All Together Now ...
About a year ago, I had occasion to take part in
an awards ceremony being held to make presentations to the winners of
various prizes in a national essay contest. Previous to this, my
experience of such affairs had been limited to the small graduation
ceremony given by my daughters' day care center, a considerably less
rigorous event.
This ceremony though, was quite an important one,
and the awardees represented a complete cross-section of Japanese
society, from very young elementary students up through adults, and
also including a group of foreigners. Over the course of the
afternoon, during the two-hour rehearsal and then the only slightly
shorter ceremony itself, I was particularly surprised by the
considerable trouble almost all the participants had with some of the
formalities involved - most notably the proper bowing
techniques.
I watched all of these people, one-by-one, step up
onto the stage and struggle with what to do. The ideal form was
apparently for the presenter and the awardee to first bow together,
for the person to then step forward, be presented with the
certificate, bowing as he received it, and finally to step back a
pace and bow in unison once more before leaving the stage. Almost
nobody got it right.
In some cases the presenter would bow quite deeply
but the recipient would simply nod his head. This person would then
realize his mistake and make a hasty deeper bow. This would be picked
up by the presenter, who would bob down again in response, usually
just as the other person was coming up. Finally they would come to
rest, the presentation would be made, and the 'bobbing ducks' routine
would begin again. Just when to start the bow? How far down to go?
What to do with your hands? Nobody seemed to have any idea about what
to do. And these were the Japanese! It was like watching a group of
foreigners trying to wrestle with the customs of a strange
society.
I very much wanted to do a 'good' job, so as my
turn approached, I watched the presenter very carefully and tried to
memorize the timing of his bowing movements. But just as I walked
towards the stage to receive my award, I saw that the presenter was
being replaced by a different person for the foreigner's group! And
sure enough, my preparation had been useless, for this person
followed a different rhythm, and I too ended up bobbing up and down,
trying to catch his movements ... And for the presentation, I made
another mistake here too. I took the proffered certificate and said
in a loud clear voice "Arigato gozaimasu." (I guess my mother's
training was long and hard all those years ago ...) When I got back
to my seat, my neighbour gently reminded me that it wasn't customary
to say 'thank you' on such occasions. Silent acceptance was
preferred. Sigh ... And I had so much wanted to show everybody that a
foreigner could do the job just as well as a native Japanese.
But then I realized ... I had done, hadn't I! At
least by the general standards shown over the course of the
afternoon, I had done neither better nor worse than most of the
others. The experience of watching all these people struggle with
this seemingly simple procedure made me realize that the 'art' of
bowing is obviously another one of those things that is on the
decline in contemporary Japanese society. Of course, bowing is still
a very important part of life here, and it is difficult to imagine
getting through a day without finding yourself bent over inspecting
the tips of your own shoes on at least a few occasions. Unless you
hibernate at home, that is. One certainly doesn't get much in the way
of bowing practice when communicating with one's children! (But now
that I realize it, you can't escape from bowing rituals even when
alone in your own home ... the telephone is bound to ring, and during
the conversation you find yourself in the ridiculous situation of
nodding your head to somebody you can't even see!)
Many westerners who come to Japan either to live,
or just for business, have considerable problems with bowing, and I
don't just mean the mechanics of 'what to do'. They have real
problems with partaking in a ritual that in their minds seems to
place them in such a subservient role. It is truly distasteful for
them to bow down before somebody. I visited this country on business
a number of years ago, together with the owner of the Canadian
company for which I then worked, a 'straight-ahead, shake hands, look
'em right in the eye' kind of man. He simply could not bow to our
hosts, and I'm sure he felt quite some distaste at my attempts to
respond in kind to the Japanese bowing. In his mind, 'real men' stand
straight up, and 'weak toadies' bow and scrape.
Those with more experience of Japan, realize that
it is far from uncommon that the senior of the people involved may be
the one who is bowing the deepest, and that 'subservience' is just
not a factor in the thinking involved. Of course, 'rank' and status
is involved, quite deeply, and people with much experience in the art
of bowing are capable of making quite extraordinary calculations as
to the proper depth and timing of the bow.
But I suppose such sensitivity will soon be
something of a lost art. There are not many younger people nowadays
who have the inclination to follow such delicate nuances of the
custom, and as I found during that ceremony I attended, current
standards are very low indeed.
That seems somewhat of a pity to me, because the
few people during the ceremony who did perform such duties well, gave
every appearance of polished poise and politeness. They were not like
robots, mechanically going through a memorized sequence of movements,
but rather came across as confident, courteous individuals. I felt
envious of their abilities, and secretly decided that next time I
find myself in this situation, I'll be ready to handle it. I'll
practice hard, and become the perfect model of correct bowing.
There's only one problem. When am I going to get another
award?
I practiced endlessly, day after day,
and didn't spend too much time down at the bottom of that line of
flutes. I was soon the 'principal' of the section, and remained so
for the years that I stayed with the orchestra. We gave quite a
number of concerts each year, sometimes going on short tours around
the province to play in small communities. These were places that
normally had no chance to hear a symphony orchestra, so the
attendance was usually very good, even though we were just students.
Each concert always included a 'concerto' section, and I was one of
the members frequently chosen as soloist, leaving my seat in the
middle of the orchestra to go 'out front' to play a Mozart flute
concerto, or other solo piece. This was very good experience for me.
I don't remember having a big problem with stage-fright, but did find
that before each performance I did feel a bit of 'butterflies'.
Fortunately for me, this was manifested not by trembling hands, or
something like that, but by a kind of compulsive yawning. I would
stand casually backstage before being called to go out, lightly
yawning, trying to look 'cool' and bored. I wonder if anybody was
fooled ...
