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The Asahi Shimbun/International Herald Tribune
Congregation finds solace at the house Nikolai built
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Contributing Writer (6/30/05)
The Byzantine dome and Russian bell tower atop a cathedral on a hill in the Surugadai neighborhood of Tokyo's Chiyoda Ward may appear out of place. The pealing of church bells echoing off nearby skyscrapers may seem an anachronism. But this is Nikolai-do--the house St. Nikolai built. And it has been home to a unique Japanese community for more than a century.
Perhaps unknown to the curious who file into the cathedral for daily guided tours and the artists that set up easels nearby by to capture its nearly 115-year-old architecture on canvas, it is the spiritual center of the Harisutosu (Christian) Orthodox Church of Japan. It draws Japanese and others from around the world.
"Culturally, the core of this community is Orthodox (Christian) with a Japanese flavor," says the Rev. John Takahashi, 57, one of the cathedral's three priests. About two-thirds of the 2,500 registered members in the Tokyo metropolitan area are Japanese. "Then there are Russians, Serbians, Romanians, Bulgarians, Americans, Greek Australians and Ethiopians. But they all love the church because it's orthodox," Takahashi says.
Known more for its Greek and Russian members, the Eastern Orthodox Church is actually a family of churches that included Roman Catholics before splitting in 1054 over Vatican claims of papal supremacy and other issues.
With an estimated 220 million members, mostly in Eastern Europe, the Middle East and North Africa, it is the world's second largest Christian denomination after Catholicism. It traces its roots to the time of Christ, allows priests to marry and proselytizes by founding independent sister churches that incorporate their own culture and language.
Russian missionary Nikolai Kasatkin (1836-1912) brought the faith to Japan. After moving to Tokyo in 1872 from Hakodate, Hokkaido, he had the cathedral built in Surugadai in 1891 as the headquarters of Japan's Orthodox Church. Christened Holy Resurrection Cathedral, the designated national landmark is known as Nikolai-do (Nikolai's house), after its founder who was the church's first archbishop and posthumously recognized as a saint.
There are other Orthodox Churches throughout Japan and Nikolai-do serves as the head cathedral and home to the Japanese church's top bishop, Metropolitan Daniel.
Many, like those in Hokkaido, famed for drawing tourists, can trace their origins back to the early work of Kasatkin or his disciples.
Orthodox Christians, as they call themselves, number about 30,000 in Japan today, says Takahashi, who converted at age 9. "I was a precocious and curious neighborhood kid that used to cut through the church yard to go to school."
Takahashi was ordained in 1972 after returning from a seminary in New York. In the years since, he and his wife, Naomi, have seen Nikolai-do grow, attracting younger members. The church offers a variety of classes and services to meet the congregation's needs.
Roughly 80 percent of the Japanese at Nikolai-do joined via what Takahashi calls "a spiritual inheritance" passed down in their families for generations. Since adherents are assigned a patron saint for which they are named, members often use non-Japanese given names. Despite such foreign elements, many see the faith as indigenous.
Roughly 80 percent of the Japanese at Nikolai-do joined via what Takahashi calls "a spiritual inheritance" passed down in their families for generations. Since adherents are assigned a patron saint for which they are named, members often use non-Japanese given names. Despite such foreign elements, many see the faith as indigenous.
That tradition includes a life centered in prayer and Christian ethics as well as fasting periods such as Great Lent and celebrating holidays such as Pascha (Orthodox Easter) and Christmas.
Local custom helps make it Japanese. This includes a special prayer service for children during Shichigosan, the annual Seven-Five-Three celebration when many parents take 3-, 5- and 7-year-old kids to Shinto shrines to pray for their future. Others, such as the Buddhist practice of praying for the souls of loved ones 49 days after death, find a ready replacement in long-standing church tradition that prays for the departed 40 days after death. The Japanese used in the ceremonies at Nikolai-do is so archaic that it's practically incomprehensible for modern Japanese, some members say.
But that does not mean the two traditions always meld seamlessly.
"When I was younger there was some conflict for me between the Orthodox (Christian) way and the traditional Japanese way," Oda admits. "But now orthodoxy is part of my body and soul."
