I am not one to blame the French. In the case of the empty seat next to me on trains and buses in Japan, it's not the French who are to blame as much as it is my French heritage. I accept this fault because acknowledging the other truth is more hurtful. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
A Facebook posting by someone whom I don't know well but like and respect sent me reeling. In short, he wrote about large, foul-mouthed foreigners on his train who dropped the F word with too much ease, who were loud, and thus ill-behaved. No one shushed them. No one paid them any attention. He laments their behavior and wondered whether he shouldn't have said something to quiet them down to the level of noise commonly heard on any train in Japan. Which is to say, no noise whatsoever.
Step onto any car of any train or subway in Tokyo and the place is quiet. Everyone is in their own zone reading books, newspapers or reports; playing games on their phones or texting; sleeping; putting on make up (quietly, of course). Two people having a conversation is almost rare. There's no buzz, no rowdiness, no out-of-the-ordinary happenstance for the most part. (Crowded trains at night after the drinking-schmoozing-networking events are different.) Throw in some large gaijins who already don't blend, who don't know (or don't care) that laughing or talking in a group only calls unwanted attention to them and we've got a problem. Or so my friend says.
Here's the thing. Other foreigners in Japan may have different stories (which is where the French come in) but the seat next to me on any given train car or bus is always, ALWAYS the last seat taken. I am not exaggerating. People will stand rather than sit next to me. I've pointed this out to friends who are seated next to me. "Watch," I'll say. "See if this seat next to me isn't the last one filled." I am proven right. Always.
This gives me no pleasure, this "being right" part of what I only see as a form of shunning. I console myself by saying I smell. My French lineage comes out loud and strong when it comes to perfume. I simply will not leave home without spritzing myself. As a ritual reserved usually for women of the night, that I leave behind me a cloud-wave of scent sets me apart. I can't smell myself, of course. Once the perfume is on, it's on. I don't stop and smell my wrist or my clothes. Others can, evidently. Smell me, that is. I decide it's this she's-wearing-perfume thing people object to, aren't used to, and that's what keeps them away from me. The other truth, that they don't want to sit next to me, that they don't want to sit next to a foreigner is what hurts.
My friend on Facebook called these foreigners "wild beasts." Certainly, there are gaijins in Japan with beastly, horrid behavior. They make the rest of us look bad and for that, I don't like them. That we're all now lumped together as "wild beasts" hurt. I told my friend as much.
One more thing. I'm not proud to admit if Tokyo wins the bid for the 2020 Olympics and news programs are filled with Japanese commentators shaking their heads at the millions of loud foreigners on trains, planes, buses, and any other mode of public transportation I will have the last laugh. No, this isn't the most mature of responses. It is, however, honest. We are not beasts simply because we are large and don't use our indoor voices on trains. If we are, Tokyo will be filled with these beasts in 2020. Beware.
Showing posts with label Olympics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Olympics. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Tokyo Reinvented?
Governor Inose of Tokyo has a plan: Make Tokyo into a 24-hour metropolis. In a recent visit to New York City--the city that never sleeps--he sought out what New York has that Tokyo doesn't. The list is long: subways and buses that run all day and all night, a vibrant entertainment industry (e.g. Broadway), and an economy that benefits from continual consumer availability. On a Sunday morning television talk show he spoke about how making public transportation available to everyone all the time, businesses will flourish and the Tokyo Metropolitan Government as well as the private companies that own various subway and bus lines will also benefit. To all who watch the governor from afar it's clear he's struggling to fill the giant shoes left behind by his predecessor, the infamous Mr. Ishikawa. Perhaps his attempts to make Tokyo into a truly global city is his way of leaving his mark. My personal opinions of the governor aside, during this one show he made his points well.
Except there's a problem. (Of course there's a problem.) Take the idea of running trains 24 hours a day. Tokyo subway lines run two rails, each heading a different direction. Maintenance on these lines happens at night, continual operation of railways being key. Taking this a step further, continual operation and availability of prompt railway services is important because any disruption is meiwaku to the passengers.
Herein lies another problem. Any English equivalent I've heard of this word, my translations included, simply does not do this word justice. It's laden with cultural context. You simply do not, in Japan, cause meiwaku.
