The Foreigners Are Coming: Sh*t You Just Can't Say in Japan

It's happening and no one here in Japan has any say over this fact:  The foreigners are coming.  In droves.  It's already a reality and the numbers are only going to increase between now and 2019 (Rugby World Cup) and 2020 (Tokyo Olympics).  The cause-and-effect relationship is clear.  You bid on giant international events, get selected as the host country/city, and this is the result.  It would behoove Japan to prepare.  As in, seriously prepare.

To be fair, there are strides being made.  To be blunt, in rural Japan, these strides are nowhere close to being enough.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the reply given to me by the okami-san, the matron of a local inn in City A.  In trying to book a three week reservation for a foreigner, I was told flat out, "If the guest can't speak Japanese we can't take him."

I posted this statement on social media and watched the storm of apologies and excuses fly through cyberspace.  Some were embarrassed.  Others were angry.  Still others explained the reply by saying this was actually exemplary rural hospitality.  The latter has left me wondering.

If not being able to communicate with guests means you can't offer the superior level of service Japan is known for--omotenashi--because without language too many things can go wrong, then interpreting the inn's intentions are fair game.  As in, they can only offer this level of impeccable service to Japanese and Japanese-speaking guests.  This was my take-away from the okami-san.

As opposed to, say, let's learn basic phrases in English so you can communicate with your guests.
Or, figure out how to use online translation services so if you don't understand your guest and vice versa, you can type in what you want to say onto your laptop/desktop and still get points across.
Or, hire a foreign-language speaker.  Or, ask for assistance from an interpretation service.

All are legitimate options.  None occurred to the okami-san.  It's easier to say "no" if the guest doesn't speak Japanese.

This, you simply cannot say.  Rather, you can say it (she did), but in doing so you make visible dots I will now connect.  You prefer the status quo.  You prefer the easy way out.

Here are the dots.  City A is an easy 45 minutes from one of the cities hosting the Rugby World Cup.  Will there be spill over from guests who can't find lodging in this rural host city?  Of course.  Is she going to turn these foreigners away as well?  Unless she can find a way to communicate with non-Japanese speaking guests, evidently yes.  Will this get posted online?  Absolutely.  Will people write reviews saying they couldn't get served?  Damn right they will.  Could this cause a sh*t-storm of criticism?  (What superior service?!)

The dot of the need for lodging and the dot of refusal, once connected leads to hurt feelings, cultural insensitivity, and accusations of racism.  The if-I-can't-communicate-with-you-I-can't-offer-the-level-of-service-I-want-to-exemplify message gets buried deep in translation.  Foreigners will hear the "no" and little else.  It doesn't matter there's no ill will.  It doesn't matter it's meant with respect and not hostility.  "No" hurts.  "No" is final.

Rural Japan does indeed offer a level of hospitality and service that even the five-star hotels in major cities do not and cannot because they make connections with individuals.  The small inns and hotels have the ability to connect with guests in ways larger hotels miss.  It's these connections, forged out of superior levels of thoughtfulness and the desire to please, this is what we take home.  This is what makes Japan stand out.  Turn away the non-Japanese speaking guests and not only has rural Japan failed in providing the highly touted omotenashi, it allows us to assume we aren't wanted.

The foreigners are coming.  This is a fact. 

I've decided to visit this okami-san next week.  For once, I really don't know what to expect. 

Kiki's Wild Child

Kiki is strong.  In her wake she claims two ex-husbands with whom she has three children.  She is the local powerhouse woman running her own salon--a gathering point for gossip, support, companionship, advice--until the women feel threatened by her strength and leave.  The revolving door of women who enter Kiki's salon has no end but this admiration seldom leads to friendship.  We agree being a strong woman in rural Japan is often a lonely predicament.

Kiki's middle child is Mini Kiki personified.  Opinionated, clear, Ruka states the obvious.  It never occurs to Ruka her thoughts shouldn't be expressed.  The older daughter has publicly stated she will "skip my wild years" for the sake of her mother.  "I don't need to rebel," Mona told Kiki.  "The other two will do that for me.  You need one responsible child out of us three."  My spoon stopped half way to my mouth when Kiki shared Mona's words.

