Last week, I had the good fortune of interpreting for Governor Shiota of Kagoshima prefecture, who visited DC for a few days with a large delegation to promote local agricultural and fishery products. Apparently, half of Kagoshima’s agricultural and fishery exports come to the U.S. (mainly the West Coast), and they are looking to further expand their customer base to other regions within the U.S.
I accompanied the Kagoshima delegation as they participated in the Japanese Street Festival (part of the National Cherry Blossom Festival) and promoted its tea and shochu, among many other products. I was surprised to learn that Kagoshima is the largest producer of tea in Japan. This includes green tea but many other varieties as well, including black tea (for which they are also the #1 producer in Japan!), hojicha, and oolong.
Tourism banner at the Japanese Street Festival
One of the greatest highlights during the delegation’s visit was a reception held at the Japanese ambassador’s residence. Chefs of several local restaurants showcased creative dishes using Kagoshima ingredients, including yellowtail, wagyu, eel, bonito flakes, and burdock root. Tea and shochu from Kagoshima once again had their own booths, much to the delight of guests. (I was especially thrilled to see Hamada Syuzou, who I had interpreted for seven years ago at an event at the Smithsonian!)
Gov. Shiota brought four samurai (wearing armor made in Kagoshima!), who each carried banners promoting livestock, fishery, tea, and shochu
This was a particularly meaningful assignment for me because my grandparents (who were originally from Tokyo) used to live in Kagoshima City. I spent many summers visiting them, and even got to attend a local elementary school for a few weeks. I have great memories enjoying the view of the majestic Sakurajima, being fascinated by how the city is regularly covered in volcanic ash, relishing heaps of black pork, and learning about the unique history of the Satsuma Domain at the end of the Edo period (including taking on a fight with Great Britain!) .
Many thanks to Governor Shiota and the Kagoshima delegation for the opportunity, Ambassador Yamada and everyone at the Embassy of Japan for their wonderful hospitality, and Grace Eventive for kindly introducing me to the delegation!
Tiny and super adorable signage, tatami mat, and little bottle promoting Daiyame, one of Hamada Syuzou’s shochus
–The guides at Colonial Williamsburg and Jamestown Settlement
Introduction:
Upon visiting Colonial Williamsburg and Jamestown Settlement (museums that illustrate the history of 17th and 18th century Virginia), I learned about a fascinating profession called historic interpreters. In the post below, I explore the similarities between their work and what language interpreters do.
Historic interpreters on horse carriages at Colonial Williamsburg
Earlier this week, I visited Colonial Williamsburg, an outdoor museum dedicated to the history of the capital of Virginia colony in the 18th century. I also enjoyed visiting Jamestown Settlement, which discusses the history of the first English settlement in the America. I was especially impressed with how the latter carefully sought to highlight stories of diverse people, including indigenous populations, those who were forcibly brought over from Africa, and women.
Everywhere we went, there were costumed guides giving tours, answering questions, giving theater performances, and demonstrating daily life during that time. Some were vocal and friendly, others more reserved and focused on the task at hand–and all seemed dedicated to their role and knowledgeable about the people that they represented.
I was surprised to learn that these guides were called “historic interpreters.” As a language interpreter, I was immediately drawn to this concept. Why are we both called by the same name, and what are the similarities?
An Interpreter lives somewhere between the world of educator and Sherpa and his or her chief aim is to connect our audiences to the many meanings of an object, a story, an event or a place. Not unlike a language interpreter . . . a historic interpreter translates or reveals hidden meanings from our past and makes them relevant to our present.
An interpreter cooking (?) at a kitchen in Williamsburg
Indeed, that sounds very similar to what we do. What seems fascinating to me is that historic interpreters connect the past with the present, forging ties across time. We language interpreters connect those who speak different languages, creating ties across geography.
Historic interpreters at Colonial Williamsburg apparently receive training from the National Association for Interpretation (NAI). NAI’s membership seems to include individuals who work at parks and zoos as well, and not just those who work at historic sites. The former seems very similar to a type of language interpreter called interpreter guides, except it is presumably monolingual. Both types of interpreters are tied to specific geographic areas, welcoming visitors and providing local knowledge. The NAI website occasionally even refers to bilingual interpretation, further blurring the lines.
Etymology and Definitions
I’ve always wondered why language interpretation is called “interpretation.” The word “interpret” apparently came from the Latin word interpretari, which means to “explain.” While we language interpreters should seldom insert explanatory notes into what the original speaker said, this does capture the spirit of what we do, as we always seek to choose vocabulary that is not only accurate but also easy for the listener to understand. “Explain” also seems similar to the goals of historic interpreters and those at NAI. (Incidentally, historic interpreters also seem to fit another definition of “interpreter” that’s listed in the Oxford Learner’s Dictionaries: “a person who performs a piece of music or a role in a play in a way that clearly shows their ideas about its meaning.”)
