One disturbing feature of Japanese society is the under-representation of women in the workplace. Although Japan has become a modern nation, the old social norm which stresses women should learn to self-cultivate the Confucian ideal of ryosai kenbo (good wife, wise mother) still has some validity.
Attitudes of male chauvinism still exist in some companies. Women employees are generally referred to as "office flowers" because of the emphasis many employers place on their physical appearance. As opposed to those duties designated for their male counterparts, "female" duties include copying, mailing, answering the phone, and serving tea.
The educated career woman does exist in Japan, but in lesser numbers than in other industrialized nations. There are some women executives in small businesses, but they are almost invisible in big corporations.
Pressured by the United Nations to eliminate all forms of discrimination against women, Japan passed the Equal Employment Opportunity Law in 1985. Japanese women have made some gains in the workplace ever since, however, they still lag far behind men in terms of job retention and career advancement.
Mariko, an acquaintance in her early forties, joined a big financial corporation in 1992, after graduating from a national university with a master's degree in labor relations. She hoped the law would fully protect her from inequity, but she was very disappointed. Like many other Japanese women, her promising career ended in 1999, when she got married and had a child. She was passed over for promotion after she started leaving work before 5 p.m. to take care of her son. Then, she was pushed into a dead-end clerical job. She got frustrated and finally quit.
"Japanese customs make it almost impossible for women to have both a family and a career," said Mariko, "Most Japanese still believe the priority for married women should be the home and family. Even though I was working full time, my husband and mother-in-law expected me to do all the housework." Indeed, this traditional mindset results in an M-curve of women participation in the Japanese workforce. Most Japanese women experience their peak participation in the workforce as full-time workers before marriage and then as part-timers after their children enter junior high school. In effect, this phenomenon prevents women from attaining equal opportunity in the workplace.
Acknowledging that there are differences between women and men, they do not determine the superiority of one group over the other. However, these differences have been, in most societies, not just in Japan, excuses for placing women in an inferior position. It would seem that a woman's biological capacity to give birth has relegated her, until fairly recently, almost exclusively to the home. Only when gender equality becomes a goal in the minds of the majority of Japanese citizens will gender discrimination more swiftly meet its demise. Without a new perspective on old social norms, the Equal Employment Opportunity Law will remain powerless against ingrained stereotypes.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: July 9, 2010 (published in Japan Times ST)
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Time for mass immigration
As an author and illustrator of juvenile literature, I often visit schools to read my books to children. I am always amazed at the small number of students at Japanese schools. One elementary school I visited recently was built to accommodate 400 students, but there were only 10 children enrolled.
Japan is facing a crisis. The fertility rate is now less than two children per woman. At the same time, low fertility is accelerating the aging of the Japanese population. According to the National Institute of Population and Social Security Research, people aged 65 or older accounted for 22.7 percent as of October 2009, while those aged up to 14 represented only 13.3 percent of the total. If current trends continue, the population is expected to decrease by one-third by 2050, with nearly 50 percent of those being elderly -- an "impossible" situation for maintaining the health and pension systems.
Concern over these trends has sparked intense debate over the best policy to reverse them or mitigate their impact. So far, the policy debate has predominantly focused on encouraging more childbearing, especially among younger couples. But, many young men are increasingly reluctant to marry for financial reasons; women are choosing to stay single, or marry later and have fewer children. Isn't this policy unrealistic? Furthermore, the situation is perhaps more urgent than one that can be fixed by encouraging people to have more babies. It is already too late to try to increase fertility levels to offset the burden on the working population.
The United Nations estimates that Japan would need to admit 647,000 immigrants annually for the next 50 years in order to maintain an effective working population size, or face an annual drop in gross domestic product (GDP) of 7 percent. The Japanese government, however, severely restricts permanent immigration in all its forms. Japanese people are intensely zealous for keeping their supposedly "homogeneous" ethnic culture and deeply suspicious of the changes it would undergo in the event of mass immigration.
After my lecture on "The Importance of Promoting Multiculturalism in Japan" to a group of Japanese government officials the other day, a middle-aged woman stood up and argued: "We Japanese have always been proud of our nation as a mono-ethnic and mono-cultural society. Somehow, Japan becoming a multiethnic or multicultural society is wrong." This is not an uncommon view. Indeed, the majority of Japanese would likely agree that their society is defined by a unique Japanese identity, one based on a deep-rooted ethnicity.
