Columban Fr Eamonn Horgan shares with us insights into Japanese society gained from living there for over 60 years.
In Japan a phenomenon missionaries and, in fact, most foreigners from tourists to professionals, will encounter is the difficulty most Japanese have with conversational English. In all schools up to and including universities, thousands of hours per school year are devoted to the study of English. Yet, with very rare exceptions, neither they nor their tutors will be capable of sustaining a two minute conversation in basic English.
Historians and linguists blame this phenomenon on the two and half centuries of Japan's strictly enforced total separation as a nation from the rest of the world after the hideous persecution following Japan’s ‘Christian Century'. This total isolation from the then known world was total.
Eventually, however, in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries during the Meiji Restoration Era when Japan resumed contacts, political and commercial, with the West, “English”, the current international language, written and spoken, became essential. However, over a century since then, the linguistic barrier maintained during the centuries of isolation has, even to this day, defied all efforts at demolition.
No missionary will be long in the country before he is hesitatingly approached and politely asked to coach individuals or, more often, small groups, in the rudiments of spoken English. Early in his career he himself will be struggling with the intricacies of Japanese language study. So he will readily identify with the problems of the requesters and not infrequently will agree to try.
To illustrate, I shall perhaps be forgiven for citing one such case.
My remote mountain parish was Ryujin, in central Japan, where life was idyllic and 'every prospect pleased'. One sunny Sunday afternoon in mid-Autumn, Sunday Mass and activities, including dinner, concluded, as I dozed in my front room to the strains of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, a car pulled into the chapel yard.
Emerging were a youngish high-school teacher whom I had previously met and a well dressed and mature looking young lady I took to be a college student. Greeting them at the front door I invited them in. To my surprise the teacher introduced the lady as his younger sister, Akiko, a high-school student. After a brief exchange of pleasantries over a cup of tea, the teacher somewhat hesitantly began to broach the object of his visit.
His sister had been preparing for a Benron Taikaian English speech contest to be held two months hence in the provincial capital, Osaka. Was there any chance I might coach her for the ordeal? My unhesitating reply was, 'Of course I should be happy to. However, I must inform the young lady that I am an absolute ‘oniU’, a monster. I will accept nothing short of 105% perfection'.
Addressing her, face to face, I declared, 'I will probably make you cry'. Fearlessly her eye met mine'. And the message I read in that eye was, 'This old geezer is not going to make me cry'.
The typed copies of her prepared contest speech told of a school trip she and her classmates had recently made to Nagasaki, a city with a long Christian tradition. They had visited atom-bombed sites and many of the city's Christian churches, most of them now rebuilt. The A-bomb Museum with its gruesome exhibits had left them horrified.
The English of her speech copy was quite good. She obviously had had help. Little more than slight cosmetic adjustments were needed. We agreed that she would come for coaching at 2.00pm every Sunday between then and the contest day exactly two months away.
The following Sunday Akiko turned up punctually at 2.00pm as scheduled. That day's two hour period was devoted exclusively to basic vowel sounds. Japanese tend to speak with lips only slightly parted. Centuries of life in a small country, 83% uninhabitably mountainous, the remaining 17% supporting a large population, meant that voices had to be kept at low levels to avoid disturbing neighbours living in houses separated by, at most, two or three metres. Less than soundproof paper walls or screens divided interiors.
Hence, our first lesson was spent solely repeating each vowel sound up to a hundred times or more. To my great relief my pupil never flinched though the experience must have been woefully boring if not actually painful as her over-worked jaw muscles must have ached as never before. At lesson's end she smilingly thanked me and gallantly declared that she had enjoyed the lesson and looked forward to our further weekly encounters.
True to her word my pupil invariably showed up punctually for all subsequent lessons. Practice progressed from endless repetition of single vowel sounds to individual words, then simple basic sentences. Her ear seemed uncommonly sharp and her diction bit by bit became more and more precise. Both of us gradually began to enjoy the weekly exercise. We also began daring to hope.
The two months flew by and on the Sunday before the contest, with her brother present, over a cup of tea we voiced our hopes and fears. I assured Akiko that even if she felt a bit stressed she shouldn't worry. Moderate stress would ensure a sharper performance. Thanking me profusely, her brother expressed a wish to recompense me for my time and efforts. Firmly declining his kind offer I stated that the compensation I really wanted was twofold. Next Sunday when they came to report on the contest, they should bring two items, the Trophy and a box of Fuji apples.
Well, the following Sunday as before, at the usual time the car pulled into the yard. From the passenger's side emerged a handsome 4 foot high trophy followed by my beaming pupil. Her brother, opening the trunk, produced not one box of Fuji apples but two!
Inviting them inside I had the housekeeper produce the usual cup of tea and accessories. Delight reigned. Akiko made particular mention of my reassurances about stress which had only strengthened her resolve.
She had had three judges, two Japanese scholars of English from separate universities and one American. The Japanese complimented on her diction, posture and gestures and on her smile as she spoke her lines.
The American inquired how long had she spent in Ireland!!
By the way, Akiko never did cry.
Columban Fr Eamonn Horgan first went to Japan in 1953.
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