"What 13-year old says that?" I say.
"I know," Kiki says.  "She's a bit scary, that one.  But, I believe her.  She won't rebel."
"Ruka, on the other hand," and I finally put the food in my mouth.

Ruka made it clear to Kiki she had no intention of going to greet the large ship that came to port.  Kiki made the mistake of announcing, "We all need to get up early tomorrow," which Ruka met with, "But, I haven't agreed to go."  As in, she was not consulted prior to mama making the decision.  Only when Kiki's boyfriend, her ex from high school explained to Ruka that "not everyone gets to go, you know" did it occur to Ruka attendance might be prudent.  "In that case...." Ruka tells her mother's beau.

Kiki and I meet for late dinners after the kids are bathed and in bed.  Her mother stays with the children on these nights out.  Mona accepts Kiki will be late.  "You're going out?  With whom?  Oh, you'll be late then."  Ruka is displeased.  "But, I told you I wanted to go along last time you went out to dinner.  Did you tell her I wanted to see her?" 

If you're not a woman and you don't live in rural Japan you will not understand what life is like here.  I'm sorry if that's a statement you find annoying, but I'm not sorry enough to delete it.  In many rural communities roles of women are more traditional.  Women look forward to the day they will become a beautiful bride.  Trying on wedding dresses and playing Cinderella for a day is fun. 

When expectations are more defined and less options is not seen as problematic raising daughters who do not fit the mold offers up a set of challenges few women know how to tackle.  Kiki is open about the fact there came a point where she made a decision.  "I decided not to crush Ruka's spirit.  I could have.  I could have forced her into a box.  To be the kind of girl who would grow up more proper and to fit in."  I laugh at this.

"As in, not like you."
"Not like me," Kiki laughs, too.
"But, I decided to let Ruka go.  She will be herself no matter what.  It scares me," Kiki says, "because she will be wild.  I won't be able to control her.  But, she'll be fun."

A big, big deal, this is.  Kiki chooses fun over fitting in and I love her for this.

The New NIMBY

NIMBY, or Not In My Back Yard.  WIIFM, or What's In It For Me.  I coined the latter.  At least I think I did.  It's the new ugly.  It's entitlement in your face.

In City A, there's a community pool with six lanes.  Kompi's swimming school uses two lanes four afternoons a week.  The local high school's swim team uses two lanes every day after school.  The remaining two lanes are for the public at all other times.  A few random numbers:  Kompi's swimming school has 40 kids here during the lessons; the high school has 28 team members; the afternoons Kompi is at the pool one woman and three men use their two lanes.

Here's where it gets interesting.

When the woman arrives the three men will not swim in the lane the woman uses.  The woman will not swim in the lane the men are in.  Do the math.  She gets a lane to herself and the three men share theirs. 

"Here's the problem," Kompi says.  "The men don't like it that she uses a lane by herself, and so they want an additional one for themselves.  One of ours."
"Why won't they swim in her lane?" I ask.
"I don't know.  They won't."
"So they want another lane.  To split between the three of them." 
"Yup."
"One of yours.  One the kids use."
"Uh huh."
"So, you're supposed to let your 40 kids use one lane while three men split two, and one woman uses one."
"Yeah."
"Who are these guys?"
"Former school principals and other people who were at one point important."
"So?"
"So, they think they deserve a lane."
"By making kids they used to teach give up one of theirs?"
"Right."

I pause.  In this small provincial town in rural Japan the actions of these four adults will go viral via gossip.  Word will spread and judgment will be harsh.  Kompi will not give up a lane.  Nor will the high school team.  Some will see this as selfish:  "Honor thy elders."  More will be critical, bowing with a smile when they pass these four but hitting with harsh words behind closed doors.  

I am angry.  I am angry at the four teachers who can't agree on how to divide four into two.  I am angry at the men who think it's their right to exercise the way they want even if it means forty kids have to cram into one.  I am angry at the woman who needs a lane to herself. 

What's In It For Me?  Or, My Rights Trump Yours.  Or, Me First.  Or, Because I Said So.  Or...

There are plenty of ways to express this sentiment.  There are, I hope, more ways to highlight the arrogance implied.