By contrast, the word “translate” is related to the word “transfer.” Based on the image these words conjure (“explain” versus “transfer”), it seems to me that interpreters can show more of their individuality in their work compared to translators. The former works more directly with people (which requires flexibility to respond to unpredictable actions), while the latter focuses more on words that are fixed on a page (emphasizing accuracy and eloquence rather than quick thinking).
While I enjoy serving as both a language interpreter and a translator, I do feel that I get to be myself a bit more while interpreting. This is especially true while guiding visitors on the International Visitor Leadership Program or interpreting on stage for cultural events. But even conference interpretation, where we are in booths that are a bit removed from the action, seems somewhat personal. The International Association of Conference Interpreters (AIIC) explains that interpretation “makes use of particular linguistic resources, transmitting the original speaker’s ideas with their particular rhythm and intonation, making use of rhetorical devices and yes, even gestures.” Indeed, our ears are our most important asset when interpreting, but we also read lips and expressions. We empathize with the person we are interpreting and mimic their tone, sometimes involuntarily copying their body language. And we reproduce everything that we see and hear with our own voice, which is unique to each one of us.
Some young men were called upon to serve as language interpreters between Native Americans and settlers in 17th century Virginia, according to this panel at the Jamestown Settlement
Between historic interpreters and language interpreters, the difference is that the latter benefits from working with someone who is (in most cases) alive and present in real time, even if they happen to be on Zoom and physically located on the other side of the world. I have so much respect for historic interpreters, who must not only conduct substantial research on people who are long gone, but also fill in the gaps with their imagination and enact what they studied. I look forward to meeting and learning from more of these wonderful interpreters in the future.
This post discusses a recent article in The Washington Post that explores our identities online, and in which I played a small role. I touch upon the difficulties of translating kaomoji and slang, as well as the challenge of tweeting publicly in front of anonymous readers.
A few days ago, The Washington Post published a wonderful article by Drew Harwell, technology reporter. It centers around Soya no Sohi, a biker who tweets using FaceApp, changing his gender and age. Soya (whose real name is Mr. Nakajima) is a fascinating, vivacious, and upbeat individual, and it’s no wonder that fans love him all the more now that he’s revealed his true self. The article is a great exploration of identity and how we project ourselves on social media, examining the issue from multiple angles, be it gender, age, relationships, or cultural/societal norms. It’s a unique and positive look into social media and AI, standing apart from recent dystopian takes on tech and our future.
I was honored to play a small role in this article, and through Drew’s kindness, even be recognized in the byline. I interpreted the online interview with Mr. Nakajima, and translated additional information and general communications. The hardest part of this process was something I never expected: translating tweets.
Short, Unconventional Messages
Two characteristics set Twitter apart from other social media platforms: anonymity and brevity. And I think these go hand-in-hand.
There are many Twitter users, like journalists, authors, politicians, and other public figures, who use their real names. Because social media is part of their personal brand, they tend to be measured in what they write: purposeful, cautious, and often in complete sentences (there are exceptions, like those who write inflammatory tweets to stay in the public discourse).
But users who remain anonymous have no obligation to write in a formal manner that follows conventional grammar rules. While online writing is already short, I think tweets that are restricted by character count are more prone to slang, abbreviations, and emoji (which are not only fun but also save valuable space). This is where translation becomes a challenge.
Emoji and Kaomoji
Soya’s tweets are filled with cute emoji and kaomoji (Japanese emoticons which, unlike the western equivalent, we can appreciate without tilting our heads!). Here’s a tweet right after the WaPo interview:
When I translated this tweet, I marveled at how emoji have totally become a universal language (in fact, this NPO uses emoji to allow children from different countries to communicate with one another). They needed no explanation.
The kaomoji were a different matter. These little pictures are meant to defy words, but I wasn’t sure if they were visually clear to everyone. For the three kaomoji here (5th line, 6th line, and last line), I wrote notes saying: “shows a sigh of relief,” “shows nervousness (looking left and right, sweating and panicking),” and “shows happiness.”
Then there was this tweet, which Soya had posted right after Mr. Nakajima’s appearance in a Japanese variety show in March. While I felt bad reducing tiny, adorable pictures into blunt, boring words, I explained them like this:
(/ω＼*) Covering face in embarrassment; feeling flattered
(*´▽`人) Blushing and putting hands together in gratitude.
While the other kaomoji might be easier to understand, I was certain the one below (from this tweet, after Mr. Nakajima deliberately revealed his real face in the handlebar mirror) needed an explanation:
(ﾉ≧ڡ≦)☆
I initially started writing “sticking tongue out mischievously; slapping one’s own head after admitting to mistake.” But realizing that a lengthy explanation on the “tehepero” manga trope was probably too much information in this context, I settled with “kaomoji meaning ‘oops.'” (Again, what a boring way to describe this cute face!)
From Slang to Slang
The article incorporated the tweets of other Twitter users too, to gauge their reaction to Soya’s big reveal and what they think about Soya in general. Aside from pictures, the trickiest thing to translate was laughter.
