Ferguson, Missouri has been the main source of a lot of sour feelings for the last ten days now.
Anger at the cops, anger at the protesters. Anger at the media, anger at the racial tensions.
If you don't know what happened there by now, I recommend simply googling "Ferguson." But in brief, a white police officer shot an unarmed black teenager, in what may or may not have been self defense, for jay walking. (It was later reported that he had stolen some cigars just before.) The teen, Michael Brown, was shot six times, and lay dead in the street for several hours. His death sparked protests in the city.
A lot of people in the country seem to be taking one stance or another, and it often seems to be one group, one race, or the other. Cops or robbers. White or black.
I was just chatting with my father on Skype and naturally Ferguson came up. Though I assumed I had phrased myself without ambiguity, I soon found myself embroiled in a battle of words over who was right and who was wrong. I got so angry I ended up hanging up on my father, for the first time ever.
Not being a person of color, I am not qualified in any way to comment on what life is like in America. I am and have always been a white girl, and have unknowingly enjoyed white privilege my entire life. Though I have always argued for equality, I know I have made some bone-headed errors in what to say or not say, just because their appearance is different.
However, living in Japan, I feel that I am at least a little bit qualified to comment on what life is like as a minority. I know this because I live it every day. People often say that Japan is without racism, and some of the loudest supporters are the Japanese themselves. However, it's simply not true.
It's just not as overt as in America.
Here, covert racism is the rule, and it is so ingrained into the culture that many don't see a problem even when it's brought up.
Why would you be offended? I honestly think you use your chopsticks well!
Don't be mad! I'm just surprised that you can speak Japanese!
I've got three on my list of worst offenders. The ones above are irritating, but always well-intentioned. (The fact that it's putting you down just kind of gets forgotten in the wind.) One of them happened just yesterday, at my workplace.
An older man, possibly drunk (or early dementia?), came to the desk and asked me, "Are you a foreigner?"
Yes, I said. He asked me again. Yes.
"Do you work here?" No, I'm here for my health. I just love dressing up and going to an office at 9 in the morning to stare at computers.
"Wow! They've got foreigners working here!" That's what got me there. The total surprise that foreigners worked there.
The worst part probably came after - one of my colleagues came over to deal with him, saying "They're assistant teachers. They're here for the summer holiday." Yes, it's completely true - but am I being paid to be there? Yes? Then I'm working there. That's the end of the story.
Another was my host mother. Her racism was much more covert, and much more deeply ingrained into her psyche. I didn't even realize that she was racist until after a few months of being mentally battered by her. She would assume I knew things about Japanese culture, while at the same time assuming I was just a terrible person. And any time I tried to defend myself, it just got worse. But the Hmong girl she had a few summers ago? Oh, she was just a peach! Such a darling!
The fact the Hmong and Japanese cultures are worlds closer than white America and Japan was apparently lost on her.
Last one was a construction worker in Kyoto. Now, most people in the country assume that you can't speak Japanese if you are white/black/Latino/clearly not Japanese. However, they'll usually try to combat that by 1) using whatever English they remember from junior high, or 2) running away.
It happens even if you ask them questions in Japanese.
So I was looking for a train station, and I just couldn't find it. It should have been where I was, but I couldn't see anything. So I asked a nearby construction worker for directions, in Japanese.
In response, he glared at me and silently pointed. Left. Down. Right.
Whenever I go into supermarkets, I try to be friendly with the clerks. I've tried smiling, asking them about products, and just generally being cheerful. Only about two clerks have ever been friendly back; the rest are just cold and professional.
A newcomer to Japan might assume that that's just the way it is; workers are cold machines until break time, and only speak to customers in the most polite language possible. But that's just not true, at least not of the older generation. I see older ladies talking to each other as they're checking out groceries all the time. But as soon as I get up there, the fun times are over and it's back to business.
I have actually had clerks be dumbfounded at my attempts at small talk. Once, I had picked up a quirky bottle of soda - Pepsi Baobob - and said, "I wonder what kind of flavor this is." Yes, talk to me! Say you don't know, and gee, what a weird flavor it sounds like!
She said, "I haven't tried it, but I could look it up for you." Ah, no. That's all right.
There are stores I'm afraid to walk into, just because I don't know what will happen. I'm sure they'll be nice, but I just don't want to go in there alone.
I've been targeted more than once at the pool I go to. The rules say no jewelry, and so I take off all mine - except my second lobe pierce, because it snaps on and it's a bitch to take out. The first time I went there was no problem, so I figured it didn't really matter. The second time one of the lifeguards stopped me and asked me to take it out.
I can't, I said.
She made me put a piece of body tape on it. That's fine, I thought. I'll do the same next time.
So the next time I went to the pool, I went with my piercing safely taped up. And even then, they could apparently see the now near-invisible dot on my ear that really could have been a birthmark at that point. Again, I was stopped. This time when they finally saw the tape, they let me go.
In school, if the kids are rowdy in other classes, they're soundly scolded. In mine, they can ignore me, call me names, talk endlessly about how they want to go home, bang desks, and steal teaching materials without so much as a peep from the homeroom teacher.
I know I'm still on the lucky side. I have a job that pays...fairly decently, and as a white American girl a lot of people are just frothing at the mouth to talk to me. My boyfriend's family, on the other hand, isn't so lucky.
Many people don't know that a sizable chunk of the minorities in Japan is comprised of Peruvians and Brazilians, and if they somehow do know they don't usually know why. About 100 years ago, Japan sent hundreds of workers over to South America, where they would have food and wages. It turned out to be dressed-up slave labor - "take it or leave it" kind of low-wage, back-breaking work - and many families ended up staying there (if only for lack of travel funds).
Starting in the 1980's, Japan found itself with factory jobs and people suddenly too snooty to take them (it was during the economic bubble, where you could literally work at a convenience store and buy a Prada bag). They decided the best bet would be to take those Japanese families back over from South America. It was the best idea! The families would get to come home, to stable jobs and money, and Japan wouldn't have to actually open their doors to more dirty foreigners than needed.
Unfortunately, by the 80's several generations had passed, and most of these people were no more Japanese than a white guy in America is Polish.
Regardless, my boyfriend's family came up with the same wave of migrant workers. Both his parents have worked in various factories, and he himself works in one now.
But there's no chance of his parents moving very far up the ladder.
Being an immigrant family came with all of the quirks you'd expect and more. There are no paper-pushing jobs for kids with limited Japanese ability; they work in the factory. There is/was very little JSL (Japanese as a Second Language) support for kids or their parents in regards to school. Until recently - and even then, it still depends on the school - there was pretty much nothing protecting these kids from bullies.
One elementary school near Tokyo actually suffered an onslaught from anti-immigration protesters, yelling obscenities through the windows and telling the families to "go back where they came from."
Sounds familiar, no?
I guess what I'm trying to say, at the end of all this, is that I am in the unique position of knowing what it's like to be a minority - from my own experiences as well as my boyfriend and his family's - while not being a minority myself. At least not in America. I can see what I've gotten, as well as what others should be getting.
Do I still fuck up sometimes? Yeah. I met my college roommate Li by saying, "Oh, you must be Li!" as we stood in front of the elevators. Was that racist? I don't know. She's very obviously Chinese American, and Li is a pretty Chinese name. But it was really embarrassing.
But I do have an idea of what it's like being underrepresented, and it kind of sucks sometimes.
No comments:
Post a Comment