The Moon and Sports Day: Pumpkin-Bear and Bald Mouse

9/11/2008

September in Japan is the season of moon viewings and sports days. Sports Day, undokai 運動会, is like an American elementary-school field day- relay races, tugs-of-war, gymnastics, human pyramids, synchronized dances to JPop-- with a more serious, military style. The day begins with a proclamation by the principal to the students, who stand at attention in rows by grade, followed by lots of bowing on command, and the raising of the flag to Japan's intense, solemn national anthem. Then there's an address by the team captains (Red and White caps; 6th graders), who walk along straight paths down the sidelines to the platform at the front of the yard, to salute the principal and promise their teams will gambaru. Do their best, persevere.

Undoukai's mood is more nationalistic than American field days, more like an Olympics. The schoolyard is decorated with two strings of banners, stretched from flagpoles to trees above the playing field, showing the flags of 20 or so different countries. Japan's red sun flag hangs next to America's stars and stripes.

During 5th period on September 11th (Thursday) at Nakagawa Shougakko, the 4th and 5th graders practiced in the gym, making human pyramids, towers, and "mountains" (山) to the tune of Jpop rock ballads. The students are divided by gender-- too much back to back butt-touching and chest and leg holding to be co-ed-- and two female teachers supervised while the male 5th grade teacher led the drills with a whistle.

At recess I sat with a group of 6th grade boys who are good friends. They're smart kids, interested in English too. The variation of size at 12 years old is amazing. Two of these boys are a good foot taller than the other two, and possibly a hundred pounds heavier. Today the guys made up English nicknames (adama) for each other. Takuma-kun, the stocky, friendly, cuddly guy who speaks with a slight lisp, pointed to his small friend, who stands on Takuma's back in the human pyramid, and said to me: "Bald Mouse". Ryuki has a spiky buzzcut and is tiny, especially compared to gigantic Takuma, who probably weighs more than me.

Takuma's name became "Pumpkin-Bear" (Cabucha-Kuma). His other big, baby-faced friend Syouji is "Big Baby" (Okiina Okachan). Their other short friend was dubbed "Fish Boy" (Sakana no Otokonoko), plus the little crewcut leader Ryuki "Bald Mouse" (Hage Nezumi). Reminded me of Owen, Scott and me with our hockey-camp nicknames in about 8th grade: Cartwheel (SD), Shit-For-Brains (Owen), and Oafy (who do you think?).

Back in the gym, closing exercise practice. The heavy-set boys form the base of the pyramids, and the smallest classmates climb on top to stand above two levels of boys with their hands out to their sides. (Big "Pumpkin-Bear" and "Bald Mouse" were partners today). Every student has a role, and the gymnastics are elaborately choreographed. I notice that kids take undoukai very seriously, and there's a lot of teamwork involved. The boys smile at each other as they join hands to lift their friends. They count off time together-- "Ich, ni, san"-- and they cheer each other on. When a 12-year-old boy falls over trying to stand on his head, the other kids never laugh or tease him. They just call "Ganbatte ne!" (Keep at it!/You're doing your best!) or "Yokatta des yo!" That was great.

In the undoukai opening march, the kids parade onto the field through the net-less soccer goal, labeled "entrance gate". They swing their arms in time to spirited sport ballads in the ilk of "We are the Champions", "Eye of the Tiger", or "We will we will rock you", like cheerful marching soldiers. (Most 6th grade teachers have "The Best of Queen" CD in their classrooms). In the marching-band portion, the kids parade around the playground playing the "Mickey Mouse Club" theme song on recorders, drums, cymbals, xylophone, and tambourine.


Again, each group-member has a purpose based on his morphology. The big burly kids like Pumpkin-Bear and Big Baby carry the giant drums, while the littler boys and girls play recorders or tap tambourines. One charismatic (and lightweight) class leader heads the parade and directs the marching-rhythm by waving a baton. This little leader stands on top of the tallest human pyramids of his friends in the grand finale, with his hands out to his sides and his face serious. (The coach makes a big point of this: You can't fidget during undoukai, or falter or make childish faces, since you're representing your school. You don't want to make our school lose face.) Undoukai is a great photo op for the school and for parents, especially the parents of that kid, the school leader. Knowing Japanese dads, I'm sure every class leader has a thousand images of himself standing on his team-mates backs with the gold baton. He probably never forgets it.

For that matter, surely none of these kids will ever forget undoukai. They do it every year from kindergarten through graduating high school. It takes up a good 6 weeks of practice and excitement every year of elementary school before the big day (Sunday September 28th this year). That's six formative, impressionable years of socialization for teamwork.

The kanji for "teamwork" or "cooperation", kyouryoku 協力, includes the radical for "power" or "strength" (chikara), 4 times. "We're stronger together than we could be alone" seems to be the moral message of primary school education in Japan. It sounds like a western stereotype of Asia, but in my year here so far, that is one Japan generalization that has been born out dramatically in experience. Japanese people do seem to value community and self-sacrifice more than we do in the U.S. Values reflected in the way the kids are educated-- what a huge amount of time is devoted to these exercises in protocol and teamwork. The number of "giri" social duties and obligations that Japanese adults feel for their neighbors, family, and group-members (buying "omiage" gifts on vacation for coworkers, sending New Year's greeting cards to everyone you know) is huge, and the attitude of exclusivity, shyness or even iciness towards outsiders is something gaijin here talk about feeling all the time. I guess there's always a flip-side to a strong sense of group-identity and unity-- "We" always has to be opposed, or at least contrasted, to them, those others out there.

Article one of Japan's first Constitution, written by Prince Shitoku in 604 A.D., said: "Harmony is to be valued, and conflict avoided." Another one said: "Let the ministers and functionaries attend to court early, and retire late."

Both are attitudes that 1,400 years of Japanese history and technological innovation haven't managed to water down much. It's pretty amazing to see.

P.S. This "Community" nationalistic spirit is what felt so creepy and caveman tribalistic about the Republicans chanting "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" against the liberal protesters at the convention in St. Paul last week. The implication being that the other half of America-- the black, gay, poor, secular, Muslim or Jewish half-- is "not American". Any sense of identity based on chanting your in-group's name at people who disagree, or look different (Remember George Allen's "macaca" comment about the Indian-skinned journalist more Virginian than Allen himself?) is bound to lead to misunderstanding, resentment and violence. A cartoonish naievete about the actual commonalities among humans-- reducing people to right and wrong, black and white, good and evil. The idea that the strongest superpower on Earth could be run by a party like that is terrifying, and embarrassing for us as Americans. As well as members of the human race.

Human as opposed to all those lesser species out there-- penguins, chickens, geckos, chimps. Next time you see a walrus who looks at you funny, be sure to bark at him: "HUMANS! HUMANS! HUMANS! all the way!"