For some, the leap of faith is a practical step. Keiji Suzuki, 34, plans to be baptized Sunday. His fiancée is Russian.
"I'm interested in the church, but the main reason is my fiancée," he says. "I think it's good to have the same religion."
The cross-cultural union echoes Nikolai-do's history. The community has always been a haven for the faithful from afar. After the 1917 Russian Revolution, many who fled to Japan found a home here. For that generation, it provided a vibrant spiritual and cultural center when the Soviet system was repressing religion at home.
"My father came here in the early 1920's before the Great (Kanto) Earthquake," says a veteran church member who asked not to be identified. She heads the community's Russian Sisterhood International club. Over the years, the club has included Greek, American and other nationalities. It hosts social events open to all after Sunday services.
"We try to keep up the tradition our mothers started," she adds.
These days, however, there is a new influx of members. The number of Russians living in Japan more than quadrupled to 2,169 in 1995 after the Soviet Union fell in 1991, according to Justice Ministry data. That figure reached 6,734 by 2003. Churchgoers say they also see many more people from other former Soviet states now. Numbers for specific countries are lumped into the census' "other" European nations category, which more than doubled to 1,924 in 1995, and surged to 9,525 by 2003. Now, a new generation, mostly raised without the church, is finding its pre-Soviet roots at Nikolai-do, members say.
"When I come here I feel protected," says Mariana Watanabe, 36. On a recent Sunday, the Romanian mother beamed as her Japanese husband cradled their 1-month-old son Seraphim after his baptism. She says, "I don't understand the liturgy (Mass) but, still, I feel God."
Others, like a woman identifying herself only as an Eastern European named Doviely, says Nikolai-do gives her both a rare opportunity to speak to others in her native tongue, and share her culture with Japanese members.
"There are so many people coming from all corners of the world and praying together," she says. "That gives me a sense of family."
Restaurant serves food and Tokyo's Ainu community, too
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Staff Writer (08/27/05)
Like many of Hokkaido's indigenous Ainu people who trickled into Tokyo in recent decades, Mina Sakai wondered if her cultural identity would survive the trip to the big city. She was pleasantly surprised. Those who came before her ensured she would never be alone.
Sakai, 22, says she learned more about her Ainu heritage after she took up studies at Obirin University in Tokyo in 2002 than she had in her hometown of Obihiro. She gives credit for her cultural maturation to Rera Cise, a small restaurant she barely remembers visiting during a trip to Tokyo as a junior high school student.
"I think that was the first time I ate Ainu food," says Sakai, now a staff member at Tokyo's Ainu Cultural Center, a government-affiliated information center for Ainu history and culture.
"My Ainu father died when I was 5, and my mother is Japanese. So I didn't eat Ainu food at home."
During her university days, Sakai worked at the restaurant; now she practices traditional Ainu dance there once a month.
More is cooking at this tiny restaurant tucked in Tokyo's Nakano area than the savory mountain vegetables or the toasted smoked salmon it serves up.
Rera Cise, which means "House of the Wind" in Ainu, is an ethnic eatery in every sense of the term: For more than a decade it has served as a cultural haven for Ainu living in Tokyo, while offering a taste of their traditions to Japanese.
"Rera Cise is very important to us," says Mayumi Kudo, 21, another staff member at the Ainu Cultural Center. Her late grandmother, Tatsue Sato, as chairwoman of Rera no Kai (Association of the Wind), a local Ainu association, founded the restaurant in 1994.
"A lot of Ainu and non-Ainu people in Tokyo worked hard to build up the restaurant," Kudo says.
Rera Cise's rustic decor is modeled after a traditional Ainu home. The restaurant averages 15 to 25 patrons-mostly Japanese-a day, with the majority of diners arriving on weekends.
Aside from offering great food, the restaurant hosts traditional dancing, singing and storytelling. It also serves as a hall for weddings, funerals and other Ainu ceremonies.
The restaurant is home to Rera no Kai. Both Sakai and Kudo are members. It is where the group cooks up off-site activities such as an annual vigil at Tokyo Tower for Ainu who have died alone in the Tokyo metropolitan area. A cultural performance is slated to take place at JR Shinjuku Station's west exit Sept. 11.