To respond positively to the major demographic transition and maintain its vitality in the 21st century, Japan cannot avoid the task of creating an environment that offers equal opportunities for people of various ethnic groups. In brief, this means coming up as soon as possible with an effective immigration policy that will accept foreigners as potential Japanese citizens. Achieving greater cultural diversity within Japan has the power of broadening the scope of the nation's intellectual creativity and enhancing its social vitality and global competitiveness.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: June 4, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Japan is facing a crisis. The fertility rate is now less than two children per woman. At the same time, low fertility is accelerating the aging of the Japanese population. According to the National Institute of Population and Social Security Research, people aged 65 or older accounted for 22.7 percent as of October 2009, while those aged up to 14 represented only 13.3 percent of the total. If current trends continue, the population is expected to decrease by one-third by 2050, with nearly 50 percent of those being elderly -- an "impossible" situation for maintaining the health and pension systems.
Concern over these trends has sparked intense debate over the best policy to reverse them or mitigate their impact. So far, the policy debate has predominantly focused on encouraging more childbearing, especially among younger couples. But, many young men are increasingly reluctant to marry for financial reasons; women are choosing to stay single, or marry later and have fewer children. Isn't this policy unrealistic? Furthermore, the situation is perhaps more urgent than one that can be fixed by encouraging people to have more babies. It is already too late to try to increase fertility levels to offset the burden on the working population.
The United Nations estimates that Japan would need to admit 647,000 immigrants annually for the next 50 years in order to maintain an effective working population size, or face an annual drop in gross domestic product (GDP) of 7 percent. The Japanese government, however, severely restricts permanent immigration in all its forms. Japanese people are intensely zealous for keeping their supposedly "homogeneous" ethnic culture and deeply suspicious of the changes it would undergo in the event of mass immigration.
After my lecture on "The Importance of Promoting Multiculturalism in Japan" to a group of Japanese government officials the other day, a middle-aged woman stood up and argued: "We Japanese have always been proud of our nation as a mono-ethnic and mono-cultural society. Somehow, Japan becoming a multiethnic or multicultural society is wrong." This is not an uncommon view. Indeed, the majority of Japanese would likely agree that their society is defined by a unique Japanese identity, one based on a deep-rooted ethnicity.
To respond positively to the major demographic transition and maintain its vitality in the 21st century, Japan cannot avoid the task of creating an environment that offers equal opportunities for people of various ethnic groups. In brief, this means coming up as soon as possible with an effective immigration policy that will accept foreigners as potential Japanese citizens. Achieving greater cultural diversity within Japan has the power of broadening the scope of the nation's intellectual creativity and enhancing its social vitality and global competitiveness.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: June 4, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Emancipation for young adults
April is a month of colorful flowers and green shoots. It symbolizes rebirth and boosts new signs of life. My spirit is usually warm and serene during this month. I feel especially this way when I see a kimono-clad mother and her 6-year-old child walk to an elementary entrance ceremony, as beautiful cherry blossom petals fall on their shoulders. I feel hopeless, though, when I hear many Japanese parents overprotect their college-aged children.
A few days ago an octogenarian acquaintance, Watanabe-san, told me a story about parents and their sons who were on their way to the matriculation ceremony of a university in Fukuoka. In essence, he described the scene as follows:
It suddenly began to rain. A father quickly took off his water-resistant windbreaker and put it on his son. With a trendy camcorder in hand, he trotted beside him, all the while getting soaked by the rain. The son — a very tall young man — walked on with perfect composure. Also, there was a mother and son. The mother, wearing an expensive dress and carrying a large parcel, was desperately hurrying in the rain to keep up with her son. The latter — a stout young man — was walking with big strides, holding over his head a lady's umbrella (surely his mother's).
Watanabe-san concluded the story by saying he did not feel there was the slightest bit of affection between these parents and their children. Then he continued, "The most conspicuous trends in Japan since World War II are: littering at scenic spots and the spoiling of children." I quite agreed with him and nodded in reply. Both the trash left by hanami revelers at beautiful cherry-blossom viewing spots and the scene in his story, describing parents and their sons en route to a matriculation ceremony share a common root. The first indicates the selfish ego of people who enjoy themselves without considering others, as if to say, "After us, the deluge." The second indicates the selfish ego of parents who stifle their children's independence, inspiring only vicarious hope.
Children must be precious to their parents. I myself have three beautiful children that I cherish. I understand how proud Japanese parents must feel when they are about to attend their offspring's matriculation ceremony. But the more pride these parents feel in their children, the more respect they should have for their emancipation. From the time children enter a university, they must be given the opportunity to acquire the discipline and culture necessary to emerge as full-fledged adults. What matters most in this process of development is the emotional transition from dependence on one's parents' affection to a condition of standing on one's own. Parental love should, even if indirectly, help children develop their spirit of independence.
