TOKYO VICE, PART I

There are a number of books that are must-reads if you're interested in Japan, and I'd argue that Jake Adelstein's Tokyo Vice is one of them, particularly if you like stories that make you say to yourself, "WHAAAAAAT?!"  Adelstein is a bit of a wunderkind in that he was the first non-Japanese reporter to work at the Yomiuri newspaper.  He started out on the Tokyo police beat, and became (very) closely acquainted with what might be termed the "seedy underbelly" of the city (if that sounds hokey, so will the parts of the book that read like a noir novel).  The book is filled with fascinating tidbits, from the fact that the LDP (a major political party) was founded with yakuza money, to the revelation that a yakuza crime boss was granted an entry visa into the US by the FBI in exchange for information on different crime groups.  He also somehow mysteriously made it to the top of the organ transplant list at UCLA.  When Adelstein uncovered the story, a price was put on his head; fortunately, the hit was never carried out and he managed to publish Tokyo Vice.

HOW TO SPOT A YAKUZA 

Unlike other organized crime groups throughout the world, the yakuza possess a kind of notoriety that verges on celebrity.  Comic books and scads of fan magazines feature profiles on prominent members, reviews of the best yakuza-run sex clubs, photos of members' body art, etc.  Some gangsters are even willing to speak to the press, weighing in on recent crimes and pointing out rookie mistakes, like attempts to dump or bury a body after a murder.  In their professional opinion, the only way to properly dispose of a body is to burn it.  

Yakuza fan magazines.  From www.japansubculture.com

Helpful diagram based on feedback from yakuza member on how to incinerate a body.  From www.tokyoreporter.com

While the yakuza aren't exactly in hiding, they don't necessarily flaunt their affiliations.  Telltale signs used to be flashy suits, tattoos, and missing joints on fingers.  Today, a man in a sharkskin suit could simply be a fashionable salaryman, and tattoos an indication of counterculture.  Amputations of digits have decreased.  Still, the Japanese are well-aware of what qualifies as yakuza territory, and a surprising number have had encounters or dealings with gangsters.

Lone Grandpa used to work at the kencho (prefectural office), and told me two stories of how he came face-to-face with the yakuza.  First, he was assigned to negotiate with them over their failure to pay taxes.  This local group had a "business," but wouldn't report their income or pay the expected tariffs, and so every year, a bureaucrat from the kencho (always a man- women are never allowed to go) was sent over to ask for the money.  And every year, the response was the same: "I have no money," meaning that the "company" couldn't be taxed on nonexistent profits.     

I asked LG if he was scared, or if the police went with him.  He said that no, the police don't assist in these negotiations, but they advised LG, "Well, if they beat you up, please tell me and I'll arrest them." However, the yakuza carefully refrain from violence.  All the parties involved know that this meeting is no more than a formality.  No one at the kencho is ever going to get the yakuza to pay up, and so both sides simply go through the motions and save face.

LG's second run-in with the yakuza was slightly scarier.  One day, two men in suits approached LG's desk at the kencho and asked him point-blank to give them inside information on a construction project that was being launched.  The kencho was taking bids for the contract, and the yakuza wanted LG to give them a number.   He refused, and the gangsters were furious and began shouting and making threats.  LG, though nervous, had the presence of mind to attempt to diffuse the situation by serving tea.  Someone had once advised him that if the yakuza ever stopped by, LG should always serve tea, so that if the interview got tense or the gangsters got rough and spilled the tea or broke one of the cups, LG could summon the police and report that property damage had occurred.  

The yakuza left in a huff, and LG ended up waiting until past midnight in the office before making a mad dash to his car, just in case the thugs were waiting for him in the parking lot.  Later he learned that someone else in the department had been bribed or coerced into giving up the information, and was subsequently fired.  LG never heard another word about the matter.


In addition to public works projects, real estate, and good, old-fashioned blackmail, the yakuza have their hands in a number of profitable pies in Japan.  This includes, but is not limited to, drugs, sex and pachinko (gambling).  To learn more, stay tuned for the sequel to this post, "Tokyo Vice, Part II: Sex, Drugs and Pachinko." 

Recent ad for Playtex diapers.  The all-over body tattoos are characteristic of the yakuza.

HOW JAPAN HAS RUINED ME FOR LIFE

A lot of people have asked what I'll miss most about Japan.  Topping the list is the sense of adventure.  My students are a close second.  I'll also miss my colleagues at school, my friends, and the food.  And a million other things, large and small.  

When I reflect on this question, I realize that living in Japan for two years has really ruined me in a lot of ways.  Never again will I be able to buy sushi (or any fresh food) at a convenience store without falling perilously ill.  I'll have to start being more vigilant of my surroundings- no more walking alone at night, or napping on the train with my purse in my lap.  Speaking of trains, I can forget about the efficiency of public transportation.  Farewell to the punctuality of bus and rail schedules, and people showing up early for meetings.  

