(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).
The author,enjouing Hokkaido
Shrine's Festival.
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???
Hokkaido Dream
Alexei Postnikov
(Institute of the History of Natural Sciences and Technology, RAS,
Russia, Foreign Visiting Fellow, SRC, 1998-99)
My father, Vladimir Mikhailovich Konstantinov (1903-1968), told
me a lot about Japan. He had spent nearly fifteen years (throughout
1920s and 1930s) in Tokyo, graduated from Wasada University and won for
himself a prominent name in the field of Japanese Linguistics. He knew
and deeply loved the country and her people. When I was seventeen years
old, I became acquainted with my father, who at that time had been
rehabilitated and released from Stalin's Khabarovsk camp, where he had
spent eighteen years of his life. He told me a lot about Japan's
enchanted nature, her fascinating history and ancient culture.
From the 1960s onward, Japan, his beloved country, became my fond
dream, which I never imagined would be fulfilled. Now that my dream has
been fulfilled I find that my father's infatuation with Japan was very
well grounded; as the Russian proverb says It is better one time to see
than hundred times to hear.
Although my wife Valentina and I thought ourselves to be well
prepared for Japan's wonders, our first days here demonstrated how
scanty and incomplete our knowledge was. We first discovered this when
we met Japanese people. During our first hours on Japanese soil, and
while flying from Tokyo to Sapporo, we "discovered" the unique
amalgamation of self-esteem, civility and traditional courtesy, which
is implanted in Japanese employees at all levels. Their bows of
greeting and thanking reminded us of the civility which had been
typical in a by-gone Russia.
We were lucky to get here in the early summer with the luxuriant
blossom of flowers, birds' songs and two June festivals which
demonstrated devotion to old tradition, music and dance. We derived
great pleasure in experiencing ancient and exotic culture and
tradition. Japanese dances, theatre and national festivals are
extremely colorful. Their music has very much in common with our
melodious and sad Russian songs, so it was not a surprise, that they
were very fond of Russian folk songs and classical music.
Being a geographer I could not fail to be deeply impressed by the
Japanese love for nature and for profiting in working to keep the land
as beautiful as possible. It is fascinating to follow their efforts to
keep Sapporo's streets flowered in all seasons, with flowers constantly
replaced so that even different light-poles, walls around construction
sites, garden fences and so on are always fully in bloom. Japanese
Ikebana is known all over the world, but we did not imagine, that it
was possible to create such magnificent blossoming compositions on the
scale we saw in Odori Park, where a symphony of flowers was
complemented by beautiful fountains. Even temporary markets and
exhibitions (for instance, beer gardens) could not spoil the effect.
Regarding business and advertising, in Sapporo these activities are
also positively influenced by embedded Japanese culture. Even TV
commercials here are not as annoying as in many other countries
(including Russia), and in many cases they are quite nice and
entertaining. We were also pleasantly surprised to find small kitchen
gardens near many of Sapporo's houses (including our International
Guest House), a familiar sight for Russians having dachas. Urban
environment notwithstanding, the owners of these gardens labor devote
each free moment on them and are rewarded with an abundant harvest.
The main treasure of Japan is her industrious, sensitive,
romantic and family-loving citizens. The only reality we are reluctant
to accept is the reckless, sometimes dangerous, style of bicycle riding
which is typical of Sapporo's high school students.
We learned Hokkaido is very different from the rest of Japan. It
is more like Russia in its nature and climate, and bears some traces of
Ainu culture. Living here and working at the Slavic Research Center has
been pleasant and productive for us. The Center is an outstanding
collection of persons wholly dedicated to science, helping us in our
studies and everyday life with all their might.
Upon his release from imprisonment my father published his major
monograph Orossiakoku Suymudan (Dreams about Russia), a
translation from Japanese, complete with commentaries and historical
background about the adventures of some Japanese fishermen who were
shipwrecked in Russia in the late eighteenth century.* The Japanese
fishing boat "Sinse-maru" had foundered in the North Pacific when its
crew was saved by Russians. After spending many years in Russia, the
crew returned to their native land with pleasant dreams about their
host country, which had been virtually unknown at that time in Japan. I
am sure, that when we return to Moscow, our experiences in Sapporo,
Hokkaido and Japan will have a prominent and treasured place in our
memories and dreams.
