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In Japanese culture, the great fear is “losing face”, mentsu wo ushinau. Essentially, losing face translates to the shame of looking bad among others, whether peers or superiors. Losing face shames you and your family, as well. The most puzzling is that this comes under the guise of honor, which I distinguish from shame. Shame steals one’s power. Honor empowers one.
I’m a third generation American Japanese. I don’t speak. My Japanese relegates to Aikido and ordering sushi. Even growing up in Hawaii, saving face was such a big deal. It’s what your parents dictated in all your relationships. Yet, with age and particularly in my Aikido training, I discovered that saving face is the shame of “not looking good.” Really, not looking good? There is only fear in shame. No honor. Only suffering.
Last year, my friend Kurt, a linguistics major in college, asked me to participate in his fascinating case study. Kurt described in his study the event from his childhood where his family was at a party at the Japanese American family home. The unspoken rule—rather the implicit expectation—is that you take off your shoes before entering the house. Teenager Kurt forgot to take off his shoes, seemingly, a benign social transgression. Seemingly.
Consequently, he experienced near social disdain and discomfort. Yet, no one told Kurt, “Please take off your shoes.” Finally, he realized that he wore his shoes in the house. So he corrected the mistake. He ran out of the house. He came back in sans shoes. Kurt experienced shame. That shame stayed with him for these many years.
I told Kurt, “It’s wasn’t your fault. Some adult could have just told you to take off your shoes. I would have.” Shame has the bizarre dynamic in its silence and complicity. It’s fear within the social consciousness, where no one speaks up. Being older with little patience for bullshit in those situations, I say, “Fuck it.” No one truly got hurt or died in the aftermath. At the cost of shaming the innocent teen, that holds no value.
Shame robs our power. I’ve experienced shame many times throughout life. The older I get the more I think it really doesn’t matter what others think, as long as I’m not hurting anyone. I also get that my self-shaming is pointless. Why search for evidence that I suck? I can make better use of my finite time.
I experienced tremendous shame when my body weakened and suffered depression while working at my previous job. I stopped Aikido training for several months. I experienced the shame of being weak, being vulnerable. What would others think of me? Worst of all, I wondered, “What would Sensei Dan think?” I felt I let him down.
I remember Sensei Dan called me up, “Hi Jon, this is Sensei…” He was concerned. We talked. I told him what was going through. He was very kind. It took a while to get back. I eventually did.
I wanted to get strong and come back. I wanted to come back so that I could give back to others all that Sensei had given me. I eventually came back to train in Aikido. Sensei was happy.
He passed away about 6 months after I started to practice again. I continue to train with my Sensei Bobby—Sensei taught both of us. Bobby continues the tradition as he creates Aikido as greater. We both honor Sensei. We are proud to be part of his legacy. We discover freedom in this.
Perhaps fear lives in shame. Freedom lives in honor. Back in 1999, Sensei Dan, my friend Ron, and I travelled to Tokyo for the inauguration ceremony for the new Doshu, at the World Aikido Headquarters. On one of our tourist days, we visited the Graves of the 47 Samurai in Sengaku-ji. The 47 Ronin (Rogue Samurai) lived with honor.
In 1701 feudal lord (Daimyo) Asano Naganori, leader of a samurai clan, met with Court Official Kira Yoshinaka in Edo Castle. Samurai were nobility in feudal Japan. Asano refused to comply with Kira’s demands for brides. Kira insulted Asano calling him a “peasant without manners.” Angered Asano cut Kira’s face with his sword. Their fight halted before Asano could kill Kira.
Because he drew his weapon in Edo Castle, Asano performed seppuku, ritual suicide, for his dishonorable acts, and to perpetuate the honor of his family.
Asano’s loyal men, the 47 Ronin, kill Kira on their mission of vengeance. Though justified, their actions constituted dishonor upon them. In order to restore honor to their families and their future generations, the 47 Ronin all commit seppuku. To be samurai is to honor your word as life and death.
Honor is service to others, making a difference for others now, and for the generations to follow. Honor is about those who come before you and give of themselves. Honor passes on what made a profound difference for you. That is who Sensei was for me. Honor is not all about me. Honor is not all about you. There’s honor in giving of ourselves to others. There’s honor in letting go.
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This post was previously published on the author’s Facebook timeline and is republished here with his permission.
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