Freelancette

Much has been said about the "Ladies Only" train cars Japan started running in 2001 to deter men from harassing female passengers. The pink-stickered single-sex cars, which are not enforced by law but instead depend on voluntary participation, have been called silly, sensible, sexist and reactionary. Some have wondered if they're just band-aid solution that barely covers Japan's deep-seated issues with sexuality and sexual expression, others have claimed that the cars have actually led to an increase in groping -- the very phenomenon they were supposed to eradicate.

Initially, the cars provoked in me a familiar frustration. They seemed like an elaborate, bureaucratic solution to a simple, personal problem. In other words, they seemed like a typically Japanese idea. If Japanese women are fed up with chikan ("gropers" in Japanese), then they should get over their feelings of shame and embarrassment and sock those pervs in the pucker -- and then report them to the nearest station attendant. That’s what I would do. In fact, when I lived in Japan, I almost wanted some unsuspecting jerk to make a pass at my ass just so that I could expose him and his unnatural tendencies. If I ever caught a suspicious-looking dude leering at me late-night or leaning in a little too close on the morning commute, I’d take a deep breath and fill my lungs with empowering air, preparing to shout the incriminating invective, “chikan!", at top volume, just the way I'd been instructed by my gaijin gal pals. I didn't understand why Japanese women wouldn't--or couldn't--do the same. An accused chikan can face steep fines and career-threatening public humiliation. Isn't calling attention to wayward gropers the best way to stop men from behaving badly? Why corral women into private cars? Better instead to teach them how to deal with their persecutors so that they can claim their own rightful space on the train...and in Japanese society in general.

Of course, there are Japanese women who agree with this perspective. When I asked my friend Myong what she thought about the women-only cars, she responded that she never used them. "I don't need them," she explained. "If a chikan tries to do something to me, I will become angry. I am not afraid of men on the trains. I can take care of myself." Right on, sister!

But while visiting Japan earlier this month, I had a brief and complicated change-of-heart.

I stepped onto my first women-only car by accident. It was the heat of p.m. rush hour on a Tuesday evening in downtown Osaka, and I was taking the busy Midosuji subway line to meet friends for dinner. Not wanting to keep them waiting, I pushed my way into the train as soon as it stopped. I hadn't noticed any pastel stickers or specially-marked platforms, but as the doors slid shut behind me and about fifty other women, I knew without a doubt that I'd boarded the Ladies Only car.

The sea of female faces wasn't the only thing that made the car unusual. Not only did everyone look pretty, but they also smelled delightful. See, I'd learned a rather unpleasant thing about Japanese men during the year I lived there: after a long day of drinking tea and a long night of chugging beer, all while wrapped in the same seasonally-inappropriate business suit like a human maki roll, salarymen don't smell very fresh. And their odor tends to expand like a water droplet, seeking out other man-odors and seeping into them, until, by the end of your ride, you feel like your own clothes and belongings have been soaking in the rank smell of the rank-and-file salarymen.

But everything was coming up roses on the ladies-only car!

Another benefit to being sequestered with my own kind: it was easy to get a seat. Unlike the guys, whose angular elbows and wide-spread legs tend to take up more than their fair share of seat real estate, the ladies were sitting prim and proper, knees in front, purses on the floor. I had no problem squeezing between a schoolgirl snoozing in her pleats and an office lady touching up her lipstick.

It was delightful! No one so much as gave me a second glance, never mind a probing, squirm-inducing stare. Of all the things people were reading, none depicted naked pre-teens or saucer-eyed warrior sluts. I didn't have to worry about hacking old men, yakking young men, or sleazy, slacking middle-agers. The sleeping schoolgirl to my side did dip a little onto my shoulder, but hey, better her than some stankariffic suit. The worst thing my nose had to deal with was an overly enthusiastic application of Estee Lauder Beautiful perfume.

I let my guard down and switched off my "chikan alert." I could totally see why women seeking a little peace and quiet (not to mention, peace of mind) would flock to sit with their sisters. As my fellow females faded into a blur around me, I pulled out a map and lost myself in the intricacies of the Osaka train system.