*See: Konstantinov V.M. (text editing, translation and
commentaries) Orosiiakoku Suymudan (sny o Rossii) [Dreams about
Russia]. Memorials of Literature of Peoples of the East. The small
series. XI (Moscow, 1961); Konstantinov V.M. "Svedeniia ob ekipazhe
korablia ." [Data on the crew of the ship],
Problemy vostokovedeniia, #3 (1959).
Sapporo Diary
Peter Rutland (Wesleyan University, USA, COE-Foreign Visiting Fellow, SRC, 1998)
I was not quite sure what to expect as I stepped off the plane in
Sapporo at the end of May. Like most Westerners, my impressions of
Japan were based on a hazy set of stereotypical images, derived from
watching Kurosawa movies as a teenager and seeing Sumo wrestling on TV.
Like everyone on the planet my house is filled with Japanese consumer
electronics, and I even drove a Toyota for a few years. In the academic
world there is an ongoing and lively debate about the Japanese economic
model, and about the causes and character of World War Two. My
university, Wesleyan, has a regular supply of Japanese exchange
students (including two each year on leave from the Foreign Ministry),
and they had often signed up for my classes.
However, I realized that I had no clear mental images of what a
Japanese city would look like, or how Japanese people go about their
daily lives. I naively imagined, I suppose, that something like the
"convergence thesis" holds true: that economic globalization is
eradicating cultural differences, and that urban life is becoming more
and more similar on all five continents. The only Japanese novelist I
had read was Haruki Murakami (THE WILD SHEEP CHASE; DANCE), whose works
coincidentally are set in Hokkaido. But Murakami is an Americanized,
young-generation writer, currently residing in Cambridge Mass., who
does not give insights into the "real" Japan.
I was partly prepared for my exposure to Japan by the month-long
trip I took to Korea and China last year Ñ my first visit to Asia. I
was amazed by the dynamism of those societies, and the level of wealth
and sophistication on display in Seoul and Hong Kong. Long-standing
notions of "Developed" versus "Developing" societies fell away very
quickly. There is really no substitute for traveling to a place and
seeing it with one's own eyes.
My initial impressions of Japan were similarly powerful. One is
immediately struck by the ethnic homogeneity of the society: I was
aware of being the only gaijin on the plane up from Osaka. I was also
surprised by the newness and modernity of the urban landscape in
Sapporo. Of course, Sapporo is an atypical Japanese city, its spacious
streets and grid system are remarkably American in feel and look. My
son referred to downtown Sapporo as "New York": Odori has more than a
passing similarity to Park Avenue, on a smaller scale. When I visited
Kyoto and Tokyo in July I realized how much more crowded life is on
Honshu. But despite the ancient temples of Kyoto, even that city has a
contemporary feel, and Tokyo itself of course is totally modern.
Reading Japanese society is much more difficult than reading its
built environment. I regret to admit that before I left the U.S. I
could not even find time for the "two hour Japanese lesson" in my
guidebook. My excuse is that I was teaching until one week before I
left for Sapporo, and was literally grading student papers on the
morning of my departure. Not knowing any of the language was a huge
obstacle in penetrating Japanese life, the triple alphabets are highly
intimidating. Daily life itself was fairly straightforward. I was able
to navigate my way around without any major problems, thanks to help
from the center staff and friends, English-language signs in streets
and stations, and some inspired guesswork in the supermarkets.
However it was frustrating to me as a sociologist to live in a
society which I found full of intriguing contradictions, but not be
able to do more serious fieldwork because of the language barrier. I
was reduced to "sidewalk sociology," working with my eyes and not my
ears. One is struck by the rituals of daily life, such as the taking
off of shoes (even separate slippers for the bathroom) and the rote
greetings chanted by store attendants, and the precision of Japanese
body language. The festivals were an unexpected pleasure. Watching the
Soran street dancing, I thought I had landed in Sao Paulo and not
Sapporo. The repeated festivals testified to the determination of
Japanese people to preserve (and reinvent) their culture, and their
willingness to put time and effort into collective displays of this
commitment.
I tried to take every opportunity to talk to colleagues, Japanese
and foreign, and pump them for their ideas on how Japan works. I also
read some of the Western literature, but found it to be heavily
polarized between the "Chrysanthemum school" (Ruth Benedict) and the
"Revisionists" (Chalmers Johnson, Patrick Smith). The former see
Japanese culture as highly stable, while the latter see it as highly
fragile, but both agree that it is internally contradictory, and has
distinctive features. The Japanese politics specialist at Wesleyan
teaches a course comparing and contrasting politics in Japan and
Britain. They are both insular monarchies with strong social
traditions, conventions and notions of hierarchy. After visiting Japan
I can agree that it is indeed an island: about the other similarities I
am not so sure. British society is more flexible and fluid, also more
conflictual and highly individualistic, and in the past 30 years it has
also become very multicultural.