In Japanese, laughter is shown even in somewhat formal contexts (e.g. magazine interviews) with 笑, the kanji for “laugh.” Because that character is read as “warai,” that was abbreviated to “w,” and that’s now become more common among the younger generation when they text each other. A few years ago, that evolved even further among some hardcore netizens, who now use the kanji for “grass,” or 草 (because the letter “w” looks like grass growing on the ground).
Some tweets only had one “w,” which I translated as “LOL.” Other tweets with multiple w’s (like this one, referring to Soya’s handlebar mirror tweet and joking that Soya’s dad was accidentally included in the photo) were translated as “ROFL” to signify a bigger laugh. Thank goodness there wasn’t a wider variety, because those are the only two laughter slangs I know (“LMAO” seemed inappropriate for obvious reasons–and I honestly don’t know if that’s a bigger laugh than ROFL)!
Just for fun, I tested how AI translation services like DeepL and Google Translate might translate these tweets. DeepL ignores all the w’s (probably seeing them as typos), and Google Translate just includes the w’s as is. “Grass” remains “grass.” It is ironic (but a relief for professionals like us!) that humans are still needed to understand internet slang.
Of course, there are other elements that are lost in translation. Soya refers to herself with a feminine pronoun. She also occasionally mixes in the local Ibaraki dialect (as in the tweet below, thanking followers for reading the WaPo article), and that’s probably another factor that makes her so lovable and approachable. It’s unfortunate that there’s no way to convey the spirit behind these tweets aside from clunkily adding a side note to straightforward translations.
Working on this WaPo project made me rethink my relationship with Twitter. I first got an account a decade ago, when I was a graduate student studying journalism. We all learned how to market ourselves on social media, which was especially important because the media landscape was rapidly changing, and jobs at media companies were decreasing.
But I just could not get into Twitter. I had difficulty chiseling what I wanted to say into a perfect haiku of 140 characters (as was the limit until a few years ago). And more importantly, I found the Twitter space scary. Every post was open to the public. People didn’t have to show their faces or their real names. I felt–and still feel–much safer on Facebook, where I’m only connected to people I know and trust.
In the WaPo article, Drew quotes researchers and points out that in the past, many people “with ‘stigmatized social identities’ . . . saw online anonymity as a way to act like themselves without fear of offline consequences.” He continues: “It wasn’t until the rise of giant social networks like Facebook — which used real identities to, among other things, supercharge targeted advertising — that this big game of pretend gained an air of duplicity.”
This made me realize how lucky I am to have an in-person community where I feel at home. It’s a luxury, and I shouldn’t be whining about leaving my comfort zone online. And either way, we all create online identities to an extent. I chose my profile photo out of others that I didn’t think were as good. Even when blogging about my weaknesses or struggles, I try to reach a positive conclusion. It’s possible to find a good balance between being authentic and not revealing every flaw.
I’m very much inspired by Soya and Mr. Nakajima: full of energy, always upbeat, and not afraid to try new things. During the interview, Mr. Nakajima said: “Unless you start, you’ll come to regret it. People will say, ‘I’ll do this once things settle down or once everything is in place.’ But by the time everything is in place, your life will end.”
That really spoke to me. I hope I can be more courageous and post more frequently, be it through this blog or social media, rather than overthinking everything.
At the very least, it’s comforting to know what to do if I make a mistake. I’ll simply post this:
鳩山氏に関する記述は、a pleasant if awkward fellowとあります。A pleasant but awkward fellowではないにもかかわらず、多くのメディアで、if をbut と同じように扱って、「感じはよいが」と始めてからawkwardの訳（後述）を入れています。If とbut が違うと、かなり意味が異なります。既に翻訳者の鴻巣友季子さんが指摘されているように、ifを使ったこの文面は、「ポジティブな表現に着地」しているのです。
ここはカンマが省略されており、本来は、a pleasant, if awkward, fellowと言う文面になると私は考えています。この場合、カンマが両側にあると、括弧と同じ役割を果たし、a pleasant (if awkward) fellowと同じ意味になります。ダッシュを両側に置いて a pleasant–if awkward–fellowとも書くことができます。重要なのは、カンマ、括弧、ダッシュのどれであれ、if awkwardという中身を抜いても、文章がそのまま成り立つということです。つまり、中身の部分は補助的な役割を果たしているのであり、重視されるべきなのはpleasantというところなのです。
おそらく、ここでこの文が終わっていたなら（たとえば、He’s a pleasant, if awkward, fellow. など）、オバマ氏はちゃんと両側のカンマ（または括弧やダッシュ）を入れたであろうと思います。ただ、その後もA pleasant if awkward fellow, Hatoyama was . . . と続き、カンマを何度も入れると読みづらくなるため、省略したのだと思います。
一つ明確に言えるのは、「厄介」ではない、ということです。Awkwardな人は無害ですし、迷惑をかけるタイプではありません。他人がそういう評価を下すと、若干上から目線であるだけでなく、「もう少しうまく立ち回れたら楽に生きられるだろうに．．．」といった、少し憐みの感情が入っています。「惜しい」「残念」といった感じで、全体としては好ましく思っているからこそ出る言葉です。A pleasant if awkward fellowは、「感じのよい人（ちょっと不器用だけどね）」といったニュアンスになると思います。
Awkwardという言葉は、人だけでなく、雰囲気や感情にも使うことができます。たとえば、今付き合っている人と歩いている時に、前の恋人とばったり会って挨拶を交わした場合。後で友人にThat was so awkward! （とっても気まずかった！）とこぼしたりもできるでしょう。または、大企業で新入社員として働き始めて間もない時に、過去にはテレビでしか見ていなかった社長が時折やってきて話しかけてきたら、毎度緊張してしどろもどろになってしまうかもしれません。そういう時も、We’ve spoken three times, but I still feel awkward. （もう三回も話しているけれど、未だに気後れしてしまう）といった言い方ができます。
National Donut Day (全米ドーナツの日)に、無料のドーナツをもらえるということで、友人とKrispy Kremeで列に並びました。ショーケースに日本のポンデリングのようなものを見かけてそれを注文したら、単にドーナツの穴が並んでそう見えただけでした。店員さんが袋に入れるところを見て訂正したかったものの、後ろには長蛇の列で、店員さんも忙しそうなので何も言えませんでした。せっかく無料でも、普通のドーナツの6分の1くらいの大きさの穴しかもらえなかった私。こういったawkwardな間違いも、一緒に笑ってくれる友人がいれば恥ずかしくありません！?
