History and baseball pep rallies

Japan. History abounds down every street, but so too do the fruits of Japan’s rapid economics development. On the Tokyo subway, women in traditional kimono sit side by side with men in pinstripe suits. In the streets of Kyoto, American donut stores stand within eyesight of ornately sculpted temples and solemn shrines. It is this contrast between the traditional and modern, the historical and contemporary, that I find most striking as well as most interesting about Japan.

* * *

The most convenient way to get around Tokyo is by subway. A remarkable number of lines criss-cross the city and its suburbs, making travel relatively fast and, compared to the exorbitantly priced taxis, cheap. At peak travel times, which seem to be any time other than a few hours in the middle of the day, the trains are cramped. So cramped, in fact, that many subway lines have “women only” cars. On the subway, I find a cross-section of Tokyo. People of all ages in all styles of fashion sit and stand side by side as they make their way through the tunnels deep under the city. The one thing they seem to have in common, I notice, is their weariness. Everyone on the Tokyo subway looks exhausted. I watch person after person step into my car, sit down, and promptly fall asleep, only to wake up, perfectly timed, a few stops later. Even those who read (the covers of all books are curiously covered in brown paper) or just stare vacantly sit or stand with shoulders slumped, troubled, it seems, by some great burden.

The subway is fast and clean. Trains arrive, their doors aligned perfectly with markings on platforms which stretch inordinate lengths. The subway system is a shining example of the rapid pace of Japan’s technological development. As I stand, hurtling across the city in one futuristic train, I look up at the map positioned above the door. This map is the same as every other I have seen, but only now do I notice something – a leftover of the past and a slowly changing worldview – which has until this time has escaped my attention. There, in the centre of the map – at the centre, it would seem, of the Tokyo subway system and Tokyo, if not Japan, itself – and in relation to which all other aspects of the map are drawn, is the Imperial Palace and the Japanese Emperor.

* * *

On our third day in Tokyo we meet Yoshi, a law professor at the University of Tokyo. He has arranged for us to come speak to the undergraduate seminar he teaches.

Founded in 1877, the University of Tokyo is Japan’s most prestigious academic institution. As well as a number of Nobel laureates, the university has produced a large proportion of the country’s political elite including six post-war prime ministers. Today, some thirty thousand students study here.

The seminar is meeting at the Komaba campus in the west of Tokyo. All undergraduate students spend their first two years of study at this campus. The seminar (it is the first class of the semester today) is on “Reading The Economist” and is essentially a critical reading and writing class similar to the compulsory expository writing classes taken by all first-year students at Harvard. We are discussing an Economist editorial on a conditional welfare payment scheme being tried in several Latin American countries. Yoshi acts as translator as we discuss the article, the scheme itself, and the arguments put forward in support by the article’s writers with the Japanese students. The most noticeable aspect of the two hour seminar is how similar it is to any undergraduate seminar in America or, for that matter, Australia. The atmosphere is relaxed and students volunteer their opinions (although, being the first class, it takes a while for the conversation to flow freely); some even talk in English for our benefit. And many seem to recognize that The Economist, while an excellent publication, has a very clear agenda (free trade, low taxes, privatised tertiary education, etc.) and that its editorials are written often by ideologues who often, in their zeal, overlook flawed reasoning and shaky arguments.

* * *

As we debate the desirability of a conditional transfer welfare scheme with some of Japan’s future leaders, the country’s current Prime Minister, Junichiro Koizumi, is across town visiting the Yasukuni Shrine. It is the first day of the shrine’s annual four-day autumn festival.

The Shinto site is dedicated to (and is the primary memorial for) the souls of Japan’s war dead. It’s also, as The Economist (in one of its objective news articles) writes, “a focal point for rightwing fanatics and their view that Japan was more victim than aggressor in the half-century of Asian wars up till Japan’s defeat in 1945.” To many of Japan’s Asian neighbours, the shrine has become a symbol of Japan’s wartime aggression. Indeed, amongst the souls enshrined here are some 1,068 convicted war criminals. In 1978, 14 “Class A” war criminals, convicted by the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, including wartime Prime Minister Hideki Tojo, were enshrined. A pamphlet published by the shrine states that “Some 1,068 people, who were wrongly accused as war criminals by the Allied court, were enshrined here.”

Emperor Hirohito has not visited the shrine since 1979. This, however, is Koizumi’s fifth such visit since becoming Prime Minister in April 2001. Only a couple months earlier, on September 30, The Osaka High Court had ruled that visits by the Prime Minister to the shrine were religious acts that were prohibited by the Japanese Constitution. In a separate ruling, on September 29, however, the Tokyo High Court ruled that Koizumi had visited the shrine in the past as a private person (despite signing the guest book “Prime Minister Koizumi.” The Osaka court’s decision could have given Koizumi an excuse not to attend. Instead, he comes, albeit in a “private capacity.”

