiko groups, choirs or even full-fledged junior bands and, for aspiring rock stars, the garage band. Those diligent, motivated and talented enough might go on to tertiary institutions of music, usually classical music or jazz. Sooner or later comes the time of the critical “professional or amateur” decision. As with athletes, those who are not good enough or motivated enough to join symphony orchestras or commercially viable bands and groups, but are still hooked on the joy of making music try to keep playing as often as possible with other amateurs at private parties, community events, jam sessions at bars and such.

There is one big difference between participating in sports (excluding non-competitive, physical exercise) and playing music. In the latter, you don’t compete in terms of muscle strength, so you can keep playing with younger people as long as your fingers can move fast enough, your lung capacity is big enough or your lips are firm enough. So you can, in your 60s for instance, still play with anyone younger, from teens on up. In this respect, musicians may be luckier than athletes. (As you might have guessed, I’ve always sucked at—as kids would say—sports.)

In this column I always try to write about things based on my own experiences. Our Nikkeijin/ijusha community has been blessed by the presence of Mr Harry Aoki, a musician (bass, harmonica), musicologist and ethnologist who has dedicated well over half a century of his life to, among other things, promoting of cross-cultural communication through music. Having served, for instance, as musical director at Canada’s first Commonwealth Games in Edmonton back in 1978, Harry has definitely left his mark in North American jazz and ethnic music, and he recently celebrated his 90th birthday. Musicians and others that Harry have helped over the decades, regardless of their race or nationality, might number well over a thousand, myself included.

Some readers may remember “FFF (First Friday Forum),” an evening of music and talk that Harry used to hold at Nikkei Place every month in recent years. The FFF is still continuing, now at the Tonari Gumi premises near Broadway and Main. No longer able to run the program himself, he’s left it to younger musicians to carry on although he still comes to listen and lend his presence, occasionally interjecting with an advice or two. Those of us who enjoy performing together gather to play anything from classics and jazz to ethnic and folk music, and sharing the joy with dedicated supporters who also come every month. The members include a professional classical musician or two and enthusiastic amateurs like yours truly on the guitar. It’s not at all about who’s a better musician, but all about trying to make beautiful music.

Along with the FFF, there are choral groups and taiko groups at various levels mentioned just on the pages of this magazine. Musical education should ideally start at as young an age as possible. But even those readers, who, for example, just like to sing so much that they frequent karaoke bars, can try singing once with live guitar or piano accompaniment. There are many opportunities if you look around. It’ll make a lot of difference if you approach it with the attitude of enjoying yourself as much as possible and sharing that joy with others, rather than of competing in skills.

This is my recommendation, based on my firm belief that music can enrich one’s life in magical ways. Case in point: while writing this piece, I happened to discover one heck of a jazz pianist, a young Japanese lady named Hiromi Uehara. If you haven’t heard her yet, do so on YouTube or wherever. You’ll be astounded.

One of the first things I learned about Canadian standards of politeness when we first moved here from Singapore 14 years ago was the proper way to refer to one’s own family members. When my wife and I were talking with one of her Canadian friends, I casually used the word “her” to refer to my wife. “You must say B.!,” she reprimanded me sternly for using a pronoun instead of her name. Even if she’s right there, so I couldn’t possibly be demeaning her, I still had to use her name. My excuse would be that many Japanese men above 60 today would still use familiar terms to refer to their wives and kids out of a “Japanese sense of politeness.” One tries to use as unceremonious terms as possible to refer to close family members, so as not to appear to be bragging about them. Enryo (reservation) might be the word for it, but the idea certainly doesn’t—and never did— translate properly into the context of traditional Canadian values. I’d forgotten momentarily that I wasn’t in Japan. Some readers of my generation might understand.