A fortune cookie that I took home from a restaurant back in February–and which I happened to open days ago! What an appropriate fortune in the quarantine era.
The challenges I’m facing (the current lull in jobs and financial difficulties) have been difficult to talk about. It’s been hard to admit my struggles when I just recently chose the path of freelancing. And so many people are facing much greater obstacles. Still, opening up about my situation has been rewarding.
Freelancing by Choice
My career has basically come to a standstill. When I voluntarily left my previous job three months ago, this was not at all what I had in mind.
I’d been working towards independence for a long time. As much as I enjoyed my full-time job at a nonprofit that helps strengthen U.S.-Japan relations, I’d always wanted to try freelance interpreting. With the generous support of bosses and colleagues, for about four years, I used my vacation days to interpret. I tried to build savings and a portfolio–and courage. There never was a point where I could confidently say “now is the time,” and I kept extending my own timeline and financial goals. But eventually, the lack of rest started to take a physical toll, and I reached a mental tipping point. So I finally took the plunge at the end of last year and became a full-time freelancer.
Things were great in the beginning. Thanks to the kindness of interpreting mentors and colleagues, clients I’d previously worked with, and fellow freelancers who guided me through this new lifestyle, it looked as if I could make ends meet. In early January, it didn’t even occur to me that the faraway coronavirus would affect my work.
Taking the plunge (a roller coaster at Busch Gardens in August 2019)
A Cascade of Cancellations
The first sign came in late January. An interpreting assignment I was supposed to do in mid-February was canceled–it was a multilateral meeting that included China. But as the virus took hold, first in Japan and then in the United States, cancellations continued. Two in March. Three in April. One in May. And on and on. Included in this was a high-level meeting that would’ve been the biggest interpreting assignment I’d ever had–a great opportunity that I was devastated to lose. A few assignments, thankfully, were postponed rather than cancelled, but it’s hard to count on them when things are so uncertain.
Soon, I had nothing. My calendar was suddenly empty. I felt incredibly lucky that I could continue to do some translation work for the nonprofit I used to belong to. But this was a hard lesson on the instability of freelance work.
I turned to other things, like the monthly column I’ve been writing for Sakura Shimbun, a Japanese community paper here in DC. Then, days after I submitted my column for March, I learned that the newspaper had to suspend publication. Due to dwindling ads, a lot of local newspapers around the country have suffered–and Sakura was no exception.
Everything in interpretation came to a halt.
Mental Well-being
There’s been a lot of talk about how to take care of our physical health. In recent weeks, there’s been a lot of articles on how to take care of our mental well-being, too.
In my last column for Sakura Shimbun before it was suspended, I wrote about how reaching out to and helping others might in turn help us feel better during this challenging time. It was partially a reminder to myself, as well as a message of gratitude to friends who reached out to me.
In one of the paragraphs, I wrote: “People who live alone and can no longer see friends and colleagues, as well as those who have lost jobs, may be having a difficult time. If they seem to hesitate to share their feelings over emails or text messages, you could propose to have a phone date with them.”
That part was about me. Because honestly, it hasn’t been easy to be truthful. In written exchanges, I tended to edit out the negatives and tried to sound positive. I was embarrassed about my terrible timing of going independent. How shameless could I be to turn to former colleagues, who kindly supported me in my decision to leave only months ago, and ask for work? After announcing so proudly (as nervous and fearful as I was inside) that I’m going to try this new lifestyle and getting the blessing of so many people, I couldn’t complain. It was my choice to become a freelancer.
And so many others are going through much bigger challenges–like those in medicine and health, as well as those who lost full-time jobs. I am also very lucky because I am only responsible for my own livelihood. I have so much respect for those who are supporting family members through this difficult time. And my heart aches to think about the bosses who must tell their employees that their business has to be suspended.