And in the face of both domestic and international criticism. The next day, 101 further politicians will visit the shrine, but no cabinet members will come. Takenori Kanzaki, leader of New Komeito, the Liberal Democratic Party’s ruling coalition partner, will strongly criticize the Prime Minister for his visit. And the Chinese and South Korean governments will protest the visit. Chinese president Hu Jintao and South Korean President Roh Moohyun have asked Koizumi repeatedly to not visit the shrine. Following this visit, Koizumi will pledge that Japan will not again go to war. Nonetheless, China and South Korea’s foreign ministers will cancel meetings with Japanese foreign minister Nobutaka Machimura and a summit planned for later in the year between South Korean president Roh Moohyun and Koizumi will be cancelled.

* * *

Kyoto is, without doubt, a tourist city. Chris, Eoghan and I take a bus to the Golden Temple which is, as its name suggests, golden. We make our way through what might have been a serene garden were it not swamped by adolescent Japanese school children. We stop, at one point, to take a photograph. Chris sets up our tripod, which he has come to treasure despite his initial misgivings. A security guard, whose job appears to consist solely of watching for conniving tripod users, rushes over to announce that we are welcome to take photographs, but we may not use our three-legged device. I assume the concern is that we might take commercial photographs, but while our small digital Nikon has impressed us thus far, it can hardly be confused with a professional standard camera. We ask a Japanese tourist – one of the few who isn’t with a school group – to take our photo.

* * *

Parts of Kyoto look little different than some of Tokyo’s streets. Other parts, however, have been preserved in the pre-Meiji style. Postcard picture houses line narrow, cobbled streets along which locals of all ages hawk souvenirs and bean candy. There’s little doubt that this small historical neighbourhood survives on and is preserved for tourists. And yet, it has a quiet charm absent from even the quietest Tokyo neighbourhoods. We stroll along the streets as the sun sets over the hills surrounding the city. Suddenly, in the still twilight, a drum beats. Intrigued, we follow the sound of the drum. Still in the historical neighbourhood, we come across an entrance in a high wall at which students, dressed in uniform, stand, handing out pamphlets in Japanese. I question one student about what is going on beyond the wall. The only word I understand is “baseball”. Puzzled, we pass through the entrance, prepared for a display of traditional Japanese arts. Instead, we find ourselves in a large amphitheatre. Suddenly, the stage lights come on and a large marching band breaks into a fast paced tune. Dumbfounded, we find seats at the back. The marching band is soon replaced on stage by a large troupe of cheerleaders. We have walked into a high school baseball pep rally, straight out of small-town America. Except that we’re in the middle of a historical neighbourhood in Kyoto, Japan.

* * *

It is our third day in Kyoto and Chris and I visit an onsen or hot springs bathhouse. We don’t notice the main entrance and instead wander into the owners’ private residences. Our error is only realised after a lengthy and confused conversation over an intercom system. We eventually find the correct entrance just as the onsen opens from its lunchtime break. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and a line of elderly locals have formed at the doorway. We follow them inside.

The baths are segregated by sex with separate male and female complexes. The male side of the building consists of a changing room, showers, a sauna, and various hot baths, both inside and outside, some lined with cedar, others with powerful massaging jets and one through which an electric currents runs that sends my muscles into spasms. We shower and then lower ourselves into the scalding water.

Over the next hour our company consists, at any one time, of between eight to twelve elderly Japanese men. There is one middle aged man but, for the most part, they look to be well into their seventies or beyond. The men move slowly; their movements look well practiced, the motions of a daily ritual. I wonder about what tumultuous times and social transitions these men have experienced. Many, although not all, must have lived through the war.

I exchange nods of acknowledgment and even grins with some of the men. Most, though, carry an air of studied indifference. A number seem particularly concerned that we have not properly washed before bathing and approach us periodically to offer soap and shampoo.

Leaving the baths, I pause to study the carved wooden panels which line the walls of the male changing room. They are impressively intricate and show signs of great craftsmanship. It is only after studying them for several minutes that I realise they depict, with some veneration, the Japanese invasion of Manchuria.

* * *

I have left Chris and Eoghan in Kyoto and made my way by Shinkansen (bullet train) back to Tokyo. I’m staying in a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn, near the University of Tokyo’s main Hongo campus. The inn is a grand timber building in the pre-Meiji style. My room, once the rice-paper shutters are drawn back, looks out onto a small garden with its cascading waterfall and pond and pedestal stone lanterns. The building, though, is an exception even in this low-rise Tokyo street – it is one of only two distinctly Japanese buildings that I pass. Of course, this redevelopment is not completely the result of choice. Many of the city’s buildings were destroyed in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. Much of what survived, as well as what was rebuilt, suffered a similar fate when the allied forces relentlessly firebombed Tokyo in 1945.