Another striking experience with names occurred back in 1981 when I moved to Singapore from Tokyo, having been hired as a journalist for a new English language daily that was about to be launched. The day after I arrived, a Chinese Singaporean senior editor was taking me around the office, introducing me to my new colleagues. They comprised Singaporeans and Malaysians of Chinese and Indian origin, Englishmen, Sri Lankans, etc., in other words, a fairly typical mix of races and cultures for Singapore. “This is the sports editor,” the senior editor said, adding, “his name is Percy Sene…, Sene… whatever… it’s too complicated, so we just call him Percy.” I was astonished!!

Having worked as a journalist off and on for 15 years by then, I’d more or less assumed that all professional journalists of whatever country had the basic skill of learning people’s names. We always had to get names right in the stories we wrote. We all had own ways of memorizing important names that cropped up often. It was apparently no big deal in Singapore’s multi-racial society not to know accurately the names of colleagues, even for a journalist! In many ways, it was an eye-opener of an introduction to the media in that country.

Callous name handling, more often than not with no offense intended, is not uncommon in multi-ethnic societies including ours. But in the real world of business, too, quite apart from the social etiquette aspect, ability to remember people’s names, along with faces that go with them, is obviously an important practical skill.

That daily evening newspaper folded after four years for reasons I have yet to fathom (not an uncommon denouement in Singapore), so, after a short stint with a local TV network, I joined a major government agency. I was hired as a PR man responsible for producing promotional material to bring corporate investments into Singapore, writing speeches and handling Japanese corporate clients whenever the necessity arose.

One callous name-handler I recall well from those days, albeit an unwitting one I’m sure, was a senior Scandinavian diplomat responsible for promoting business and trade with Singapore. The man was supposedly an old Asia-hand, having served in Tokyo for many years previously. During a business lunch, he casually referred to an important Singaporean counterpart as “This fellow…his name is Tan something, I can’t remember exactly.” It just so happens that Tan and Lim are by far the two commonest surnames among Singaporeans of Chinese origin (who make up 75% of the population). So probably every third person you meet is named either a Tan something or Lim something. “I don’t remember his name,” was what the diplomat was really saying. The technique that has worked for me is to memorize Chinese names, usually three syllables (i.e. one syllable surname followed by two syllable given name), as though they are single three-syllable words.

As important as we hold personal names and titles to be, the use of business cards has long been a de rigeur throughout the “civilized” world including Japan. There, the design and printing of name cards along with the etiquette on their use have evolved into a “niche culture” of its own in the usual Japanese way. There are myriad choices in the kind of paper, the kind of type face and design, as well as the proper way of presenting a name—with the printed words oriented toward the receiver, accompanied by a slight bow of your head, etc..

If I may inject my own idea about respecting names in the context of name cards, I’ve always respected the name my parents gave me in its original form in kanji, the “Japanese/Chinese” characters, so I always put my name in kanji along with Romaji on my name card. As you know, people coming from Japan who use business cards usually have their name and title printed in kanji, often with the same in Romaji on the flip side. But once Japanese people start living abroad, what do they do? Both in Singapore and in Vancouver, I would occasionally receive name cards from compatriots, in which the name is only printed in Romaji. In such international cities like Vancouver or LA or New York, there must surely be people—other than reporters for the local Japanese-language newspaper or Chinese people—who might be interested in, say, how Yoko-san or Yuji-san is written in kanji. If the name in kanji is what your parents gave you, you should keep it always, no matter where you happen to be living. That’s my humble opinion.

What about when a Nikkei person goes to work in Japan? Typically one side of the card would be in Romaji/English and the other in Japanese. If the surname and given name are all in katakana (e.g. ?????????, i.e. Michael Nakamura), it might imply that the person is an English-speaking Nikkeijin. If the surname was in kanji (??????), a relatively rare case, it could give the impression that the man is a Japanese-speaking Nikkeijin, or even that he’s a show biz-related person. If a Nikkei person felt so comfortable in Japanese culture and language, and he happened to have a Japanese name as well, the name might read ???, in which case he would be a “masked foreigner” indistinguishable from a Japanese as far as the impression from the name card is concerned.

