Manner Mode

I loathe mobile phones. The only reason I have one of the damn things is that my company insisted that I have some means of being communicated, and as far as setting up goes, it was far less troublesome than a land line.

In defence of mobile phones over here, they are equipped with that most pleasing of functions, "manner mode," the miracle button which silences the caterwauling of contemporary pop hits rendered into dial-tone soundbites.

The beauty of manner mode is that in locations where one is requested to set it to "on" (trains, buses and hospitals), there is also the expectation that people refrain from talking on the phone. This generally ensures a peaceful commute for all concerned, free from being unwillingly privy to when ones' fellow passengers are going to meet their friends, and what colour underpants they're wearing. This prohibition is, of course, enforced with that most rigid of state police, the complicit public.

Not a month ago, I found myself aboard a bus. The mobile phone of an elderly woman suddenly went off, shattering the silence with all the cooth of a sloppy fart. That was more than enough to direct the contempt of all and sundry towards this old dear. The fact that her conversation partner seemed to be speaking from inside a wind tunnel and was struggling to make themselves heard, further soured the bile poured over her.

"Turn that mobile phone off!" bellowed the bus driver over his omnipresent tannoy.
"I'm sorry, I can't talk now..." muttered the unfortunate granny to her oblivious friend, who nattered away without a thought in the world.
"Kindly turn it off." commanded a fellow passenger.
I'm sorry, no, no...no, I can't...now is really...I'm sorry...no, no, no, NO, I...GOODBYE!"

Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly, the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. After maybe thirty seconds of being the centre of attention, our senior citizen could once again disappear into anonymity.

I compare this encounter to my first half hour of re-aquaintance with the UK in 2005, on the Tube, listening to an unbearably vulgar woman yakking away on her mobile, and wishing that I didn't understand what she was saying.

Sushi War

I return, drunker by far than I should be at this hour on a Wednesday, fresh from a midweek sesh with the clerk from one of my schools, who also happens to teach in the weekly assembly of studious foreigners and native Japanese volunteers I've been frequenting since September. Apart from a mutual love of Eberhard Weber, I have learned also of the profound battle between Sushi chef and customer.

Apparently (and bear in mind that at the time of writing, I am pretty damn drunk) when entering a sushi restaurant (a real sushi restaurant, not one of those Kaiten [conveyor belt] places frequented by plebs) the first thing one orders is Japanese style omlette, a.k.a yakitamago a.k.a gyoku. This is the initial yardstick by which the merit of the establishment is measured. The pernickity, overtly sadistic or just plain savvy customer will first examine the colour and aroma of this offering, then taste it. At this point, the chef, or sushi-ya-san will be fretfully awaiting the connoisseurs judgement. As an alternative to a speedy "bill please," the customer may decide that the gykou is good enough to warrant staying, at which point they will order hot sake

Relief for the sushi-ya-san!...for now...

There then follows a battle of the wills, both chef and customer testing the others depth of knowledge in this chosen battlefield. The customer will ask the chef to recommend the days special, a challenge which will reflect on the chef, as he no doubt chose the special himself from the fish market at some ungodly hour in the morning. This is a ritual battle with one victor. The cunning customer could potentially walk away from a sushi banquet fit for a Daimyo for as little as twenty-five quid, the alternative being twice as much if the sushi-ya-san works out that his opponent is in fact blagging it.

This confrontation with the chef is apparently typical of Japanese cuisine, and now this factoid has been imparted to me, it makes perfect sense. In most of the restaurants I've been to here, there is naught separating chef from customer but a modest kitchen counter. Here, the cook is completely responsible for what is served in their restaurant, with none of this hiding behind the double-swinging kitchen doors. If a customer doesn't like what they've been served, then the chef will answer to their complaints, before the entire shop if need be.

Diving deeper into the Japanese consciousness and acknowledging a profoundly militaristic culture, this practice presumably has its roots in the tea ceremony - Samurai, preparing to go into battle would have a nice cup of tea beforehand. Perhaps they had families and children. Perhaps they would go on to win a great victory for their Lord and lands. Perhaps they would die in trying. Perhaps this would be the last cup of tea they would ever drink. Better then, to make it the best cup of tea ever, before them, to make it with all the effort one would put into fighting for their home and to be answerable to ones comrades before death and glory.

