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I have never been good at
many things, but moving to Japan has opened my mind to the realm of sudden expertise. I find my Japanese audience constantly elevating
my abilities to breathtaking latitudes by use of a single word: jouzu. It translates roughly as “skilled” (its characters literally mean
“upper hand”), and it’s fascinating to witness just how jouzu I’ve become since my arrival. Anything, from chopstick
handling to ungrammatical babbling; when it comes to being jouzu, I’m the jouzuest of them all.
Being called jouzu,
however, does not necessarily reflect godlike perfection (amusingly attested to
by my own oafish clumsiness and awkward levity). It doesn’t matter whether the
chopsticks rest behind one’s ears, or if meagre attempts at conversation are
incoherent - they will elicit a barrage of puff in the form of “jouzu desu ne!” (you are so good!).
Naturally, some foreigners are all too delighted with this special brand of ego massage, which makes Japan a veritable paradise for attention seekers. In this topsy-turvy world of make believe brilliance, the non-Japanese stands immaculate in his sheer jouzuness.
Foreigners, however, usually make the mistake of thinking that they are the only ones worthy of the limelight. In fact, empty praise happens everywhere, perhaps even more so between Japanese people themselves. Japanese society, which stresses the values of humility and politeness (sometimes to rather awkward extremes), relies heavily on set phrases and social rituals to express these values. Downplaying one’s abilities is expected, only because bragging is considered rude. Thus, when called jouzu, a Japanese would most probably deflect it with a “iie” (no), or another similar interjection. Whether they really are jouzu or not is secondary.
Foreigners will very often fail to notice this social conditioning—pointless and maybe even aggravating to those not used to formalities for the sake of them—only because they aren’t expected to comply with the social rules. After all, we could never begin to understand the complexities of Japanese society, right? Living in adoration isn’t necessarily bad, of course. It equates to blissful, if callous, ignorance.
Still,
others will detect the emptiness of such fulsome admiration and shudder at the
mention of this fateful word, fully aware of the condescension behind the
applause. For some foreigners, especially those who have been in Japan for a
while, jouzu desu ne can even seem a
backhanded insult.
Personally,
I cannot but remain suspect at being praised for everything I do, especially
when I know I’m doing it wrong. Did I drop my boiled radish inside the miso paste? I know, I’m very jouzu. You didn’t understand my
haphazardly constructed sentence? Of course not, Japanese is too difficult for
any foreigner to grasp. But I’m still terribly jouzu at it.
Even in the face of adulation, negativity might be getting the best of me. Am I entitled to feel threatened by the constant adoration? Common sense tells me it would be paranoid to interpret jouzu as a conscious attempt to be malicious. Most likely it is intended as customary small talk, used to either give or save face, or to fill in awkward silences. And custom, as everyone knows, is hard to break. But why does this particular custom bother me like a stubborn pebble in my shoe?
Maybe it has to do with my nagging foreigner pride. Japanese people don’t praise each other for speaking Japanese or using chopsticks, as it is considered normal. But for a foreigner to be praised at all times, especially when doing something ‘Japanese’, is an illustration of surprise at his moving away from his stereotypical role as an outsider. One may have been brought up on greasy Chinese food and studied Japanese from a young age, but the foreigner role states that one is not supposed to speak Japanese, use chopsticks or do things in a similar way due to the inherent differences between “us” and “them.”
What place does this leave for individual expansion? Many will despair upon the realisation that, regardless of their efforts, foreigners will never amount to anything more than a foot to fill the foreigner boots, with phrases like jouzu desu ne as a polite, though unnerving, shoehorn. The custom is to keep the outsiders at bay, to make the difference with insiders conspicuous; thus, politeness sets the barrier and jouzu erases all expectations. Hence the surprise to hear a foreigner speak Japanese or use chopsticks, and the need to lavish him with hollow applause. It’s flattery at its most dehumanising form.
I will not bask in the glory of fake admiration,
although I might just turn it away with a simple “iie.” But then again, an episode I experienced some time ago might
repeat itself. At my self-effacing reply, the old lady who praised me opened
her eyes and said: “how jouzu, you
sound like a Japanese.” Thus the protruding nail was hammered down once again.
Where the oaf is king, the line between adoration and aberration is a fine one
indeed.