Because Japan is a cash economy and has weird ATM hours that make it difficult to make withdrawals, I've become accustomed to carrying around hundreds of dollars' worth of yen.  Elsewhere I might be mugged; in Japan, it's fairly par for the course to have that much cash on you.  When I closed out my bank account the other week, the teller gave me the balance of my account in a thick stack of cash.  It looked as though I was about to ransom a small child, but I admit I was exhilarated.  It's the only time in my life that I'll be able to say that I was a mill-yen-aire. (See what I did there?) 

In my next life, there won't be vending machines on every block offering a wide assortment of cold and hot beverages, helping me stay hydrated.  I will have to re-condition myself to not bow to everyone, and remind myself that I can't expect the superior level of customer service offered in Japan.  For example, no one will apologize to me when I commit a grievous faux pas, as though their perfectly reasonable rules or procedures are inconveniencing me, the clueless customer.  

I will have to dig out my tip calculator again, since gratuities don't exist in Japan.  Workers earn a living wage, and besides, it would be considered poor form to expect extra compensation for doing their job.  

Dear onsen, I'll miss you as well.  There's nothing quite like being naked with a bunch of strangers, scrubbing oneself clean and then luxuriating in different baths.  The soothing, scalding heat of one tub, the discomfiting electric pulse of another, or the invigorating wakeup that is the ice-cold pool.

Goodbye, floors so clean I could eat off of them. See you, spotless bathrooms and people who take pride in what they do, no matter how seemingly inconsequential or lowly the job.  Hello, rippling cellulite and exposed undergarments.  To those perpetually and loudly talking on their cell phones, please give me a wide berth.    

Remind me why I didn't renew my contract for another year?

THE BEER SLUSHIE

Summertime in Japan is so overwhelmingly hot that normally rational people are driven to extremes to escape the miserable heat.  The lack of air conditioning across the country has led to some inventive ways to prevent heatstroke.  There's Gatsby, mentholated "deodorant papers" that leave you feeling a bit cooler, handheld fans, pocket handkerchiefs (for the sweat), elbow gloves to protect against the sun while driving or riding a bicycle, collars made of gel that you can freeze and then wear, and of course, the infamous ice bra. 

Elbow gloves and umbrellas: it's summer.

This summer, there's a new wave in cooling ingenuity: frozen beer.  Several Japanese brewing companies are trying out a new concept in an attempt to raise sales, adding different fruit juices to their brews, or freezing them and dispensing the beer slushie-style into a cup.  The day after reading about this phenomenon in the WSJ, a friend visiting Fukuoka posted a photo on Facebook with the caption: Drinking a frozen pint of stout. Weird, but the heat has driven me to it. 

Weird it may be, but if Asahi or Kirin could put frozen beer machines next to the Slurpee dispensers in convenience stores around America, they'd make a fortune.  

WHERE THE TRAINS DON'T RUN

When I first moved to Japan, there were times where I would stop and my mind would boggle.  I live in Japan, I'd think.  It was both a dream come true and a surreal improbability that I had ended up here, and so I'd marvel at the ancient temples and the bullet trains and the crowds of men all dressed identically for work in black trousers and white shirts.   

With time, that sense of novelty has worn off to a degree.  It's not that I appreciate Japan any less, or that its wonders and curiosities have diminished.  But you get used to things as life forms a pattern and you become absorbed in your routine.  However, a while back I had an opportunity to revisit that old sense of wonderment when I went to visit another JET who lives way down south in the prefecture, so far down that the trains end about an hour north of his area. 

Rural Japan is another world.  Rice fields and ramshackle houses.  Narrow roads and roadside stands of locally produced eggs and vegetables. No one mans these stands; there is an "honesty box" where people can leave their money and pick up fresh food.  It's quiet and predominantly inhabited by the elderly, as younger generations have fled to the cities for work.  It's a hard life without a lot of creature comforts, where people are as self-sufficient as possible.  It's a bit like stepping back in time.

Rice terrace

CW is one of the many JETs who lives at his school.  While lengthy commutes are fairly common for students and teachers in Japan, some schools are so far away that they have to board students and faculty.  The setup is a bit like sleep away camp, with meals in the cafeteria, a set time for lights out, and patrols of the dormitories by the teachers after curfew. Teachers have restrictions too, like no overnight guests. It's a bit like living in a fishbowl. 

And yet CW has managed to make a pretty good life for himself.  He's sporty and helps out with several school teams.  His school is renowned for its kendo team; they train the best in the prefecture.  However, the focus on athletics means that other things slip through the cracks, like academics.  Students focus on extracurriculars instead of classes, knowing that no matter how poorly they do, they'll be moved on to the next grade level.  There's also a fair bit of teenage rebellion, with students sneaking out at night to buy cigarettes from nearby vending machines, and a few runaways trying to get home.