In Kita-kitsune Monogatari (The Glacier Fox) — a great documentary film about the life of red foxes in Hokkaido — the most touching scene is the departure of a young fox from its parents. After raising them carefully, even foxes do their utmost to make their youngsters independent. I think we human beings need to reconsider our roles as parents.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: April 23, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
A few days ago an octogenarian acquaintance, Watanabe-san, told me a story about parents and their sons who were on their way to the matriculation ceremony of a university in Fukuoka. In essence, he described the scene as follows:
It suddenly began to rain. A father quickly took off his water-resistant windbreaker and put it on his son. With a trendy camcorder in hand, he trotted beside him, all the while getting soaked by the rain. The son — a very tall young man — walked on with perfect composure. Also, there was a mother and son. The mother, wearing an expensive dress and carrying a large parcel, was desperately hurrying in the rain to keep up with her son. The latter — a stout young man — was walking with big strides, holding over his head a lady's umbrella (surely his mother's).
Watanabe-san concluded the story by saying he did not feel there was the slightest bit of affection between these parents and their children. Then he continued, "The most conspicuous trends in Japan since World War II are: littering at scenic spots and the spoiling of children." I quite agreed with him and nodded in reply. Both the trash left by hanami revelers at beautiful cherry-blossom viewing spots and the scene in his story, describing parents and their sons en route to a matriculation ceremony share a common root. The first indicates the selfish ego of people who enjoy themselves without considering others, as if to say, "After us, the deluge." The second indicates the selfish ego of parents who stifle their children's independence, inspiring only vicarious hope.
Children must be precious to their parents. I myself have three beautiful children that I cherish. I understand how proud Japanese parents must feel when they are about to attend their offspring's matriculation ceremony. But the more pride these parents feel in their children, the more respect they should have for their emancipation. From the time children enter a university, they must be given the opportunity to acquire the discipline and culture necessary to emerge as full-fledged adults. What matters most in this process of development is the emotional transition from dependence on one's parents' affection to a condition of standing on one's own. Parental love should, even if indirectly, help children develop their spirit of independence.
In Kita-kitsune Monogatari (The Glacier Fox) — a great documentary film about the life of red foxes in Hokkaido — the most touching scene is the departure of a young fox from its parents. After raising them carefully, even foxes do their utmost to make their youngsters independent. I think we human beings need to reconsider our roles as parents.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: April 23, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The original purpose of education
The Japanese education system is seen by many critics as fostering rote learning over creativity and critical thinking. Preparing for entrance exams is the main purpose of schooling in Japan, and that is simply a matter of technique. Students develop successful methods to retain required knowledge and regurgitate it during the test. There's almost no room for understanding and personal intellectual development.
"Can anyone explain Newton's third law?" I asked as I walked towards a group of high school students gathered for a math and science event in Fukuoka recently.
"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction," they instantly answered in chorus. But unfortunately, none of them was able to explain this basic physics law because they didn't understand it.
"There is a big difference between reciting words and really understanding what they mean," I said. I then illustrated the principle with the following example: "Suppose you push against a wall while wearing roller skates, you will move backwards as a result of the force of your push. Whenever one body exerts force upon a second body, the second body exerts an equal and opposite force upon the first body."
I later asked a group of 10 junior high school students to multiply two numbers together. They all got the correct answer. But when I asked them with a multiple-choice question to most closely approximate the product of 4.05 x 6.2 — an exercise that tested their basic understanding rather than their grasp of the multiplication tables — only two students chose 25 (the correct answer); many guessed 2.5.
Principles of science and math need to be explained to students and learning by rote should be avoided. Even Albert Einstein, the renowned physicist who unlocked mysteries of the universe, detested rote learning. Japanese teachers and students should know that Einstein was not good at cramming for exams. At age 15, he was expelled from school for undistinguished performance. Later, at Zurich Polytechnic, he flunked a course in physics, scoring the lowest grade possible. He graduated, but near the bottom of his class. The reason for this mediocrity was that his teachers rewarded regurgitation, but Einstein's strength was imagination.
"Imagination is more important than knowledge," Einstein once said. "For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution." At an early age, Einstein visualized himself riding on a sunbeam to the end of the universe and again returning back to the sun. That's how he conceived his famous theory of relativity.
The original purpose of education does not lie in seeing how much knowledge one can accumulate, nor is it to achieve an impressive academic career. One may realize great scholarly achievements if he or she lacks imagination and problem-solving skills. But one eventually will be deluded by waves of daily challenges, swept away and finally drowned in the sea of life. What matters, after all, is establishing firm footing on the ground of one's own humanity.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: March 19, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
"Can anyone explain Newton's third law?" I asked as I walked towards a group of high school students gathered for a math and science event in Fukuoka recently.
"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction," they instantly answered in chorus. But unfortunately, none of them was able to explain this basic physics law because they didn't understand it.
"There is a big difference between reciting words and really understanding what they mean," I said. I then illustrated the principle with the following example: "Suppose you push against a wall while wearing roller skates, you will move backwards as a result of the force of your push. Whenever one body exerts force upon a second body, the second body exerts an equal and opposite force upon the first body."
