Oh, I see! moments
Travel Cultures Language

Mochi: A Cultural Encounter

by Janine Boylan on December 31, 2012

Japanese New Year's mochi decoration, showing a cultural encounter

Japanese plastic mochi © Janine Boylan

Japanese Traditions for the New Year

When I was living in Japan, I made every effort to have as many cultural encounters as possible. I picnicked with friends under the cherry blossoms in the spring. I participated in a formal tea ceremony. I attended events at the local museum. I even threw pots with a local potter.

So, around December, when these bright, shiny plastic packages started appearing in grocery stores, I knew it was time for another cultural encounter!

I was ready and eager. I stared at the package. A cat with raised paw! I had seen many of these already. The raised paw is meant to be beckoning wealth. These cats are considered good luck charms.

But what was that flattened, faceless snowman with the crazy bow tie? And what does one do with it? I searched the package for clues, but, since I couldn’t read the writing, I found nothing that helped.

A few days later, I was walking by the train station. Several men in traditional robes were chanting. One man had a giant wooden hammer and was pounding something white and sticky in a huge wooden bowl. Understandably, a small crowd had formed.

However, no one but me looked concerned. In fact, the entire crowd was quite amused when the man turned and placed the hammer in my hands. He gestured to me to hit the sticky glob in time with the chanting. I obeyed.

I had no idea what was going on. After a few half-hearted whacks, I returned the hammer, smiled, and gave a small bow. Then I shuffled away as quickly as I could. I did note just before I left, however, that the glob looked suspiciously like the mysterious faceless snowman (just with no bow tie).

After that, I saw more and more faceless snowmen appear around town. I noticed that, in addition to the shimmering bow ties, many snowmen boasted small oranges like perky caps. Thankfully, there were no more real men with big wooden hammers.

Japanese New Year mochi, showing a cultural encounter

traditional Japanese mochi for the New Year © Thinkstock

Since, at the time, I didn’t have a computer to look up “faceless sticky snowman with orange on top,” I had to search and find someone who could explain the mystery to me.

I learned that it is a Japanese New Year tradition to make a sticky treat called mochi from rice. Often there are ceremonies, like in front of the train station, where the public can participate in the pounding. The rice gets walloped until it submits into a stretchy, thick, white blob. Then it is covered in rice flour and formed into two disks, a smaller one on top of a larger one.

The disks represent the old year and the new year. The orange on top, called daidai, represents the continuation of family from generation to generation. Oh, I see. I had had my cultural encounter without knowing it was happening!

People can either get fresh mochi, or they can purchase plastic-encased mochi like the ones I originally saw in the store. Then they place these New Year’s offerings in their home until around January 11. By then the mochi is dry and cracked. Families break it apart (never cutting–that would be bad luck!) and cook and eat it.

Japanese New Year mochi, showing a cultural encounter

Japanese New Year mochi, ready to be broken and cooked © Thinkstock

Since my first cultural encounter with mochi, I have learned to love the sticky rice treat. And my mochi-making career still has hope.

Just last year, I found myself in San Francisco at Japantown Peace Plaza pounding mochi again. This time I was chanting and pounding with confidence.

But I’m not sure I’m ready to compete with the skilled mochi-pounding children featured in this video. It was filmed in San Francisco’s Japantown at Kristi Yamaguchi’s Children’s Day Festival when they gave a mid-year performance of this Japanese cultural tradition.

If the video does not display, watch it here.

As the New Year approaches, people around the world, like me, who love Japanese cultural traditions, are proudly displaying faceless snowmen with glittery bow ties and orange caps.

Happy New Year! 明けましておめでとうございます

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Teaching in Japan: A Cultural Encounter with Language

by Janine Boylan on December 3, 2012

The letter J symbolizing a cultural encounter with language while teaching in Japan (Image courtesy of Thinkstock)

What sound does the letter J make?

This Lesson Brought to U by the Letter J

After over a dozen years of formal “foreign language” instruction, I should be able to communicate in a language besides English with ease. But I can’t.

Sure, I have managed enough language to have ridiculous conversations like trying to explain, in Russian, why some Americans drink green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. And I’ve been able to ask, in Japanese, where to find baking soda in a grocery store. Unfortunately, those may be my greatest language accomplishments.

More typically, my cultural encounters with language seem to involve a lot of very puzzled looks.

The Sound of the Letter J

Fortunately, I do feel pretty comfortable with English. In fact I felt comfortable enough with it that I took a job teaching English in Japan. In my school, I was the only native English speaker. The other teachers had grown up speaking primarily Japanese, but they were quite fluent in English (thank goodness—they could answer all the questions I had about living in Japan).

So I felt confident when one of the other teachers asked me a phonics question: What sound does the letter j make?

I knew that there wasn’t an exact transferrable sound in the Japanese language so I could understand why there was a question about it. But, then again, this was someone teaching English, so why was she asking me this?

