Philip Patrick is an exiled Scot, who lectures at a Tokyo university and contributes to the Japan Times
I’ll never forget an unusually frank conversation I once had with a Japanese acquaintance (let’s call him ‘Yoshi’). He was explaining how his marriage had failed, after only a few weeks: ‘I never had time to myself. Whenever I got home, she was always there.’ He stressed the words ‘always’ and ‘there’, drawing them out with a sad, weary, frustration. I remember wondering what exactly he’d been expecting, but it seemed rude to ask.
Soon after I began living in central Tokyo I got an unexpected visitor to my apartment – a police officer. He just turned up one day, asked some routine questions, made a few notes, and then left. Slightly alarmed by this – (was it just me? am I on some kind of watch list?), I mentioned the visit to a Japanese colleague, who put my mind at rest: ‘Oh, that’s just regular police work. They do that sometimes. They’re just checking that you’re OK.’ ‘Checking that I’m OK’? Is that what police are supposed to do? This was news to me.
The Japanese government has announced a state of emergency for Tokyo, Osaka and five other prefectures in response to escalating numbers of coronavirus cases. It comes after prolonged pressure was exerted by politicians, health care professionals and outspoken governor of Tokyo Yuriko Koike. The measures are intended to last a month and come with a £44bn (6 trillion yen) compensation package to help affected businesses. This was the first such announcement in the history of Japan. A ‘State of Emergency’ sounds dramatic, but it actually has few practical implications for citizens.
One of the first things you need to learn abut Japan is the concept of honne and tatemae. ‘Hone’ refers to one’s true feelings, and ‘tatemae’ is what one says in public. It doesn’t take very long to learn that the two are very rarely aligned. In a bizarre time warp moment the official Olympic countdown clock that stands outside Tokyo station was reset on Monday (it reads: 478 days to Tokyo 2020(?)). It will no doubt soon be reported that ‘the people of Tokyo’ have been devastated by the postponement, that they had, as one, been passionately enthusiastic about the event, eagerly anticipating the chance to welcome the world for a fortnight of history-making sporting excellence.
I got back to Tokyo on Friday morning having hastily rescheduled my flight from Britain to avoid new restrictions for entering Japan. When I landed, it was all quite normal: I wasn’t pounced on by men in hazmat suits at Haneda airport and forced into isolation. I wasn’t interrogated on my recent whereabouts, or even given extra forms to fill out. And it turns out that even if I had flown a few days as planned, all that the new restrictions amounted to was a ‘request’ (issued with extreme politeness no doubt) to self-isolate in your own apartment. Yet despite this relatively laid-back approach, Japan must be one of the best places in the developed world to be at the moment, as the impact of the coronavirus appears extraordinarily mild.
Amongst the many postponements and cancellations brought about by coronavirus, perhaps the least disappointing, at least for certain sections of Scottish society, was the SNP’s decision to suspend its demand for a 2020 independence referendum. Of course, with the government having maintained its firm opposition to ‘Indyref 2’ from day one, it was highly unlikely that the SNP would have got their way in any case. In essence then, the only immediate consequence is that the SNP’s representatives will simply take some time out before amending the lyrics on the song sheet and striking up again. Expect a post-Holyrood election (2021) poll to be the new demand.
It is fair to say that preparations for the 2020 Tokyo Olympics have not being going to plan. In fact, the whole project has been beset by problems and scandals right from the start. The initial award of the games to Tokyo was controversial, with Japan Olympic committee chairman Tsunekazu Takeda forced to step down over corruption allegations connected to the bid. Then there’s the inflated budget, currently an eye-watering £9.8bn, which has led to drastic last-minute cost cutting. Concerns about the sweltering summer weather have also led to the banishing of the marathon to the inconvenient northern island of Hokkaido. Now to top it all off, or possibly finish it all off, we have the coronavirus.
Ant and Dec have done most things in their long careers in light entertainment. But the versatile duo broke new ground last week when they infringed on international diplomacy by wearing Japanese Rising Sun flags on their headbands in a skit with singer Anne-Marie. The use of allegedly offensive WW2 era imagery forced programme makers to edit the sequence for future broadcast. ITV and Anne-Marie were obliged to make hasty apologies. But is the Rising Sun really offensive? And is anyone really offended? The flag is of ancient origin, but it has been associated with the Japanese military since 1870, it is still the emblem of the Self Defense Force (as close as modern Japan gets to an army).
A part-time lecturer and friend of mine was reported to his university last month for making ‘inappropriate comments’ in the teacher’s room. These comments, related to his sceptical views on man-made climate change. The accuser, another part-time lecturer irate at such heresy, clearly wanted my friend to be sacked. Had this been a British or American university, I would have gravely worried about my friend’s position. Luckily for him, it happened in Tokyo. So his job is safe. Why? I know exactly how this complaint will have been received: politely, of course, and with the Japanese equivalent of ‘Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention’. And I know what action will have been taken: absolutely none.
NHK is Japan’s version of the BBC – it was actually modelled after the Beeb way back in the 1920s. It has four terrestrial, two satellite TV stations, and three radio stations. It is advert-free, and funded by a license fee. It could be seen as one of Auntie’s nephews perhaps, with many of the same family traits, but a few important differences that embattled BBC executives might do well to take notice of. Unless you have a weird fondness for the noisy and inane (see the Takashi Fuji episode in ‘Lost in Translation’) NHK is probably the only ‘terebi’ you would want to watch in Japan.