It's funny and frustrating that I feel I'm only just getting a handle on this amazing country with only four months left of being here.

Power up! V(^-^)V

Ten years ago, the seventh incarnation of the erroneously titled Final Fantasy series bleeped into life on the original Playstation. It may have cost many their degree. It damn near cost me mine. A colossal virtual world and the means to navigate it were presented along with a story arc that potentially offered infinite gameplay. One commanded an increasing troupe of wanderers encountered at different parts of the tale, enemies became friends, friends became enemies and the death of one corner of a love triangle simplified matters in one sense, but deepened them in another. Video game characters had taken a great leap away from the pill popping madman who can only face his ghosts when he`s pumped up with the right stuff.

Ten years on, this supposed Final Fantasy has apparently left more of an emotional dent than the following five (possibly six) – not only are we graced with a feature length, absurdly dense CGI animation, but limited edition drinks bearing the ambiguous moniker of “Potion.”

This has been tickling me for a couple of days now, especially considering where it`s come from – to find, in Japan, source of the life consuming computer game, echoes of the mortally wounded sprites` most treasured resource, precious, life-giving, healing potion, lying around in a convenience store is like a pixelated half-dream come true.





Indeed, this country can be a paradise for the easily amused.

Only in Japan

It is only natural, when encountering another culture, to compare it with your own. In recent days, I've found that my Elementary Students are more surprised at England's' similarities to Japan than they are at the differences.

Their questions invariably take the form of

"Do you have (insert object) in England?"

Somewhere along the line however, possibly around the same time they learn that foreigners can't use chopsticks or speak Japanese, the question changes into

"You don't have (insert Japanese object/concept) in (America/England/whatever foreign country you come from) do you?"

The enquiring nature and curiosity about another place has been replaced with Nihoncentricity. This isn't a quirk of the indirect approach to conversation expected of adults - the only way to compare "gaikoku" to Japan is to find what is wanting and revel in the wonder that is Nippon.

These thoughts are stirred by a conversation with the principal of my most recently visited Junior High. He is a good natured, affable and hearty fellow with terrible teeth. A conversation starts about food, questions arise as to what certain things are called in English, and up floats the word "wabi-sabi" (侘寂).

This word embodies the Japanese aesthetic of transience, the beauty of impermanence and impermanence of beauty. Naturally, such an ancient philosophical ideal from the other side of the planet doesn't have too many easily produced equivalents in the mongrel tongue that is English, and this only confirms what is generally considered a given - Japan is brilliant and unique. The principal tried to console me with the oft quoted dictum

"Nihongo ga muzukashii yo ne?" (Japanese is difficult, isn't it?)

followed up by my first encounter with

"Kotoba ga ooi." (There are many words.)

Indeed there are.

You're not from round 'ere, are you?

Some months ago, I was killing time when an old woman stopped me in the street with "Oooo, you're not Japanese are you?" Comparing her with the robust physique of my septuagenarian landlord, she must have been at least eighty, with poor eyes, as she was within a foot of me when she made this disovery. I explained that I was English, and her expression was one of colossal surprise, spilling over into delight.
"Hajimete!" she exclaimed, meaning "first time," and in this context, "this is the first time I've met an Englishman." We bade each other well, and kept walking to wherever we were going. I forgot about it until today.

During the break at school today, I was chatting with the Principal, when seven or eight second year students came to have a chat. Readers who know me will be aware that I have a somewhat flexible face. To children of a culture that doesn't usually communicate with facial expressions and body language, this can be hilarious.
"Foreigners are funny." remarked a girl, mid-giggle. The Principal pointed out that, as far as I was concerned, everybody in the room was a foreigner.
"Really?!" asked the girl, genuinely surprised. Then again, she is only seven.