The Center organized things for me very smoothly: a
fully-equipped apartment, a spacious office, and even a bicycle to get
me from one end to the other. Thanks to the World Wide Web, I was up
and running, answering e-mail and reading Russian papers, as soon as I
"landed" in Sapporo. I think the first Japanese word I learned was
"Netuscaipu." It really is amazing how the Web has shrunk the globe.
The first task I had to do here was wrap up the editing of the annual
survey of political events in 1997 in the former Soviet Union and
Eastern Europe, which is being published by M.E. Sharpe. This meant I
was e-mailing back and forth to people in Warsaw, Baku and Tirana. It
was a strange feeling to be sitting in Japan discussing political
crises in those regions as they erupted, in real time, with people
living there.
Stranger still was my experience with a Harvard colleague, Mark
Kramer. Over the course of July we e-mailed back and forth about some
new information that I came across, and only after four weeks did Mark
realize that I was sitting in Japan and not in Middletown, Connecticut!
I had forgotten to tell him I was going away for the summer, and he was
still using my Middletown e-mail address (from which messages were
automatically forwarded to Sapporo).
I realized from talking with colleagues and from the summer
symposium that Slavic studies is done differently in Japan than in the
U.S. Here there is less concern with the fashionable theoretical
debates and more emphasis on gathering information about what is
happening in those societies. This seems to apply across the
disciplines of history, economics and political science. As an
empirically-minded person, I am very comfortable with this approach,
although it is still important to put one's research into a broader
context in order to communicate its findings to the larger community. I
fear that the obsession with theory on American campuses is squeezing
out Area Studies and turning America into an increasingly insular
country Ñ at precisely the same time that it is expected to show
leadership in a complex and far from trouble-free world. I think that
collaboration between scholars from different countries is very
important in helping to correct such disciplinary imbalances.
Productive Holidays in Sapporo
John Young (University of Northern British Columbia, Canada, COE-Foreign
Visiting Fellow, SRC, 1998)
I would like to extend my gratitude to the Slavic Research Centre
and to Hokkaido University for a wonderful summer and a marvellous
opportunity for academic research. I was impressed with the camaraderie
among the faculty and visitors here at the Centre, impressed with the
library and research resources, and grateful for the helpful staff and
the July conference on Post Soviet regionology. I have had a very
productive summer, and for that the Centre is largely responsible.
My own field of research, local government and regional politics
in Russia, is generally quite difficult to study from afar. But the
access to local newspapers and to a large number of journals and
documents was surprising, and the assistance from faculty and visiting
scholars was valuable. There are more than enough resources here to
keep one busy for a lifetime, let alone three months. My neighbours in
British Columbia could not quite comprehend why I would go to Japan to
study Russia, but I will now be able to offer a more convincing
explanation.
Of course I also learned much about Japan, a country that I had
never before visited. I enjoyed the exposure to Japanese culture and
history, particularly in my travels to Kyoto and Tokyo, but also to
various sites around Sapporo. I also learned the pleasures of karaoke,
and various likes and dislikes of Japanese cuisine (pass the pickled
ginger, tempura and the okonomiyaki..., but I'll skip
the sashimi). The pace of life here was very pleasant as well Ñ
it was a wonderful break to get away from various pressures at home and
concentrate on one thing at a time.
While I am happy to return home to my family, I am yet sad to
leave Sapporo. I'll miss standing out in a crowd (I'm 197 cm, and 110
kg) and being treated like a celebrity because of my stature. At the
local fitness club, there was a rush of excitement when someone
revealed my shoe size (32), and all the fitness addicts ran to stand
beside me and put their feet next to mine. I interpreted such attention
as acts of hospitality, and have forged new friendships here in Sapporo
that I will treasure. I will also miss my nightly jogs around the
university, biking through the city and enjoying a bento in
Odori Park. I will miss looking up sources in the library with a high
degree of success in finding what I'm looking for. And of course I will
miss the ubiquitous "irrashaimase."
SRC Home
John Young