Enjoying a walk with me, myself, and I (a bench 10 minutes from my place)
Living Alone
But one thing I can say is that living alone is tough. I’ve always felt lonely because my family is in Japan. When the coronavirus caused the borders to close between my two home countries, I cried a little. Both the symbolic implications of it–however temporary it was–and the inability to travel was heartbreaking. I’ve always had the choice to visit if I wanted to–and now more than ever, I am sad to be apart from my parents and my boyfriend, who are halfway around the world.
I tell my parents I’m worried about them. But in reality, I’m the one who wants to run and hug them, with the childish desire to feel protected. While borders were still open, they offered that I could stay with them in Tokyo for the time being–but in the few days that I hesitated for various reasons, including the concern that I might bring the virus to them, I lost the opportunity.
Nights are lonelier. When the spring sun sets, birds stop chirping, and darkness takes hold, I start to worry. It’s not just the fear of getting very sick and possibly having to go to the hospital on my own. The reality is that I won’t have interpreting work for months, especially as a relative newcomer in the field. And even when the social distancing measures are over, I may have less work because clients are also having financial difficulties. Gig workers are only now being considered for unemployment benefits, which I may not be eligible for because I just started. The stimulus check is based on my income last year, when I had a higher salary. Thinking about these things keeps me up at night, even though I know that I need sleep for my health.
I’m looking for new opportunities in the meantime. And I know now’s the time to write, which is one of the reasons I chose to become a freelancer. But it’s been hard to be creative when reality is more dystopian than fiction. Articles like these, which help relieve the pressure that we need to make the best use of our time now, have helped. And I realized that, before I could work on any happy stories, I first needed to get my thoughts on the virus out–as in this post.
In the dark, even a pretty redbud tree looks like barbed wire… (this is also around my neighborhood)
Collaboration Rather Than Division
Until now, public health to me was mostly a concept–I reaped the benefits of mandatory vaccines and diseases that were put out before my time, but it was never something I considered in my everyday life. But now, not only every government decision, but everything that comes out of leaders’ mouths affect us physically and emotionally. My greatest passion in life has always been to connect my two home countries, and seeing all countries effectively shut their borders makes me very sad. Even some states are implementing quarantines to those from other states–and while it can’t be helped because the infections need to be controlled, this fear of any outsider is a worrisome mentality. The animosity between certain American and Chinese leaders has been concerning, too. This common problem that the entire world is facing should unite us and serve as a time for collaboration, not blaming.
Recently, the rhetoric on masks has been changing in the U.S., and many more are wearing them. While I’ve never been a fan of masks, I am relieved that people are more accepting of it. I hadn’t worn them in the U.S. until now because I was afraid of sticking out. Seeing reports of what’s happening to many Asian Americans, I didn’t want to be a target of slurs or physical violence. Yes, the way the Chinese government initially sought to hide this disease is terrible, and we’ve seen how numbers are underreported even now. But the people of China–and people of Asian descent throughout the world–are as much victims as everyone else. If anything, the situation is worse for those who have to be afraid because of what they look like. I suspect people who discriminate know that deep down, and that the way they act is more a manifestation of their own anger and insecurity regarding job losses, financial instability, physical and mental health–and above all, an intense panic in losing control over their own lives. I hope they realize that this fear is something that grips us all right now, regardless of where or who we are.
The Level 4 travel advisory against all international travel
Gaining Support
It took me a while to accept that maybe it was ok to ask others for emotional support. I had always been honest about all this with my parents and boyfriend, who check in with me regularly as they see the numbers rapidly climb in the U.S., and have selflessly sent care packages when they found items that are also scarce in Japan. But I also decided to open up to friends who had reached out to me, and write to others that I hadn’t seen in a while.
Everyone responded so kindly. I’ve had calls with my middle school friends in Idaho and LA, as well as friends and former colleagues in DC. I talked about my situation at my now-virtual Meetup group, as well as with friends from grad school who now live in Tokyo, New York, and Vancouver. Each person has their own difficulties, such as parenting while working from home. I am grateful that, while this challenge has stopped us from seeing friends and family in person, it allows us to build stronger bonds with those who live faraway. It takes courage to be vulnerable, but it’s always worth it.
I’m writing this today in hopes that it might pay forward the support I received, and cheer up others who are also living alone. Or others who have a hard time opening up about challenges when everyone else is also going through a trying time. I know we’ll get through this, even if it’s not as quickly as we’d like.
Much love and appreciation from the other side of the screen ♡
–Interpreting for the Kansai Keizai Doyukai in DC and Cambridge
Last month, I had the opportunity to interpret for delegates from Kansai Keizai Doyukai (the Kansai Association of Corporate Executives), as they participated in their annual symposium at the Harvard Kennedy School. Every year, they participate in a one-day symposium in Cambridge with professors at the Kennedy School–and also visit another city (for this year, DC) to exchange views with opinion leaders. This was meaningful to me in many ways.
