Men Behaving Badly and Women Who Push Back

I mean, really.  The remarks themselves are sexist enough, but the whole lack-of-creativity part also irks me.  You want to put women down?  Come up with something other than "if you bleed you can't lead."

Disclaimer:  What the Governor is to have said is something I read online.  I haven't verified it.  I don't know him.

Back several years the man elected Governor of Tokyo (yesterday) evidently said something to the extent women can't ever be in positions of leadership because we get weird while we're menstruating, and it's because we bleed that we're not orchestra conductors, or hold other "manly" jobs of the like.  (The "manly" is my addition.  Couldn't resist.)

Before I get to my next point, may I just go on record and say male politicians who talk about women this way really need more originality in their condemnation of an entire sex.  Menstruation?  Again?  That's all you've got?

To this remark the he's said to have made, Japanese women living in Tokyo came up with a creative way to keep their husbands from voting for the man-now-Governor.  The message was simple:  Vote for him and you'll get no sex at home.  Dubbed the "sex strike", news conferences of these outraged women calling the then-candidate on his gaffe didn't get as much press as I had hoped.  That, and considering he was elected, I wonder how many men will be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future?  Who said Japanese housewives were submissive and obedient and demure and quiet?  Who said "men rule Japan"?  I wouldn't necessarily recommend using sex as a weapon, but I'm ready to say that's a lot more creative than reducing women to unpredictable and mentally unstable creatures controlled by hormones.  I like creativity.  In the battle of creative come-backs, Japanese women reign triumphant.  You're just going to have to try a little harder, Governor. 

I simply would be remiss if I did not point out clear messages from our friends in the animal kingdom:  in sex, in politics, and in male-female dynamics.  It's the male lion that has to worry about hair.  It's the male peacock and pheasant that's adorned and has to strut for the hens.  And, isn't there an owl species out there where the male kills mice and brings them as a token of his love to the female to show his worthiness?  As a part of owl-courtship?  Why are we humans not more like these animals?

Following this story over the past several weeks, I've allowed myself the following conclusion:  If I'm ever offered a job in the Tokyo Metropolitan Government, say to consult for the upcoming 2020 Olympics or something, I've decided I will say to those interviewing me,

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I'm on my period.  You can't trust my judgment today."

That would get me booted out the door, but it would make me feel better.

Women in Japan: On Being Womanly

Womanhood in Japan is like a souffle.  When rising, it’s soft, delicious, and full of potential.  Behind that potential is the possibility this sweet goodness will fall.  Sometimes the proverbial souffle comes crashing down.  Some days I spend quite a bit of time wondering how my life would be if I were a Japanese woman.  My answers waiver between “just like me now” and “not at all something I’d like to experience.”  This bothers me.

On a recent visit by a high-ranking female foreign dignitary to the tsunami-ravaged remnants of Tohoku, I was told the following by one of the men I was with:  “Foreign women in power still look womanly.  Japanese women, when they become powerful, politicians and the like, they look like men.”  I offered a “Huh” because that’s all I could come up with on the spot.  I’ve pondered this comment since.

What does it mean to be womanly in Japan?  I think of powerful foreign women I know personally and those I’ve seen on television.  I don’t think this man was saying women in pantsuits look manly.  I’ve seen plenty of foreign women in pantsuits.  I don’t think it has to do with hair length, the application of make up, or types of jewelry worn.  I go through lists of what it’s not, and come to one conclusion:  foreign women wear power better than Japanese women, because Japanese women aren’t meant to be powerful.

I ponder this some more.  Powerful women in Japan that I know are usually outspoken—not a flattering trait for a woman here to have.  Powerful women in Japan make decisions and give orders—upsetting the historical balance between who’s wearing the pants in any given scenario.  Powerful women in Japan make their own money—leaving no room for men to “provide for you.”  What was it then about this foreign dignitary that left an impression on this individual as being womanly?  Is it simply a matter of being pretty?  Was she some how able to exude professionalism and competence while not intimidating the men around her?  Why are strong women considered intimidating in Japan?  Why is it better for strong women to be womanly?  I feel like someone has poked my souffle and it’s rapidly falling.  My subconscious is screaming, “Plug the hole!  Plug the hole!”  Before I can, I need answers.  As of now, I'm stumbling, trying to work this through.

On Women in Japan: "The Rules Are Different Here"

Sometimes it's the conversations we have with our best of friends who then turn around and say something we weren't expecting that hit us the hardest.  This is one such case.

I get a call from a dear friend in Tohoku.  Let's call him Yuta.

"A bunch of us are concerned about the amount of time you spend with Kiki," he says out of the blue.  (Kiki is not her real name.)
"Why?"
And so it begins.
"Well, this is a bit hard to say but Kiki doesn't have a very good reputation in town.  She's business first, and then there's the fact she spends so much time out drinking at night--away from her husband and kids."
I don't say anything.
"Are you listening?"
"Uh huh."
"It's not okay that she's doing this."
"What do you mean by 'this'?  Is it the she's-focused-on-getting-her-business-off-the-ground part that's not okay or the staying-out-late-at-night part?"
"Well, the latter mostly.  Women, wives and mothers, can't just go out and party like she does.  And, to be focused on business over family, that's not cool either."