This was not to last. At the next major station, a large crowd entered the car, and I noticed a shift in atmosphere. No one said anything, no one made any aggressive movements, but it was obvious that something had dispelled the heady estrogen cloud surrounding us. When the train rounded a sharp corner and the skirted bodies swayed apart, I spotted him. I could tell even from ten people away that he was different, or "special," as we like to say in the U.S. He had an abnormally large, egg-shaped head, criss-crossed by greasy strands of graying hair, and there was a "Dora the Explorer" pack strapped securely around his keg-shaped middle. His eyes bulged like those on a mackerel, his lids stretched halfway over them, and they didn't appear to see much of anything -- least of all the lack of a single man among the couple dozen people crammed into the car with him. Any normal man would surely have felt weirded out by this scene, but this guy either didn't notice, didn't care, or (ew) secretly enjoyed it.

While I sat there gawking, the other women in the car actively ignored him. Even the women standing next to him stared ahead with steely resolve, or buried their noses even deeper into their paperbacks. I was surprised that no one so much as gave this guy a dirty--or puzzled, or surprised--look. This was our car, and he was the odd man out (or in, as it were). Why didn't we let him know that? I'm not saying we should have tossed the dude off the moving train, but certainly, we could have made it a little uncomfortable for him to stay there, right? Or even politely clued him in to his mistake?

Finally, the weird little man bobbled out the door. The car breathed a collective sigh of relief, and everyone's posture seemed to subtlely soften. But things had changed. The sanctity of the Ladies Only car had been violated, and, even worse, we ladies hadn't done anything about it.

Later, I brought this up to Myong. It's true that the man didn't actually do anything, but his very presence on the train clearly bothered everyone around him. "Well, you said he looked weird," she suggested. "So maybe the women worried that there was something wrong with him. Maybe if they said something, he would do something." But he did do something: he got on the Ladies Only car! He destroyed the peace! Finally, I got it. They were afraid to make waves.

If Japanese women can't bring themselves to even point at the only man on the a voluntary all-women train cars, how can they be expected to finger a real perp? (Side note: I recently heard that there's been an increase in reports of harassment, and authorities think it may have less to do with the actual number of chikan than with the number of women willing to speak out -- hooray!) The single-sex cars in Japan don't really do much to prevent harassment, as people are still technically free to ride whichever train they please. The cars also do nothing to encourage women to address their problems with men head-on. Instead of teaching women to speak up and get angry, they present the unspoken message, "Well, if it bothers you so much, go sit by yourselves." True, the car may provide women with a haven of sorts, but it's only temporary. From my experience, it was idyllic and soothing and pleasant...until the unwelcome and unwanted hopped aboard. And that's when the concept of Ladies Only cars went right off the rails.

Posted by Corrie at 6:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I just returned from a trip to Japan. During my ten-day stay, I immersed myself in the crowds of Tokyo, sought inner peace at temples and shrines in Kyoto, and ate, drank and shopped like crazy in Osaka. I stayed in a hotel in Tokyo, and at my friend and former roommate Myong’s apartment in Osaka. This was my first time back to Japan since I lived there five years ago (although Myong came to New York in October 2005). Myong hasn’t changed a bit. She's still incredibly independent, iconoclastic, hard-working, hard-partying, and a total blast to hang out with. Myong put together a busy social schedule for me, and we went out for dinner and drinks with friends just about every night. She also invited me to stay at her family’s lovely home in Kyoto, near Kinkakuji. Myong really made my trip special, and I owe her one.

Japan also hasn’t changed much since my days as a Nova teacher. Tokyo is as fast-paced and overwhelming as ever, Osaka people still pride themselves on their cuisine and mock Tokyo people for being fast-paced, rude and …well, for being Tokyo people, and Kyoto is still dealing with the identity crisis of becoming a bustling, modern city that is also Japan’s main link to its traditional past. However, there were some new things that stood out to me.

