Good Society
“Arguments are extremely vulgar, for everyone in good society holds exactly the same opinion.”
Once again, Oscar Wilde proved a sparkling clear knowledge of Japanese society. His quote encapsulates my experience in Japan so far – in its entirety. In fact, you don’t need to know much more to survive in Japan. Just remember the alpha&omega of life in Japan: NO ARGUING.
Indeed, the Japanese consider arguing superbly tacky. And they always did. In the epic samurai past, arguments mostly weren’t. But if they were, only two solutions came handy: either the death of one of the arguers or the death of both arguers. Modern Japan is not so extreme. Luckily for me. Yet, my Japanese kinsmen are pretty still serious about finding ways to avoid arguing. Some of the most popular solutions to avoid conflict contain: lightly smiling and pretending they don’t understand or repeating “maybe not, maybe not.” If arguments cannot be avoided, then they’re dealt with in utmost silence, in utmost taste. I suppose saying Sayonara to Mr. Ichikawa was an example of Japanese conflict-solving. First there was Mr. Ichikawa. Then there was an argument with Mr. Ichikawa. Last, Mr. Ichikawa was no more. (That is, he didn’t come to school the next day). Allegedly, Japanese employers learn that they had gotten fired by the fact that their uniform is missing in their locker. An example of Japanese conflict-resolution par excellence!
Nonetheless, I’m still left wondering why Japanese avoid conflict as feverishly as they avoid foreigners with yellow fever. One of the reasons seems to lie in the fact that the whole of Japan, in fact, is “good society.” Unlike post-revolutionary France where the aristocracy just adapted their manners to the customs of the lower echelons of society, Japan in fact managed to impose its high-brow samurai ethics on everyone. And so even the most ordinary Mr. Tanaka has better manners than many high French officials (with the exception of eternally classy Carla Bruni who’s just that swell). And so even the most ordinary Mr. Tanaka avoids arguments – after all, all of his countrymen share the same opinion anyway.
Second, most importantly, Japanese stick to non-conflict resolutions as a piece of seaweed sticks to a piece of tofu in miso soup, due to the fact that they adore rules. In Japan, there are rules – both said and unsaid – for everything. And with rules for everything and anything, arguments become excrescent, an anomaly to be avoided. There are rules for taking a bath, rules for holding chopsticks, rules for washing one’s underarms in an onsen (Japanese bathhouse), rules for folding a futon…
To be honest, the multiplicity and rigidity of rules in Japan grows sometimes over my head. To illustrate the point:
Last week, on Wednesday, I received a strange Kafkaesque note in mail. It had many unknown characters (which is always a portentous sign) and it read my name and a random date of July 29. I asked my roommate what the meaning of the note was and he explained to me the mailman was trying to deliver an important package but since I was not home, he left the package at the local post office. Next day, I handed the note to Mrs. Fukunaga, our Grammar teacher, who confirmed my roommate’s explanation. I grew a bit nervous, expecting an important package including visa forms. A significant feature of Japanese government is burdensome bureaucracy, and so I did surely not wish to miss any important immigration mailings. Thursday and Friday were cray-cray busy so I couldn’t go to the post office. I decided to call them as I was instructed to by Mrs. Fukunaga. Calling, however, proved more disastrous than the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD.
First, I couldn’t understand much of what the Japanese post-office worker was saying. I asked her (Mrs. Kanazawa) to speak more slowly and use less complex words, but, as any Japanese learner could tell you, that’s a direct road to hell. As expected, Mrs. Kanazawa apologized for speaking unslowly and complexly only to start speaking faster with so many honorifics and complicated grammar patterns that even the Japanese emperor would have a hard time understanding. I started sweating during Mrs. Kanazawa’s long monologue and decided to hang up. I was not willing to risk a heart attack. My pride was hurt, however. After 5 semesters of Yale Japanese, I couldn’t even make a simple phone call? No! Sure I could! Yes, I can!