The Hokkaido government has long provided cultural centers for Ainu in the prefecture, association members say. But until recently, the central government refused to recognize Ainu, or any other indigenous group in Japan, as an ethnic minority. Culturally conscious Ainu in the Tokyo area had to fend for themselves until Rera Cise opened.
"At the time, we had many female members who decided a restaurant was the most practical way" to start a cultural center, says Osamu Hasegawa, 57, association chairman and manager of Rera Cise.
"In order to regain our identity we must regain our culture. Many Ainu who had this culture have died," Hasegawa says. "Now a lot of people want to learn about it."
Three years later, the government got on the bandwagon. In 1997, the Law for the Promotion of Ainu Culture replaced the 1899 Hokkaido Former Aborigine Protection Law which had called for Ainu to assimilate. It also set up the central and Hokkaido government funded Foundation for Research and Promotion of Ainu Culture, which opened the Ainu Cultural Center in Tokyo's Chuo Ward that year.
The center houses a museum of Ainu crafts and a library. It also offers classes on the Ainu language and handicrafts as well as serving as a regular meeting place for the area's four Ainu associations, according to director Yoshihiko Endo.
For some, like Hasegawa and his daughter Yuuki, 28, the law on Ainu culture sidesteps earlier Ainu demands for self-governance.
"It is a law to help Ainu culture-not Ainu people," Yuuki Hasegawa says.
"Many Ainu come to Tokyo to find a job or escape discrimination," she says. "But if they come here they forfeit the benefits offered by the Hokkaido government."
There are about 24,000 Ainu in Hokkaido, according to the prefecture's 1999 survey. A 1989 survey puts the number in Tokyo at about 2,700. But Sakai and others say such data exclude other Ainu who acknowledge only their Japanese heritage.
This is something many Ainu have done to skirt discrimination in schools and employment, Osamu Hasegawa says. But while both he and Kudo admit they, at times, kept their Ainu identity under wraps, they now say there's no need to, especially in Tokyo.
Sakai agrees. "I was ashamed that I was Ainu in Hokkaido," she says, adding her appearance sometimes drew suspicious stares or even nasty comments there. "But after I came to Tokyo, when I tell people I'm Ainu they say, `Oh, that's cool!' I feel so much freer here."
*Rera Cise (03-3387-2252) is located at 1-37-12 Arai, Nakano, Tokyo, a 12-minute walk from JR Nakano Station.
Ex-pats give their careers a boost with cyberspace degree
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Staff Writer (08/27/05)
Working from her Hachioji home in western Tokyo with a toddler in tow has given Annette Karseras Sumi a two-track mind. While raising her son, she's considering cyberspace as a way to upgrade her career with a Ph.D. or an MBA. True, school is out for summer. For many mid-career expats, however, the virtual classroom is in.
Sumi, 36, is not just eyeing a boost to her freelance editing, writing and business-training career. She says the right program for her will include required trips to a strategically chosen university in or near her native Cardiff, Wales, allowing more chances for her son to visit relatives while growing up in Japan.
A growing number of expats are seeking degrees from overseas universities to advance their careers in Japan. Some, like Sumi, are finding custom fits for unique personal and professional goals. Others look to TESOL (Teaching of English to Speakers of Other Languages) and other degrees to secure university teaching careers. Many, like Julio Garcia, find earning a much-prized MBA online lets them keep working while boosting future earning potential.
For Garcia, 34, working for a small biotechnology company in Tokyo just didn't cut it. The Mexico native liked working in the industry but not being shut in a laboratory like a lab rat: "I wanted to do business-related work where I could meet and work with other people." Having recently earned a doctorate in biology, quitting his job to go back to school was out of the question. Instead, he opted for Anaheim University's online MBA program. He immediately landed a better job, due largely to the degree he would soon earn. Then, a larger U.S. biotech company here made him an even better offer to work as a product specialist advising clients.
"It definitely impacted my career," Garcia says. "My salary is much better now-about three times what I used to make."
He's not the only one counting yen. While many say Japanese companies have traditionally been wary of the credibility of online degrees, that appears to be changing. Some see signs that a slumbering online education market is about to stir.