Q: What were the this year’s big New Year films on Japanese TV? A: The Great Escape and Ghosn with the Wind. Former Nissan supremo Carlos Ghosn's dramatic escape from house arrest in Tokyo in December, ahead of his trial for financial irregularities, has produced plenty of jokes and divided pubic opinion in Japan. Some see Ghosn's successful flight to Lebanon as damning proof of his guilt, while others still believe he deserves a measure of sympathy and support. Whether Ghosn really was, as is being reported, smuggled out of his closely surveilled Roppongi residence in an instrument case after a private concert, in a scheme masterminded by his second wife Carole and facilitated by 'paramilitary groups', will no doubt become clear in time.
Most British people who watched Prince Andrew’s cringeworthy interview with Emily Maitlis this month will have done so with a certain amount of disbelief. But for Japanese observers, the spectacle of a crown prince being asked awkward questions about his private life by a forensic interviewer would have been totally incomprehensible. The Japanese royal family doesn’t really do big royal scandals. It's not because embarrassments never occur, or that individual members aren’t prone to all the usual human failings, it’s just that the institution as a whole is much better protected, the media far more carefully regulated, and the public has significantly less appetite for juicy tidbits of royal gossip.
'I wouldn’t be here if you were a climate denier'. This was William Skeaping, spokesperson for Extinction Rebellion (ER), talking to Toby Young on The Spectator podcast. That statement tells us much about the environmental pressure group’s tactics and strategy. It also reveals that, in the battle behind the climate war, Extinction Rebellion has already won. ‘Deny’ these ‘truths’ and we will simply refuse to talk to you. You will be nothing to us. That's the message from ER. Skeaping’s words were a neat framing of his movement’s preconditions for engaging in debate.
Theresa May makes her final bow on the world stage in Japan, where she is attending the G20 heads of government meeting in Osaka. It’s a funny place for it all to end. Japan’s second city prides itself as the country's comedy capital. It is home to Japan’s ‘manzai’ tradition – a slapstick straight man/funny man double act which involves a lot of head slapping and cross talk. Besides their sense of humour, Osakans are known for their garrulousness, gaudy clothing and their suspicion of haughty, overly serious Tokyo. Think of Glasgow’s relationship to Edinburgh, or Newcastle’s to London, and you’re not far off.
Whenever I see pictures of Donald Trump and Shinzo Abe together I hear the theme music from the Neil Simon comedy The Odd Couple. For Trump and Abe are indeed the Felix and Oscar of global politics, a gently comic double act with starkly different but oddly complimentary personalities and all the appearance of a twilight years bromance. The pair met soon after Trump’s inauguration when Abe rushed stateside to be the first foreign leader to pay his respects to the new president. Since then the relationship has blossomed, and they’ve met frequently, and conversed on some 40 separate occasions. There have been some choice comic moments along the way.
When the new Japanese Emperor Naruhito makes his first public appearance, greeting well-wishers at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo today, there is a fear that the official images of the cheering crowds will need to be carefully framed, if not cropped. For among the multitudes of proud, happy Japanese welcoming the new Emperor and the new era with openness and positivity, a darker presence – the notorious ultra right-wing nationalists known as the Uyoku Dantai – are expected to be out in force. The Uyoku are a familiar site on the streets of Japan's capital and are easy to spot. Dressed in WWII-era military uniforms and carrying the older, more militaristic of Japan’s national flags, they look like extras from the BBC series Tenko.
Attempting to explain Brexit in 90 seconds might remind you of a Monty Python sketch, but this is what Jeremy Hunt attempted in front of a class of Japanese high school students on Monday. The foreign secretary gave a carefully worded summary of the Brexit situation using the graded language of the English language teacher he used to be. It’s not clear whether the students were any the wiser after he spoke, but the real aim of the lesson was achieved: to generate positive headlines for the Foreign Secretary on his latest visit to Japan. Hunt has some advantages. He lived in Japan in his early 20s, mastered the language and developed an enduring affection for the country, even once making the Freudian slip of referring to his wife as Japanese (she’s Chinese).
Walking along Tottenham Court Road on a recent, rare, trip to London I was struck by a sweet, pungent odour, which I couldn’t immediately identify. The answer arrived moments later while cutting through a dark Dickensian alley en route to Oxford Street. My way was blocked by a group of wild-eyed, ragged looking men, all smoking marijuana. It was like a scene from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, except genuinely scary. The men were staring at me as if I were a trespasser. Concluding that proceeding with my shortcut was probably unwise; I turned on my heels and took the long way round. The reason I had forgotten that distinctive aroma is simple: I’ve lived in Tokyo for the last 20 years.
If I’ve learned one thing in my twenty years in Japan it’s how to enter someone’s home. What you did is this: take off your shoes at the genkan (porch) and say the following, o jama shimasu (the nuisance is here). Under no circumstances should you copy the de-cluttering Goddess Marie Kondo, who in her new Netflix show begins her transformative mission to tidy an American couple’s junk filled house by kneeling on the floor, falling into a trance, and offering a solemn benediction to the soon to be de-cluttered home.