What’s in a name? The things I’ve mentioned may seem like making a mountain out of a mole hill. It’s only as important as one considers it to be.

In closing, I’d like to share with you what I practice in the way of mnemonics—learning techniques that aid memory. The word comes from Mnemosyne, the daughter or titaness born of Uranus, or god of heaven, and Gaia, mother earth in Greek mythology. It’s equally fascinating that Mnemosyne is the mother by Zeus of the nine muses, who represent epic poetry, history, love poetry, music, tragedy, hymns, dance, comedy and astronomy, respectively.

My simple method, picked up long ago from some magazine interview with a neurologist or something, is to keep thinking about whatever word I want to remember until I make some sort of word association, the more ridiculous, illogical or presposterous the better. The thinking process should take at least 20 seconds or so and maybe up to 30 seconds. The more ridiculous the association, i.e. the more likely the two bits of information involved have never been connected in that way before, the better my chance of remembering the association. If information stored can be simplistically likened to tiny creases on the brain, connecting two of them that have never been connected before should create a brand new crease.

To give an example of the technique when applied to remembering names, for instance, let’s go back to that “Tan something” with regard to Singaporean names. Among my colleagues at that government agency, whose names I needed to memorize as quickly as possible, was a fellow called Tan Suan Swee. The word I right away associated with those three syllables was the Japanese word “tansansui,” meaning soda (carbonated) water. The guy was from the chemical industries division, so I juxtaposed on his somewhat high cheekboned face the image of a soda water bottle. Whenever I had to memorize names and faces, I tried to make it a habit to play such little mental games. What about a name like the aforementioned Michael Nakamura? Both the surname and given name are quite common, but I happened to be a baseball fan going back many years, so I remember a guy called Michael Nakamura used to pitch for the Nippon Ham Fighters. So regardless of whether the person who gave me the said meishi (name card) is young or old, I would picture him in baseball uniform throwing the ball. That’s how it works.

When we get to a certain age level, we all, alas, have to start thinking about keeping our power of memory up. At least it’s easier than keeping your physical strength up, so I hope my small tip in amateur mnemonics was worth reading about.

For decades after WWII ended in defeat, perhaps up to about the time of the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, Japan was a much-disliked nation as the defeated aggressor of China and Southeast Asia, former colonizer of Korea and Taiwan and brutal nemesis of US, British and other allied forces in Pacific and Southeast Asian fronts. Germany, also a defeated aggressor in WWII, was generally disliked in Europe and North America, but as a European nation of fine traditions in culture and technology, retained a measure of international respect; its rocket scientists, for example, were immediately placed in influential research positions in the US and Soviet Russia. Japan in the early post-war years first gained a “reputation” worldwide for cheap products of shoddy quality. Ask anyone over 60 what “made in Japan” used to mean.

The outpouring of sympathy and support for Japan from dozens of countries after the catastrophe—perhaps best epitomized by the words “Ganbare Tohoku, Ganbare Nippon” that appeared against the background of the “Hinomaru” red sun in an influential British newspaper—has certainly been a big morale booster and source of strength for the Japanese people. The country today can feel herself to be truly part of the international community of nations. In industry and technology, Japanese goods ranging from cars to home electronics and industrial robots enjoy a high reputation for quality. Its “software,” ranging from sushi to animation and electronic games have fans throughout the industrialized world and beyond.

Back then, in 1945, the Japanese had to give up their core beliefs like the superiority of their race and the divinity of their emperor and start anew, adopting the values of the conquerors, i..e. “American democracy.” As a key US ally in the Pacific region, Japan through the industry and diligence of her people became an economic powerhouse and eventually the 2nd largest economy in the world.
Achieved over a span of less than half a century, that’s a lot of progress to observe for a baby boomer born in that watershed year of 1945 like myself. My earliest memories include visits to the homes of my parents’ American friends in Tokyo still under reconstruction. They drove their own cars, had central heating and out of their huge electric ice-boxes—Japanese manufacturers had not started making them yet—came such “exotic” goodies as hamburgers, franks and cokes. America was indeed that “shining citadel on the hill” with the highest standard of living, the ultimate in material culture, a dream world most Japanese only got a glimpse of in Hollywood movies and photo magazines.