A view from the booth at Loeb House at the Kennedy School, prior to the symposium
Memorable reunions
First, the interpreter who was kind enough to bring me onto this project was someone I’ve admired for years. I met this interpreter more than ten years ago, when she trained many of us Japanese language contract interpreters at the State Department. We lost touch for a bit–but reunited about a year later in New York, where she was kind enough to give me a few jobs. I lost touch with her again after that (I left the country for a while, and by the time I returned, her old email address no longer worked). Then in 2017, I attended a dinner in DC as a USJC staff member–this dinner was with the Kansai Keizai Doyukai on their annual symposium trip, and accompanying them was the interpreter I had wanted to see for so long! It turned out she had worked with this group for decades. So I was really happy to get to work with her directly this year. She joined the Cambridge portion of the program, and from her and the other senior interpreters, I learned so much about the craft of interpreting, as well as next steps I could take in my career.
One of the delegates was also a familiar face. She was a participant in a 2017 International Visitor Leadership Program themed on women’s empowerment. This is an annual program that Kankeiren (the Kansai Economic Federation) conducts with the State Department, and the 2017 delegation that I interpreted for visited Boston and LA. She was kind enough to bring me a gift from Japan: a cute stomach warmer (haramaki) with a kitty on it! I’ve never owned a haramaki so I’m very excited about it 🙂
The cute haramaki with a kitty!
Another nice aspect about this project was that the DC itinerary included a lunch with the U.S.-Japan Council President, Irene. It’s always nice to interpret for USJC, as it feels like bringing together different aspects of my life.
U.S.-China relations and digital transformation
The DC portion was filled with meetings with thinktanks, and it was great to hear their opinions on the latest developments in U.S.-Japan relations and security in the Indo-Pacific, as well as the rapidly changing relationship between the United States and China. Many of the business leaders in the delegation have worked globally for years, and asked tough questions, often directly in English, about the U.S.’s current and future stance.
In Cambridge, we took a tour of the Harvard Art Museum, a new, modern Renzo Piano structure uniting three older museums. Our group’s student tour guide did such a great job explaining about the works of Klimt, Picasso and more, that we went beyond the time limit with numerous questions and observations.
The entrance to the Harvard Art Museum
With the symposium at the Kennedy School, half of the focus was on U.S.-China relations (I was amazed to have the opportunity to interpret for Professor Joseph Nye, whose work I’ve admired since college!). The other half was on the digital transformation of society. When a poll was conducted on how the symposium participants think digital technology will mean to humans 20 years from now, the results were fascinating: most of the Japanese delegates thought digital technology would be a “friend,” while most of the American professors thought it would be a “servant.” To this, symposium participants remarked that Japanese pop culture like Astro Boy and Doraemon might have played a role in shaping the mindset that robots are friendly–which is fascinating to me!
This year’s theme was about security and society in the digital age
I was very inspired by the business leaders who were not only engaged in their own communities and region (Kansai), but also participated in global, cross-sector discussions to shape the future of their companies. This was a really fun project, and I hope I’ll have the chance to work on it again in the coming years!
–The sister-city relationship between Baltimore and Kawasaki
Interpreting at the MOU signing ceremony between the Mayor of Baltimore and the Kawasaki delegation (Photo courtesy of Baltimore City Hall)
During the six years I spent in Japan, I grew up and went to school in Ota-ku, a southwestern ward in Tokyo, and Yokohama. Both places neighbor the city of Kawasaki, an industrial city that I visited many times.
So I was honored to interpret for a delegation representing the city of Kawasaki when they visited Baltimore last month. They are sister cities celebrating the 40th anniversary of their relationship!
Sister City Relationship
At a lunch at local restaurant Ida B’s Table with members of the Baltimore-Kawasaki Sister City Committee. The committee members had very interesting life stories!
The Baltimore-Kawasaki Sister City Committee is led by two wonderful individuals who are very committed and active. I met them when I interpreted at the Baltimore Japan Art Festival a year ago–and they have kindly given me several interpreting opportunities since then (including this one!). Working alongside Kawasaki officials, they arranged these meetings during the delegations’ visit.
One of our meetings was with Baltimore Sister Cities, Inc., a nonprofit organization that brings together the representatives of seven cities around the world that have sister relationships with Baltimore. It was fascinating to hear about the Dutch city of Rotterdam and its exchanges with Baltimore on architecture and urban design; about Xiamen in China and its youth exchange programs with Baltimore; and Alexandria in Egypt, which is known for its ancient library and has a digital exchange program with students in Baltimore. The cities have varied connections and histories with Baltimore, but what was encouraging to me is that Baltimore Sister Cities was founded in 2016–showing that despite what’s going on in recent domestic policies in the U.S., the trend towards globalization (and especially regional collaboration) is only getting stronger!
Separately, Mayor Jack Young of Baltimore and the Chair of the Kawasaki City Council signed an MOU commemorating the 40th anniversary. (The mayor of Kawasaki had to withdraw from the delegation due to Typhoon Hagibis, which struck just a few days prior.) The Kawasaki side presented a gift: Japan’s famous wax food samples, made to resemble Chesapeake crabs and other regional delicacies! The mayor displayed it right outside his office.
