A Lateral View. Donald Richie

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СКАЧАТЬ and the nights, when to go fast and when to go slow, in what manner to fragment time.

      Some of the differences are familiar. A well-known temporal gulf exists between the global north and south. The latter have, for example, their famous siesta-night again in the middle of the day. The northern visitor is always surprised at this diurnal difference, and often irritated as well. What? The post office isn’t open? Don’t these people know it is two in the afternoon?

      Another familiar gulf, this time a chasm, exists also between East and West, the Orient and the Occident. We speak of the slower pace, calling it leisurely if we like it, indolent if we do not. Our travel brochures advise us to go and, specifically, relax in exotic such-and-such.

      These various temporal diffenmces are well known. Not so familiar are those cultures which blend the differences and bridge the gulfs. Among these, the most spectacular is Japan. Here the rhythms of the West have been rigorously applied and yet, under these, the old pulse of Asia is still strongly felt.

      Seen from the outside, the way in which the Japanese structure time seems much closer to New York than, say, Kandyor Mandalay. Indeed, most of the Western temporal virtues—efficiency, promptness, get-up-and-go—are being flung in our faces by this seemingly industrious nation.

      Yet, the view from the inside indicates that older, more purely Asian rhythms persist. There is the new way of arranging the day and then there is the old. And these two, as with so much else in Japan, coexist—strata in time.

      Early to bed, early to rise, etc., has been the recipe for business success in the WASP world and this is the image (brighteyed and bushy-tailed) that such have had of themselves. Thus, the Japanese, taking over this image and making it theirs, now insist that they are a hard-working people and are more flattered than wounded when called workaholics. Such a role means rising at dawn, rushing to the office, putting in long hours, racing home and going to bed early to rest for the next fulfilling day.

      Since this is the official version, it is officially supported. And since everyone has nominally gone home, buses stop running at ten-thirty; the subways stop at midnight, and the trains shut down half an hour later. Unlike that of New York and Paris, shameless night-owl abodes, Japanese civic transportation does not run all night long.

      Yet, the populace is no more off the streets at twelve now than it was in old Tokugawa Japan. The entertainment districts are filled with people long after midnight. These are not at home resting for the next busy day. They are getting around the night spots by taking taxis.

      Nor do the Japanese actually get up at dawn. Indeed, nowadays, a majority does not get to work until ten o’clock, also the hour when the bazaar at Rangoon opens. To be sure, some attempt an earlier arrival. Being first into the office in the morning supports, and in part creates, the modern idea of the Japanese as being very hard workers.

      And the last out as well. One is supposed to hang around even though one’s work may be finished. Being one of the group is considered important and rushing out to conform to an egotistical timetable is bad modem form. Rather, one subscribes to the group timetable. This has nothing to do with working hard. It has to do merely with attendance.

      Indeed, as one looks more closely at the manner in which modem Japan structures the business day, one becomes very aware of the differences between modem and traditional timekeeping and how these intermingle.

      Once the modem rush to the office is over and the business day is actually begun, the time scheme becomes traditional. There is lots of discussion, lots of stopping to drink tea—and nowadays lots of visits to the ubiquitous coffee shop to talk some more. Nor is this talk confined to work in the narrow Western sense of the term. Rather, work is socialized, and social talk can serve as work because its larger purpose is the cementing of personal relations.

      The amount of time spent at what we in the West would call work is much less than what one might expect. The notorious efficiency of Japan does not depend upon time spent. Rather, it depends upon absence of intermural conflict, lots of intramural competition, and an ideological solidarity which is almost beyond the comprehension of Europe and America. This is of use mainly (or merely) in the hours, days, years spent together-in the creation and continuation of the group. This is equally true when the office is left. It is often left as a group since no one wishes to break cohesion by leaving first. Then the group divides into sub-groups which then go out on the town, to favorite pubs and bars, to continue the social amelioration which has traditionally been so important to Japan.

      Far from early-to-bed, the upwardly mobile Japanese male is fortunate if he catches the last train home. And often he will stay overnight with an office friend, an event that his wife back home will accept as a part of the normal rhythm of her spouse.

      She may even encourage the event. I know of one young office worker who would like nothing better than to leave his company confreres and return to wife and child. But this she discourages because if he were seen by the neighbors coming home early they would certainly gossip, and the rumor would spread that he was not properly getting on in his company career.

      In places where day and night are divided strictly according to the needs of actual work—I don’t know, let’s say, Chicago—the pattern may be closer to the ideal of which Japan brags. As it is, Japanese temporal reality is something different—far closer to that of Bangkok orJakarta, the rest of Asia, places where time is almost by definition something which is spent together.

      That a good deal of time in Japan is wasted (endless tea and coffee breaks, lots of after-hours in cabarets) is a Western, not a Japanese criticism. Japan never considers time together as time wasted. Rather, it is time invested.

      Yet, for a culture as time-conscious asJapan (one sees mottos on office walls: Time is Money), the amount of real temporal waste is surprising. Here, too, the country shows its ancient Asian roots.

      Take the matter of appointments for example. In the big business world of the West being punctual is sacrosanct. Again, actuality may be another matter, but all subscribe to the idea that to be on time is to be good.

      In Asia, however, this is not so. One is frequently left cooling one’s heels in the great capitals of the Orient. And here Japan, despite its Western temporal veneer, is no different. If you are meeting a member of your group, then he will wait and you can be late. If you are meeting a non-member you can also be late because it is not so important whether you meet or not.

      Spatially, the Japanese are very efficient regarding rendezvous.

      There are known places to meet. In Tokyo one meets in front of

      Shinjuku’s Kinokuniya Bookstore, in front of Ginza’s Wako

      Department Store, in front of the Almond Coffee Shop at Rop

      pongi, and at Shibuya in front of the statue of Hachiko, famous

      loyal dog who waited years there for its dead master.

      Most waiting Japanese are in the position of Hachiko. It is rare

      to observe anyone being on time. Indeed, it appears as though

      one portion of the nation (smaller) is punctilious and that the rest

      (larger) is flagrantly errant.

      Those who are on time and are doiNg the waiting are those in an inferior position (in Japan it is the girls who wait for the boys and not the other way about) or those who want something from the late arrival. Time is money, indeed—but then, come to think of it, the motto is written usually in English and СКАЧАТЬ