First of all, I felt like there were more foreigners in Osaka in general (my friend Michelle, who’s lived there for ten years, confirmed this) and more ethnic people in particular. On the streets of Namba and Shinsaibashi, it wasn’t uncommon to spot Western faces, as well as Indian, Middle Eastern, and South American. Also, I felt much less conspicuous as a gaijin. People weren’t totally thrown for a loop when I spoke to them in my pidgin Japanese, and not a single soul asked me if I knew how to use chopsticks, or looked shocked when they realized I could. Sure, there were still a few drunken old men who “ha-ro!”-ed me in the shotengai, but most other people took no notice of me – even the little kids, who used to be so fascinated by my foreign presence in 2002. That felt doubly true in Tokyo, where gaijin (especially gaijin men) have practically created their own subculture.

It was inevitable that Japan would become more international over the past half-decade, and I definitely felt more of an openness to foreign culture, food, and ideas this trip. A couple examples of this: I noticed quite a few Indian restaurants in Osaka –-I only remember one or maybe two from last time-- and Myong and I had dinner at a popular new Brazilian restaurant. Everyone still chugs green tea, but they’re also sipping a lot of coffee, especially at breakfast. Even Myong, who used to never touch the brown stuff when I lived with here, now needs her morning coffee fix. There are way more independent cafes and coffee shops in Osaka and especially Tokyo. And I don't mean Japanese-style kisaten, which have been around for ages. I'm talking about real, Western-style coffee shops where people sip lattes and loiter. In one busy little place in Daikanyama, we saw shelves of books devoted exclusively to the city’s hottest cafes. While Japan still doesn’t quite "get" vegetarianism, they are embracing the organic food movement. Even the ubiquitous Lawson convenience store has gone organic! Finally, almost all of Myong’s friends and family were as curious as ever about how Americans view Japan and Japanese people, and asked me pretty pointed questions -- although interestingly, no one mentioned the war.

I got the sense that Japan was eagerly trying to attract foreign tourists, and there were a lot more signs in romanji than I remember from last time, but honestly, that country is still damn confusing to non-residents. There are “Yokoso Japan!” banners welcoming visitors to all the touristy areas, but many train, bus and city maps and schedules and restaurant signs and menus are still written only in difficult-to-decipher kanji. Even armed with English-language maps, signs and directions, it’s impossible to avoid getting lost. And without cracker-jack language skills (which I tried desperately to hone before my trip), it can be tough to ask directions: I thought that Japanese people might be a little more proficient in English now than when I was there, but that wasn’t really my experience in Osaka or Kyoto. Thankfully, most Japanese people are still wonderfully warm and helpful, and, just like the good old days, are still willing to walk far out of their way to help you find the store/station/street you’re looking for.

Despite opening their arms to foreign visitors, I hear that Japan still turns a cold shoulder to long-term foreign residents. While I was there last week, 300 people from all over the world staged a protest march in Tokyo for foreign worker’s rights. The marchers (including many Nova employees) claimed that non-Japanese earn less, are treated worse and have less job security than Japanese nationals (ain’t that the truth). Another big news story involved a controversy over a bigoted Japanese magazine that sensationalized crimes committed by foreigners, and basically accused foreigners of presenting a threat to public safety (the loud gaijin outcry eventually led to the magazine being pulled from convenience store shelves). Sounds like a lot of people there are resistant to too much change.

Like every other country in the world, Japan has become slightly more defensive and fearful since 2001. Subways, trains and shinkansen cars now have posters asking riders to immediately inform the conductor if they notice any suspicious activity, and the security precautions at Narita were intense. As in the US, liquids aren’t allowed on planes, but in Japan you get tiny, specially-marked plastic baggies in which to place your approved bottles.

Small changes…but then again, it’s only been five years. Perhaps in a decade, Japan will be nearly unrecognizable: everyone will be able to speak fluent English, Portuguese, Korean and Chinese; Nova will have gone bankrupt; the JET program will be obsolete; schools will be full of mixed-race kids; and all the rice will be organically farmed. I suppose it will be worth another visit to find out.

Posted by Corrie at 12:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)