The loose translation is "inconvenience." Your inability, capability, or refusal to do the obvious, the right thing, and what is expected causes inconvenience to others. There's no simple way to explain how wrong, bad, inappropriate, unappreciated, and unacceptable this is. If trains were, on the off chance, late or worse yet, unable to run as smoothly as they do here in Tokyo, all because proper maintenance did not or could not take place the night before, then the idea of a 24-hour Tokyo is moot. Causing Tokyo residents meiwaku far outweighs the economic benefit of an always-available subways system. Let's say the governor does get his way and trains and subways do run all night. Somewhere there will need to be maintenance done, as quality and safety is of paramount importance. There would need to be routine work done on these lines--except the act of shutting down a train line to conduct routine repairs is also not acceptable if it means that line or station is inaccessible. It's meiwaku to those needing to travel. The number of people affected by this inconvenience is problematic enough that it kills any thought of 24-hour rails.
How does New York do it? I don't know. I can see, however, how Americans would be far more willing to accept a certain train station being inaccessible for a few hours every other week in order for any preventative maintenance needing to be done. It's the price you pay. Walk. Take a taxi or a bus. Drive. You adapt to your surroundings. I can't see New Yorkers flooding Mayor Bloomberg's office with complaints about how this inconvenience is unacceptable.
On another political pundit talk show, the "problem" of baby strollers on trains came up. Again. It seems mothers who ride trains, pushing their babies in strollers simply take up too much space. I've heard this before. Mothers my age and older say, "In our day, we folded our strollers and held our babies when we rode trains. Young women these days expect people to make room for them." The idea here? Young mothers are causing other passengers meiwaku by taking up valuable real estate in rail cars. Certainly, there's a generational difference in perspective. The sense of entitlement my generation allotted onto our children has come back to bite us in the butt. Point made: Our children think it's okay to cause other passengers meiwaku. No one says this, of course. Much less that we raised a entire generation to think this way. Is there a cultural shift happening in Japan? Most definitely. Should fingers get pointed? Yes. There's a reason for this change. It lies with parenting.
My take on the governor's dilemma--how to make Tokyo global and continually competitive--is that anything he proposes has the potential to collide with cultural expectations and what is now the norm for Japan. He dare not inconvenience his constituency, but if he is to take leadership in keeping Tokyo relevant globally, changes have to be made. The subway/train problem is just one example of where he will have to ask commuters and tourists to cooperate, tolerating the meiwaku.
I'm all for Tokyo going global. Rather, more global. I like the idea of not having to worry about catching the last train back to my apartment. As Governor Inose pursues his goals on reinventing Tokyo I conclude with this thought: Perhaps we just take a taxi or a bus, like New Yorkers presumably do, when any particular train station is going through construction or maintenance. Maybe it's not that big of a price to pay, and the whole meiwaku thing is a bit blown out or proportion? I think it's worth considering this idea.
The stroller issue? That's a whole other can of worms and one I don't see a quick resolution happening any time soon.
Except there's a problem. (Of course there's a problem.) Take the idea of running trains 24 hours a day. Tokyo subway lines run two rails, each heading a different direction. Maintenance on these lines happens at night, continual operation of railways being key. Taking this a step further, continual operation and availability of prompt railway services is important because any disruption is meiwaku to the passengers.
Herein lies another problem. Any English equivalent I've heard of this word, my translations included, simply does not do this word justice. It's laden with cultural context. You simply do not, in Japan, cause meiwaku.
The loose translation is "inconvenience." Your inability, capability, or refusal to do the obvious, the right thing, and what is expected causes inconvenience to others. There's no simple way to explain how wrong, bad, inappropriate, unappreciated, and unacceptable this is. If trains were, on the off chance, late or worse yet, unable to run as smoothly as they do here in Tokyo, all because proper maintenance did not or could not take place the night before, then the idea of a 24-hour Tokyo is moot. Causing Tokyo residents meiwaku far outweighs the economic benefit of an always-available subways system. Let's say the governor does get his way and trains and subways do run all night. Somewhere there will need to be maintenance done, as quality and safety is of paramount importance. There would need to be routine work done on these lines--except the act of shutting down a train line to conduct routine repairs is also not acceptable if it means that line or station is inaccessible. It's meiwaku to those needing to travel. The number of people affected by this inconvenience is problematic enough that it kills any thought of 24-hour rails.