七夕祭 - Tanabata Matsuri

Princess Orihime (織姫, Weaving Princess) and Prince Hikoboshi (彦星, Cow Herder Star) fell in love and were married. Unfortunately, being Gods, they had a number of responsibilities which, post-nuptially became neglected, and chaos was caused by Hikobashi's wandering cows, whilst Orihime's father Tenkou (天工, Sky King) had no more cloth. In his fury, he demanded that the lovers be separated, but then in a moment of fatherly remorse, he permitted them to see each other once a year on the seventh of July. People in Japan celebrate by writing wishes, usually in the form of poetry, and tying them to a bamboo tree.

The number seven is traditionally a lucky number in Japan. For starters, there are the Seven Gods of Fortune, the custom of eating Nanakusa, or "seven herbs" (Seri (Japanese parsley), Nazuna (shepherd's purse), Gogyou, Hakobera (chickweed), Hotokenoza, Suzuna, Suzushiro) in porridge on January 7th to cure illness, seven sins, seven virtues and let's not forget the Seven Samurai.

All this generally tends to point to the 7th of July 2007 (7.7.07) being a pretty damn auspicious day. Not surprising then that my favourite Japanese band, Boredoms (now recording under the name V∞redoms) are performing a once in a lifetime concert with no less than 77 drummers...


...in New York...which is surprising, but not the nice kind. Feast your eyes on the press release, then weep.

Hardly hot off the press, but...

On Tuesday, Japan's Defence Minister resigned over comments he made about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Giving a speech on Saturday, Fumio Kyuma said that the deployment of atomic weapons was inevitable. Japan being the only nation to have been subjected to a nuclear attack, widespread outrage at his remark was perhaps equally inevitable. The sting is in the fact that Mr Kyuma represents Nagasaki in the Japanese Parliament.

Japan's position towards nuclear weapons is that there is no justification for their use. Mr Kyuma has brought further shame to the administration of Shinzo Abe which, ten months in office, is limping under the weight of sundry blunders, scandals and embarrassments.

However, in his apparently thoughtless comment, Mr Kyuma touched upon an element maybe not considered enough in the debate - that the nuclear strikes weren't just in an effort to end the American/Japanese conflict, rather they also served as a show of strength to Russia, of whom America was growing suspicious and didn't want involved in the Pacific War.

Japanese politicians rarely mention the atomic bombings, as the issue could harm relations with the USA. Mr Kyuma, in his defence, stated that he was merely describing what America's position would have been at the time of the attacks. This is not to suggest that he's playing lap-dog to the USA - in January this year, he came under fire from his colleagues for suggesting that the American led invasion of Iraq was a mistake.

On the other side of the planet, The National Army Museum displays a work by Gerald Laing. Titled "Truth or Consequences", the painting shows an image of Tony Blair next to one of the London bus of July 7th. When viewed from a different angle, the painting morphs into George Bush next to a picture of Baghdad in flames. The title (apparently a "scathing critique" according to an unnamed source) refers to the idea that Blair knew claims of weapons of mass destruction were false, the "consequences" being events like July 7th, as if one was an inevitable effect of the other.

While Laing's statement may seem similar to Kyuma's on the surface, there is an important difference - Laing oversimplifies the Iraq conflict and the reasons July 7th happened, whereas Kyuma's voice argues from the broader historical context of a world at war.

Moreover, Laing's message is inconsistent - is it an attack on Blair, or Bush and Blair? There seems little point in having Bush in such a controversial work if he isn't going to at least draw some criticism.

If, by placing Blair next to the bus, the implication is that July 7th is a direct consequence of the Iraq conflict, then what are we to make of Bush and Baghdad? What is the Iraq War a direct consequence of? It's tempting to say 9/11, and it certainly makes sense in the context of the 7/7 image - if the London bombers are to be believed that what they did was inevitable because of what the British Government did, then shouldn't similar ears be given over to the New York hijackers? Did 9/11 happen as a result of Western foreign policy, or do "they" really hate our freedoms? Laing doesn't put the same questions to the American public as he does to the British. Perhaps using 9/11 for political purposes (heaven forbid) would be tasteless and too controversial for Britains leading pop artist, but in that case, "Truth or Consequences" rings like a cyncial, ill-informed nudge and wink.