"It's just really starting to get cooking," says James Yellowlees, president of Global Daigaku.com, an online portal for distance-learning information and prep courses, and consultant to students, schools and businesses. He says expats have always been quicker to use online education in Japan but new developments are prompting more. "Now you can actually call it an industry. In the next few years, we'll see it get a lot more sophisticated."
Unlike "e-learning," which consists mainly of using special software to facilitate independent study, online education programs are more interactive. They were once little more than Web-based text and e-mail correspondence with faculty. But advanced technologies in areas such as chat rooms and real-time video feeds are allowing virtual classrooms to take on lifelike dimensions. Many overseas universities reinforce this with mandatory meetings, seminars or exams on campus or in students' home countries.
Yellowlees says Japanese companies are starting to shed their wariness of high-tech distance learning as they experiment with it to cut costs in training existing staff at branch offices. And those that once rarely hired foreign executives who weren't scouted abroad are now more open to degree-wielding expats in their own back yard.
"A lot of people are interested in MBAs. We're seeing a lot of young professionals-not just expats, but Japanese as well," he says. "I think there are also a lot of teachers that want to get TESOL degrees. Early childhood education is also growing."
About 20 of the more than 100 students in Anaheim University's online Akio Morita School of Business are expats in Japan, according to David Bracey, international liaison officer for the U.S. university's Tokyo office. Most are working full time like Garcia did.
"That number has been increasing exponentially in the past three months," Bracey says, adding there are about 20 students working toward a master of science in Anaheim's online TESOL program. "I think a lot of (English) teachers want to move on to (teach at) universities."
As for the overall interest in online education, Bracey says, "I've seen a complete turnaround in the last six months to a year."
But others, like Steve McCarty, president of the World Association for Online Education and professor at Osaka Jogakuin College, offer a note of caution.
"I applaud the people that get advanced degrees while working, so long as they are legitimate accredited programs," he says. "There are a number of degree mills that even use our WAOE logo without our permission."
It's a concern that working mother Sumi takes to heart.
She admits rigorously weeding through off- and online resources to narrow her choices down to three British universities with online programs. But she says in addition to a master's in English, "I have a post-grad certificate in online education-that I earned through an online program. So I have a bit of an advantage" in knowing what to look for.
Despite advances, technology is another potential snag.
Yellowlees says there are many universities in the United States and elsewhere that "still think in terms of putting a textbook online." Instead, more interactive media and accessories such as maps and encyclopedias should be used. "If I'm going to do an MBA online, I want it really well-organized so I don't have to worry about logistics."
That's what caused Jason Byrne of Tokorozawa, Saitama Prefecture, to opt out of using the Internet to earn his graduate diploma in applied technology from an Australian university. After the first module, he switched to the university's correspondence course.
"It was like someone just put a book on a Web site," says Byrne, 35. "Clicking around on the Web site, it was easy to miss information. They need to fully understand how it's going to be used by end-users."
Ironically, the program helped the university English teacher from Britain develop his own interactive software at www.oopsenglish.com, which simplifies English text for non-native speakers. Realizing his idea for the software is what prompted him to earn the diploma.
Jay Melton, 48, of Kumamoto also cautions, "People should check out (online) programs first." That's what he did before choosing one offered by
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The Asahi Shimbun's Expat Forum
Are you ready for when the ‘Big One’ strikes?
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Staff Writer (11/29/04)
By nature, I'm about as paranoid as I am punctual. But being on this quake-prone archipelago has sobered me up. My earthquake kit is packed and by the door, I've checked the evacuation plan at work, and the wife and I have located our designated emergency shelter.
I'm even following the advice of one expert–get familiar with how to walk home from work. To be fair, my concern started before the tragedy in Niigata Prefecture.
When relocating back to the Tokyo area, I wanted to be clear of the metropolis' hub of underground- and overhead-transit systems, towering skyscrapers and already chaotic streets. My research had also shown that structures built after the 1980s tend to be less vulnerable to jolts.
Meeting an in-law who escaped the October quake in Ojiya, however, got me thinking. Eyeing the proverbial devil in the details, I realized there was still much I had neglected in preparing for "the Big One." For starters, I hadn't even updated my registration at the U.S. Embassy.
