Citizen of What?

I live in Japan.

It was one of those realizations that makes the everyday both clear and alien in an instant. This one hit while I walked to work, wending my way through a long stretch of factory that often breeds epiphanies of its own (ie. How did a student of English Literature manage to sneak into a working environment where there are forklifts?). The uniqueness (preposterousness?) of my situation leapt forward from a cultural backdrop of global access that has made physical borders seem all but obsolete.

So now, I live in Japan. What does that mean? Am I Japanese? Aside from my inability to vote, a scant comprehension of this country’s language and social mechanics leads me to conclude that I am not. At any given moment, I understand some or none of a situation – never all. I’m pleased if I can navigate 20% of a restaurant menu. The fact that my parcels arrive at their intended destinations is proof that I can bumble my way through a post office encounter. On any given day, my ability to get through these and other basic scenarios relies less on my own “living in Japan” skill and much more on the patience of the citizen who must cope with me.  I live in Japan, but I am certainly not a necessary cog in this society’s clockwork.

And yet, people in my home and native land struggle through conversation, menus, and the postal system all the time. What’s going on there? Indeed, what’s going on here? I’ve watched as citizens – the legally Japanese – are confounded by the open/close buttons on trains or make a total mess of an orderly bus queue. “Come on!” says my exasperated internal voice. “I can do it! Why can’t you? It’s in your country and your language, after all.”

The answer is in the question. It’s precisely because they’re in the comfortable role of the all-comprehending citizen that they’re vulnerable to error. Back in driving school, the instructors were keen to tell us that the majority of accidents take place close to home, sometimes in a person’s own neighbourhood. How could this be? Getting too comfortable, we were taught, can lull people into a false sense of security.

While failing to properly wait in line is far from a grievous mistake, it combines with other, non-scientific evidence to demonstrate a very interesting truth: systems exist by the power of participation and rarely just by circumstance. Although determined largely by where you were born, true citizenship – good citizenship – means putting individual abilities toward a common goal. Individuals create ruffles in the social fabric both by a lack of ability (as in my case) and by deciding not to utilize abilities to their fullest extent (as in the case of citizen blunderers).

This is an idea that I’ll be taking back to Canada with me – that citizenship requires some investment. That “citizenship” is as broad a concept as “culture.” Just like cultural traditions, citizenship risks losing its value if it isn’t given active treatment.