Visitors from Abroad
Only Cosmonauts Fly Higher
Halina Janaszek-Ivanickova
(University of Silesia, Poland, COE-Foreign Visiting Fellow,
SRC, 1998-99)
- I arrived in Hokkaido burdened with Polish stereotypes about
Japan, a country enjoying a high rank in the minds of Poles,
predominantly as the embodiment of a technological civilisation.
Translated into the language of practical conceptions, this means that
in the opinion of the average Pole, Japanese cars, television sets,
radios and cameras as well as assorted digital gadgets are the best in
the world. Sophisticated and delicate Oriental art is highly esteemed
and rather well known, as is the Japanese penchant for flowers,
gardens, tea ceremonies and musical talent, where, at the international
Chopin competitions organised in Poland, no one performs the Chopin
mazurkas and polonaises as beautifully and subtly as the Japanese
pianists, winners of the majority of prizes. On the other hand,
Japanese heroism and ruthlessness are seen not only in British and
American war-films, but also in the works of Kurosawa. In turn, the
Polish mass media has greatly contributed to disseminating a picture of
Japan as a country where people die as a result of overwork and where
children are driven to suicide by their parents excessively ambitious
expectations.
- The prestige ascribed to Japan in Poland is enormous, and
actually incomparable with that of other countries; its splendour and
greatness affected me enormously. Upon hearing that I had attained the
post of visiting professor in Sapporo, my Polish publisher responded in
jocular terms: "Only cosmonauts can fly higher than you."
- My "space flights" in Japan take place on two levels Ñ that of
science and everyday life. For the purposes of scientific research, the
Centre offers foreign visitors excellent conditions, making workshops,
computers and computer assistance available, and its own extensive book
collection, which is supplemented by publications brought in from
abroad. Here, all scientific "flights" can and should be high.
- But there is also daily life... On the street, it is impossible
to communicate in any language other than Japanese. Since I do not read
Japanese, I cannot decipher the nature of a certain building, and
seeing mailboxes in front of it, surmise that it is a post office; upon
entering, I am delicately but firmly shown the exit by the security
staff. Placing a subway ticket into the correct slot, so as to avoid
the rapid closing of the wicket, ranks as a veritable problem. (One of
the multitude of experiments performed on animals to test the level of
their intelligence and reaction to stress consists of laboratory rats
dealing with precisely the same type of shutting gates; presumably, the
rats are much more skilled than I am proving to be).
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The author,enjouing Hokkaido
Shrine's Festival.
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- Upon the threshold of the third post-postmodern millennium, my
life in Japan has led me to experience being an illiterate person, an
extraordinary cultural shock.
- Within this space I have become familiar with people, customs and
habits. My first surprise Ñ I encounter no mean-spiritedness; on the
contrary, I enjoy the great kindness of gracious people who do not mind
accompanying me in the greatest of heat for some several hundred meters
in order to show me an object I am otherwise incapable of finding. In
the evenings, I can stroll without any anxiety. Where are all the cruel
shoguns, harsh brigands, noble but ruthless samurai, and bold karate
fighters? Have they all been replaced by Godzilla? My skepticism tells
me, however, that nothing gets lost in history, and that they are
absent only temporarily. They might appear at some other time and in
another form. I can discern them in a strange dance with fans, which
the students perform on the campus to the accompaniment of the rhythmic
sounds of immense drums and wild cries.
- I have gradually discovered the attraction of getting to know
Japan not by means of learned works but via sight and sound.
- Amidst the accomplishments of Japan's magnificent civilisation I
am beset by the unsolved dilemma of human existence vis * vis that
which overwhelms it: Nature, Infinity, and Transcendence. An airplane
flight over the endless stretches of the Pacific, revealing the
fairy-tale colourful and electric world of the Japanese islands,
glimmering with thousands of lights, makes me aware of the perilous
elements within which this splendid and fragile country is situated,
especially at a time when Nature is ruled by the unscrupulous El Nino,
now joined by the icy La Nina.