Not that I'd expect Uncle Sam to send in the troops on my account. Heck, given the bang-up job he's done "liberating" Iraq, a mere natural disaster sounds preferable. Still, I would like my tax dollars to at least help folks back home find out how and where the family and I are if we’re in one.
True, Japan, not embassies, is responsible for its foreign guests in times of emergency. Its contingency plans rely heavily on folks helping each other out. It's all good. But the ruthless free-for-alls that pass for Tokyo train etiquette on a normal day hint that in the big city a plan B might be in order.
Some embassies offer help returning home. Like its Canadian and British counterparts, the U.S. Embassy now offers easy online registration, making it even harder to procrastinate. Next, I had my language deficit to consider.
After both the Niigata Chuetsu and the 1995 Great Hanshin quakes, foreign survivors missed needed info and instructions because they couldn't understand public-service announcements. It's great to be able to order a beer in Japanese. But if some guy bolts passed me with a tsunami on his tail yelling, nigero (run away) I'd like to follow suit—not stand there fuming over a perceived racial slur. So, I'm boning up on key words and phrases.
I also took a closer look at home safety. Soon my inner quake-prevention commando was unleashed: Up went the furniture braces to stave off a temblor-induced falling wardrobe or teetering bookshelf. Baby-proofing cabinets and stashing all things breakable turned out to be good practice. (A curious toddler is a far more imminent household disaster.)
"What about the quake kit?" I asked the missus. "It needs a real flashlight—not that 99-yen cheapie. How about dried foods and bottled water? Oh, a portable radio! We have to be able to tune in for disaster-related news reports." Ecstatic with urgency, I babbled on. My ever-patient wife did what any devoted partner would: She humored me.
Undaunted, I sidestepped her musing that, "it's kind of like camping." Focused, I gave in to her demand that shampoo be included in the kit. (Her quake-surviving relative had warned of life without the prized commodity.) Like a wise general, I chose my battle skillfully. It would be shampoo that can be used without water.
Then came the household emergency drill. "OK!" I announced without warning, "a major earthquake is shaking like mad. What do we do?" My wife sauntered over to the stove and motioned as if to turn off the gas. Unimpressed, I waved my hands frantically and added sound effects. She giggled.
It was not the result I had hoped for. She had skipped step No. 1—get yourself and others away from danger, under a table, desk doorway or something! I wagged my head disapprovingly.
While she headed for the stove and then the door, our 1-year-old daughter stood motionless glued to the TV watching her favorite kiddie show. I grabbed her and crammed her under the Kotatsu to make my point. However, her bewildered stare told me she wasn't sure if she liked this new game. "Then when it's safe," I lectured the wife, "the gas goes off."
She'd gotten the rest mostly right: crack the door to prevent it from jamming if the building shifts. Kill the circuit breaker, grab the quake kit and check on the elderly couple down the hall on the way to the shelter. But she headed for the door in the midst of my simulated quake. "Ugh!—only after the quake stops," I stressed. Every quake guide warns not to run outside when it rumbles (heavier items fall of building exteriors).
In all my strategic glory, I began to drill her on my crack plan for regrouping if a quake hits while I'm at work. Her patience thinned. My quiz was cut short. "Do you even know my keitai number?" she quipped.
"Sure,"I said, "it's 090 … uh? " Thanks to automatic cellphone dialing, I hadn't memorized it. Now, I get drilled nightly on the digits.
A wealth of info can be found in the Tokyo Metropolitan Government's "Earthquake Survival Manual." The 86-page tome is in English and Japanese and can be viewed or printed from our fair city's Web site: www.metro.tokyo.jp/English/.
So, what is it really like being black in Japan?
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Staff Writer (08/30/04)
OK. I'm black and stand nearly 2 meters tall. Suppose I was standing behind you in line for the ATM. What would be your reaction when you noticed me? Alarm, perhaps. Or might you bolt in a brisk walk of feigned composure?
This is no summer ghost story. But if you've ever had such a spine-chilling encounter, then in a way, we may have met.
As an African American, I have often been asked what it is like being black in Japan. Perhaps a better question is what is it like for Japanese to have someone like me here? For me, it's a bit like living in the U.S. suburbs.