I later asked a group of 10 junior high school students to multiply two numbers together. They all got the correct answer. But when I asked them with a multiple-choice question to most closely approximate the product of 4.05 x 6.2 — an exercise that tested their basic understanding rather than their grasp of the multiplication tables — only two students chose 25 (the correct answer); many guessed 2.5.
Principles of science and math need to be explained to students and learning by rote should be avoided. Even Albert Einstein, the renowned physicist who unlocked mysteries of the universe, detested rote learning. Japanese teachers and students should know that Einstein was not good at cramming for exams. At age 15, he was expelled from school for undistinguished performance. Later, at Zurich Polytechnic, he flunked a course in physics, scoring the lowest grade possible. He graduated, but near the bottom of his class. The reason for this mediocrity was that his teachers rewarded regurgitation, but Einstein's strength was imagination.
"Imagination is more important than knowledge," Einstein once said. "For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution." At an early age, Einstein visualized himself riding on a sunbeam to the end of the universe and again returning back to the sun. That's how he conceived his famous theory of relativity.
The original purpose of education does not lie in seeing how much knowledge one can accumulate, nor is it to achieve an impressive academic career. One may realize great scholarly achievements if he or she lacks imagination and problem-solving skills. But one eventually will be deluded by waves of daily challenges, swept away and finally drowned in the sea of life. What matters, after all, is establishing firm footing on the ground of one's own humanity.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: March 19, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Humor and laughter
Since ancient times, humor and laughter have helped calm people's minds, smoothing human relations all over the world. Humor lightens our burdens, inspires hope, connects us to others and keeps us alert. Nothing works faster or can more dependably bring the human spirit and body back into balance than a good laugh. There is a great deal of meaning inherent in long-established adages such as: "humor is mankind's greatest blessing"; "humor brings insight and tolerance"; "what soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul"; "laughter is the best medicine" and "good fortune comes to the door of people who laugh."
In famous playwright and actor Moliere's (1622-1673) satirical French comedies of the 17th century, such as Tartuffe or the Hypocrite, The Miser, The Imaginary Invalid, and The Bourgeois Gentleman, there's a healthy sense of humor that has long entertained ordinary citizens in western countries. In Japan as well, short satirical Japanese poetry from the early modern period (senryu) and comic stories (rakugo) have had the same effect.
It would be shallow to say that this type of entertainment was something that only diverted commoners' attention from the problems of their societies like poverty, social injustice, class distinction and oppression. In a much deeper sense, ordinary citizens must have felt laughter was necessary to triumph over hardship and head toward a bright future.
Regrettably, humor is sometimes jeering and despicable, disclosing vicious and inhumane aspects of life. But the essence of laughter does not exist in such humor. I sense something "sick" in Japanese comic dialogs (manzai) of late. From what I have seen and heard about these shows, I have concluded that recent manzai contain unhealthy and harmful humor.
For example, many comedians make jokes at the expense of senior citizens, the underprivileged and other disadvantaged groups. They tease and ridicule people who are weak. This verbal harassment is often directed at a person's physical appearance, ethnic origin or occupation. Therefore, the term "sadistic comedy" can be appropriately used to describe manzai. These sadistic manzai are a far cry from the time-honored healthy satirical spirit that invites spontaneous laughter. They seem to be devoid of feeling and so repugnant that they have no value. This type of comedy is really about denial and destructiveness.
What worries me most — in addition to this negative tendency — is the almost total lack of humor regarding satire of Japan's hierarchy, politicians and bureaucrats. Personally, I am afraid this tendency reflects political indifference and a sense of helplessness prevalent among Japanese.
Unhealthy and harmful humor has become both a symptom and a cause of a malaise of triviality and foolishness currently troubling Japanese society. Unfortunately, the majority of Japanese viewers accept this, as if to say, "If it's on TV, it must be OK!"
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: February 12, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
In famous playwright and actor Moliere's (1622-1673) satirical French comedies of the 17th century, such as Tartuffe or the Hypocrite, The Miser, The Imaginary Invalid, and The Bourgeois Gentleman, there's a healthy sense of humor that has long entertained ordinary citizens in western countries. In Japan as well, short satirical Japanese poetry from the early modern period (senryu) and comic stories (rakugo) have had the same effect.
It would be shallow to say that this type of entertainment was something that only diverted commoners' attention from the problems of their societies like poverty, social injustice, class distinction and oppression. In a much deeper sense, ordinary citizens must have felt laughter was necessary to triumph over hardship and head toward a bright future.
Regrettably, humor is sometimes jeering and despicable, disclosing vicious and inhumane aspects of life. But the essence of laughter does not exist in such humor. I sense something "sick" in Japanese comic dialogs (manzai) of late. From what I have seen and heard about these shows, I have concluded that recent manzai contain unhealthy and harmful humor.