These are two similarly insensitive statements with different pedigrees. On the one hand, a blunder, albeit contextually accurate, is shamed out of the public eye, on the other, a half baked idea is displayed in a museum. In a funny way, I prefer the latter, but it would be better still if it actually said something constructive.

Chapter the one-hundred-and-fifty-fourth - In which Mr Pig is struck with fresh revelation as to the nature of the Land of the Rising Sun.

The Japanese Post Office doesn't sell envelopes. I should have seen that one coming.

I've joked about it before...

...prior to commencing my Monday night English conversation class, I partook of a hearty swig from my water bottle.
"Ah, that's nice." I remarked, to which the lady who organises the class said,
"Ah, you think Japanese water is tasty?"

The new laws requiring that patriotism and a love of the nation be taught in schools seem a trifle unnecessary.

The Last Sanja Matsuri?

"Oh, you like Asakusa? There are many foreign country people there."

I've received this response from Japanese people with practically every mention of my fondness for this area of Tokyo, as if what drew me was kinship with my fellow non-Japanese, whatever country they come from.

Of course, these demographic commentators are quite right - Asakusa is crawling with tourists, hardly surprising since it's dominated by the magnificent Sensō-ji, Tokyo's oldest Buddhist Temple.


Asakusa is almost like a theme park of traditional Japan, as if Kyoto had been heavily edited and compressed into a Tokyo neighbourhood. Kaminarimon, the Thunder Gate, opens into a long market street, where shopkeepers, well versed in "trade English" provide innumerable trinkets to legion of foreign visitors. I am the slightly embarrassed owner of what I perceived (before purchase) to be a stylish sake flask. Of course, once I actually took the time to read the kanji on the side, I learned that it said 'Asakusa, Tokyo." I might as well have bought a T-shirt reading "I went to Japan and all I got was...<insert joke here>".


The more I think about that slightly ill considered purchase, the less bad I feel. It's like a moment of clarity, because it is so typical of Asakusa. When I arrived over two years ago, alone and illiterate in a strange country, the way Asakusa looked and felt was adequate balm for lingering doubts and fears I had. Now, a bit more savvy and considerably more cynical, I can see the place through two different eyes. Despite its' colossal tourist trap status, Asakusa is still a beautiful neighbourhood, and whilst there isn't an awful lot to do after seeing Sensō-ji (except for holing up in one of the countless restaurants) what I find appealing about it is, when compared to the rest of Tokyo, the relatively gentle pace. This usually doesn't apply when describing Tokyo's most boisterous O-mikoshi festival, Sanja Matsuri.


Over three days, hundreds of portable shrines are carted around the area by packs of able bodied young people, gradually getting drunker. Moving one of these things takes a great deal of effort, even if you are being supported by about twenty other people. The endorphins are palpable, the rhythmic chanting joyous and exciting, the atmosphere utterly electric. For some reason, this year was much quieter than other occasions, but no less charged with a massive sense of community, something I greatly admire about Japan. This communal sensibility isn't extended to all by all of course. Brian overheard an elderly man grumbling that the name should be changed to Gaijin Matsuri.

Perhaps feeling this kind of inclusion in a sprawling metropolitan labyrinth like Tokyo is only for people who live there. At the same time as the overwhelmingly huge Sanja Matsuri, was a smaller but no less rambunctious festival in and around our local shrine, the small and simple Hiedaijinja.





The mood here is warmer, more intimate and familiar, helped no doubt by the presence of my students from several different schools. Stall holders exercise what English they possess, undoubtedly directed at us because we are almost certainly the only non-Japanese present. Local bigwigs have directed us to the centre of activity, asking us to enjoy ourselves, and even greeted us with genuine bonhomie.



As far as our long term plans go, this will be our last Oda Matsuri (although the festival season is just starting). Maybe what we'll miss most about Japan isn't the magnificent otherly architecture, interesting culture or sense of adventure, but the fact that this quiet little nook of a huge alien industrial city has been shaped into a home.

...er...

Part of me doesn't want to accept this, mostly because every source I've found is almost identical word-for-word, but something about it doesn't surprise me in the slightest...



