The "In" Group

The Japanese have two words for foreigner: "gaijin" and "gaikokujin." The former word is a hair slang from what I can gather and is considered to be slightly rude; it literally means "outside person." The other word, "gaikokujin," means "outside country person," and it's perfectly polite. I have been called both.

The important thing to notice about these words is their designation of "outside." The symbol used here is the same one that is used to say, for example, "It's outside, in the yard." So whether by designation polite or inappropriately direct, you are, quite simply, an outsider.

To be honest, this doesn't particularly bother me, as I have no schemes of staying in Japan beyond a few years, but I know a few long-term Japan-dwelling "gaijin" who, being fluent, involved, and culturally well-informed, feel a little bit of frustration at being lumped together with every stray JET, tourist, or world-traveler as simply "outside," simply other. Theirs is a valid objection, I think.

Here's what I've been leading to: If you don't happen to be among the 90 million people in this world who were born "in" with the Japanese world, then prepare to do some adjusting if you come here. You won't be mauled horrifically by your experiences, and I'm sure you will go back home with a truckload of great stories and great memories, but you will need to adjust. So be ready before you come.

Let me list one area in which an adjustment or two will need to happen: The murky sea of personal property. I can't spell out for you exactly what a typical Japanese person thinks about this (or any) subject, but I can tell you, confidently, firmly, beyond doubt, that their and our cultural set varies more than a little. For instance, if someone writes, draws, or doodles something on a chalkboard (especially a "sensei," (?) especially while instructing), to erase their work without permission is strictly rude. I have never, regardless of need, regardless of any pressing reason, in spite of any exigency, seen it happen. (Then again, maybe I need to keep watching.) But on the other hand, every desk in the teachers' room--a cast jungle of desks, scuffling feet, water pots, kerosene heaters, and people (everywhere!)--every desk (including yours, my friend!) belongs not to the teacher whose name appears on the desk, but to the group. I cannot count the number of times I have returned to the teacher's room only to find that "my" desk is part of an endless assembly line of prints, is the pow-wow site for a group of irritated 3rd grade teachers, is the staging ground for a reclamation from wastewrack of three week's worth of old newspapers, or is the resting point (final until who knows when) for all manner of boxes, office materials, and items galore. And the funny thing about it is this: If I am in hurry such that I can't just casually exit the teachers' room and check back in at 10 minute intervals, if I am so busy I have to actually walk to my desk, occupied though it is, I have always gotten the impression that it is I, not whoever or whatever else, that is the inconvenience, the one out of line. That could be a misperception on my part. Or it may truly be how things work. I'm still trying to find out. In the mean time, I will continue to walk around with my hand in my coat pocket, pretending to keep ready with my gun so that everyone knows not to mess around with the "crazy gaijin." And I think I'll drink a little bit of green tea while I'm at it... Ah, that stuff hits the spot.