One of my favorite college professors was a brilliant man of Vietnamese heritage. He was infamous around the government and international relations departments for his ability/need to challenge everything anybody else stated as unproven fact. This made him a fairly unpopular person to be around. However, what one came to realize after spending time with him is that he was always right. No matter the topic, the man could punch holes in any argument or line of logic and make the speaker retract everything they had sworn to only a few minutes before.
For this reason, there were always open spots in his classes. It’s almost as if university students in sweat pants had no motivation to be shot down every time they sought to offer an opinion fueled more by a half-baked attempt to earn participation points than the drive to grow as intellectuals. This professor made it a point to never show video, use PowerPoint presentations, or require reading. He never followed a timeline or discussed textbook explanations of historical leaders or wars. What he did do was lecture, lecture, discuss, and lecture. If I’ve yet to scare you away from Hall of Letters room 319 thus far, the man had a thick accent that many students couldn’t understand. Yet, year after year, I browsed through his available classes first when registering every semester. Each was identically structured: Intro to World Politics, Asian Relations, American Foreign Policy, Chinese Politics, etc. There were no required readings, no quizzes, and no homework. Only an essay-question based midterm, final, final paper, and paper topic presentation were required. Day one of every class was his introductory to criticism. What started out like your run-of-the-mill “I’m Seth, I’m a sophomore from California….” quickly turned into a logical crushing of your childish dreams. The teacher would question future plans, career aspirations, and goals to the point that we would leave class completely clueless about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to do it. Each year, my intro would be very different. Finally, senior year in American Foreign Policy, I spoke about a desire to travel and live foreign cultures rather than just experience them from a tourist’s perspective. He smiled a bit and returned with question that I have always remembered, “Isn’t it true that all people are the same? Don’t all people have the same simple aspirations, fears, and anxieties?” In a panicked attempt to appear like I had at least minimal brain function, I replied with some kind of disagreement, hopelessly looking for him to give a little ground so that I could hold on to some kind of romantic view of my future. He made a joke about becoming a spy and I returned a “who wouldn’t want to be James Bond?” kind of remark. He smiled again and moved on. Having escaped relatively unscathed, I considered the class to be a victory for me and my newly discovered dream.
When I started traveling, especially in the Far East, I often thought about this professor’s lessons, theories, and models. However, never once did this particular exchange cross my mind until I entered Japan. Europe and the Americas share so much history and culture that the minds of its citizens are also very similar. There are drastic differences between Europeans, Canadians, and Americans but my argument here is more about logic, emotion, and language than opinions and political beliefs. What makes Asia so much different is, for lack of a better word, everything. Using this word may seem like I’m taking the easy way out but is, instead, stating a fact. Every small aspect of life here is different. I’ve discussed this all before in previous posts. What I’ve yet to touch on is the difference in how the mind is wired. Having developed completely independent of one another, the Western and Eastern conscious took very different paths. Not only are sentences structured in different order, but so are arguments. Japanese logic and thought processes feel frustratingly circular to a Westerner raised in an aggressively direct society. Complaints are almost always taken to third party as a means of avoiding direct conflict with a coworker, criticism is almost never shared directly, and personal questions are asked in a “beat around the bush” fashion. What those from our side of the world may see as spineless, are actually just ways to keep the wa intact. Wa the Japanese word for “harmony,” and its recognition is essential to understanding why this country is the way it is.
In the name of wa, the Japanese focus is on protection of the community. Rather than working to stand out from the crowd by speaking loudly, directly, and firmly, this culture stresses the importance of blending in so all effort can be focused either inward or toward collective advancement. The emphasis is on the quality of your neighbor’s experience rather than your own. People this thoughtful are eaten alive in American public places. Friends take advantage, strangers push in front of, and the kind-hearted is forced into a life in the back seat. This isn’t a concern here for one reason: friends and strangers are living their lives the same way.
Though noticeable almost everywhere, the two clearest examples for me came in two environments in which I have the most experience: the road and the basketball gym. Sports are naturally competitive. This is why they are fun. For many, athletic competition is a modern version of gladiator warfare through which they can express frustration, anger, fear, and testosterone buildup in a socially acceptable manner. This is no different here in Japan. My basketball club is aggressive and competitive. What most shocks me, though, is how teammates and opponents treat each other. It’s no surprise to see flying batting helmets, swinging fists, cramped penalty boxes, or questionable tackles in American sports. Tantrums are a part of watching the NHL, NBA, NFL, and MLB. In Japan, there is less of a need for such outbursts. Every time I feel myself getting frustrated during basketball drills or games when I miss a simple layup or turn the ball over, I’m stopped by a teammate’s kind reassurance or pat on the back. I’m still taken back every time it happens. The atmosphere is just as competitive as one has come to expect, but with an undertone of positivity. When surrounded by this web of support, one can only feel a need to return the favor.
Secondly, as any Californian (or any American for that matter) knows, the road is a terrifying place. We are all taught “defensive driving tactics” in traffic school, but throw them out the window as soon as out picture is printed on our driver’s license. In Japan, the unique collective approach extends onto the highways as well. Cars waiting at driveways will always be allowed to turn out, slower drivers will pull aside to let others pass (not because they are annoyed, but because they feel bad about holding you up), pedestrians are allowed to cross, and speed limits are very low. What is most wonderful about each of these experiences is that the driver giving way will always be thanked with a bow of the head. Even when driving with American hip-hop music blaring, you are constantly reminded of where you are on the globe.
My professor in college may have been correct about “aspirations, desires, fears, and anxieties,” but by no means is that a reason not to travel. Japanese people, like all others in the world, desire enough money to live comfortably, fear losing family or friends, and stress about a busy work schedule. However, no visitor here will leave without being touched by these people and their unique social philosophy. My teacher was, perhaps for the first time it seems, wrong. Three and a half months into my adventure across the Pacific, I can already feel the effect this country will have on who I become in the future.
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