The Kawasaki delegation admiring how Mayor Young displayed their gift, a wax food sample of Baltimore delicacies (Photo courtesy of Baltimore City Hall)
Urban Development in Baltimore
Another theme of this delegation’s visit was urban development. We heard from a local redevelopment company as well as various officials from the Baltimore City Hall working on Project CORE, which strives to improve housing and shared spaces. The most memorable part to me was when we visited neighborhoods and saw new recreational spaces created with the vision of local residents. One of those, Kirby Park, is a green space among new and old houses (some of them waiting to be demolished). The park featured not only new gardens, benches, and trees planted by local residents that very morning, but also a horseshoe pit, in a nod to tradition and history.
We also visited the Sagamore Pendry Hotel, which just opened two years ago. Originally a commercial pier that was built in 1914, the waterfront hotel offers modern interior design while retaining the brick structure, beams and other parts of the pier. There are also many elements that serve as a nod to Baltimore, like nautical and industrial decorations, as well as a mural of the national anthem (which refers to Fort McHenry in Baltimore). What was fascinating to me was that this renovation was done by Kevin Plank, the founder of Under Armor. Apparently, since establishing the company headquarters in Baltimore (he is from Maryland), he has worked to rebuild and invest in the community. These connections are shown in many ways: for example, hotel guests can use the Under Armor gym, which is located right across the water, for free (I can’t imagine riding the water taxi in gym clothes, though!).
The interior of the Sagamore Pendry Hotel. They told us that the arch was part of the original pier structure, and that the view looking out to the street is an homage to how Baltimore residents would sit on porches and interact with neighbors.
Urban Development in DC
The delegation also visited DC, where we heard about the Anacostia Waterfront Initiative from the DC Department of Transportation. A new bridge and park will not only connect Anacostia with the rest of the DC, but also strives to bring social equality among different communities by providing a space where they can interact, learn, and rest together.
We also visited places like the new DC United Audi Field, where we saw green infrastructure applied to the very wide sidewalks (accommodating huge crowds that would come see soccer games) around the stadium. Our last stop was The Wharf, where we admired the waterfront view, and heard from the firm that designed it about how it’s booming as a new neighborhood.
A model of The Wharf
I learned so much about sister city ties, urban development, and most especially about local residents’ pride in their communities. This was such a fun project and I’m glad to have had a tiny role in it!
–Interpreting at the Baltimore Japan Arts Festival
Interpreting for Utomaru and Mr. Fine at MICA
Last month, I had the opportunity to interpret for the Baltimore Japan Art Festival (BJAF). This annual event celebrates contemporary Japanese art, and I was lucky enough to support it this year and last year. I have lots of respect for the Nippon Motion team, who put on a multi-day festival just on a volunteer basis, in between their busy full-time jobs!
BJAF 2019: Utomaru
One of my favorite illustrations at Utomaru’s exhibit. It reminds me of the line, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” (the title of the novel that later became Blade Runner).
This year, the featured artist was Utomaru, an illustrator who uses very cool, vivid colors. I interpreted for a discussion between her and Alex Fine, a Baltimore-based illustrator, mainly targeted for students at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA). They discussed everything from Utomaru’s unique palette (“why not draw someone with a blue skin color?” she asks), to the struggle between commercial work and personal work, aspects of Japanese and American culture in her work, her love for the cute and gory, and the importance of finding your own community of artists.
The art toy MIMI, which is inspired by the movie Cannibal Holocaust (1980).
BJAF 2018: Mr. Yusuke Nakamura
I love the elegance of Mr. Nakamura’s work. In the illustration at the bottom, the little dog is actually the country of Japan.
And at BJAF 2018, which was held in September last year, the featured artist was the illustrator Mr. Yusuke Nakamura. He gave a full lecture on his development as an artist, as well as the image that certain colors evoke (his great example was the Power Rangers: the heroes are always red, and the yellow one and blue one just don’t seem as strong). He also spoke about Bikkuriman stickers, which I hadn’t thought about in three decades (haha!). I really love his style. He said he was influenced by Mucha and that’s really apparent! In studying for this interpretation, I also came across his Twitter account, in which he often gives virtual lessons on drawing. His philosophy is to make art accessible–something that I really empathized with. And he is incredibly hardworking: backstage, even as we were waiting for the stage set up and discussing what his lecture is about, he was on his laptop refining the colors and outlines of his most current work.
One of my favorite works that was on exhibit: Wonder Woman (who’s calmly drinking tea, haha)!
Both were very inspiring, especially in their discussion of colors and encouragement of budding artists. It was truly an honor to meet these artists. Many thanks to Nippon Motion for the opportunity!
Interpreting Mr. Nakamura’s lecture–and occasionally giving out goods to MICA students who asked questions
–Interpreting a talk with a former Defense Minister
A view from the booth prior to the start of the event
Last month, I had the opportunity to interpret for the Stimson Center’s “Voices of Japan” events. One of the key events was a public discussion with former Japanese Defense Minister Itsunori Onodera.