Oh sure, a rousing Saturday night at the suburban all-you-can-eat buffet pales compared with Tokyo nightlife. And this city's rush-hour blitz could send any sane person fleeing for dear life to the quite byways of Suburbia, U.S.A. But aside from such glaring differences, by my experience, the two are similar.
The fear and suspicion I have encountered—from nervous purse-clutching glances to unwarranted questioning by police—is not uncommon here, or there. Don't get me wrong. For every such slight I can recall countless congenial encounters. And I certainly don't mind the pains that some Japanese take to avoid sitting next to me on the train. My wide shoulder span needs all the room it can get.
But the stepped-up pace of fellow pedestrians when they eye me in Ginza, and the countless guys in Okachimachi who grasp their wallets in desperation when spotting me—all this seems rather absurd.
Think about it. National police and media hype would have people believe that foreigners are responsible for a crime wave in Japan. The brutal truth is that foreigners account for just 2.3 percent of all crime. What's more, only a sliver of the nation's less than 2 percent foreign population is black. So what's all the paranoia about? It's not just crime.
Consider those ladies handing out ad-plastered tissue packets or, even worse, those with the Galaxy Art-store fliers in Ginza, Shibuya and elsewhere. Egad! I fear they will snap their poor necks with the severity in which they whip their heads around pretending not to see my approach. Honestly ladies, I will be no more or less offended if you just don't give me that prized advertisement—don't hurt yourselves in the process.
Then there are those pushers of bilingual ads for new condos who are at pains to remain oblivious to more (or less) pigmented pedestrians, and countless barkers who curtail their soliciting as I pass their establishments. Don't worry fellas. I get the hint.
The irony is that the insular tendencies often found in Japan and the U.S. suburbs tend to shield such communities from the substantial experiences needed to counter, or justify, fear of—in my case—black men.
Sure, the mass market has brought you baggy pants that droop to the thighs, hip-hop mania and archaic Afro wigs for a laugh. But lets face it, this tells as much about a people as romantic geisha novels, old Hollywood World War II films and souvenir samurai swords. Heck, I'm betting African Americans and Japanese have more in common than our penchant for sweet potatoes and menthol cigarettes. But stereotypes and unfounded fears will ensure we never find out.
Now when it comes to slights to the foreign born, my Caucasian counterparts, fond of group-gripe sessions over a cold one, often whine, "the same thing happens to me." Well, welcome to my world. I can only imagine how troubling it must be to deal with prejudice when you haven't been weaned on it. But I doubt it's the same.
As one man's future father-in-law quipped to his daughter: "it's bad enough he's gaijin. Do you have to marry one that's black?"
Let's face it, you have to be comatose with denial to be here and not notice the hierarchal ladder of tolerance for gaijin. White U.S. or British males at the top, other Asians (these days it seems to be Chinese) at the bottom and the rest of us take our rightful rung somewhere in between.
It's true even among blacks of different nationalities. With my U.S. passport, I have little to complain about compared to my African brothers and sisters. Like in the States, here they have to contend with stereotypes associating them with starving swollen-belly babies, HIV/AIDS epidemics and civil wars. It's even been dubbed the nanban-jin (southern barbarian) stereotype.
My wife's obstetrician, for example, beamed with visible relief when she learned I was an American.
"If you're black and American, it's one thing," says a Nigerian owner of a Roppongi restaurant. "But if you're black and African, the story is completely different." In addition to prejudice, he says, many Africans take on more trendy African-American personas to shake the stigma. Such prejudices may not always be intended but they hardly go unnoticed, even by Japanese.
More than 44 percent in an April government survey said Japan lacks a culture conducive to coexisting with foreigners. A 2003 government poll showed only 54 percent of respondents think foreign residents deserve the same human rights as Japanese. That's 12 percent fewer than when the question was asked in 1997.
Now for some of us foreigners bound to this country by family, profession or simply because we love it—that's scary.
Therapeutic help is out there for frazzled foreigners
By OSCAR JOHNSON
Staff Writer (08/01/05)
OK, I admit it: I've had one or two bad days since I've been in Japan. I mean really bad. You know, the kind when it seems there's no reason to get out of bed, or when the pattern on a salaryman's tie seems reason enough to string him up with it.
