Outsiders

The other day my kids and I started reading Young Fu of the Upper Yangtze, a Newberry Award winner set in 1920's China.  In the first chapter, the protagonist sees a sedan chair being carried down his street, and he hears someone in the street yell, "Foreign Devil!"  Young Fu, new to the big city of Chungking, has never seen a foreigner and is terribly curious about the people he's heard described only as "aboriginal savages." 

It's interesting to note that even throughout Japan, foreigners were quite the oddity just a century ago.  What's more surprising is how much of a novelty we gaijin can still be, in global-minded 21st-century Japan.  But the fact is, Japan remains one of the least racially-integrated countries in the world.  In other words, if you aren't Japanese, you stand out--in any number of ways.  And if you stand out, you're a gaijin, the word commonly used to mean "foreigner," though "outsider" is actually a more appropriate translation. 

A kind Japanese friend once told us that people should be calling us gaikokujin instead, as this word, so subtly different, carries a more polite connotation.  And why not?  It isn't as if we all lumber around Japan making social gaffes and cultural blunders willy-nilly; in fact, some of us try to be culturally aware to a near-ridiculous degree at times.  In my family, we often wonder if locals are secretly, discreetly (of course!) snickering at us: attempting to slurp our noodles properly, bowing unnecessarily (!) to cashiers, and refraining from overtly scraping the splinters from those throwaway wooden chopsticks (rude--you might make the proprietor of the establishment think you're saying his chopsticks are inferior!).

Thankfully, no matter how much they're laughing or what they're calling us, they still seem oddly intrigued and amused by our Western appearance and ways.  First Child got another dose of this reality on Sunday when she went with a friend and her family to a Hinamatsuri (Girls' Day) Festival in a nearby town.  Onlookers were practically jostling each other to get a glimpse and a photo or ten of the four American girls arranging their pre-made paper dolls in little boats and setting them afloat in the river, taking with them any troubles or bad spirits, according to Japanese tradition.  And oh--when the girls found some cardboard and took it for a sledding joyride down a hill, the TV cameras were there.  First Child reported that they were "movie stars," and believe me, it wasn't the first time.

It's pretty easy to become accustomed to all the innocent curiosity, and hey--it's certainly a far cry from being called "foreign devils."  We can't complain.