Discrimation

Warning: this is a rather long exploration and explanation of a challenging experience. If you wish only to hear about the “good” things, you can skip this one… The one right before and right after are more light and interesting, complete with photos.

One thing happened that really soured my night for a little while at the festival. We saw people going inside one of the houses to look at its treasures, and we decided to check it out. When we got to the front of the line, the “doorman” held his circular fan out in front of me as if to say “hold on a moment.” I thought maybe they were at capacity for the moment. Then he let a few other people in from the other side of him. At first I thought he knew them, but then I realized this wasn’t the case, so we moved over and got in that line. Once again, when it came to my turn, he held up the fan. He let a few other people in and then went inside and slid the door shut. In a minute or two, he came back out and let more people in but not us. Every time I tried to step forward, I had the fan put up in front of me. Maybe we needed tickets, I thought. But nobody else had any either.

I asked him in Japanese, “Ii desu ka?” (Is is okay?), and he replied “Dame desu” (it’s no good). He then went back inside and slid the door shut again. Sabine said something like “I guess we’re back to ‘niggers’ and ‘Jews’ again.” I don’t know how it feels to be black or a Jew, but I do know this felt like crap. We’d done nothing to provoke this. And it wasn’t that we weren’t allowed as much as the way we were being treated.

We started walking away, and I went back briefly to shoot this picture of him. I’d felt helpless and almost baffled at the fact that in the modern world of Japan, something like this would happen. I took the photo in an obvious way to maybe have him examine his actions and let him know that I saw him for who he was. Perhaps neither of those were accomplished, but it made me feel better either way. Something similar happened one time when all the foreigners who came in (including me) were placed at the end of the conveyor belt in a sushi shop. The Japanese patrons were all seated in front of the chef as they arrived, getting the fresh sushi. We got whatever happened to be left after they’d taken what they wanted.

I had heard before coming here that there was an invisible barrier between Japanese people and foreigners. I was told I’d never truly be accepted, no matter how many years I was here, and even if I were to marry a Japanese woman. I would most likely never be invited to a wedding or even a family’s house for dinner. On the surface, Japanese people have all been super friendly, and at the same time, I have sensed caution and a bit of skepticism sometimes (except for the flirty girls, for many of whom I’m just a fetish).

After being cut off from the rest of the world for generations, I can understand a hesitant approach to outsiders. 90% of Japan is homogeneous (Japanese marrying within their nationality and having pure-bred Japanese babies). It’s how they’ve survived on these small islands for so long. Not to mention that the Western world brought them firearms, Christianity, and then took advantage of them economically…not exactly the best impression to make. Currently, Americans and other Westerners are thought to be loud, inconsiderate, and sometimes destructive as tenants and while out drinking. I don’t doubt it. And perhaps my photo-taking only fed his image of Westerners.

I’m not defending anyone here. I’m only saying that I sadly can understand why I might be treated differently here. I realize my every action and attitude is scrutinized. It is only when I truly behave with respect, interest in the culture, and put forth effort to communicate in Japanese that the veil is usually lowered. Otherwise, I’m “just another foreigner.”

This experience was challenging for me because nothing I could have done would have made a difference. I realize how valuable this is for me to contemplate, and for that, I am grateful to the doorman.