She explained that the school supervisor had told the teachers that the letter j makes the sound “joo” (rhymes with shoe), and they should not be teaching that the letter j makes the sound “juh.”

No, I explained, j says “juh.”

By this time, a group of teachers had formed around me. One cocked her head as if to challenge me, “Are you sure?”

In this cultural encounter, my confidence flickered. But, no, I knew the letter j was pronounced “juh.”

The Sound of Respect and Honor

The teacher circle scattered, but the whispers remained like ghosts. For several days, one or another teacher would graciously ask me again about the letter j and how to pronounce it. If the truth is questioned long enough, you begin to doubt it. Was I wrong?

Then, as if by magic, the questions suddenly disappeared. The letter j magically and confidently had the sound “juh.”

I’ll never know exactly what happened to make this change. I assume it was the work of the teachers. And, looking back, now I see that it wasn’t phonics or language that was the issue.

The unspoken issue in this situation was the Japanese value of respect and honor.

Questioning the supervisor’s knowledge might make him lose face, which may be one of the worst infractions in the Japanese culture. The situation needed to be handled tactfully so that the teachers could teach the correct lesson and the supervisor would not be embarrassed. The teachers knew this and must have handled it accordingly.

They also, wisely, did not take the headstrong American girl (me) directly to the supervisor to explain what sound the letter made. Instead, they continued to gently question me until the truth became clear—even though I felt like their motive was to change my mind about it!

At the Heart of Communication

I learned that a critical part of communicating in any language is learning what’s behind the words—the culture, the ideas, the traditions. Memorizing the sounds the letters make and how to form verb tenses is the easiest part of communication.

Although the j linguistic cultural encounter happened in another country in another language, this “Oh, I see” moment often helps me in my daily attempts to communicate. It’s important to consider not only what is being said, but what isn’t being said.

And, by the way, finding baking soda in a Japanese grocery store is a piece of cake.

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Image of the letter J courtesy of Thinkstock

A Cultural Encounter with Violence: Sicarios

by Meredith Mullins on November 29, 2012

International Fine Art Photography Winner
Unmasks Violence in Guatemala

The photograph that just won the Grand Prize in the 2012 International Fine Art Photography Competition is powerful, lyrical, rich in tones, and graceful in line.

As you look closer, a story begins to unfold. When fully understood, the image sends a spine-chilling message about the pervasiveness of violence in the world today and how easily it has come to be accepted as a part of daily life in certain cultures.

In so many countries, guns and killing are woven into the cultural fabric. Poverty, abundance of weapons, a legacy of violence, corrupt or dysfunctional law enforcement, war, revolution, drugs, gangs, and a reverence for the power of violence all contribute.

The Culture of Guatemalan Hit Men

Spanish photographer Javier Arcenillas titles his award-winning work “Red Note” after the police report issued daily in Guatemala that lists the violent crimes that have occurred. Arcenillas follows the trail of these alerts in Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, and Mexico—to tell the story of this growing violence.

The image is a part of his series called Sicarios—an even more chilling story of a culture of “hit men” or hired killers in Latin America.

The job of a sicario is one of the most popular and respected professions in these countries. Young people are seduced by the easy money and the instant respect. Sicarios are strong . . . and feared.

“When they hold their first gun, their childhood disappears, and their games become adult games. Their playground is the street, ” Arcenillas says. “But they rarely make it past 25 years old.”

The sicarios are usually from the poorer strata of society. Young killers train by shooting pets and learning to eliminate any feeling of guilt. They graduate by killing the homeless. Then, they’re ready to be full-fledged assassins.

The Real Story in Images

“These problems of violence cannot be solved with a camera,” Arcenillas says. “I can’t save the world with photographs. But I can aspire to heal it. My role is to tell a story in images . . . a real story. The truth.”

Too often, a culture accepts and glorifies violence (films, TV, video games, street-level struggles for power, or legal pleas of “self-defense” and “standing one’s ground”). The stage has been set. But the real-life dramas that play out every day are reaching catastrophic proportions in many countries.

Arcenillas’s photographs are troubling, moving, and deserving of our full attention. As he says:

“Let the sentence of the day be, ‘For once in my life, I need to listen.’ Indifference is the world’s evil.”

His photos reveal a haunting Oh, I see moment, as we come face-to-face with everyday violence. The images, hopefully, serve as a call to action.

How do we keep eight-year olds from wanting to be corner-boy drug runners or sicarios?

How do we keep kids from wanting to do just what their older brothers are doing?

How do we make sure a country such as Guatemala prosecutes more than 5% of its violent crime cases . . . or even just reports the crimes that are committed?

How do we implant a conscience in a culture . . . a conscience that makes it wrong to kill someone or to remain silent when someone is killed?

These are life-threatening, life-changing questions that need answers. Soon.

 Learn more about Guatemala

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