Standing in what could be described as the cleanest subway car I’ve ever been in, I realized two things:
- We were the only ones talking out loud, and that quickly became apparent.
- We towered head and shoulders over the local populous, to the point where we felt awkward about our American size.
As we quieted down to match the ambiance, void of any movement, sound, eyes gazing, or distraction of any kind, I wondered how anyone could subject themselves to any social system that was missing out on the ability to communicate freely and openly with strangers. In America, the chances of someone striking up a conversation in line with you or someone they’re at least accompanying is pretty strong. We walk and talk, walk and eat, walk and sing, walk and read…we are seemingly always on the go, (and loud about it) and for nearly 200 souls to be on the train packed with mere centimeters between them in utter silence, looking down the entire time at either their phone or a book, I was perplexed. “Study halls in the U.S. aren’t even this quiet,” I thought to myself.
My first four days in Japan consisted of a sleep schedule decimated by a timezone 13 hours ahead of east coast time 7,385 miles away, and an overabundance of cultural, economic, philosophical, and geo-political questions that stimulated my every thought from the moment I opened my eyes until the time I closed them. We had the unique opportunity to take up residency with a friend who has lived there for the past 5 and a half years in the Navy, living nearly 40 minutes away from the closest military base in the quaint, [unbelievably] quiet suburb of Seya-ward, Yokohama, Japan. Our temporary neighbors, trying to stay focused on their outdoor tasks and chores, often sneaked a “what in the hell are these giant American men doing in our neighborhood” look — when we would pass by.
Removed partially from the tourism that we would also come to visit, we were able to see a culture in motion up close and personal, not just from the hotel of Tokyo where the perception of the culture can easily be skewed. From the neighborhood perspective, it was clear that apprehension was strong about our presence, and in the first few days, I learned that much of the animosity revolving around the politics involved in World War Two, still existed as an emotional toll on many of the elderly population, a couple of whom would turn away as we passed or said hello. Ironically, they would do quite literally anything to help an American if help was asked of them, but the feelings of American occupation, and the “over” westernization of many of Japan’s biggest cities, left them bitter to our site — something I can honestly say I harbored no hard feelings over as I cannot imagine what many of the elderly population of Japan had to endure towards the end of the war, and the many years that followed.
Despite the sunrise being officially listed as 5 a.m., the sun had entirely lit up the neighborhood by 3:58 a.m. when I woke up believing it had to at least have been 7 a.m. or later. Realizing what time it was and that I had no chance of falling back asleep, I grabbed my headphones and buffered a mix tape of songs off YouTube from the WiFi to go for a run. As I stepped out of the house just before 4:30 a.m. on a bright Monday morning, I was witness to a neighborhood already ahead of me… probably wondering what had taken me so long.
People were walking their dogs, elderly were sweeping the streets, hedging hedges, and planting plants. Birds sang the only tune that was audible, minus the occasional vehicle that would pass by. Everything I witnessed being done throughout my time there, was in some way a benefit to the whole community, not just themselves. An honor system built on trust clearly permeated the society that I pondered quietly on a random Monday morning, and as I observed it I couldn’t help but feel as though my conditioning to the chaos of our American ways was what made it so strange to witness. We are aggressive in traffic, in fast food lines, when we walk, the way we talk, and the way we do business, and to see such a quiet peacefulness in motion with no friction, was truly a moment of awe.
As we made our way through Japan, the way people interacted with us changed based on demographics, but the honor system remained the same. When we flagged a taxi down to take us over an hour to the bamboo forests outside Kyoto, the driver could have very easily made a fortune taking obscure routes and adding significant distance to the trip to get a larger slice of revenue for himself, and we would have paid all the same if he had. Instead, the gentlemen who spoke not a SINGLE word until we arrived at the forest, took us the absolute most efficient route the entire hour and 15-minute drive…we know, because we checked out of curiosity.
Some may critique this small feat as a stubbornly pessimistic view of human-kind — to cherish those who simply do the right thing, but to do it to this degree and all the time, is in my opinion — a unique feature of the people of Japan and a reflection of their character as a nation, rather than only an individual taxi driver.
An existential moment of realization towards my thoughts on the world would come just 4 days before coming back home. Walking 13 miles per day will have you drinking obscene amounts of water, and as I looked around the sprawling subway system platform for any signs of a bathroom, I finally caved and just asked a local waiting for his train. “Bathroom,” I said gesturing, hoping he would understand the universal look on a man’s face that really needed to go. “Ah, bathroom,” the man said in broken English. He pulled out his phone and searched a subway app to locate a bathroom, and without hesitation said “ok come with me”.