I called the post office again next day. I made Mrs. Kanazawa repeat every single word I didn’t understand and tried to make myself understood in the plainest way possible. I explained to her that I couldn’t pick up the package from the post- office since I was moving out of my apartment and the office was open only during certain hours. I asked her if the package could be sent to a different address at my expense. Mrs. Kanazawa started apologizing, at which point I understood something was going hellishly wrong. She said she had to call her supervisor (which is always a bad sign when dealing with Japanese employees…by the way.). She took my phone number and said she was going to call me. In the meantime, I moved from my apartment and embarked on my grand tour of Japan in 40 days. On Wednesday, Mrs. Kanazawa called again. She apologized for making me wait for so many days and said the issue was complicated (oh, please, aren’t all issues in Japan complicated?). She said her supervisor had to call another supervisor in Tokyo, who still has not responded. So, she apologized again and asked if it would be ok if she called again the next day. I said: “I guess so.” Next day, Mrs. Kanazawa indeed called again. She told me that her supervisor had told her that her supervisor had told her that the issue was truly complicated, at which point I grew a bit un-Japanese. “Seriously? Let me outline the problem. I was not home. The package stays at the post office. I want it to be sent somewhere else. It really is not that complicated.” I told her blatantly. She said she understood my concern (a common Japanese phrase) but the package cannot be resent. She told me the only way I could get hold of that package is to pick it up from the post office. “But I’m VERY VERY VERY far away!” I was at the edge of crying. Was she seriously asking me to spend 100 bucks (and several hours) on a train back to Osaka? She said “Sikata ga arimasen – i.e. there’s no way around it,” and started apologizing. I told her it was a very important package and thus I was going to pick it up within the next two days. Sweaty and stricken, I was going to hang up once again. But then I realized I could probably get the sender’s address from her. Maybe, I could send a letter to the Japanese Immigration Bureau asking to resend the package to a different address…I asked her if she could give me the sender’s name. Mrs. Kanazawa started apologizing, which I interrupted harshly. “PLEASE. Just give it to me.” She asked me to wait and then began to read the sender’s info: “Pat…Pato..Patori…Patoriku…Patoriko Hurari…” Wait. What?!? Patrick Hurley? I paused for a few seconds. How the heck did Mrs. Kanazawa come up with my friend’s name? And then I finally understood. I said: “Dear Mrs. Kanazawa, I will ask you a set of easy questions and please answer to the best of your ability.” She started mumbling again. I was determined: “Is this a heavy package?” “No, it isn’t,” Kanazawa responded. “Is it small in size?” “Yes, it is.” “Is it a postcard?” “Yes.”
So, ladies and gentlemen the story comes to its epic conclusion: my Yale friend Patrick sent me a postcard from his European travels. I wasn’t at home at its arrival. And so instead of leaving it in my mailbox the postman took the time to fill up an “important package” note. Was it an important package? Maybe not. But rules are rules. And this is Japan. I have wasted hours and hours of my time trying to get hold of a postcard. I considered returning to Osaka from Mount Koya to reach the holly grail of all important mailings a “Forever with Love from Venice, Pat.”
And so in this postcard episode I’ve learned one important lesson: Here in Japan, rules are rules. And arguments are better to be avoided. If you get an “important package” chances that it is a postcard are high, if it is a truly important package, the chances of ever getting hold of it are minuscule. So just relax, take it easy. Take a chill pill and go with the flow. When in Japan do as the Japanese do. And the Japanese DON’T break rules; they DON’T argue.
At the end of our call Mrs. Kanzawa apologized once again, fearfully awaiting my potentially furious response. This time, however, I smiled lightly and kept quiet. After a few moments, Mrs. Kanazawa asked me whether I was coming to pick up the package. I paused for a while and then, holding the exactly same opinion as the rest of good society, I just sighed: “Maybe not. Maybe not.”