How does New York do it? I don't know. I can see, however, how Americans would be far more willing to accept a certain train station being inaccessible for a few hours every other week in order for any preventative maintenance needing to be done. It's the price you pay. Walk. Take a taxi or a bus. Drive. You adapt to your surroundings. I can't see New Yorkers flooding Mayor Bloomberg's office with complaints about how this inconvenience is unacceptable.
On another political pundit talk show, the "problem" of baby strollers on trains came up. Again. It seems mothers who ride trains, pushing their babies in strollers simply take up too much space. I've heard this before. Mothers my age and older say, "In our day, we folded our strollers and held our babies when we rode trains. Young women these days expect people to make room for them." The idea here? Young mothers are causing other passengers meiwaku by taking up valuable real estate in rail cars. Certainly, there's a generational difference in perspective. The sense of entitlement my generation allotted onto our children has come back to bite us in the butt. Point made: Our children think it's okay to cause other passengers meiwaku. No one says this, of course. Much less that we raised a entire generation to think this way. Is there a cultural shift happening in Japan? Most definitely. Should fingers get pointed? Yes. There's a reason for this change. It lies with parenting.
My take on the governor's dilemma--how to make Tokyo global and continually competitive--is that anything he proposes has the potential to collide with cultural expectations and what is now the norm for Japan. He dare not inconvenience his constituency, but if he is to take leadership in keeping Tokyo relevant globally, changes have to be made. The subway/train problem is just one example of where he will have to ask commuters and tourists to cooperate, tolerating the meiwaku.
I'm all for Tokyo going global. Rather, more global. I like the idea of not having to worry about catching the last train back to my apartment. As Governor Inose pursues his goals on reinventing Tokyo I conclude with this thought: Perhaps we just take a taxi or a bus, like New Yorkers presumably do, when any particular train station is going through construction or maintenance. Maybe it's not that big of a price to pay, and the whole meiwaku thing is a bit blown out or proportion? I think it's worth considering this idea.
The stroller issue? That's a whole other can of worms and one I don't see a quick resolution happening any time soon.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
What I Really Think: The Ipponmatsu Debate
Let me be clear. I'm not writing on behalf of Rikuzentakata City Hall, nor have they asked me to speak out on this topic, and this post is by me as an individual. These are my thoughts, my opinions, my feelings.
Today's topic is Rikuzentakata's Ipponmatsu. Translated into English as the Miracle Pine, The Lone Pine Tree of Hope, and several other similar words strung together, it's about the one pine tree that stood its ground when 70,000 other of its tree siblings were washed away by the tsunami.
First, a brief history lesson. Ancestors of those living in Rikuzentakata now planted pine trees meant to serve as a tsunami barrier along the coast of Hirota Bay, the ocean facing an expansive flat land leading into the town. This was in the 1600s. More pine trees were added to this initial planting, and over the past 300 plus years, the number grew to 70,000. Paths were created so lovers could stroll at dusk. Park benches were strategically placed. By all accounts, this pine grove was peaceful, beautiful, and serene.
The key word here is "was." All but one of the 70,000 pine trees were blown to bits by the tsunami, sending large trunks into buildings, cars, and people. Even today there is a large pile of this wood in town almost white now with two years of sun exposure and salt bleaching. They remind everyone who drives past the mound of what was.
Ipponmatsu, the miracle pine is the one tree left standing. Or, again, was.
The short version is this: this tree, the miracle, the lone survivor died. Its roots steeped in salt water, the tree was declared dead in the fall of 2011. The city spent a good amount of time deciding what to do. On the one hand, the perseverance personified by this tree gave hope to those who were left in the town and to those visiting. "Life goes on" is what it says. "If I can withstand a massive wall of water, you can defy hardships as well" is the message it sent out. The city could cut it down, the tree having served its purpose. Or, it could attempt to preserve it. But, how? How does one go about "preserving" a 27-meter tree? And who pays for this?