Today, the US economy is faltering, even casting doubt on the future of the dollar-based international financial system, and China replaced Japan as the world’s second largest economy in 2010. Multinational businesses are increasingly looking to China and potentially India as the next engines of global economy. Facing stiff competition from South Korean and other Asian manufacturers in mature economies like US, Western Europe and even Japan itself, more and more Japanese multinationals see expansion into China and India as the only way to survive. Having adopted this strategy, the main problem often seems to be finding enough Japanese executives and younger personnel willing to go abroad to carry out these plans.

The general aversion of young Japanese males toward going overseas to further their careers has become a major trend over the last couple of decades, with concern mounting that it could even affect Japan’s future progress. And now, just as back in 1945, a significant number of cities, towns and villages have been totally devastated, albeit limited to one large region, and a massive reconstruction and redevelopment efforts costing trillions of yen has to be undertaken.

Some Japanese commentators see the rise of a new “post-disaster generation” of young people driven by a fresh sense of purpose, i.e. national reconstruction, to spearhead the effort, just as a “post-war generation” of baby boomers led by men lucky enough to survive WWII once achieved an “economic miracle” to reestablish Japan as a leading industrial nation.

Back in 1951, General Douglas MacArthur, then supreme commander of the US Occupational Forces testified in the US Senate that if America’s stage of development was analogous to a person in his 40s, Japan would be like a 12-year-old boy. He meant to defend Japan by saying her democracy was still at an early stage, but the statement caused consternation among many Japanese who took it literally to mean they were like 12-year-old boys. At what stage of development analogous to the human lifespan would Japan be in now?

Based on the extent of Japan’s influence in the world, would Japan be like someone in the late 50s, approaching retirement? As far as the actual demographic distribution is concerned, Japan is an ageing society with the working population having to support a growing number of retirees. Entrusted with the implementation of numerous reconstruction projects large and small, the “post-disaster generation bears a heavy responsibility to put it mildly. The indispensability of search and rescue, rubble-clearing, delivery of vital supplies and other support activities by the US Forces and various foreign organizations has been impressed upon one and all. Just to consider the vital necessity of strengthening cooperation with foreign countries in the recovery efforts hereafter, some Japanese opinion leaders assert that “now is indeed the time” for the Japanese to snap out of their prevalent inward-looking mindset and become more actively engaged with peoples in other countries. With regard to joint projects between Japan and Canada and US, North American Nikkeijin and ijhusha are obviously in a position to play bridge-building roles.

In BC alone, many support activities have taken place and/or are continuing, such as the BC-Japan Earthquake Relief Fund’s Ganbare Japan! concert, the Japan Tsunami Relief Walk in Steveston, in which some 7,000 people took part, and public fund-raising by a group of Japanese, Nikkei and other volunteers in Richmond. As time passes, the interest on the part of the general public is expected to decline. All the more important, then, that the support activities be kept up. Here again, Nikkeijin and ijusha play a vital role.

How many years and how much money will the complete recovery of the Tohoku coastal region require? Tentative calculations have been made but no one knows for sure. That means the roles that Nikkeijin and Japanese living abroad can play—including the continuation of present support activities—will have to be long-lasting. It would be nice if we could creatively re-work our ways of getting involved with Japan and Japanese people from a long-term perspective to strengthen our mutual ties.

It’s the biggest crisis Japan has faced since World War II, if one were to qualify it in so many words . . . but the real impact of this yet-unfathomable disaster will be heavy to say the least. Off and on I find myself preoccupied to the point of forgetting even simple daily chores. The experience has made me appreciate anew how the heart of a Japanese never changes, no matter how many decades he or she may have resided abroad.

