Toki-o!!!

Ah.................... So.

Japan

I blame TV really. Hours upon hours of it. Nowadays a cult series. The Samurai starring Shintaro.

The Samurai was produced by the Senkoska Film Company. It was a black and white show about Shintaro, an heroic Samurai warrior and his never-ending battles with black pyjama-wearing Ninja assassins, who would throw stars at him and yell out ‘Shintaro - you die", but Shintaro always defeated his enemies with his sword. The Ninjas' were martial arts experts; could move in the blink of an eye, leap 10 metres into the air into trees backwards to escape attack and could stick to ceilings like flies, where they would hide when Shintaro entered his house.

Shintaro was assisted by ‘Tombei The Mist’ and together they fought against the bad Black Ninjas and their arch enemies including ‘Kongo of Koga’ and ‘Garidoshi’ with his assistant ‘Onime the Bat’. Shintaro also had a boy companion named ‘Shusaku’.

The series was set in 17th century Japan and was a combination of pantomime, violent action, brilliant sword play and magicianship. Part of its popularity was due to the poor dubbing of English voices over the Japanese soundtrack. Shintaro often moved his mouth for long speeches and the English audio would deliver one or two words. Similarly, fearsome Ninja would often move their lips for short words and the English audio would gush out complete sentences.

What more could a young boy want? Gone were the military toys bought by Dad and Uncles and Grandma and Santa (that fat bastard who dresses as a Coca Cola can) was soon delivering black ninja outfits replete with plastic samurai swords and throwing stars. What a hit. Gangs of violent youth dressed in black battling with the goofy kids swathed in the goodies white across acres of neighbourhood lawns, yelling battle cries in some form of TV language, Shintaro you die.

No wonder its a fucked up world eh? We all grew up with an expectation that Shintaro (or Batman or Superman or Santa) would always win no matter the odds. And the guys in black were always the bad dudes. We learnt to respect violence as a righteous tool. Such a naive attitude we walked forward with.

My youth carried on with the study of Judo, all driven by my early conditioning, all driven by a boys want of adventure. All sanctioned by righteous societal violence.

Ah..................So

Japan.

By the time I got there, I couldnt save it. Where was Shintaro's castle and the forests and streams? How could such an ugly formless drab olive grey city have taken its place? Where were the Samurai and their creed of Budo that drove the feudal Japan I had prepared for. Only over time would I come to understand. Meanwhile, in my usual fashion I stumbled forward.

The first thing that perplexes you is the automation. It sneaks up on you, soon becoming a major part of your day. You walk to a shop. A solar powered electric door opens and a robot will greet you with a bow and an "ohaiyo gozaimast" or good morning. No wait, its not a robot but a kid dressed in some bizarre coloured uniform ritually greeting you. You nod back, they bow twice more, you nod again, they bow again and wait a minute, wait a minute......... stop nodding, the mission is to buy cigarettes, at this rate its gonna take some time. Fix the kid with a steely glint and curtly say "Marl borr oh", the kid spins off shouting "Marl Borr Ohhhhhh" and deftly flicks the cigarettes into a plastic bag, neatly ties it closed and then bowing, presents it to you. Be careful here. Never nod in acknowledgement, one bow or nod from you, means two back, it can take hours to break the cycle. Leave the shop, marvel at the electric door and the solar power unit crammed in above it. Note that you have more coins in your pocket than you did when you walked in. Appreciate that you dont know how, accept that Japan needs coins for anything below a 1000 Y denomination. Then introduce yourself to the automated coffee vending machine. Damn, never seem to have enough coins. Machines have no sense of humour.

The second thing you notice is that everything is soooooo compact. As in sardine can packed, as in live on top of each other in tiny tiny rooms packed. As in I have never seen so many people crammed on a train packed, packed, trust me, packed. Whoa its packed. Tokyo has an official population circa 12,000,000. However, most stats forget to mention that Yokohama also has roughly the same amount of people as do other old city gates of Tokyo nee Edo and combined the real population is around 35,000,000. Thats a lots of train rides each day. Thats a lot of solar powered electric doors opening and closing, and thats one hell of a lot of neighbours. Its kinda hard to be different when you are competing against 34,999,999 others. You really have to have a good act.

I observe a lot of people same dressed, same facing, same housing, same same. Bleak rows of apartment blocks all the same olive grey. Shop fronts which are mirror images of the previous suburb. Everything is automated, faceless, there to serve. The society itself is punctual, ritualised and forever trying to be more gracious. Always queued at a vending machine.

There is comfort in conformity. It doesnt challenge. Its my opinion that its a form of servitude. Some may say humble, others lazy even more might say its a hopelessness. In Tokyo, it belongs.

I observe pockets of resistance in the form of colour and music. Bizarre colour. Bizarre music. Localised outbursts of individualism. Extreme to the point of shock. Gothic clockwork like replica women competing for attention with bizarre theatre performances, struggling rock quartets and wannabee rockabilly's. Such is the circus of Tokyo. Where a thousand villages join to make one of the worlds oddest cities.

Remarkably, at the end of this protest, everyone catches the train home. Back to the clockworx.

Its not until I find a dusty copy of Hagakure - The Book of the Samurai (well an old internet copy anyway), that I begin to make sense of this place and rediscover the path of Shintaro and Tombei. You see, they never left. Just a curving of the path. Its from Hagakure that i steal the following excerpt from chapter 1.

We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim
and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaining one's aim is a dog's death
and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart
right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the
Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.

A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. This is the highest sort of
retainer. If one is born into a prominent family that goes back for generations, it is sufficient to deeply consider the
matter of obligation to one's ancestors, to lay down one's body and mind, and to earnestly esteem one's master. It is
further good fortune if, more than this, one has wisdom and talent and can use them appropriately. But even a person
who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think
earnestly of his master. Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.

Woo. Heavy. Time to relook at Shintaro the selfless who with righteousness lived as though his body was already dead fearlessly facing down his masters foes (oddly his master was never revealed on the program although he definitely did serve a force of good, I was a kid but i remember this, and by the way, who is your master?). He was nimbly aided by the lesser righteous and athletically clever Tombei. The theme was, on reflection, servitude. Packaged nicely with the spirit of adventure to get the attention of any young boy. If one did service, one was meritorius, pure, white. The guys in the nasty black suits were the misfits, the outcasts the individuals who simply couldnt shut up.

I look around again at the crowded street. Everywhere I look I see Shintaros and Tombeis (and whatever their sisters names were) wandering the streets to work dressed in the same selfless gracious uniforms, themselves selfless and gracious. The art of the sword is a ritual thing. There is also an art of the bus driver, an art of the convenience shop attendent all of which are based on selflessness.

The nasty black Koga Ninja types hang in corraled areas such as Shibuya, Ebisu and Harajuku. Gothic in their clockwork.

Me personally? I always wore black.


For an extensive photo collection on Tokyo, go here http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikonokuro/sets/72157607405259245/ and also here http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikonokuro/sets/72157605580785757/