Politicians, businessmen, and visitors to Rikuzentakata made similar suggestions on their trips: "Why don't you leave old city hall (or the gymnasium, or the library, or the museum) as a monument? That way people can come here for generations and see what the tsunami did. It would be like Tohoku's version of the Hiroshima Memorial." There's some sense to this. Showing just what the tsunami did, that there was a beat up, bent out of shape car in the lobby of city hall mixed in with chairs and desks and broken glass, that the floor of the gymnasium was covered with several inches of ocean sand with various kinds of artifacts and debris strewn around the floor--this would show the power of the waves, that a robust evacuation plan is a must, that every city everywhere must put time into creating a strategy for how to survive a disaster. What these same politicians, businessmen, and visitors did not take into account is this: people died here. For those still living in town who lost family members, friends, and colleagues, these grotesque buildings are reminders. Every time they see the gaping monuments they're ripping off the band-aid keeping them together. Save the buildings? So others can visit and learn and understand? What about those with band-aids?
The problem with the analogy with Hiroshima is that no one who made the decision to keep the dome in its place is left to ask how these decisions were made. Similarly, almost all of Hiroshima was wiped out, hundreds of thousands of lives lost. It was war. No apples and oranges comparison here. Apples and spaghetti, maybe. War and tsunamis are both disasters. Apples and spaghetti are both food. The comparison ends there.
Rikuzentakata City Hall decided to preserve the tree. The cost for this was unprecedented: preserving the tree required new technology, multiple processes, and a task no one had ever undertaken in Japan to date. The price tag is somewhere around 1.5 million US dollars. That's a lot of money for a tree. Yes.
Critics say, "If you're going to raise that kind of money, why don't you build temporary homes faster instead?" Others have said, "You're creating a cyborg." Still others have said, "You're taking away money from other projects donors might give to." Here's where I roll my eyes. Dear people. Do your homework before you cast stones. Please.
The only criticism I might agree with is the "cyborg" comment. Fine. It's no longer a "tree." So what? The tree died. Would it have been better to cut it down and leave a gaping hole, a stump that would rot, or a plaque reading "here's where the miracle pine was"? That provides hope? To whom? How?
True, the cost for the preservation of the tree is steep. But, as far as I'm concerned those who don't live here, who don't have to muster up faith and hope and the will to go on need to back off and take a seat. The Metropolitan Government of Tokyo just spent a huge amount of money luring the Olympic Committee to host the 2020 Olympics. I live in Tokyo. As far as I can see, we're fine here. We don't need tourist yen injected into our city to survive. Why is no one writing about that? Where are the reporters (foreign and Japanese) who question whether this was a justifiable or smart use of funds?
If money was being taken away from other projects, if donors all of a sudden stopped showing up at Rikuzentakata City Hall offering assistance all because of the Ipponmatsu I, too, might question whether all this publicity on one tree was a good thing. This is not the case. I've personally worked with organizations still interested in helping the city. Right there is proof money is not drying up.
As for "build temporary houses faster".... oh, honey. You really have no clue, do you? We would be building homes faster if we could. Typical of what the city faces is this: thirteen months from three government ministries for paperwork approval to build public housing. That's the problem. Not a tree.
Without selling papers, magazines, finding and keeping sponsors for television and internet news, the media can't and won't survive. I get that. I do find it rather tedious and tiresome, however, that some reporters have to go out of their way to butcher a story to guarantee sales. It's the name of the game, I suppose. Sad, really.
Today's topic is Rikuzentakata's Ipponmatsu. Translated into English as the Miracle Pine, The Lone Pine Tree of Hope, and several other similar words strung together, it's about the one pine tree that stood its ground when 70,000 other of its tree siblings were washed away by the tsunami.
First, a brief history lesson. Ancestors of those living in Rikuzentakata now planted pine trees meant to serve as a tsunami barrier along the coast of Hirota Bay, the ocean facing an expansive flat land leading into the town. This was in the 1600s. More pine trees were added to this initial planting, and over the past 300 plus years, the number grew to 70,000. Paths were created so lovers could stroll at dusk. Park benches were strategically placed. By all accounts, this pine grove was peaceful, beautiful, and serene.
The key word here is "was." All but one of the 70,000 pine trees were blown to bits by the tsunami, sending large trunks into buildings, cars, and people. Even today there is a large pile of this wood in town almost white now with two years of sun exposure and salt bleaching. They remind everyone who drives past the mound of what was.
Ipponmatsu, the miracle pine is the one tree left standing. Or, again, was.
