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From a young age, national identities have intrigued me. Well, more precisely, they have often confused and hurt me. It is only recently that I am able to say I am ‘intrigued’, as I have grown to think more about them beyond my personal experiences.
I don’t have a mixed ethnicity background; both my parents are Japanese and I identify as Japanese. But I wasn’t always able to identify as Japanese.
When I transferred from an international school in Taiwan to a local school in Japan, as some other kids saw it, I wasn’t and couldn’t be Japanese, because I couldn’t really read, write, or speak Japanese. The discrepancy between how others saw me and how I saw myself felt confusing, uncomfortable, and isolating.
As I continue navigating my way through my love-hate relationship with Japan, I often find myself asking the same question I had as a kid. What and who decides if someone is Japanese? I will explore this question in the context of how the boundaries of the Japanese national identities are set for people of mixed ethnic backgrounds (hāfus) in Japan.
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Identities and national identities: What are they?
Identities are complex; how you understand and express your identity matters, but how others see and categorise you also matters. As sociologist Richard Jenkins describes it, ‘Identity is our understanding of who we are and who other people are, and reciprocally, other people’s understanding of themselves and of others’.
To put it another way, identities are mutually constructed through an interaction between how you see yourself and others, and how others see you and themselves. National identities are one of such identities that are mutually constructed.
So then, what is a nation? Many scholars have had a go at defining it, but it has been quite challenging. Political scientist Benedict Anderson’s definition of the nation as an ‘imagined community’ resonates with me, as it captures how a nation is not naturally but socially formed based on the imagination and belief that people included within the nation belong to the same community.
How do you tell these imagined communities, nations, apart? Anderson says that they can be distinguished by how they are imagined. So when thinking about national identities, people are selected to be included or excluded based on whether they fit that image of how the nation is imagined.
This decision on whether they fit or not can be made by themselves, but it can also be decided by others who claim to belong to the nation.
Japanese national identities and mixed ethnic identities (hāfus)
In Japan, there are narratives shared amongst certain people that like to imagine the nation as racially homogenous. This is evident amongst politicians, such as Taro Aso, who once claimed that ‘No other country but this one has lasted for as long as 2,000 years with one language, one ethnic group and one dynasty’.
Such a claim constructs a consensus of national identity being tied to race and ethnicity, which creates an idea that if you claim your national identity to be Japanese, you must be ethnically Japanese.
Hāfu’s can be seen as placed at the borders of inclusion and exclusion from the Japanese national identity, since they don’t entirely fit the ethnic criteria of being ‘purely’ Japanese. They are positioned on a fluid boundary, where they can be included or excluded based on the context; more specifically, based on whether they ‘uplift’ Japan or not.
Exclusion by appearance
The taken-for-granted idea that ‘being Japanese’ equals being ethnically Japanese, and thus, looking Japanese, hāfus may not be taken as Japanese at first glance.
Assumptions made based on physical appearance imposes certain external ideas of identity, which may not necessarily align with how an individual views their own identity. This can mold into uncomfortable experiences such as being interrogated about their background, or being asked if they speak Japanese.
A prime example of the result of these assumptions is racial profiling: the act of disproportionate police stop and searches on individuals of a specific social identity based on stereotypes. According to a survey by Huffpost Japan in 2021, 86% of respondents who had a non-Japanese background experienced negative encounters during stop and searches.
In a society that takes pride in the illusionary ideal of racial homogeneity, those who do not fit such homogeneity are constructed as the Other, perceived with a generalised sense of suspicion rooting from negative stereotypes aimed at people who look or sound ‘foreign’.
Inclusion, but under certain conditions
Despite such daily exclusions, some point to a new and positive wave of efforts and instances of inclusion recently, especially in sports. This is evident in cases such as the recent Tokyo Olympics where Naomi Osaka, a tennis player of Haitian-American and Japanese background, took on the role as the final torchbearer.
So is this a happy ending to Japan’s story? Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end here.
Debates on Osaka’s Japanese identity are polarised. The way she looks or the way she speaks Japanese was a reason for exclusion by some. But when she presents modesty, gratitude, or patience, beautiful traits which are considered to be rooted in Japanese culture, she is included as Japanese.
This is paradoxical; while her appearance and language skills make some skeptical of her Japanese identity, when she embodies the Japanese ideal, she ‘qualifies’ as Japanese.
The inclusion and praising of Osaka as Japanese when she won the grand slam have also caused some ambivalence amongst hāfus, taken as an example of Japan’s paradoxical inclusion that only takes place when they present an achievement good enough to positively impact the Japanese identity.
This double standard is exemplified by politicians that suggest that dual nationality should be allowed in exceptional cases when an individual presents an excellent achievement, such as winning the Nobel Prize or performing well in the Olympic Games.
A similar idea already exists in the Japanese constitution, which grants Japanese nationality to a foreigner if they are recognised by the Minister of Justice and parliament to have special merit to Japan. These views promote the idea that those who are not ‘purely’ Japanese, and who are pushed to the periphery of Japanese belonging, are only allowed access to a Japanese identity if they showcase exceptional talent.
Worthy enough to be included?
The discourse of earning inclusion when it is of convenience to the nation is not limited to hāfus or Japan.
In the UK, a binary is constructed between a ‘good’ and ‘bad’ migrant; ‘good’ and accepted when one shows exceptional talent or contributions, and ‘bad’ and excluded if they are unable to show such characteristics.
For example, the contributions of the Windrush generation mean they are seen as ‘good’ migrants, thus deserving enough to be British, while other migrants are denied such acceptance, and instead are racialised as criminals.
Luke De Noronha describes this as a ‘national version of the “I’m not racist, I have Black friends” narrative’; the inclusion of ‘good’ migrants is a legitimising reminder that the nation, and wider society, are inclusive, which works to conceal the ongoing realities of exclusion.
This is not to say that migrants and hāfus face the same exact situation, but rather, their conditional inclusion both reflect the common treatment aimed at those at the periphery of a nation; if they are deemed as worthy, deserving, or able to bring positive impact or image to the nation, they are included. If they are seen as otherwise, they are met with suspicion, exclusion, and constant questioning of their identity and belonging.
Specifically in Japan’s case, the inclusion of hāfu athletes presents a positive impression that Japan is becoming inclusive despite the ongoing racism. This is Japan’s version of ‘I’m not racist, I have Black friends’, which has become more like, ‘I’m not racist, I have hāfu friends’. By looking at the conditional inclusion of hāfus, Japan’s inclusion can be understood to not exactly indicate a happy ending, but a continuation of exclusionary ideas.
What does the future hold for Hāfus?
Scholars do say that the stigma surrounding hāfus in Japan has lessened, especially compared to the post-war period. This is indeed a positive trend, yet celebrations should not obfuscate the exclusionary realities hāfus face on a daily basis. Inclusion-exclusion is not black or white; in Japan, it is contextual, conditional, and paradoxical.
If an ‘Identity is our understanding of who we are and who other people are, and reciprocally, other people’s understanding of themselves and of others’, it’s crucial that we continue questioning, considering, and interacting with the different understandings of who and when someone is Japanese. Starting with the multi-identities of hāfus and beyond, the Japanese identity can embrace and reflect the diversity that it has always had amongst its people.