American Ideas

American Ideas

I went to back to The Kaisha head office on Wednesday for some reprogramming--er, training. There I ran into several of the trainers who read the ‘blog. Only the ones who felt guilty about it didn’t comment on the ‘blog. The ones who didn’t feel guilty rather unabashedly told me how much they enjoyed reading what I wrote. “The only time we ask anyone to stop is when someone is writing about students,” one said to me. I thought, hmmm, that’s not so much respect for the whole “freedom of speech” thing, is it? But you know what? That’s an American idea. And in case you haven’t been paying much attention:

I don’t actually live in America anymore.

American Ideas

After work, I stand and talk to one of the Japanese teachers and New Guy about how Japan affects Americans. New Guy is American also, and like I was when I first came to Japan, is used to having to be angry all the time. In America, anger is the norm. He points out that even if you don’t feel angry, you still affect anger, you still have that sarcastic remark on the tip of your tongue. I agree. It’s true that in America we do things like punch each other however gently as a sign of affection, and use phrases like “under the gun” to describe feeling pressured. It all arises from the creation of a climate of anger and this kind of amorphous meanness is the norm. In America, the habitual actions that arise from a constant state of anger seem to make up a remarkably large part of one’s personality. In Japan however, all that is useless. I don’t mean to say that people here don’t get angry, because of course they do. They get angry, but their everyday actions don’t reflect the same constant and wearying state of anger that is so prevalent in America.

At the same time that American anger seems useless, situations here arise all the time that set off the old alarms. For example, because it’s so safe here, people will often not pay attention to where they’re walking. They will head straight for you and get really close before they veer off suddenly to avoid you. To a Japanese, that is perfectly normal. They don’t have all those internal proximity alarms that tell them they’re in danger when strangers, however innocent-looking, approach unexpectedly. But to an American, this situation sets off all those danger warnings that we cultivate as part of surviving in America.

There are other situations, too, that set off anger.

American Ideas

Yesterday, I had one of the few flashes of anger that I have had in Japan.

I found out a couple of days ago that one of the teachers was going with a group of students to a bar above The Kaisha. A couple of weeks ago, I had invited this teacher out when I went with students for a drink, and she (who is rarely invited out by other teachers) had seemed very glad for the invitation and had joined us. But this week, instead of returning the invitation, she remained resolutely silent about her own plans to go out with what was essentially the same group of students. In fact, I didn’t find out from her that they were going, but from another teacher or student. (I don’t remember which.) It was a small but (given the teacher’s previous behavior, not unexpected) slight, and at the time, I was only amused by the situation.

Last night however, as I was standing at the front counter near the elevators, the same group of students filed past me on their way up to the bar and not one of them could bring themselves to make eye-contact with me.

The American idea about eye-contact is that a lack of eye-contact can indicate many things ranging from shyness to rudeness to dishonesty. In this particular instance, my American mind registered dishonesty.

My American mind knew--I knew--that the students thought the failure to invite me and the other teachers was wrong. Because it was wrong, they couldn’t make eye contact. I saw it as dishonesty on their part and I didn’t blame them but it did make me angry. As I stood there watching them get into the elevator, finally one woman had the courtesy to look up and wave goodbye. I smiled at her and waved goodbye but I was made even angrier by the gesture because it seemed to confirm what I had suspected, everyone knew that their behavior was wrong.

That’s the American interpretation: I was being slighted and the lack of eye-contact was proof that that slight was purposeful. To my American mind, my anger was justified.

But let me offer one possible Japanese interpretation: In Japan, people make much less eye-contact that they do in America. In fact, it is such a part of the culture that it is one of the things that we practice everyday in every class that I teach. In each textbook, there is a section of dialogue that the students read aloud. Each time, we read it more than once. One of those times is to practice making eye-contact while speaking. Eye-contact is not the norm here for reasons that range from angression to politeness, depending of course on the situation. Let me explain: Looking into someone’s eyes can be a sign of agression. There is a hierarchical structure in Japan that is beyond the perception of most Americans. Most Americans try to live the cultural belief that we are all equals and as a result, we make much more eye-contact that the Japanese do. We make eye-contact with our superiors and lessers and we do it because we believe that all people are created equal. But the Japanese don’t even pretend to live this belief of equality. They don’t live it because it is not their cultural belief. Here, the social hierarchy is a given and were a Japanese to habituate the gestural norms of equality, it would be as strange as an American suddenly beginning to bow to others as a sign of respect. It’s just not going to happen.

Another thing is that Japan is a crowded place and the Japanese use eye-contact to reduce the effects of that being the reality of their existence. Let me give you an example. The Kaisha branch that I work at is very small. Given that our rent is three million yen a month (about three hundred thousand dollars), the place is honestly, no bigger than perhaps a largish two bedroom apartment in the States. In that space, there is a lobby, eleven rooms that function as classrooms, a teacher prep room, a bathroom (about the size of a small walk-in closet) and a tiny, useless kitchen. The school is so small that many of the classrooms hold no more than five people comfortably--and that’s as long as one of those people (me, the teacher) is standing up. Many times, I spend my lunch hour in the school and this necessesitates my going through the lobby to the kitchen and back to the teacher prep room. If I happen to walk through the lobby during my lunch hour and there is a student there who is shortly to take my class, that student won’t make eye-contact or speak to me. Why? They’re not being rude. It’s not disrespect per se, but rather they are expressing that they know it’s my lunch time and that time is mine, not theirs. They are actually showing respect for me, being polite in the way that they know how.

The lack of eye contact also functions similarly to the way it does in America, when we give our friends and family a wide berth because we know that they’re having a bad day. Think about it, we are understandably reluctant to engage someone who is angry or upset, so we give them space by not speaking or not making eye contact. The students knew that I was angry, just as we know that our friends and family are angry or upset, and they were giving me time and space and not engaging me while I was in that state.

So the students getting on the elevator? They knew that I wasn’t invited to the party. They didn’t make eye-contact, and I could interpret their lack of eye-contact as guilt and dishonesty or I can interpret it as a way of showing some respect, but I could also see it as their way of not attributing a negative emotion to me.

But, I did continue to stand at the counter. And what’s more, I stood there, smiling at them and trying to make eye contact. It was probably as puzzling to them that I tried to make eye contact as it was puzzling to me that they weren’t trying to make eye contact.

But at the time none of this, none of this possible understanding, changed the fact that I was angry. I was angry and that flush of anger motivated me.

I went into the teacher prep room and found the teacher who was going drinking with the students. I said in a loud, friendly, quizzical voice, “Are we not invited to your party?”

She was startled. I took her surprise as evidence of her guilt. “Oh,” she said brightly, “yes, of course. Please come!” I laughed and said, still friendly, “I’m only joking. Have fun!” She insisted that I should come and I continued to insist that I was only joking, but I knew that I had embarrassed her. To me, her embarrassment further seemed to confirm that everyone knew that their behavior was dishonest.

American Ideas?

I have no concrete explanation for what happened, and, of course, I never will have a concrete explanation for what happened. I do feel guilty about having acted in anger, and I feel badly for having embarrassed the teacher.

I think one of the positive effects of living in Japan is that one doesn’t have to be angry all the time, doesn’t have to go with the flow and direction of anger. Anger takes a lot out of you. It requires a lot of energy and time to cultivate. I have, in the past, devoted myself to the cultivation of anger. But here it’s been nice to direct that energy away from anger and into other pursuits. I’ve become accustomed to the lack of anger so that its reemergence, however temporary, reminds me that I am still American.