Do Americans Romanticize Japanese Culture?

One early spring evening Noriko said “We go to Japanese Cultural Festival” dis Saturday…” This announcement surprised me a bit, since Noriko usually disdains events featuring Japanese culture. Her point of view is that Americans tend to romanticize Japanese culture in a way that distorts their perception of the culture. But I was happy enough to go with her, and so I agreed to her plan. And yet to our surprise, Saturday morning found us lounging by the fire in our livingrooom while snow came down heavily, the last snow of the season. But around 11:30 we dragged our butts out through the snow to downtown Santa Fe, for the cultural festival.

From our car we walked through the slushy accumulation of snow to the community center, and then entered a large room filled with people milling around. There were the usual boothes hawking Japanese pottery, trinkets, dis and dat. Most people were walking around with the obligatory “isn’t this lovely!” look on their faces. In contrast, I immediately went into a walking-coma state, my usual response to such events. I held Noriko’s hand as she snooped around the boothes.

Noriko picked up a piece of pottery, looked at it, and then said, “Hmmm, I prefuh REAL Japanese pottuhry, not local who emulate Japanese….” That was the end of that. I noted to myself that we were off to a dubious start as we were pushed on from behind by the crowd. Then, to our right was a booth with a sign that said “energy healing”. There were several “healing practioners” performing some sort of “energy work” on people – “healing” them by putting their hands near (not on) them and waving them around.

“Dat ain’t Japanese,” muttered Noriko as we looked on. “Dey can put up Japanese sign but we don’t do dat.. Dat more NEW AGE den Japanese!” As Noriko complained, a few observers looked over with mild disapproval, then became disoriented when they realized the comments were coming from a Japanese woman. I deftly shuffled Noriko further down the aisle to avoid any commotion.

“Where food? Where food venduh?” Noriko asked impatiently. For some reason the festival seemed curiously devoid of food vendors. As we searched about the large room I gradually became aware of a voice which spoke from a stage at the front of the room. The young woman speaking into the mic had Japanese features but spoke with an English that suggested she was at least second generation.

“…….and then the people of the village get together, and they perform rituals, spiritual rituals. They will play music, and they dance and sing….”

“Dat bullshit!” commented Noriko. “‘Village?’” Maybe 70 years ago, honey. Ever been to Tokyo? Dat ain’t no village, and we don’t dance and sing in duh street like 1935. Dat guhl don’t know what she talking about!”

“Uh, there is a little sushi place over here, ” I said, steering Noriko from the speaker back to her main concern – food. We walked past kimono fabric, chop sticks, Japanese jewelry, and other such stuff to get to the sushi joint.

The speaker on stage continued to drone on in the background. “It is proper to wait, ” she said, “as long as you have to, until the water becomes the proper temperature….”

“Until the water becomes the proper temperature?” I asked, puzzled as to what she was talking about.

“TEA ceremony….” said Noriko, wrinkling her nose. “Now dat Japanese, but dat bullshit, too. I nevuh do dat as little guhl. I always refuse such silly tradition. I vedy bad guhl!”"

“Uh, honey, it sounds like you have had enough Japanese culture for one day,” I said. We had been at the festival for about 15 minutes. “Maybe so,” said Noriko, as she eyeballed the sushi served in little plastic containers. I saw that she critically noted that the avocado in the California roll looked rather aged. “Hmmm, maybe we don’t eat sushi here…?” she said.

“Okay, you have had enough Japanse culture and you don’t want the sushi, so what’s next?” Noriko’s eyes sparkled for the first time since we had arrived at the festival. “INDIAN food!” she said. “Indian joint right around cornuh from here. We go dere!”

Fifteen minutes later we were sitting at a table at the Indian buffet in the restaurant near the plaza in downtown Santa Fe. Through the window we could watch the wet snow continue to fall. It felt good to be inside and the room smelled wonderful. “Waituh always a bit snotty here,” Noriko said under her breath. “I leave lousy tip if dey do dat….” She eagerly scooped up the Indian dishes with the naan that the server had finally brought to us.

“Honey, maybe next year you should have your own booth at the Japanese festival,” I suggested.

“Huh?”

“Well, we could have a sign that says “Noriko’s Anti-Japanese Culture Cultural Center”. You could stand behind your table and just monologue to the audience, offering your anti-cultural perspective. That would be tremendously valuable for all the Americans who want to blindly worship Japanese culture, don’t you think?

“Maybe so, “Noriko said, without much enthusiasm. “I tink about it.” But rather than think about it, she concentrated her full attention on her Indian food – a cultural experience she was perfectly happy to let in.

“Ah, dis naan vedy good!” : )