For example, many comedians make jokes at the expense of senior citizens, the underprivileged and other disadvantaged groups. They tease and ridicule people who are weak. This verbal harassment is often directed at a person's physical appearance, ethnic origin or occupation. Therefore, the term "sadistic comedy" can be appropriately used to describe manzai. These sadistic manzai are a far cry from the time-honored healthy satirical spirit that invites spontaneous laughter. They seem to be devoid of feeling and so repugnant that they have no value. This type of comedy is really about denial and destructiveness.
What worries me most — in addition to this negative tendency — is the almost total lack of humor regarding satire of Japan's hierarchy, politicians and bureaucrats. Personally, I am afraid this tendency reflects political indifference and a sense of helplessness prevalent among Japanese.
Unhealthy and harmful humor has become both a symptom and a cause of a malaise of triviality and foolishness currently troubling Japanese society. Unfortunately, the majority of Japanese viewers accept this, as if to say, "If it's on TV, it must be OK!"
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: February 12, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Time is precious
As English essayist Charles Lamb (1775-1834) said, "New Year's Day is every man's birthday." January 1st certainly witnesses one of the world's biggest annual celebrations. It is the beginning of a new year, so our eyes are filled with new dreams and our hearts are replete with expectations. Many of us use the opportunity to make New Year's resolutions.
The New Year makes me think about time, which seems to pass more swiftly each year. From an objective viewpoint, time has neither color nor form, and neither quality nor substance. Yet, with strictness, it penetrates and governs life, society and the universe as a relentless force.
While meditating upon the passage of time, I am reminded of an insightful story my late grandfather once told me:
A wealthy man was near death. He had all the material possessions he wanted: a mansion, a private jet, pleasure boats and fancy cars. Yet his last words were, "I will offer all my possessions for a moment of time." Just before he passed away, the wealthy man realized he had always spent his time on foolhardy activities, not on his children's spiritual upbringing — and that was the most precious thing in the world. He undoubtedly wished he could live a little longer to provide his children with some words of wisdom, and undo the wrongful deeds of his past. Unfortunately, all his expensive possessions could not buy time.
Foolhardiness is the vandal of time. But if we can spot this vandal, we may be able to do whatever is necessary to prevent his acts. The crucial question becomes: "How do we stop the vandal of time?"
Before committing our time to any activity, we should ask ourselves the following question: "What will be the fruit of this activity?" If there may be negative consequences, we should not commit our time to such an endeavor. We should instead invest time in things that will make a difference in our families and communities.
When I examine my own life over the past ten years, I am sometimes frustrated that I hadn't greater results. But when I ask myself what will be important in another ten years, the first thing that comes to my mind is the spiritual backbone of my children.
In a decade, I may not speak to a dome full of people, write a best-selling book, or do anything that can be perceived as a mark of success. However, if my children become adults that show concern for the rights and feelings of others, I will be blessed.
Today my three children — aged 14, 12 and ten — are still young and have tender hearts filled with love, compassion and respect for life. To help them develop these essential human values and bloom into considerate grown-ups, I need to devote time to their spiritual upbringings. Since this doesn't always happen naturally, I must discipline myself to spend time thoughtfully and intentionally, remembering that someday I will have to feel sorrow for every moment wasted on foolhardy activities.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: January 1, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
The New Year makes me think about time, which seems to pass more swiftly each year. From an objective viewpoint, time has neither color nor form, and neither quality nor substance. Yet, with strictness, it penetrates and governs life, society and the universe as a relentless force.
While meditating upon the passage of time, I am reminded of an insightful story my late grandfather once told me:
A wealthy man was near death. He had all the material possessions he wanted: a mansion, a private jet, pleasure boats and fancy cars. Yet his last words were, "I will offer all my possessions for a moment of time." Just before he passed away, the wealthy man realized he had always spent his time on foolhardy activities, not on his children's spiritual upbringing — and that was the most precious thing in the world. He undoubtedly wished he could live a little longer to provide his children with some words of wisdom, and undo the wrongful deeds of his past. Unfortunately, all his expensive possessions could not buy time.
Foolhardiness is the vandal of time. But if we can spot this vandal, we may be able to do whatever is necessary to prevent his acts. The crucial question becomes: "How do we stop the vandal of time?"
Before committing our time to any activity, we should ask ourselves the following question: "What will be the fruit of this activity?" If there may be negative consequences, we should not commit our time to such an endeavor. We should instead invest time in things that will make a difference in our families and communities.
When I examine my own life over the past ten years, I am sometimes frustrated that I hadn't greater results. But when I ask myself what will be important in another ten years, the first thing that comes to my mind is the spiritual backbone of my children.
In a decade, I may not speak to a dome full of people, write a best-selling book, or do anything that can be perceived as a mark of success. However, if my children become adults that show concern for the rights and feelings of others, I will be blessed.