EDIT : ah...

京都へ行った

Yes indeedy, nearly a month ago, we went to Kyoto. Our thanks go to the magnificent Japan Rail Network, for the ludicrously inexpensive seishun ju hachi kippu.


Pictured is one of the myriad corridors of torii in Fushimi Inari, amongst Kyoto's most famous shrines (apparently featured in the film Memoirs of a Geisha.)


Written on the torii are names of individuals or businesses who have donated money to the shrine...our saintly landlord being one of them. A day or two before we left, he charged us with finding his torii...since there are quite literally thousands, he drew us a little map, and even wrote us a note which we were to give to a certain store owner, who would be sure to guide us...

...of course, the night before we left, we joined Brian & Kaori for their housewarming party...thusly, alcohol was consumed, bed was entered at an irresponsible time, and exited at a risky hour. We forgot both the map and the note. No matter, thought we, we can find the right torii...and we tried...

...did we find it?





No.



The rest of Kyoto was, of course, lovely, despite bursts of rain & cheap hostels (free dead cockroach with your duvet).

As mentioned earlier, we have also been graced with the prescence of my mother.

Cheers mum.

I can feel my English deteriorating exponentially to the improvement of my Japanese. Recently, I have been a man possessed when it comes to studying. This is partially why I haven't been blogging a lot of late. However, assuming after such a lengthy period of slack I still have readers left, (and to quote Dave) this blog isn't dead...not by a long shot...

Another Graduation...

The year seems to have passed in the blink of an eye, but at the same time dragged like a leaden coat and tails. The proceedings were just as emotional as last year, but we were graced with no less than three teachers wearing Hakama. Pictured is Endo Sensei, a teacher of Japanese who sits next to me, and one of the special needs teachers, whose name I haven't caught yet.


As is the way with these things, everybody filed into the ostentatiously decorated gym, applauded whilst one hundred and fifty students marched slowly to their seats (by the end of two out of four classes, I was desperate to stop clapping), possibly daydreamed whilst those same students were presented with certificates, and almost certainly fell asleep during the Koucho sensei's (Principal's) speech. Notable this year was the fact that the farewell procession of sobbing third graders went out through the sports ground. By the time that had been organised, most of them had cheered up.



I signed a lot of year books, posed for an inordinate number of pictures, had a very tasty bento, complete with sekihan (rice steamed with sweet red beans) and then...nothing...

Long term readers of this blog will be aware of my most common complaint with work. For those of you who have come here by accident (and have made it this far), regardless of my workload or the actual presence of students, I'm required to stay on school grounds until 4:30. Usually I use this as an opportunity to really hammer my Japanese studies, but today (and days like it in the past) a cloudy block descended, rendering me incapable of concentration due to the sheer absurdity of it all. Why was I there? What purpose did it serve?

I sat there for a while and actually managed to get a bit of study done, but that niggling sense of being able to do it at home kept knocking. Then teachers started leaving at the morally reprehensible time of 2:30, and I began to question my sanity.

At the end of each day, I'm supposed to get a stamp on my time sheet from the Vice Principal (Kyoto Sensei). At Elementary School, where I usually finish at 1pm, I can coax permission to leave from the Kyoto by handing them my time sheet for the stamp, which invariably ellicits the salutation "O tsukare sama deshita," which literally means "honorific tired person was" and kind of means "very good day at work, you must be tired, (I'm) go(ing) home". Faced with another couple of hours of enraged thumb twiddling, I readied my paperwork for the walk up to the Kyoto's desk, only to be stopped by one Kamihara sensei, a Social Studies teacher for whom I have tremendous respect, not least of all for his affable charisma, who suggested we go to the gym and practice Kendo. Strike me down with a bamboo sword if I didn't say yes.

Kendo, simply put, involves donning cumbersome and visibility-reducing armour, before bashing your opponent with a big stick and shouting at them. There are three strike points, the head, wrist and body (or rather, right hip). Kamihara sensei is very good.