Now, where I’m from, we typically just point you in the right direction and wish you well, so I was simply expecting an “it’s that way” and leaving it at that. Instead, the man brought me up not one, not two, not three, but 4 stories, into a private shopping center and around 3 more corners to find the nearest urinal. After he did that, he waited patiently for me to get through the line, utilize the bathroom, wash my hands, and then took me back downstairs to my platform and showed me the way back to my friends. I tried to offer payment, but the man said no, and meant it. Instead, I offered him tea from a nearby kiosk, and he graciously accepted that with more thanks to me than I was able to give him for taking nearly 15 minutes of his time to show me the right way. It was at this point that I realized there’s more than one way to experience the freedom many of us take for granted.
The Japanese view their freedom as a product, an outcome, of everyone doing the right thing always, and constantly working towards the greater good. They believe if they do their part, another person can do their part without interruption and that because of this, voluntarily using their freedom in a way that advances the entirety of their community is a worthy sacrifice of any other form of freedom that they could, at any time, choose to express. This form of freedom comes from an unwavering trust in each other, knowing that even a stranger will hold themselves to an extremely high standard of character allows them to do things that we would deem unimaginable here, like allowing dozens of 2nd graders to skip along the side of a busy road, cross intersections, and make the mile-long trek to and from school together without feeling as though they would be in potential danger….or to be trusted to have their train tickets on them, to the point that train tickets aren’t even checked on the bullet train at all.
In the United States, we have the “untamed horse” version of freedom, it’s what gives us our zest, our pizzaz, and it can be a beautiful thing when we use it intentionally to do good for ourselves and others — but it can also be exhausting and debilitating when used non-functionally. Despite this, from my perspective, our system is no less perfect than any other system involving core freedoms for society. Each system has inherent flaws including the Japanese one, and they have a work-life culture that is often described as abysmal, depressing, and fundamentally suicidal. Even so, I felt myself questioning what it meant to be the world’s number one economy; the peace I experienced in the suburbs and the trust that locals in every part of the country have with one another left me yearning for a similar sense of community back home, and it came at a price that money was unable to purchase, including the mighty American dollar.
What I saw in Japan was the purchasing power of a nation built on trust, one which chooses investments beyond traditional financial markets. I was stunned to learn that when counted in 2018, the number of homeless in a country of 127 million people was less than 5,000 people, a number which dropped 12% by 2020 to less than 4,000 — or effectively 0%. I was forced to pause and evaluate which values make each nation who they are, the values that drive global perception, and domestic culture and traditions. Take Canada for example, their perception revolves around being the world’s friendliest apologists, or the French, who are seen…..as the French.
Our global perception as Americans is pretty overwhelming depending on which nationality you’re asking, but our actual values are less definable even when asking Americans these days. We have traded our sense of community, architecture, culture, and beautification in exchange for corporate cookie-cutter communities which happen to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time, that are not defined by any sense of individuality or uniqueness. These communities do not spur any sense of responsibility or accountability, nor do they ignite the creative spirit or wonderment of the natural world around them. They are void of care and care not of your peace, and were built to process the maximum amount of transactions with the least amount of material deviation. Our values, it seems, were built solely around economic security and dominance, which we can hardly afford either at this point, and if we aren’t going to be the most economically secure nation then I most certainly would prefer our communities leaning into each other and finding peace and trust with one another.
Although this could be misconstrued as a total rebuke of the American way, I actually left Japan with the sense that I owe my community more, that hard work is always a humble endeavor, and that nothing is more important than family. I left Japan with a sense that we can do better in some areas, that we owe it to ourselves to do exactly that, and — that the way to do it is to demand it from ourselves first, not others. The sun feels best after a week of cloudy weather because we appreciate it more, and I believe that our fundamental freedoms will mean more when we stop taking them for granted and earn them the way generations have before us. Though fast food is plentiful in Japan, whole food options are accessible on virtually every corner of every street, and I felt inspired (and without excuse) to take more responsibility for my health. I found that when you’re surrounded by a nation that takes accountability and responsibility for itself, you too want to assimilate and aspire to such accountability. Similarly, I would argue that when surrounded by those in leadership positions from the local level to the federal level who refuse to take responsibility and accountability, many question why they must make such a worthy sacrifice if no one else is.
My time in Japan spurred a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time; the obscure feeling of familiarity when you are observing something new but similar, and reminded me why I enjoy traveling so much. It reminded me that right now, on this planet, there are communities of people just like us going about their day, trying to make an honest living and an honest difference, that we all inhabit the same planet and that our core differences are most usually far less than our many similarities, and that we all have an inherent responsibility to one another even if we never end up meeting to see the results of that responsibility. I often am left wondering what difference it would make if politicians were made to take time to travel and visit other constituencies districts, cities, and towns to gain a broader perspective of our nation, and am thankful that I have had the chance to do so on such a robust scale.