I like Yuta.  A lot.  Which is why his words pain me.  She's not allowed to be focused on her store and she's not supposed to be going out at night because she's a woman?  Because she's a wife and a mother?  Seriously?

"Let me get this straight," I say.  "It's because she's a woman that these things aren't okay."
Yuta pauses before he answers.  "Yeah."
"And, this is why you think I should spend less time with her.  That my reputation will some how be tarnished by being associated with her.  Is that right?"
"Something like that."

Poor Yuta.  If he were anyone else, if we weren't as close as we are he wouldn't have gotten the beating that came next.  I simply lost it.  I went for the jugular.

"You guys, you men, this is normal for you.  You're always out drinking, socializing, staying out late.  You guys prioritize your businesses over your families all the time.  That's okay, right?  That's what men do, right?  So, when Kiki does the same thing, trying to restart her business so she can contribute to the family income, and when she enjoys life with her unmarried friends for dinner or drinks, that's not okay.  Because she's a woman?  Are you kidding me?"  Yuta is trying to cut in but I won't let him.  "And, what about me then?  Some in the States say 'you left your husband behind to work in Japan.'  I go out with you guys, and Kiki.  We eat.  We stay out late.  Why is it okay for me and not for Kiki?  Is it because I'm American?  The rules are different for me?  Or is it just that the rules are different for Kiki because she should know better?  Local woman, married with kids, she's supposed to pack up her shop promptly at five pm and go home and cook dinner and bathe her children?  Yuta, this is dumb.  You can't say 'it's okay for Amya' but 'it's not okay for Kiki.'  You just can't."

I've hit a nerve.  Yuta's angry now, too.

"Look.  I'm just telling you what people are saying about Kiki."
"Back her up then!  You're in a position to tell those who say this about her that she shouldn't get read the riot act, get the cold shoulder just because she's a woman.  Do you say that?  Why don't you say that?"
Yuta sighs.  "The rules are different here," and adds, "for women."
"That's ridiculous," I snap.
"Yes, it is.  But it's also true.  You're right.  You don't get the same crap thrown at you because you're here helping us get back on our feet, and because you're a foreigner.  No one would dare say that about you."

We're both quiet.  I'm oddly completely drained from having yelled at him, and he's hurt his advice has been met with such a violent reaction.  Soon we mumble our good-byes and hang up.  The rest of my day I get very little done, my thoughts going back to Kiki, and Yuta's words.  The injustice of the existence of different rules for women infuriate me.  Do I stop seeing Kiki?  No way.  I won't get sucked into this muck.  Is Yuta right, though?  Will I get less done if I hang out with "the wrong crowd"?  Do I ignore these rules or play nicely in the sandbox?

The next time Yuta and I talk, I apologize.  I took it out on him, and that wasn't right.  He was giving me a heads up, and I could have taken that as valuable information but didn't.  He understands.  He agrees the double-standard is unjust.  There are more pauses in our conversation this time, each of us dancing around the uncomfortable air between us.

"I'm not going to stop hanging out with Kiki," I finally say.
"I didn't think you would.  Especially not after what you said last time."
"I realize I may be taking a chance, a risky one, that people will stop working with me because I spend time with Kiki.  But, I guess I honestly don't believe that will happen.  I'm associated with a lot of different groups.  Not everyone I work with is thought well of.  Right?"
"Right."
"If I as a woman stop supporting Kiki because she's a woman...well, that's a line I can't cross.  It's some code we have as women.  Or something."

Yuta says he understands and I choose to believe him.  The subject of Kiki hasn't come up since.  I've known the rules are different for women in Japan, and especially so in Tohoku.  To have them so clearly spelled out for me, however, is unsettling and off-putting.  My choice to ignore cultural protocol for the sake of supporting my kind may or may not have repercussions.  To date, I think I'm fine.  I'll let you know.

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.

Seasons: Cycles and Circles

The more time I spend in Tohoku, the more aware I become of the differences between men and women.  There's nothing wrong with these differences, per se.  My observations are just that:  I notice the subtle nuances, changes in behavior and expectations, scene after scene in how these traits are played out.

I've always thought a key difference between the sexes has to do with how we perceive the seasons.  Men look at the calendar and see a linear, chronological series of events.  (Apologies in advance for the gross generalizations here.)  Quarters are not thought to be cycles, but rather milestones.  Budgets need to be submitted by, reports written by, projects completed by the end of a quarter.  That's what quarters are for.  They peg the calendar.

Women, on the other hand, see the calendar as a series of cycles.  Quarters are seasons.  Months are not simply a bunch of dates.  It feels natural, as a woman, to see life as a repeat of cycles as opposed to a long line of continuing events.  Our menstrual cycles probably play a key role in this.  We are biologically, naturally cyclical.