Kendo might look simple, but precision is the key. Kamihara sensei was really walloping me - I could feel it with the blows he rained down on my head - but I emerged relatively bruise free. The armour is pretty solid, and a direct hit will do little more than ring in your ears. I however have all the precision of a rabid elephant on a motorcycle, as Kamihara sensei's right hip can no doubt testify.

That done, he suggested we have a bout of Aikido which I am genuinely interested in. Quintessentially a self defense martial art, Aikido relies upon using the energy expended by potential attackers back on themselves. Kamihara sensei is also remarkably good at that, flooring me several times during our spat. I returned to the teachers room an hour later, sweaty, bruised and in the highest of spirits...

...until the Kyoto sensei (who can't speak a lick of English) asked an English teacher what I was doing today. That ruffled me a bit because I can actually speak Japanese. Said English teacher didn't ask me, rather she said she didn't know, and we should ask a different English teacher. Bear in mind that I am within spitting distance of these people. Off goes the Kyoto to find this other teacher, whilst I ask the English teacher if there was anything I could help with. She looked me in the eye and shook her head. I held my gaze, and she eventually came clean, not that there was anything to bloody well come clean about - grrr! I hate this country sometimes.

Peculiar day, highs, lows, tears, laughter, civility, lack of and bashing people with sticks. I'm going out with Hayley for her birthday.

The first cockroach of the year...

...pretty damn huge for February...we've broken the planet. Thankfully, this antenna waving monstrosity didn't have me in quite the same paroxysms of horror inflicted by it's kin nearly two years ago. Just as I'd made my mind up to leave as well...

Another enkai

I have been home for two hours since this seemingly purposeless gathering of teachers. I was warned previously that the principal of this school has taken to getting extremely drunk and making inappropriate speeches...thankfully, my Japanese ability is still equal to that of a particularly gifted chimp, and I missed the bulk of any faux pas he may have made...but he did get drunk extraordinarily quickly...and I was sitting next to him, and consequently, was denoted his drinking foil for the evening...suffice to say, it's friday night where I am, and enkai has been confirmed as my favourite Japanese word.

You ain't got nuffin' on me...

Today, I was stopped by the police. Considering that I've been here for nearly two years, I'm lucky that this is my first brush with the law. I was on my bike, approaching some roadworks when they hailed me to stop. First they told me it was dangerous, then asked me if I was going home. They then informed me that they wanted to check the registration number of my bike, presumably to make sure I hadn't stolen it. It's a good job I told them that it was a Christmas present from my girlfriend, and therefore would have been registered in her name. They radioed whichever bureaucrat they had to talk to, who checked the appropriate documents and confirmed that it was indeed registered to the person whose name I gave them.

It could be argued that these guardians of society were just doing their job, but as any disgruntled ex-pat in this country might point out, I was stopped because I'm not Japanese.

Recently there was a bit of a hoo-ha over the magazine Gaijin Hanzai Ura File (Foreigner Crime File), an undeniably racist publication that depicts foreigners committing crimes across the nation, touts the statistic of 47,000 felonies committed by non-Japanese each year and, according to Radio Australia News, asks

"...whether they (foreigners) should be allowed to devastate Japan."

The chain of convenience stores, Family Mart, pulled copies of the magazine off their shelves in response to complaints from customers. Considering that foreigners make up a tiny percent of the population, one can take comfort in the probability that it was Japanese customers doing the complaining. However, in the wake of such a row, it's still easy to feel threatened, especially with the apparent resurfacing of Nationalism in Japan

Claims like "47,000 crimes a year" can be misleading though. Whilst foreign crime is increasing, so is the foreign population. Also, according to statistics found at Japan Reference, over half of the 20,007 foreign nationals arrested in 2003 were apprehended for "offences" such as drug use, prostitution, speeding etc, as opposed to "crimes" like murder, robbery, arson, rape etc. Most of those arrested for offences were charged with overstaying a visa. 50% of the serious crimes were thefts, whilst only 477 arrests were for vicious crimes. Also, what is recorded is the number of arrests, rather than convictions.

There is the added problem of the language barrier - whilst most disputes between Japanese can be sorted out amongst themselves without the need for Police intervention, if one side of the conflict doesn't speak the language, it's inevitable that at some point, the Police are going to be called upon, thus adding another foreign "crime" to the pile.

