Reflections of a Russian scholar on Japan
and the Japanese
by Nodari Simonia (Institute of World Economy and
International Relations in Moscow, Foreign Visiting Fellow, SRC,
1996-97)
The traditional image of Japan among Russians is associated with
Oriental exotica: "tea ceremonies," Shinto shrines, Buddhist pagodas,
Geisha, Puccini's "Madam Butterfly," Samurai and Ninja. In the minds of
the Soviet people, Japan was a country of militarism and expansion, the
country that tried
to deprive Russia of its "legitimate territories." In contemporary
Russia
a perception dominates that Japan is a very rich, technically advanced
country,
which floods the world with cars, televisions, taperecorders, and the
like.
Aside from a small number of people, mostly specialists, few Russians
know
about real political, economical, social and cultural changes in Japan
after
the Second World War.
I'm a scholar. Moreover I
specialized for decades in Oriental Studies. And for the last 7 or 8
years I have been striving to use my knowledge of Oriental societies
for detailed analyses of Russian society and Russian problems. For a
long time similarities in
Japanese and Russian historical fortunes have attracted my attention.
Indeed,
almost simultaneously in the second half of the 19 century both
countries began their modernization, Japan with the Meiji revolution,
Russia with the Great Reforms. Both countries did so under the pressure
of external circumstances and Western challenge. Both countries were
solving (or in many cases are still solving) the problem of combining
their traditional values and western modernism. I have been in Japan
many times since 1983, and each time I try to detect signs of change in
the Japanese life styles. In this short essay I can not write in detail
even about my own impressions, but I want to relate one observation,
important for me. Somewhere before the beginning of the 1990s
I thought that the Japanese had perfectly fused their own traditions
with
western technologies, avoiding primitive "westernization." I even
thought of Japan as a good example for Russia. But during my present
visit to Sapporo I was surprised by the huge contrast with my
impression during my 3 month's stay in Tokyo in 1991-1992. There is now
a tremendous influence of American "pop-culture" which I have witnessed
every day on Japanese television programs and sometimes (during the
week-ends) in the center of town. We have the same phenomena in our
"democratic" Russia. One can see on Russian television more nudity,
dubious movies and third-rate musical bands in a month than on all
western television programs for a year. It would be a pity if the
invaluable Japanese culture disappeared in this swamp of "cultural
globalism." This
reflection came to my mind when I watched a group of young schoolgirls
last
month in Susukino. They threw their bags on the ground and frantically
danced
and joined in singing with their rock-music idol. I understand that
globalization is an inevitable process, and that this process requires
some sacrifices. But I am against such progress that is achieved at the
expense of humanity. I rather sympathize with the feelings of the
poetess Iwatani Tokiko who
wrought in the "Japan Times" that technological innovations suppressed
mutual
understanding between her and the composer, who wrote music for her
poetry.
As a Russian citizen I'm first of all worrying about the unsatisfactory
conditions of Russian-Japanese relations. I'm sure it is in the first
place a fault of politicians and statesmen. However, communities of the
both countries can also do a lot. I think that my duty is to dispel
stupid myths and stereotypes in Russia about Japan. To dispel for
example the myth about militarism in modern Japan. It is useful for
Russian politicians to know that the samurai phenomenon was not only
warlike in character but also about honor and self-respect. Second, the
myth that the Japanese do not like foreigners. I am surprised that
sometimes I hear it even from Japanese. I think that some
simplification and misunderstanding take place. Of course there are
foreigners who tend to think so highly of themselves and their own
countries that they try to instruct the Japanese how to live and what
to do. Such people can not expect to be on good terms with the
Japanese. And this is right thing. In Russia we have a proverb: "Don't
go to somebody else's monastery with your own
charter" ("Do in Rome as the Roman do").
My reiterative contacts and observations in offices, in transportation,
in shops, on the street everywhere completely disprove the myth about
the Japanese being on bad terms with foreigners. I have always
encountered a politeness and a willingness to help, sometimes even to
the detriment of people's
own time and business. I saw much kindness and cordiality. Sometimes a
small
episode can say more than long discourse. Once my wife and I were
returning
to Sapporo by train. On a station our coach stopped in front of another
train
coach. Two elderly women looked at us from the opposite window. We
looked
at them. They smiled to us very friendly and nodded. We returned the
gesture.
All our way home we retained good feelings about this episode. Just
another
example. In Maruyama park elderly Japanese in sport clothing can often
be
met. Each time they respectfully salute us. I often thought that these
were
people with a deep sense of self respect. Only a person who treats
himself
with respect can respect others.