It makes sense then, taking this idea of a cycle one step further, that gatherings of women are called "circles."  One such circle that is on my mind of late is the women of the "Knit Cafe" in Ofunato.  It's a "knitting circle."  Of particular interest is that the women who knit together are all post-menopausal. I've heard it said, often at that, women become more creative after menopause.  Not being blessed with artistic skills (my drawings of humans are simple stick figures) I can't relate to the joy of creating anything by hand.  I can't draw, sew, knit, quilt, crochet.  Truth be told, I barely enjoy cooking.  I'm hoping some day in the future I, too, will be given the skills to use my fingertips for something other than typing and writing.

Over the weekend, I took a group of women from Fukushima Prefecture to Ofunato.  The three women with whom I shared eight hours in a car want to start their own "knitting circle."  They wanted to meet other women who are doing this, women who have experiences similar events in the past year post-3/11, and learn what to do and how.  Not being a knitter, my role is to connect.  That, I can do.  Sitting and knitting with them is not my preferred choice of relaxation.  Driving, on the other hand, is far more relaxing to me.

We had great weather on the drive from Fukushima to Ofunato and back.  We drove on highways and winding mountain roads.  One scene we saw over and over we remarked upon every chance we got.

It's the season for wisteria.  The purple bunches of petals falling from the trees look like grapes.  Driving through the mountains, we saw tree after tree taken over by climbing wisteria, producing a medley of dark and light lavender.  We rounded one corner and gasped.  (Interesting, isn't it, how the best things we see in life seem to be "right around the corner" or "right over the hill"?)  In front of us was a wall of wisteria.  The trees underneath were suffocated in such a way we could hardly see the leaves.  Purple, pale pink, and paler white wisteria cascaded down the hill as if someone painted the wall, dotting it with a fine-tip brush.  It was simply beautiful.

Not to say men wouldn't notice such natural beauty, but it's no understatement to say we spent eight hours alternating between gasping, sighing, and marveling at what we saw.

The cycles of the natural world, both outside and within, and how this translates into our love of circles--it's very much on my mind today.

"We needed to keep her alive."

Stories come from the unlikeliest of sources. 

In the spirit of investing in the local economy, I make my way to see one of my favorite women in Ofunato.  I park in front of her store, and see the chiropractor's office near hers.  I have an appointment with him next week.  More on this in a moment.

We chat, getting caught up, exchanging gossip as only women can do.  It's lovely.  I tell her of my upcoming appointment with her neighbor-chiropractor.

"Is he good?"
"Oh, definitely.  He fixed one of my friends."
I'm relieved.  I tell her of my pinched nerve in my shoulder, causing my arm to tingle and spasm.
"You'll like him.  He's really that good," and she continues with the following tale.

Her friend was a student of hers.  "She was washed away by the tsunami in Rikuzentakata."  Now I'm confused.  Her friend was washed away?  As in, she died?
"This is the friend the chiropractor 'fixed'?"
"Right."
"She survived?  I thought she was washed away."
The term "washed away" is used, even reserved for those who didn't make it.  Buildings were "washed away" as were cars, and people.  Hence my confusion.  She was "washed away" and then treated later?

"It was a miracle," my friend says. 
The woman was with my friend twenty minutes prior to the earthquake.  The woman went home, the earthquake hit, and then came the tsunami.  The woman was at home with her three children.  After the earthquake she put her children and her parents in the car and began her escape. 

"The car was pointed towards the ocean," my friend says.  "Bad luck, you know?"  I nod.  "She had to turn the car around.  By that time, the water engulfed the car.  The tsunami swept the car away with everyone in it.  My friend says her oldest was gasping for air, and she told her to get towards the roof where the water hadn't risen yet.  That's the last thing she remembers."

The woman survived.  All six of them were tossed out of the car.  She was found later, the only one breathing.  Taken to a hospital in the next town by a stranger, she was there for days while people searched for her.

"She also lost her husband and mother-in-law.  Six people.  Everyone in her family.  She's the only one who survived."  I'm dumbfounded.
"How did she find the will to keep going?"  I'm not sure I would.
"I know.  I know.  Right?  We needed to keep her alive.  We were all worried about her."
I'm told of how my friend and a group of women kept tabs on her, calling, visiting, checking up on their mutual friend.  Here again; women helping women.

"She's not doing well now.  It's been over a year now, and she's finally able to grieve.  It's not good.  She's not well.  At all."

Filing six death certificates, trying to figure out what's worth living for, mourning, and mourning again--I don't know what to say.

The chiropractor I'm seeing, the one I'm hoping will fix my shoulder problem, "fixed" this woman whom other doctors said "couldn't be helped" because her pain was "in her head."

The good news is, I have hope my pain will be gone soon.  The bad news is, there's a woman in town who has experienced incredible pain who seems out of reach.  We are two different women with two entirely different kinds of pain. 

Not at all sure what to do, some days I just collect stories.  And repeat them.