- The first book I was presented upon arrival in Sapporo by my Host
Professor, a solicitous Postmodern Guardian Angel, is a brochure whose
key word is "disaster." A disaster may occur at any moment, warn the
authors, instructing the reader how to behave in case of an earthquake.
The proposed measures do not seem to correspond with the dimensions of
the peril: turn off the lights and gas and hide underneath a table,
presumably to wait until the house, or the whole town, collapses on top
of you. If this does not happen, then you will at least find shelter
from the falling pots and pans. A definite image of the possible scale
of a cataclysm is provided by special training, which prepares Tokyo
for an earthquake, in which 8.5 million people may lose the roofs over
their heads; the anticipated number of fatalities is delicately
omitted. This is terrifying, but renders even greater our respect for
the courage and achievements of a nation living on a ring of fire
amidst an ocean.
- Contemporary civilisation is one of great figures. The Japanese
islands are inhabited by 120 million people, although the cemeteries
are inhabited by even greater numbers and, as the local beliefs tell
us, the spirits of the deceased return for their own festival. Spirits
and the Spirit have always been the cause of problems, since, as
Feyerabend declares: "Science certainly is not a source of reliable
ontological information."
- The obon holiday, when the living meet their dearly
departed, celebrated in the city streets, proved to be an astonishing
experience. I was amazed to see Odori Park in the night-time, decorated
with orange lanterns, a pageant of dancing men and women, old and
young, dressed in kimonos and "everyday" clothes, with fans in their
hands. They greeted the dead in a dance whose sharp but melodious
rhythms were performed with exotic instruments, and swirled around a
tower resonating with ancient obon music from another time and
dimension. In front of my eyes, the dancers shimmered to an
increasingly absorbed and fierce rhythm. This is no Southern Slavic
choro Ñ the dancers do not hold hands, brush against each other, as in
Bulgaria, or feel their own sweat and physical presence. Each dances
separately, albeit sharing a community of the spirit and rite. I
observe the faces of the participants, illuminated by television
lights. The faces of the young sportsmen, dressed in green kimonos, are
still devoid of traces of time. Those of the young girls dancing in
colourful kimonos are pleasant and smiling, intent more on attracting
the attention of the audience than that of the spirits. The rounded, as
if slightly blurred features of the middle-aged women reflect fatigue.
The most interesting are the faces of the old men. Here, a slender
dancer in a grey kimono, with a short beard and finely chiselled
features, raises his eyes skywards, giving the impression of a rather
cruel person doing penance for his sins. There, a dancer in dark
clothes revolves similarly to the rotating tower, whose red lights are
reflected on his bald head, producing a resemblance to the Phantom of
the Opera. The self-assured expression on the face of a man in the
prime of his life, wearing a white kimono, with pelts attached to his
belt, reminds me of someone Ñ he appears to have emerged not from a
Hokkaido forest but from the hills of ancient Greece. His kimono cannot
delude me Ñ this is Dionysus ruling the souls of the dead people as
well the demons, who, together with a retinue of satyrs, drown the fear
of death and the eschatological horror of existence in dance and sex.
- We have finally arrived at the abode of mankind's ancient rites,
which have been preserved and, with time, slightly obliterated by the
fine polish of civilisation.
- As a person brought up in the culture of solemn and grave
mourning celebrated on All Souls' Day, I find this beautiful Japanese
rite thoroughly exotic and worthy of attention, due to its highly
therapeutic qualities. What a splendid idea it is to meet the deceased
while dancing! A dance helps one to forget everything, and allows one
to come to terms with the death of one's dearest and closest as well as
every sort of catastrophe. I can imagine how this rite looked in
ancient times, when it must have been even fiercer and more
self-absorbed.
- This is a mere festival, I am told by my colleagues from the
Centre.
- "On the contrary," disagrees the organiser of local district
celebrations in Kita-ku. "My sons came all the way from Tokyo to meet
the spirits of their grandparents." Presenting me with an obon fan, he
invites me to join the pageant of dancers. His offer is undoubtedly
kind, but is it really safe to become entangled with strange spirits???
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