I would like to use this opportunity to say how much I enjoy the
atmosphere in the Slavic Research Center of the Hokkaido University. My
first impression was that I had returned to the creative atmosphere of
my first scientific institution the Oriental Institute of the Soviet
Academy of Sciences. I worked there for 30 years. Though the staff of
the Slavic Research Center is 70 times smaller, personnel here is
varied, with a wide sphere of interests. It is not a mere chance that
scholars from many western and Oriental countries are very glad to work
in this Center. Here we can conduct our research in a calm and, I can
say, philosophical atmosphere. I think that this Center is one of the
unfortunately few organizations in Japan that do a lot for profound
mutual understanding between the Japanese and Slavic peoples.
A Year in Hokkaido
by Stephen Kotkin (Princeton University, Foreign Visiting
Fellow, SRC, 1996-97)
I didn't come to Hokkaido for the lunatic automobile drivers who
accelerate upon seeing a yellow or recently turned red light. I didn't
come for the neighborhood "bookstores" that contain almost nothing but
comics, a majority of which are pornographic. Nor was it for the still
more voluminous video stores with still more pornography. Certainly not
for the cavernous pachinko parlors packed with people devoid of lives
or social skills. Not for the gaggle of girls dressed in the miniskirts
and cosmetics of cheap harlots or
the army of boys who look like they just fell off the stage of a bad
rap concert.
And it wasn't for the idiotic television game-shows that specialize in
humiliating
contestants, or the talk-shows on assorted banalities with celebrities
of
the "world of art and talent" (sic), hawking themselves and other
commodities.
If I had wanted all that, there would have been no reason to leave
America.
I didn't come to Hokkaido for the icy Arctic winds, or the deep and
merciless snow. Nor for the wide-open spaces, greenery, mountains, and
crystal-clear lakes. It wasn't for the ubiquitous alcohol, or the red
stars
atop the beer factories. Not even for the luxurious baths and saunas.
And
certainly not for the forlorn urban agglomerations, whose sprawling
inhuman
concrete furnishes a self-indicting contrast to the wonders of the
natural
environment. If I had wanted all that, I could've gone to Russia.
I didn't come for the Japanese obsession with purity, illustrated this
year by the wild panic over the bacteria 0-157, whose outbreak in one
region caused something like a 50 percent drop in the consumption of
fresh vegetables nation-wide. Nor was it to experience the Japanese
sense of their victimization, realized through the one-sided spotlight
given to the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the deafening public
silence on Manchukuo, Nanking, Korea, Phillippines, Indonesia, and
other open wounds. And certainly not for the infamous fear of gaijin,
shown in so many subtle ways, as when a group of information-providing
store attendants suddenly shoots its gaze to the floor and retreats
slowly backwards away from the counter at the prospect of a question.
If I had wanted all that, I could've skipped the trip and
instead picked up the latest foreigner's "treatise" on Japan.
So why did I come to Hokkaido?
I came for the opportunity to work and think and write uninterruptedly
in a friendly, rewarding, cocoon-like setting. Not only are we free of
all teaching and administrative responsibilities, but foreigners at the
Slavic Research Center are largely untouched by the demanding rhythms
of Japanese life. We know little, if anything, of the annual treks
through maddening
congestion to the sites of ancestors' graves, the folds upon folds of
inflexible
bureaucracy, the grueling school examination marathons, anxiety-ridden
graduation
job fairs, two-hour commutes, and vacationless careers. For us yen are
shamefully plentiful, there is essentially no such thing as rent, let
alone "key money," and one of the allegedly two unavoidable human
experiences, taxes, we avoid effortlessly. In the meantime, a
collective of thoroughly internationalized Japanese offer their
expertise and hospitality, all the time concerned about how we're doing
and whether everything is OK.
Sure the Japanese
fetishize seniority and status. Sure they seem to spend an inordinate
amount of time in meetings whose necessity eludes the outsider. But
here is a group of people who have dedicated their lives to the study
of a country, Russia, not high on the Japanese scale of values, and a
region, eastern Europe, about
as remote from the Japanese consciousness as one can get. To
communicate their research efforts and exchange ideas, the professors
of the Slavic Research
Center organize symposium after symposium, using a language neither
their
own nor their subject of study's (English), and facing the glaring
indifference
of Japanese society circumstances not always understood by the
international participants, often native scholars, emigres, and
children of emigres, for whom Russia and eastern Europe are either home
or a matter of considerable public interest.
This has been, by most accounts, a quiet year in Sapporo. No highly
touted scholars undergoing sex changes, no Russian
academics-cum-businessmen
declining their nearly $8,000 monthly salary for the right to stay and
continue wheeling and dealing, no world famous tightwad prima donnas
treating
Institute personnel as badly trained domestic servants. Yet perhaps
this
year as much as any other we've taken more than we've given in return.
To
the few visitors who have the good fortune to spend a year here, the
achievements
and occasional frustrations of our Japanese colleagues provide much
food
for thought about the dynamics and limitations of our own scholarly
world
and society. For that, as well as much else, I'm grateful, and
apologetic.
O-sewa-ni.
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