* * *

I know Julia from Harvard where we both studied at the same time. She is the child of American and Australian parents but was born and grew up in Japan. Julia has just returned to Tokyo to begin a job as an investment banker and we have arranged to meet for dinner on my last night in Tokyo.

Over dinner, I ask Julia about growing up as a foreigner in Japan. “It was the 80s and there still weren’t many foreigners here.” Despite speaking the language from birth and easily making friends with her Japanese classmates (she went to a local school), not all of her friends’ parents were entirely accepting. She recalls on one occasion a classmate reporting her parent’s (the classmate’s, that is) disparaging, even offensive, remarks. Nonetheless, “Tokyo is home” for Julia.

But despite identifying Japan as her home and spending her childhood here, Julia can not, although she does not necessarily want to, acquire Japanese citizenship. This is a privilege still restricted almost entirely to individuals with Japanese ancestry, individuals with Japanese spouses, and Brazilian footballers (a number have been granted citizenship and gone on to compete for the Japanese national team). Nevertheless, the number of foreigners living in Japan has increased substantially in the last two decades. Over 350 thousand foreigners now reside in Tokyo alone.

After dinner we go for a drink in the observation deck of the Mori Building in Roppongi Hills. The bar is new and exaggeratedly modern; two giant video screens cover the walls. From our table, which hangs suspended from the ceiling, we can see out across the bright lights of Tokyo, lights which extend beyond the horizon and our view.

Julia tells me she’s looking for an apartment. Currently, she commutes from an outlying suburb each day, a long and tiring trip. She has, in fact, just looked today, before meeting me, at a small apartment nearby. Importantly, it allows pets – Julia wants to adopt two kittens. Perhaps more importantly, though, it allows foreigners. Some buildings, she tells me, only allow Japanese residents. Cultural prejudice against non-ethnic Japanese, while perhaps less prevalent than the 80s, is not entirely dead.

* * *

On my last day in Japan, I meet Yoshi again for lunch. He takes me to a restaurant popular with students and faculty near the University of Tokyo’s Hongo campus. The restaurant dates, he tells me, to the Meiji era, although the building itself cannot have been last renovated more than a few years ago.

The Hongo campus is located on the former estate of the Maeda family, feudal lords during the Edo period which drew to a close with the fall of the Shogunate in 1868. The Akamon, or Red Gate, stands testament to the architectural majesty of that era. Most buildings however, post-date the Meiji restoration and, for a large part, are in a state of disrepair, as are the campus’s gardens.

Yoshi takes me on a tour of the law faculty. We venture into the depths of the law library where shelf after shelf of case notes and commentaries from state and federal courts around the world greet us. “Soon all of these will be gone, replaced by digitised versions,” Yoshi observes. The idea saddens me. Libraries – university libraries in particular – have always captivated me, their ancient tomes a living testament to our endless pursuit of knowledge. There’s something about holding a book – holding a living document – in your hands which will never be captured by a CD and computer. Yoshi nods agreement, sighs, and explains the great cost involved in operating a university library. Universities in Japan are already feeling the effect of budgetary pressures – the state of the grounds and older buildings are evidence of this. Moreover, the land on which the university, or even just the library, sits is a prized commodity. In the middle of Tokyo, where land has long been at a premium, this small sanctum of learning would fetch a large sum if ever sold by the government. “Nothing, it seems, can stand in the way of privatisation,” Yoshi says ruefully.

And yet, elsewhere in Japan, the past and the institutions which house it have not been sacrificed in the name of modernisation. In Kyoto, the great temples and shrines of Imperial Japan remain, rightfully, preserved. And in the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, as well as less likely locations such as at least one Kyoto bathhouse, reminders of a darker past remain. Cultures and institutions change and adapt with time and exposure to foreign influences, while some traditions and attitudes are more robust. Japan’s cities, its arts, its architecture, its cuisine are all evidence of these competing forces. Not all change, though, or lack thereof, is inevitable, inextricably tied to the passage of time. That the war criminals enshrined in Yasukuni retain respect or that glorified depictions of the Manchurian invasion remain on display in a Kyoto bathhouse are as much the result of conscious choices as the preservation and celebration of pre-Meiji architecture in the historical World Heritage sites of Kyoto.

Japan has an amazing cultural heritage. A common complaint against globalisation is that it undermines and destroys traditional culture and institutions. Yet, in Japan, a country particularly integrated into the world economy and marked by its economic and technological development, I have found the most striking aspect of contemporary society to be the continuing embrace and prominence of the past. And the baseball pep rally, although that was as much just odd as striking.