According to the Instituto de Estudos Japoneses, promotion in the Police force is determined

"...as a rule, by recommendation on the basis of evaluation of their ability to carry out their duties, their experiences and their record of service."

Reading between the lines, and considering how important appearance is over here, if an officer is seen to be making a great effort, then that promotion is within their grasp. At the end of the day, if they can produce a folder bulging with potential offenders, stopped in the nick of time, then surely they must be doing something right. I, and quite possibly many others like me, are easy targets. My mistake of riding a bike in the wrong place at the wrong time, although not an offence, is no doubt going to go on a file somewhere and resurface in the next deliberately inflammatory publication as one of 47,000 "crimes" committed by foreigners each year.

Their investigation complete, they thanked me, and before sending me on my way, advised that I carry my rucksack on my shoulder rather than the basket in front of my bike, lest an "unknown person" apprehend it. If only they'd told me how to take precautions against ambitious or bored policemen.

凄い上手 - Sugoi Jouzu - Amazing skill!

Recently I've been engaged in a very short debate with Andy about the way Japanese people react to foreigners using their language - one almost universally receives hearty congratulations for displaying the most elementary linguistic hoop jumping, so readily that doubt is cast upon sincerity.

This is something I noticed just weeks after my arrival...reading back, those entries betray a wide eyed bubble of enthusiasm, a sharp contrast to some of the black rage I've since experienced...at worst, being complimented for being able to say "yes" in a foreign language is patronising, insulting and makes a mockery of ones efforts to communicate.

However, the consistency of this response makes me think that there's more to it . Also, the remnants of my faith in humanity convince me that not even a society as unconsciously racist as Japan can be so uniformly condescending.

Since the dawn of Japan, the backbone of this society has had everybody mucking in and working on labour intensive rice production. With such an impetus, it's vitally important that everybody gets on with everybody else, even if it's only on the surface. In all probability, such freely given praise is a reflex - they don't even think about it, being neither complimentary nor patronising.

All this was churning about whilst I was doing my shopping. As I'd finished, I was unlocking my bike, and an elderly lady next to me apologised for having the audacity to be potentially in my way (she wasn't in the slightest). In Japanese, I replied "no, no". She looked at me and noticing that I wasn't Japanese did a double take. The inevitable resounding compliment arrived. Considering what I had just been thinking about and the conclusion I'd reached, I had no choice but to laugh in her face. I thanked her and cycled off, utterly bewildered.

That'll be it.

Last night, whilst standing on a train platform, I realised once and for all that no matter how much money is pumped into British Rail Networks, regardless of the attempts by sundry rail companies to better the service, that branch of public transport will never in a million years be as efficient, punctual and reasonably priced as its' Japanese counterpart because of a profound difference in attitude. That which led me to this conclusion was the sight of two train drivers, one relieving the other from his shift. They saluted each other.

The Gentle Art of Diplomacy...

...Japanese style.

If you can't beat 'em...

This article has recently been a point of conversation amongst my fellow ALT's. In the midst of national conerns about bullying, student suicides and a perceived decline of standards, a government appointed panel has urged an end to the lenient approach favoured by schools in Japan.

As the situation stands, no form of punishment is acceptable in Japanese schools, whether it's detention, exclusion or physical violence, although according to ALT's who have worked in more rural areas, this isn't always the case. Stories of students having chalk thrown at them or being dragged through a corridor by the hair have reached me from forgotten sources.

There is a law in Japan, expressly forbiding students from being excluded from class, as they have a fundamental right to be educated. Of course, what looks good on paper rarely stands up to reality. If the student has made up their mind to be as disruptive as possible, then there is literally nothing the teacher can do.

Perhaps there are some who would welcome the chance to hit their students, but this could only create more problems, as some of the most troubled children are probably getting this at home. One of my more volatile students was hospitalised by his father for playing truant. This "protruding nail must be hammered" attitude is all well and good when constructing houses, but human beings are another matter. Unfortuantely, such attitudes don't recognise individual cases because of a historic denial of individuals.