Today my three children — aged 14, 12 and ten — are still young and have tender hearts filled with love, compassion and respect for life. To help them develop these essential human values and bloom into considerate grown-ups, I need to devote time to their spiritual upbringings. Since this doesn't always happen naturally, I must discipline myself to spend time thoughtfully and intentionally, remembering that someday I will have to feel sorrow for every moment wasted on foolhardy activities.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: January 1, 2010 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Friday, November 27, 2009
Empathy: The answer to social ills
Lately, Japan has been dominated by serious socio-economic problems. Unemployment, poverty, homelessness, discrimination, divorce and murder-suicide — all these heartrending issues are in our communities, or at least in our newspapers and on our television screens — threaten us every day. It seems that in spite of wealth, affluence and education, something is wrong.
Thousands of people are crying right now. Many are saying, "The bottom has dropped out of my world." For my friend Saburo, a 55-year-old man who was laid off from a construction firm two years ago, finding another full-time job is impossible. Despite holding several temporary jobs, he still can't afford a place to live and he suddenly became homeless. For my acquaintance Yuka, a single mother in her 30s, putting food on the table for her three school-aged children and paying her monthly bills seems a marathon task. She has to work long hours at a low-paying job to make ends meet.
What makes things all the more tragic is deafening silence of public indifference around social problems. I sense a sharp lack of compassion for the needy. This is because the focus in contemporary Japan has generally been on personal success and self-gratification.
The other day, after my lecture on discrimination prevention to a small group of prefectural government officials in charge of human rights education, we had a hansei-kai, or "self-reflection meeting" at a Japanese restaurant. I thought it was a perfect opportunity for all of us to ponder current issues, but to my great disappointment the focus was just on feasting. I was trying to have a word or two with a middle-aged man about the impact of Prime Minister Hatoyama's government on Japanese society when he said, "Don't talk about that. It makes me think, and I hate thinking about society." He then continued, "If you foreigners want to get along in Japan, you'd better stop talking about hard issues and get drunk. We Japanese don't like such topics. Let's just enjoy delicious sashimi and sake." I was stunned by his selfish words, but all his colleagues apparently agreed with him. "Joel-san!" exclaimed a middle-aged woman, "don't you like Japanese gastronomy?" The so-called "self-reflection meeting" was simply a "self-indulgence party."
I often meet Japanese civil servants whose jobs require full consideration of social matters, yet most are indifferent to politics and society. With such a "don't rock the boat" (kotonakare shugi) mindset, how can they reach out to vulnerable citizens and promote positive social change?
It's obvious that all of humanity shares the same fate. Greed, selfishness and foolishness are the fundamental causes leading society down a path of destruction. The problems we presently face in Japan are indeed universal, and their solutions seem to have all but escaped interpersonal love and the accumulated wisdom of humans. This world only will change into a more tolerant and sharing culture if individuals allow their profoundly good human nature to arise. It is crucial for each and every one of us — whether adult or child — to use our sensitivity in order to build a society in which empathy replaces indifference.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: NOVEMBER 27, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Thousands of people are crying right now. Many are saying, "The bottom has dropped out of my world." For my friend Saburo, a 55-year-old man who was laid off from a construction firm two years ago, finding another full-time job is impossible. Despite holding several temporary jobs, he still can't afford a place to live and he suddenly became homeless. For my acquaintance Yuka, a single mother in her 30s, putting food on the table for her three school-aged children and paying her monthly bills seems a marathon task. She has to work long hours at a low-paying job to make ends meet.
What makes things all the more tragic is deafening silence of public indifference around social problems. I sense a sharp lack of compassion for the needy. This is because the focus in contemporary Japan has generally been on personal success and self-gratification.
The other day, after my lecture on discrimination prevention to a small group of prefectural government officials in charge of human rights education, we had a hansei-kai, or "self-reflection meeting" at a Japanese restaurant. I thought it was a perfect opportunity for all of us to ponder current issues, but to my great disappointment the focus was just on feasting. I was trying to have a word or two with a middle-aged man about the impact of Prime Minister Hatoyama's government on Japanese society when he said, "Don't talk about that. It makes me think, and I hate thinking about society." He then continued, "If you foreigners want to get along in Japan, you'd better stop talking about hard issues and get drunk. We Japanese don't like such topics. Let's just enjoy delicious sashimi and sake." I was stunned by his selfish words, but all his colleagues apparently agreed with him. "Joel-san!" exclaimed a middle-aged woman, "don't you like Japanese gastronomy?" The so-called "self-reflection meeting" was simply a "self-indulgence party."
I often meet Japanese civil servants whose jobs require full consideration of social matters, yet most are indifferent to politics and society. With such a "don't rock the boat" (kotonakare shugi) mindset, how can they reach out to vulnerable citizens and promote positive social change?