Our sincerest condolences to those among the readers, if any, who may have lost family members, relatives, friends and acquaintances in the earthquake and tsunami disaster. Including those outside of the immediate disaster areas of Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima Prefectures, our hearts in the Nikkei/ijusha community go out to all those who suffered and who, even as I write, are in fear of radioactive contamination. Countries from around the world have also shown a great deal of sympathy and have extended support, with well over 30 nations taking part in rescue and recovery operations, the delivery of essential supplies like water, food and blankets to the isolated and displaced victims and the construction of temporary housing.

A nation of people who suffered the only nuclear attack on humans by means of two atom bombs 66 years ago, albeit during wartime, now faces another unprecedented disaster of the near annihilation of cities, towns and villages along a huge swath of coastal land as long as Great Britain. As one who happens to have received education based on western rationalism, I have always been sceptical of the tendency of Japanese intellectuals to casually toss around expressions like “unique to Japan” or “uniquely Japanese qualities.” “Are they saying that based on what they really know about foreign cultures in the world outside?” I would muse. But this time, having seen the greatest disaster to strike Japan in my 60-something years of existence, I’m tempted to wonder whether ”the Japanese are a people destined to suffer especially painful trials.”

You readers must also be following closely the daily news reports in the papers and on TV and websites, but as big as the catastrophe is—electrical power supply alone being cut by some 30%—the situation is still several weeks after the disaster struck. For now, allow me to just go through some things I’ve noticed.
What surprised me and moved me, for starters, were the words “Ganbare Nippon, Ganbare Tohoku” in Japanese script against a background of the Red Sun that appeared on the front page of the Sunday edition of Britain’s The Independent daily. Those British, who generally used to dislike us Japanese in the decades after World War II, were exhorting us to “be brave” (my translation) in our own language! A cousin of mine who’s lived in London for many years saw the Japanese headline at a station kiosk and shed tears. A taxi driver abruptly handed her a ten pound note, saying “My contribution to Japan.” Times really have changed.

In China, whose relations with Japan have been less than friendly in recent years, media reports and bloggers praised the composure and the discipline the Japanese showed in the face of a major disaster, some opining that “we Chinese won’t be able to behave like that, even in 50 years’ time.” Also widely-reported in the Chinese media was an episode about an unidentified Japanese male who led 20 Chinese technical trainees to safety when the tsunami struck, before being swallowed up himself by the rushing water. The Chinese survivors were said to recall the incident with tears of gratitude. Their government is among those sending rescue teams.

In the Republic of Korea (South Korea), one of the daily newspapers took the unprecedented step of expressing condolences to the victims of the disaster on its front page in Japanese language, the use of which was completely banned in the past. In the spirit of the adage “A friend in need is a friend indeed,” the ROK government has delivered four power generators and other vital supplies to Japan. Russia and Mongolia have delivered large quantities of blankets and foodstuff, while North Korea also donated US$100,000 to the Japanese Red Cross.

Under the code name “Operation Tomodachi,” the US mobilized some 20,000 Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine personnel in a wide-ranging support operation including delivery by helicopter of critically-needed food, water and other relief supplies to isolated communities of earthquake and tsunami survivors. The country also sent rescue teams of expert fire-fighters. New Zealand, which only last month suffered a devastating earthquake that destroyed much of the city centre of Christ Church and claimed well over 200 lives, sent its rescue team. Their attitude was “Japan sent a rescue team to Christ Church . . . now it’s our turn to help.” Canada sent a medical team from B.C.These are but a few of the many ongoing support activities.

What of the situation around Tokyo, the capital? According to my son, who is on an exchange program at a university in the suburbs, the biggest inconvenience seems to be the three-hours-a-day power outage. When the catastrophe struck, he happened to be back in Vancouver for his spring break. But the other day, he went back to his dormitory room on the campus, insisting “I must return on schedule.” Regarding the issue of radioactive contamination, however serious, of tap water, he only drinks bottled tea. The convenience stores and supermarkets he frequents are all reasonably well stocked with food and beverage items, he reports.