The short version is this: this tree, the miracle, the lone survivor died. Its roots steeped in salt water, the tree was declared dead in the fall of 2011. The city spent a good amount of time deciding what to do. On the one hand, the perseverance personified by this tree gave hope to those who were left in the town and to those visiting. "Life goes on" is what it says. "If I can withstand a massive wall of water, you can defy hardships as well" is the message it sent out. The city could cut it down, the tree having served its purpose. Or, it could attempt to preserve it. But, how? How does one go about "preserving" a 27-meter tree? And who pays for this?
Politicians, businessmen, and visitors to Rikuzentakata made similar suggestions on their trips: "Why don't you leave old city hall (or the gymnasium, or the library, or the museum) as a monument? That way people can come here for generations and see what the tsunami did. It would be like Tohoku's version of the Hiroshima Memorial." There's some sense to this. Showing just what the tsunami did, that there was a beat up, bent out of shape car in the lobby of city hall mixed in with chairs and desks and broken glass, that the floor of the gymnasium was covered with several inches of ocean sand with various kinds of artifacts and debris strewn around the floor--this would show the power of the waves, that a robust evacuation plan is a must, that every city everywhere must put time into creating a strategy for how to survive a disaster. What these same politicians, businessmen, and visitors did not take into account is this: people died here. For those still living in town who lost family members, friends, and colleagues, these grotesque buildings are reminders. Every time they see the gaping monuments they're ripping off the band-aid keeping them together. Save the buildings? So others can visit and learn and understand? What about those with band-aids?
The problem with the analogy with Hiroshima is that no one who made the decision to keep the dome in its place is left to ask how these decisions were made. Similarly, almost all of Hiroshima was wiped out, hundreds of thousands of lives lost. It was war. No apples and oranges comparison here. Apples and spaghetti, maybe. War and tsunamis are both disasters. Apples and spaghetti are both food. The comparison ends there.
Rikuzentakata City Hall decided to preserve the tree. The cost for this was unprecedented: preserving the tree required new technology, multiple processes, and a task no one had ever undertaken in Japan to date. The price tag is somewhere around 1.5 million US dollars. That's a lot of money for a tree. Yes.
Critics say, "If you're going to raise that kind of money, why don't you build temporary homes faster instead?" Others have said, "You're creating a cyborg." Still others have said, "You're taking away money from other projects donors might give to." Here's where I roll my eyes. Dear people. Do your homework before you cast stones. Please.
The only criticism I might agree with is the "cyborg" comment. Fine. It's no longer a "tree." So what? The tree died. Would it have been better to cut it down and leave a gaping hole, a stump that would rot, or a plaque reading "here's where the miracle pine was"? That provides hope? To whom? How?
True, the cost for the preservation of the tree is steep. But, as far as I'm concerned those who don't live here, who don't have to muster up faith and hope and the will to go on need to back off and take a seat. The Metropolitan Government of Tokyo just spent a huge amount of money luring the Olympic Committee to host the 2020 Olympics. I live in Tokyo. As far as I can see, we're fine here. We don't need tourist yen injected into our city to survive. Why is no one writing about that? Where are the reporters (foreign and Japanese) who question whether this was a justifiable or smart use of funds?
If money was being taken away from other projects, if donors all of a sudden stopped showing up at Rikuzentakata City Hall offering assistance all because of the Ipponmatsu I, too, might question whether all this publicity on one tree was a good thing. This is not the case. I've personally worked with organizations still interested in helping the city. Right there is proof money is not drying up.
As for "build temporary houses faster".... oh, honey. You really have no clue, do you? We would be building homes faster if we could. Typical of what the city faces is this: thirteen months from three government ministries for paperwork approval to build public housing. That's the problem. Not a tree.
Without selling papers, magazines, finding and keeping sponsors for television and internet news, the media can't and won't survive. I get that. I do find it rather tedious and tiresome, however, that some reporters have to go out of their way to butcher a story to guarantee sales. It's the name of the game, I suppose. Sad, really.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
What chivalry?
Not all women like, want, or appreciate the sentiment of "ladies first." I can appreciate that. Antiquated, sexist, implying women are the weaker sex, I've heard women say they don't need doors held open for them, to enter/exit the elevator first, or have chairs pulled out for them. I can appreciate this, too.