It's obvious that all of humanity shares the same fate. Greed, selfishness and foolishness are the fundamental causes leading society down a path of destruction. The problems we presently face in Japan are indeed universal, and their solutions seem to have all but escaped interpersonal love and the accumulated wisdom of humans. This world only will change into a more tolerant and sharing culture if individuals allow their profoundly good human nature to arise. It is crucial for each and every one of us — whether adult or child — to use our sensitivity in order to build a society in which empathy replaces indifference.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: NOVEMBER 27, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Promoting reading
Fall — with its dazzling foliage in a palette of red, orange, yellow and gold — inspires me to paint colorful pictures, write spirited poems, and curl up with noteworthy books as often as possible. Still further, I regularly travel around the nation during this season to promote the importance of reading good books among children, parents and educators.
As an ice breaker before starting a reading seminar in mid-September this year I asked the participants, all of whom were Japanese schoolteachers, "What's the title of the best book you've read during the past months?" I was subsequently confronted by a sea of blank faces. Finally, a woman broke the silence and asked if magazines counted. I was shocked into the realization that most of them read no books at all. Of those who did read, weekly magazines and comics were their top favorites.
"I get drowsy when I open a book full of printed words, so I just browse through magazines with beautiful images." said a science teacher, a weakness with which even some participants who teach Japanese could unfortunately and ironically identify. Yuko, a middle school Japanese teacher, confessed she had not read any novels in the last five years and would rather spend time watching television.
Last week, while talking about Japanese writers with a former high school English teacher who is presently an education board official, I mentioned that I was rereading "Japan, the Ambiguous, and Myself," the 1994 Nobel Prize acceptance speech and other texts by the internationally acclaimed novelist Kenzaburo Oe.
— "I haven't read a book in ages," he mumbled.
— "Very sad, isn't it?" I sighed.
— "No," he replied, shaking his head emphatically. "I hate reading, especially passages with subtle shades of meaning that are difficult to grasp. Playing pachinko is much more exciting."
I often hear from Japanese teachers that getting students to read meaningful books is increasingly difficult, but how can this be easy in a culture where "dull" activities such as watching television, reading manga, and playing video games or pachinko are the national pastime? Many Japanese adults (including parents and teachers) don't value literature, and it's no wonder Japanese children don't care much about reading good books.
It has long been conventional wisdom that well-read adults transmit their love for reading valuable books to children. Cultivating this love requires all of us to get on board -- parents, teachers, education board officials. We must definitely make daily reading a priority for ourselves and our children because our purely "information-based" society cannot afford a generation of poor readers anymore. Reading good books is so important. Apart from giving us the great opportunity to find out about the world, it also provides us with some food for thought. It increases our hunger for knowledge and our thirst to learn more.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910) once observed: " The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." This quote must remind us of how fundamental it is to produce citizens who not only can read, but do read books which cultivate the mind.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: October 23, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
As an ice breaker before starting a reading seminar in mid-September this year I asked the participants, all of whom were Japanese schoolteachers, "What's the title of the best book you've read during the past months?" I was subsequently confronted by a sea of blank faces. Finally, a woman broke the silence and asked if magazines counted. I was shocked into the realization that most of them read no books at all. Of those who did read, weekly magazines and comics were their top favorites.
"I get drowsy when I open a book full of printed words, so I just browse through magazines with beautiful images." said a science teacher, a weakness with which even some participants who teach Japanese could unfortunately and ironically identify. Yuko, a middle school Japanese teacher, confessed she had not read any novels in the last five years and would rather spend time watching television.
Last week, while talking about Japanese writers with a former high school English teacher who is presently an education board official, I mentioned that I was rereading "Japan, the Ambiguous, and Myself," the 1994 Nobel Prize acceptance speech and other texts by the internationally acclaimed novelist Kenzaburo Oe.
— "I haven't read a book in ages," he mumbled.
— "Very sad, isn't it?" I sighed.
— "No," he replied, shaking his head emphatically. "I hate reading, especially passages with subtle shades of meaning that are difficult to grasp. Playing pachinko is much more exciting."
I often hear from Japanese teachers that getting students to read meaningful books is increasingly difficult, but how can this be easy in a culture where "dull" activities such as watching television, reading manga, and playing video games or pachinko are the national pastime? Many Japanese adults (including parents and teachers) don't value literature, and it's no wonder Japanese children don't care much about reading good books.