How can Japan recover from devastation of such an unprecedented scale? For now, priority must be given to the myriad immediate needs, such as fundraising activities by the national Red Cross organizations and other groups (in which many readers must be involved), on-site rescue, supply and reconstruction efforts and temporary housing for the displaced victims. Considering the hardship displaced survivors and other victims of the disaster must be suffering, it might be pre-mature to start talking about medium-range and long-range prospects.

Nevertheless, full-fledged reconstruction of the devastated cities, towns and villages has to be undertaken sooner or later. Canadian exports of materials for temporary housing seems to have started already. Led by the lumber industry looking to supply large quantities of housing material, Canadian industries are likely to play a significant role in the reconstruction of the stricken areas. With major projects extending over long periods, there is good possibility that overall trade between Canada and Japan will pick up. Rather a long-term outlook, but there could be more roles for Japanese Canadians to play should that come to pass.

During this time of severe tribulation, Japan has revealed both her strengths and weaknesses to the outside world. While the international media and commentators have been praising the resilience, unity and orderliness the Japanese have displayed, there has also been a show of weakness, particularly with regard to the government’s crisis management capability and to its exchange of critical information with allied governments in the aftermath of the damage to the nuclear reactors. The risk of radioactive contamination persists as of this writing. I can understand the sentiments behind the government’s desire not to upset the populace unduly by avoiding the use of words like “lethal dosage” in announcements about radioactive contamination. But the international media interpret that as a move to obscure a “fact” stipulated in international standards.

It’s still too early to begin spouting a slogan like “Hope” for the reconstruction of the Tohoku region. Be that as it may, an interesting observation comes from Prof. Kevin M. Doak of Georgetown University, who specializes in Japanese culture and society. The way the Japanese responded has made him realize that the core component of Japanese culture and tradition has never changed, though one might have thought that the culture and tradition might have been significantly affected by, among others, the policies of the US occupational administration after WWII, he said (Sankei Shimbun, 24/3/2011).

“While Japan has seen the withdrawal of youths and other regressive trends in recent years, things like the unity her people have shown in the face of the disaster even foreshadow the emergence of a Japan with a renewed sense of purpose based on traditional culture,” he predicted.

All I can share with our readers at this juncture are, as quintessentially Japanese and as hackneyed as they are, the words “Ganbare Nippon! Ganbare Tohoku!” In closing I would like to pay my respect to workers risking their lives to try and cool down the damaged reactors, Japan’s Self-Defence Force personnel (100,000 men reported mobilized), US military personnel and rescuers from other nations collectively engaged in a massive relief effort, as well as to all those involved in fund raising in Canada and other nations.

Since I started teaching English/Japanese translation part time in recent years, I’ve been facing a problem with the way English is spoken in North America today. The vernacular in Canada and US nowadays, especially among the younger generations, has deviated so much from the “standard spoken English” the students learned back in Japan that learning English has become so much more difficult. If more native speakers spoke the “standard English” that TV newscasters and commentators use, instead of constantly introducing casual, child-like styles and slang into the linguistic mainstream, the students would find it much easier to learn to speak and write the language. It would also be much easier to teach it.

Up to, say, the mid-sixties when the hippie counter-culture began to influence the language more and more through the mass media, one could expect an average university graduate to be able to express himself or herself adequately even with regard to abstract ideas. The deterioration in the quality of spoken English in US and Canada has been often discussed by linguists, teachers, writers over the years. One of the most recent to do so is Clark Whelton, a former speech writer for Edward Koch, the mayor of New York from 1978 to 89, and subsequently for Mayor Rudy Giuliani. Whelton calls the phenomenon “Vagueness, the linguistic virus that infected spoken language in the late 20th century.” (National Post, 15/2/2011).

This phenomenon has resulted in “reduced capacity for abstract thought,” according to a Vassar professor that Whelton quotes. Immature speech patterns used to be drummed out of the kids in ninth grade, but no longer. “Today, whatever way kids communicate seems to be fine with their high school teachers,” the professor points out.