Well, I've managed to drag myself out of bed, and salarymen still have nothing to fear from me. But it got me thinking: If need should arise, what kind of mental help might a frazzled foreigner find?
Let's face it. Even the sturdiest of minds are not immune to the wear and tear of life in a foreign land. Navigating a complex culture as the perpetual outsider while pining for familiar shores can lead to depression. The fast-pace and sometimes culturally different pressures of work or school in one of the world's biggest cities can fuel, if not spark, anxieties.
When combined, we're talking a potential for more than mere tension. Add this to whatever baggage has been toted from home, and it can be enough to "drive you to drink"—a fact noted by psychotherapists and self-styled alcoholics alike.
I was relieved to find Japan, especially Tokyo, offers more to soothe and inspire the mind back to health than mere spirits. Curious about common gaijin-in-crises issues as well as services, I called the keepers of a crises line advertised in English publications.
Peter Bernick, director of lifeline services at Tokyo English Life Line, pointed out that wires can get crossed and even short circuit in cross-cultural encounters. Sometimes people require a friendly ear or sounding board. Relationships, whether at home or work, usually entwine the issues that prompt many to call TELL's crisis line or use its other psychotherapy services. Often various forms of anxiety, depression or some combination of the two are involved, he said.
Dr. Noboru Hozumi, lead psychiatrist at Hozumi Clinic, said the biggest challenge foreigners face here is "adaptation disorder." He said it can cause severe emotional distress. This is particularly true, he added, in rural hinterlands where Westerners might not find the incessant "verbal communication" and tangible "depth of relationships" they are used to.
I was lucky with my own rural job experience here. My eight-month stint way up north included a wife and newborn. While most of my predecessors had thrived on their own, there were also stories, including one about the guy who holed up in his apartment remodeling it with graffiti. By all accounts, he might have benefited from gaijin-friendly mental health services.
I doubt, however, that any would have been available in that small town. Even combined with neighboring populations, the total number of foreign faces could be counted on one hand. The good news is that such services are much more available in urban areas. But like other medical services in Japan, mental health care has its challenges for foreigners.
For starters, psychiatrists-per-person ratios—from 1 per 48 at psychiatric wards, to 1 per 100,000 child specialists—indicate resources are scarce. Then there's the question of what kind of professional to seek: a doctor of psychiatry, almost certain to be Japanese, or a psychotherapist, which could be a foreigner.
While only a psychiatrists can make medical diagnosis and prescribe medication, TELL's Bernick said Japan's mental health system tends to emphasize drugs over counseling. Hozumi, on the other hand, said that only psychiatrists, by Japan's official reckoning, are trained and licensed diagnosed and treat psychological maladies. Local insurance likely only covers psychiatric treatment, too, and not psychotherapy.
Beyond that, the proverbial time on the couch is usually a little more involved than telling the doctor where it hurts. This means that language and cultural factors should also be considered. For example, Hozumi said while psychiatrists must master reading and writing English to earn their doctorates, few can actually speak it. An assistant can interpret, he added, but that could make patients uneasy.
Bernick said the growing demand threatens to outpace the supply of English-speaking therapists. And services in other, especially Asian, languages are already in dire straits. Those looking for psychotherapy in larger cities, however, are likely to have the opposite challenge.
In Tokyo, for example, fishing for the right therapist might entail sifting through foreign-certified counselors and spirit mediums alike. Since the government only recognizes and regulates psychiatrist, anyone with an ad, framed "degree" or folding table can be a "therapist."
Plans now in the Diet for a therapist-licensing law are part of a push to change this. Until then, credentials touting the Japan Society of Certified Clinical Psychologists are worth noting. Such associations certify therapists that meet certain criteria including passing an exam. Potential clients can also look for verifiable certification from credible associations in therapists' home countries.
Bernick recommends talking to more than one therapist before choosing. It's also been suggested that only therapists that have a working relationship with a psychiatric clinic be used, in case such services prove necessary.
More about the Tokyo English Life Line is available by calling 03-3498-0231 (crises line: 03-5774-0992), or checking the Internet at: www.telljp.com. Hozumi Clinic together with Ikebukuro Counseling Center offer psychiatric and psychotherapy services. For more information, check out: www.hozumiclinic.com/counselingjapan.html.