It has long been conventional wisdom that well-read adults transmit their love for reading valuable books to children. Cultivating this love requires all of us to get on board -- parents, teachers, education board officials. We must definitely make daily reading a priority for ourselves and our children because our purely "information-based" society cannot afford a generation of poor readers anymore. Reading good books is so important. Apart from giving us the great opportunity to find out about the world, it also provides us with some food for thought. It increases our hunger for knowledge and our thirst to learn more.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910) once observed: " The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." This quote must remind us of how fundamental it is to produce citizens who not only can read, but do read books which cultivate the mind.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: October 23, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Voters' verdict
Japan's democracy has frequently been described as immature, its citizens as apatheticand uninterested in politics. What does it mean when a considerable number of the Japanese electorate does not vote? I hear various excuses: "The state of politics is awful," "There is no one worth voting for," "Nothing will change no matter which party I vote for," and so on. For the latest Lower House election, however, things were a little different. There was a relatively high voter turnout (69.27 percent), which showed that authentic democracy has taken root.
Many people went to the ballot box this time to register their disagreement with the government's socio-economic policy. The way that message came across so clearly was amazing: the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) was left with 119 seats — the lowest in the party's history. On the other hand, the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won an unprecedented 308 seats in the House of Representatives, and took over the reins of government which were long held by the LDP-New Komeito coalition. Many influential politicians in these parties suffered a humiliating defeat. The ones who somehow managed to retain their seats couldn't even show their contentment. "I have mixed feelings about the good news, because many of my fellow candidates lost. It's not the time to celebrate my victory. For the LDP as a whole, it's a critical moment," Kunio Hatoyama, the LDP candidate of Fukuoka constituency No. 6 said lamentably, when the news of his victory was announced on NHK.
At last individuals have become angry. I think the result mirrors their sense of crisis and their feeling that if things stay as they are, Japan will sink. For the last decade, all that we have seen from Japanese politicians and bureaucrats were nonsense conflicts for socio-political power and an outrageous waste of valuable public assets, which were in sharp contrast to the painstaking struggle for existence by a growing number of ordinary citizens.
LDP and New Komeito politicians — the biggest losers in this election — must accept the voters' verdict and reflect upon their mistakes. When they look carefully at the situation, they are no doubt reminded of those French politicians who, unaware of the simmering rage of the people, indulged themselves in luxuries on the eve of the French Revolution. Comte de Salvandy (1795 - 1856), a French writer of the time, satirically observed, "They're dancing on a volcano." It's obvious that lawmakers who fail to look up to their voters are short-sightedand very likely to fall. I deeply believe the power of ordinary citizens is rooted in Mother Earth herself. Come hell or high water, they have the tenacious ability to survive, just like weeds.
To change the attitude of selfish leaders, ordinary citizens must step up to the challenge. Martin Luther King, Jr. stated, "Leaders only change because they either see the light or feel the heat." Indeed on August 30, Japanese leaders have finally felt the heat from "boiling" voters, and they must now light the torch of humanism to bring about great changes in the socio-economic spectrum.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: SEPTEMBER 18, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
Many people went to the ballot box this time to register their disagreement with the government's socio-economic policy. The way that message came across so clearly was amazing: the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) was left with 119 seats — the lowest in the party's history. On the other hand, the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won an unprecedented 308 seats in the House of Representatives, and took over the reins of government which were long held by the LDP-New Komeito coalition. Many influential politicians in these parties suffered a humiliating defeat. The ones who somehow managed to retain their seats couldn't even show their contentment. "I have mixed feelings about the good news, because many of my fellow candidates lost. It's not the time to celebrate my victory. For the LDP as a whole, it's a critical moment," Kunio Hatoyama, the LDP candidate of Fukuoka constituency No. 6 said lamentably, when the news of his victory was announced on NHK.
At last individuals have become angry. I think the result mirrors their sense of crisis and their feeling that if things stay as they are, Japan will sink. For the last decade, all that we have seen from Japanese politicians and bureaucrats were nonsense conflicts for socio-political power and an outrageous waste of valuable public assets, which were in sharp contrast to the painstaking struggle for existence by a growing number of ordinary citizens.
LDP and New Komeito politicians — the biggest losers in this election — must accept the voters' verdict and reflect upon their mistakes. When they look carefully at the situation, they are no doubt reminded of those French politicians who, unaware of the simmering rage of the people, indulged themselves in luxuries on the eve of the French Revolution. Comte de Salvandy (1795 - 1856), a French writer of the time, satirically observed, "They're dancing on a volcano." It's obvious that lawmakers who fail to look up to their voters are short-sightedand very likely to fall. I deeply believe the power of ordinary citizens is rooted in Mother Earth herself. Come hell or high water, they have the tenacious ability to survive, just like weeds.
To change the attitude of selfish leaders, ordinary citizens must step up to the challenge. Martin Luther King, Jr. stated, "Leaders only change because they either see the light or feel the heat." Indeed on August 30, Japanese leaders have finally felt the heat from "boiling" voters, and they must now light the torch of humanism to bring about great changes in the socio-economic spectrum.
By Joel Assogba Shukan ST: SEPTEMBER 18, 2009 (Published in Japan Times ST)
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