The speech-writer gives an example of Vagueness. On TV a woman is talking about a baby squirrel she had run into in her yard. “And he was like, you know, ‘Helooooo, what are you looking at and stuff. And I’m like, you know, ‘Can I, like pick you up?’ and he goes, like, ‘Brrrp brrrp, brrrp, ‘ and I’m like, you know, ‘Whoa, that is so wow!’” She rambles, on punctuating her speech with facial expression and eye movements, but says practically nothing specific about her encounter with the squirrel. She appeared to be in her mid-40s, old enough to be an “early carrier of the contagion,” he says.

Having had to “watch my English” professionally ever since I started working for a news agency back in 1966, I have several peeves of my own in all this Vagueness. For example, all but gone now is the distinction between “amount” as in amount of water, sugar, effort, and anything else uncountable without units, and “number” as in the number of people, casualties, animals, cars and anything countable. It’s all “amount” now. Even some newscasters say “the amount of people” and “the amount of water” in the same breath. Also, nearly lost is the way one used to accentuate a set of identical words—like “import,” “combat” and “survey”—differently to indicate whether they are a noun or verb. The accent should be “IMport” for the noun and “imPORT” for the verb, similarly “COMbat / comBAT” and “SURvey / surVEY.” But many newscasters nowadays tend to stress the first syllable regardless of the noun/verb distinction.

As picky as I am, I also don’t like the way “increase” is today used to mean anything getting bigger. We used to distinguish in writing and in speech between “increase” (to make or become greater in size, amount, number or intensity) and “enhance” (to make greater as in value, desirability or attractiveness). When was the last time you even heard the word “enhance?” “Increase” covers everything now. So, given the deplorable state spoken English is in, is there a role to play for us in the Nikkei/ijusha community?

For starters, have you ever had the experience of trying to explain to non-Nikkei friends words like gaman, ganbaru, shikataganai—common Japanese expressions that also became, among other things, words of consolation and encouragement Nikkei Canadians and Americans used in order to withstand the pain and hardship of forced internment during Word War II? We usually resort to simple definitions like, respectively “to put up with,” “to do the best one can” and “that’s the way it is,” even as we feel the frustration that the English somehow doesn’t quite capture the nuances of a different culture. Whether you are a native English speaker or one who had to learn English as a foreign tongue, such a mental effort alone is quite an exercise in abstract thought. However large or small we feel this cultural divide we face to be, it compels us to think more in the abstract, perhaps, than mono-cultural people who’ve got it “all figured out.”

I also mentioned in my November 2010 article here that the English Nikkei folks speak is as close to standard English as one can get among the various kinds of English spoken by ethnic minorities. I may be treading on thin ice here, but one of our cultural traits that could be a factor here might be an almost an instinctual respect many of us feel toward anything well-established and authoritative, including the spoken language. It could be a holdover from old Confucian values. It is certainly known that old values of national cultures tend to survive longer in émigré communities.

I for one wouldn’t mind at all if, for some reason, Nikkei and ijusha should get a reputation for a tendency to use somewhat old-fashioned English, or “proper English” to some of us old-timers. We would then be playing a small part in stemming the steady deterioration of the spoken language. Of course, a young (for me anyone under 50) Nikkei person is perfectly free to talk just like his or her non-Nikkei peers. But if instead of sounding like, “. . . so she went like ‘oh my god’ and I’m like so, you know . . . ,” he or she should occasionally resort to an antiquated verb like “to say,” why not?

Incidentally, have you noticed how newscasters and commentators on BBC generally speak more clearly than their North American counterparts, and as a result often sound more thoughtful and intelligent? Now, on the subject of clear enunciation . . . no, I think you’ve already heard enough from this self-styled linguistic conservative. So . . . I’m like thank you, thank you y’all for readin’ all this stuff (I do talk that way to my jazz buddies).