To these women, I'd suggest a trip to Japan. Certainly, chivalry here is an anomaly. Sorry guys. It's the truth. While many would argue the role of, and the rights that come with change have improved the lives of women in Japan, there's more truth that women here rank second to men.
Arriving in Japan yesterday, I'm hit with this reality even before I get off the plane. The flight attendants fuss over the man sitting next to me. Fuss is absolutely the right word here. I, on the other hand, am not fussed over. Is he a celebrity? Is he special? Perhaps. Or, perhaps he's male.
No one offers to take the bag down for me from the overhead compartment. It's more rare in the US that I get no offers for help from men to drag down my carry on. As we exit the plane, I'm assuming we'll file out zipper-like, letting people in the rows in front of us exit first. Nope. Men push past me, no space for me to cut in. None of them stop and offer to zip the zipper.
Dropped off at my apartment, I maneuver (and not well) my two suitcases and two carry on bags up the stair case while two men stand nearby and continue talking. I'm this close to saying, "Really? No help whatsoever? Am I making this look easy?"
The gods and stars, making sure I thoroughly understand this is not an isolated incident, point me to a news show last night where two men, an expert of some sort, and a well-known television host discuss why women with strollers should ride the train less. Simply put, they're in the way. Presumably, to make sure they're not perceived as being completely out of touch with reality, they pepper their statements with, "But of course they do need to be able to leave the house." The conclusion the two men come to is this: women with strollers shouldn't ride the train during rush hour. They take up too much space. The rest of the time, the Japanese should be more sensitive to the fact that these should be allowed to leave their homes to run errands. To run errands. Right. Got it.
Try running this segment on television in another country. I know I'd be on the phone to the news outlet saying, "Did your guys really just say this? You're okay with this?" How many groups can you name that would never let this go by without pointing out its absurdity? Women should stay home during rush hour because baby strollers get in the way of commuters? Really? Japan has to ask people to have good manners?
And, food for thought here, people: Tokyo wants to host the Olympics in 2020? Good luck with that. You don't have a chance, especially if women and foreigners start spreading the word tourists and athletes with bags and gear aren't welcome on trains during rush hour.
To these women, I'd suggest a trip to Japan. Certainly, chivalry here is an anomaly. Sorry guys. It's the truth. While many would argue the role of, and the rights that come with change have improved the lives of women in Japan, there's more truth that women here rank second to men.
Arriving in Japan yesterday, I'm hit with this reality even before I get off the plane. The flight attendants fuss over the man sitting next to me. Fuss is absolutely the right word here. I, on the other hand, am not fussed over. Is he a celebrity? Is he special? Perhaps. Or, perhaps he's male.
No one offers to take the bag down for me from the overhead compartment. It's more rare in the US that I get no offers for help from men to drag down my carry on. As we exit the plane, I'm assuming we'll file out zipper-like, letting people in the rows in front of us exit first. Nope. Men push past me, no space for me to cut in. None of them stop and offer to zip the zipper.
Dropped off at my apartment, I maneuver (and not well) my two suitcases and two carry on bags up the stair case while two men stand nearby and continue talking. I'm this close to saying, "Really? No help whatsoever? Am I making this look easy?"
The gods and stars, making sure I thoroughly understand this is not an isolated incident, point me to a news show last night where two men, an expert of some sort, and a well-known television host discuss why women with strollers should ride the train less. Simply put, they're in the way. Presumably, to make sure they're not perceived as being completely out of touch with reality, they pepper their statements with, "But of course they do need to be able to leave the house." The conclusion the two men come to is this: women with strollers shouldn't ride the train during rush hour. They take up too much space. The rest of the time, the Japanese should be more sensitive to the fact that these should be allowed to leave their homes to run errands. To run errands. Right. Got it.
Try running this segment on television in another country. I know I'd be on the phone to the news outlet saying, "Did your guys really just say this? You're okay with this?" How many groups can you name that would never let this go by without pointing out its absurdity? Women should stay home during rush hour because baby strollers get in the way of commuters? Really? Japan has to ask people to have good manners?
And, food for thought here, people: Tokyo wants to host the Olympics in 2020? Good luck with that. You don't have a chance, especially if women and foreigners start spreading the word tourists and athletes with bags and gear aren't welcome on trains during rush hour.
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