Take a ride on the river

The village where the school is located is incredibly wealthy, owning land that is leased to one of the large malls to the north, as well as several dams, each of which provides power to an entire prefecture.  Logging is also prevalent in the area, providing a hefty source of revenue.  Since school budgets are dependent on how much they are allocated from their various localities, one would think that the schools in this particular area would be fairly well-funded.  However, CW asserts that the money is promised to very specific programs.

What do they spend the money on, I asked.  A big chunk was spent on a new junior high school, despite the village already having four.  When CW requested that money be appropriated to buy new English books for his school, the current ones be antiquated and falling apart, the council in charge of the funds denied the request...and the next week bought a lot of expensive sporting equipment, including boats, etc.  

"Egg onsen." The natural hot springs in the area are mostly used for bathing, but some of the springs are so hot that locals use them to cook food, such as eggs.  Here you can see bags of eggs dropped in the hot spring.  After several minutes, you take them out, peel the shells, and eat them.  

Living in the boondocks isn't for everyone.  For one thing, a car is essential, forcing you to endure the torture of qualifying for a Japanese drivers license, and getting used to the stomach-churning hairpin turns of the one-lane roads that wind through the mountains.  The closest grocery store is an hour away by car.  Though there are other foreigners in the area, they live in scattered and sometimes far-off places.  

Still, there are definite perks to living in that part of the world.  The verdant landscape, the clear, glimmering skies at night, and the quaint local sights such as suspension bridges and natural hot springs make for a nice getaway from urban life.  Then there are more hip, seemingly incongruous attractions such as Cabelo, the all-organic cafe situated just down the road from the modern glass and steel art museum built by a famous local architect.  We also witnessed (and were briefly a part of) a huge cycling race featuring athletes training for the Tour de France.  

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend.  Huge thanks goes out to CW for putting so much time and effort into the planning and execution of the weekend, and being such an incredible host.  I wish we could have stayed for weeks instead of days.  

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS: REAL LIFE IMITATES THE NEWS

A few months back I attended an annual community event where foreign volunteers set up booths dedicated to our countries of origin (NZ, Australia, the UK, the US, South Africa, Singapore, Canada and China). Occasionally additional countries are represented, places volunteers have traveled to, or maybe even their parents' or grandparents' homelands. It's an opportunity for cultural exchange with the Japanese, and to demonstrate a little national pride as we show off pictures and memorabilia, and give away cool swag provided to us by our embassies (for the record, the Irish give away the best stuff).

This year, ten minutes into setup, the Chinese walked out in protest. Someone had made the unfortunate strategic decision of positioning Tibet and China next to each other, and China objected to the display of the Tibetan flag, which is illegal to fly in China. China agreed to continue setup if Tibet took down the flag and the Chinese flag were raised instead. Tibet demurred. Supervisors were called, and in the end, the Chinese removed all their materials and refused to participate.

I confess that at first I basked in the absurdity and schadenfreude of the situation (I can't help it, I'm German). What was this, an episode of The West Wing? But as the story made the rounds, something started niggling at me. I was struck by how one-sided the reactions were. Most of the other participants commented something along the lines of, "Well this isn't China. We have freedom of speech in Japan, so I don't think it's fair to say that someone else can't do something because it's illegal in your country." Even the ethnically Chinese but American-born volunteers seemed torn between wanting to keep the peace and strike a more workable compromise. Only one person said, "I kind of feel bad, though, because it's really easy for us to gang up on [the Chinese volunteers] because we all speak English and have similar viewpoints."
-----
This last statement resonated with me. Sure, you could claim that the Chinese were being ridiculous and unfair. The argument that we are in Japan and therefore not subject to Chinese laws is valid. But we also had a news team coming to film the event, as well as tons of other people with cameras and video equipment, and I could kind of understand how a picture or footage of these two volunteers next to a Tibetan flag might not sit well with the Chinese government if it were to somehow get back to them. Is that overly paranoid? Perhaps. But you could also claim that in the Information Age, it doesn't hurt to be too cautious, as certain things have a habit of coming back to bite us in the end.

This microcosm of international affairs served as an excellent reminder that even though some conflicts or inter-cultural dynamics may seem distant or perhaps unimportant in the grand scheme of things, they do actually matter to some people in a big way. It's also very easy to prematurely dismiss certain issues as being passé, such as racism, discrimination against women, etc. However, for some, these issues are still very real and affect their daily lives. For example, South Korea and Japan seem to be on good if not warm terms, yet earlier this summer Japanese nationalists took to the streets to protest Korean and Chinese immigrants, calling the Koreans "cockroaches" and making threats against their lives. The Japanese government is becoming increasingly alarmed by this rhetoric, and several politicians have denounced the demonstrators' comments.
-----

In the end, other volunteers at the community event stepped in to fill the booth space vacated by the Chinese. America had prepared a bunch of large props so that people could have their picture taken as though their face were on the dollar bill or the Statue of Liberty, and the UK loaned us their Scottish JET dressed in full kilt, who took loads of pictures with giddy Japanese visitors. It was a nice reminder of the pleasures of international cooperation. And the joys of seeing a grown man in a kilt.