Fill in the Blank
The other day, when I was at some office or
another, I had to fill in a form asking for basic personal
information; name, address, etc. I got past the first section without
too much trouble, but when I came to the blank space labelled
'Nationality', I found myself pausing a bit. Of course, I wasn't
really in doubt about what to write, and I went ahead and filled in
the space to match all my other legal documentation, with the word
'Canadian'. But I have to wonder if that was the correct answer to
the question. For you see, I do not really feel 'Canadian', and I am
certainly not only 'Canadian'.
I was born in England, to British parents, and
thus have British nationality. When I was still just a small child,
our family emigrated to Canada, and a few years later, my parents
obtained Canadian citizenship for themselves and their children. I am
not familiar with current regulations concerning these matters, but
it seems that at that time anyway, this could be done without
jeopardizing our original British nationality. I thus found myself in
the position of having two nationalities, British and Canadian, and
indeed, have two passports.
So this explains why I am not 'only' Canadian, but
why did I say 'not really' Canadian? Well, a passport is one thing,
but after all, it's just a piece of paper. One's feelings about
nationality surely must be based on something more fundamental than
that. If I think back to school days in Canada, we sometimes sang the
national anthem:
Oh Canada, our home and native
land
True patriot's love, in all our hearts command ...
'True patriot's love'? Well, excuse me, but I
simply can't say that's the way I felt about Canada, neither then nor
now. Yes, I lived there for a long time (29 years), but it was
basically just a place to live ... a location, nothing deeper than
that. Perhaps part of this was due to the fact that our family was
very mobile, and during those 29 years I lived in at least eleven
different homes. I am sure that this habit of being constantly
uprooted every few years went a long way to suppressing any
developing feelings of 'homeness', either for a particular town or
area, or for the country as a whole. And now, after more than eight
years of living here in Japan, any such left-over feelings for Canada
as a 'home' are quite weak. So when I said 'not really' Canadian,
what I meant is that I just don't feel much connection with the place
any more.
When people now ask me questions like "How do they
do such-and-such in your country?", I'm really at a loss how to
answer them. My knowledge of current Canadian society is very poor
indeed. As any long-term resident of Japan well knows, social
patterns in a country can change enormously in eight years. While I
suspect that Canadian society isn't subject to changes quite as rapid
as the astonishing transformations currently under way here, I am
sure that contemporary ways of thinking in Canada must differ from
those I am familiar with. I simply cannot answer their question. Not
honestly, anyway.
So back to that application form I was filling in.
Nationality? Well it sure doesn't seem British. I left England when I
was five years old, and the only things I know about Britain are what
I read in the newspapers. Canada? In this case I know even less, as
the newspapers only mention Canada when the Quebec separation problem
bubbles up every few years. Actually, I'd kind of like to leave that
space on the form blank. I suppose a truly stateless person would get
very angry at me for saying such a thing, and indeed, millions of
people around the world would give up everything they own in order to
obtain Canadian or British citizenship. But such people I think, are
mostly those whose original country has failed them; failed to
provide a stable social order in which they could live peacefully and
productively. Of course such people see Canadian nationality as a
'ticket to freedom' and an escape from persecution or
totalitarianism.
So don't misunderstand my comment about leaving
that space blank. I recognize that I was very fortunate indeed to
have grown up in two such well-ordered and stable societies. But,
presumably due to that rather extreme mobility during my formative
years, any 'nationalistic' feelings I may have had are very
weak.
Can I guess the next question in your mind? "What
about Japanese nationality?" Now that I seem to be settling down
quite comfortably here, am I starting to feel Japanese? This is a
tough question. We read recently in the newspapers about various
foreigners who have taken this step, so the idea of a 'hakujin'
gaining Japanese nationality is no longer such a weird idea as it
seemed just a few years back. (Although such a thing was possible
even a hundred years ago - Lafcadio Hearn being perhaps the
best-known example ...) I am sure that if I took such a step (and
assuming that it was granted), my friends and neighbours would accept
it ... on the surface. But in their minds of course, I would always
be 'different'. For better or worse, rightly or wrongly, the people
living in these islands do have an image of themselves as a very
homogenous group, and this self-image is very strongly embedded
indeed. Possession of a piece of paper proclaiming Japanese
nationality would in reality be little more than possession of a
piece of paper. Although it would symbolize full entry into this
society, real practical acceptance could only come from one's
actions: from living among Japanese people in a Japanese way ... from
understanding the language at an advanced level ... from total
immersion in Japanese culture over a long period of time ... indeed,
by actually 'becoming' Japanese.
Am I doing this? Well, although when I came to
Japan I had no such long-term calculation in mind, it does seem that
this may be the way things turn out. In actual practice, I am
somewhere along that road. I share the same living environment as my
Japanese neighbours, and follow similar daily routines. I sometimes
go for weeks on end without speaking English, and my 'nihongo' is
gradually getting better. (But, oh so gradually ...!) I truly enjoy
living here, in this fascinating country, and feel myself to be a
productive member of society. So who knows? Maybe one day I'll find
myself taking that big step ...
But ... I just remembered something! There's no
way that I can ever become Japanese. There is one thing that must
forever separate the Japanese from the rest of the world. A barrier
that cannot be crossed. A gulf that cannot be bridged. Dare I even
mention the word ... Yes, that ultimate test for those who wish to
understand what it means to be truly Japanese ... a bowl of steaming
white rice topped with natto!