The Pachinko Problem

Men, or so I'm told, measure much of their worth from how well they are able to provide for their families and loved ones.  Not being a man, this is not a given for me.  Assuming there is truth in this statement (the fact men derive pride out of how much they make--not the part about me not being a man) there is now a new problem in Tohoku for many of the men there. 

The damage done on March 11th can be measured by loss of buildings, property, and lives.  Lost also were jobs.  Simply put, there is no easy solution.  "Go find another job" is neither welcome nor helpful advice.  Lack of employment opportunities and what this is doing to the morale of men was one of the topics on hand at a gathering of locals I attended recently.

It is always an honor to be invited and included.  To say people in Tohoku value community is the positive spin on what I could just as easily describe as an "insular subculture."  Outsiders are just that.  We are from the outside.  I could live an hour away and I would not be "from here."  That I am from outside of their immediate town, prefecture, Tohoku region, and country makes me the ultimate in outsiders.  That they let me in holds that much more meaning.  I'm humbled.

The dinner party, an excuse to drink really, is held at a local restaurant where we've met before.  The usual gang trickles in one at a time.  Every time the door opens and another pops his head in, each man with a grin bigger than the one before, the crowd at the table cheers and we argue over who sits where.  It's musical chairs, grown-up style.

Settled in, conversations take place between two here, three there.  Facebook is the topic of discussion tonight.  Who's on, who's not, why, why not, chiding those don't know how to use their Smart Phones to keep up with "the younger generation."  The mention of the "young ones" is evidently a sore spot with one, the eldest of the gang, and suddenly the tone and mood at the table changes.

"It's embarrassing," the leader of the group says.  "You know, these young guys, they have unemployment benefits right?"   Others nod.
"I know what you're going to say."  I catch Yoshi-san's eye as he looks first at the leader and then around at the others.
"What?"  I don't know where this conversation is going.  I can't read him.  "What are you talking about?"
The leader looks at me.  "Pachinko."
"Facebook is good, all right?  It keeps people talking.  It's a communication tool.  It's not a waste of money or time.  We can keep in touch with people like you."  Here, he points to me.  More nodding.  "Pachinko?  These guys, these young guys.  Who knows.  Maybe they know about Facebook.  Maybe they don't.  I'm all for new technology, see.  But, these young guys who hang around Pachinko parlors wasting their money because they can't find work and they feel sorry for themselves because there are no jobs here.  It's embarrassing.  This isn't who we are.  We're not lazy.  We work hard around here.  These guys.  They make us all look bad."
Everyone is silent for awhile.  I'm still confused as to how we went from Facebook to the evils of Pachinko and the young men who waste time and money on it, but I know to keep my mouth shut.
"There are no jobs," the leader says.  "Right?"  He looks around.  Everyone nods.  I do, too.
"But, Pachinko?  Pachinko?  It's been seven months.  They need to move on.  Move away.  Go down to Tokyo or Osaka.  Get a job there.  Sure, it will be hard to be away, but this Pachinko problem."  He shakes his head.  "It's embarrassing.  There are limits, you know?  It's been a rough year but to sit in those Pachinko palaces day after day throwing their money away because they don't have a job.  This isn't who we are."

There is evidently a real Pachinko problem in various cities and towns along the coast where the tsunami did so much damage.  The underlying cause of this new phenomenon isn't truly Pachinko.  It's unemployment.  It's boredom.  It's the fact that men who want to work can't without making large and painful sacrifices.

We didn't solve the Pachinko problem that night.  We weren't trying, I suppose.  I left the party happy to have seen them, happy to have one more Facebook connection, and profoundly unsettled.