Minister Onodera spoke about Japan’s National Defense Policy Guidelines, the importance of the U.S.-Japan Security Alliance, security in the Indo-Pacific region, North Korea, and concerns about the ongoing conflict between Japan and South Korea. But the biggest theme was the rise of China in every realm: technology (5G), economy (trade wars with the U.S.), geoeconomics (the Belt & Road Initiative), as well as its humanitarian crises and surveillance system. (A video of the event is available here.)
The program
Minister Onodera was such a great speaker. The fascinating content illustrated how many complicated issues in the world are interrelated, but it was always easy to follow. He was also an ideal person to interpret for, speaking slowly, logically, and with good enunciation. During the Q&A with moderator Ms. Yuki Tatsumi, Director of the Japan Program at the Stimson Center, he said something funny on a few occasions–and when the audience didn’t catch on right away, he followed up with, “That was a joke, so I hope you’d laugh”! Jokes are often a big challenge for interpreters, in terms of the pressure to relay the humor to the audience–so him asking the audience to laugh made our jobs easier (and took away some of the pressure from some very serious topics!).
Minister Onodera was obviously extremely knowledgeable but also seemed very humble and down-to-earth. I’d previously heard praises from bureaucrats who’ve worked with him, and now I see why! I hope I’ll have the chance to interpret for him again in the future.
–Interpreting about shochu and remembering my grandfather
Mr. Hamada (right) speaking about Saigo Takamori (on the screen), the model for The Last Samurai
Last month, I had the chance to interpret another event with the Smithsonian, this time themed on Satsuma Shochu, a distilled drink (shochu) from Kagoshima prefecture. I was thrilled to be involved, since Kagoshima, the second most southern prefecture in Japan, has a very special place in my heart. But more on that later . . .
Satsuma, the land of the brave
The event featured five speakers, including restaurateurs (the founder of Daikaya restaurant, who I was starstruck to meet!) and beverage specialists who spoke about shochu, and Kagoshima natives who discussed the prefecture’s characteristics from various angles. I interpreted for Mr. Yuichiro Hamada, CEO of the Hamada Shuzo distillery and Chair of the Kagoshima Shochu Makers Association.
Audience members seemed enthused to learn about shochu, but Mr. Hamada made the topic even more accessible by talking about the movie The Last Samurai: the model of Katsumoto Moritsugu (played by Ken Watanabe) was Saigo Takamori, a renowned historical figure from Kagoshima. Mr. Hamada said that Saigo embodied the samurai spirit, bringing together warriors to oppose the new imperial Government of Japan by leading the Satsuma Rebellion (1877), the last civil war in Japan.
Even before this conflict, the Satsuma domain (as Kagoshima used to be called during the Edo period) had been unique. As a region, it recklessly went to war with Great Britain (1863). Mr. Hamada also talked about how, when Japan was closed off to any interaction with most countries, Satsuma disobeyed orders by sending several students to study abroad (1865) in London. In honor of this, one of Hamada Shuzo’s shochu brands is called “Kaido” (meaning “children of the sea”) and is in a red bottle–commemorating how, when the students embarked on their forbidden trip, no one could see them off at the port except for the red, setting sun.
The shochu “kaido” (in the red bottle) symbolizing the red sun
Shochu in practice
Mr. Hamada also talked about the culture of “daiyame”–a word that means to “stop being tired” in the Kagoshima dialect–and how people in Kagoshima get together to enjoy shochu with dinner and celebrate the end of the day. He also discussed his childhood growing up as a shochu maker, and the three distilleries his company owns. One of them is inside an old goldmine, and shochu made there uses a special kind of fungus called “gold koji” (koji are usually yellow, black or white). His staff uses the old mine carts to go back and forth in the long tunnel–and outside working hours, tourists are welcome to use those carts, too!
Creative takes on shochu
The list showcasing the local mixologists and chefs who presented shochu cocktails and dishes.
The following day, my friend and I attended a shochu-themed reception held in conjunction with the Smithsonian event. This reception, hosted by the Embassy of Japan, featured seven pairings of shochu cocktails and appetizers from bars and restaurants around DC. While I don’t usually drink, I couldn’t resist trying a pink shochu cocktail called “Cherry Blossom,” and a bottled yuzu shochu from Kagoshima. Both were so pretty and delicate, completely changing my view that shochu was a drink for older men. There are more than a dozen different kinds of shochu, including those using sweet potato, barley, and brown sugar, and I’ve heard that the tastes of those main ingredients really come through. So creating cocktails must be tricky–but this was just like a refreshing juice!
The light, gorgeous “cherry blossom” shochu cocktail
Memories of Kagoshima
Working with this event reminded me of my grandparents. When I was a child, my mother’s parents lived in Kagoshima City, and my father’s parents were in Sapporo. So whenever I visited Japan with my parents, we visited two completely different cities that were almost at the northern and southern ends of the country.
Hokkaido is beautiful, but lesser known Kagoshima is also very unique. The majestic volcano of Sakurajima, a symbol of the prefecture, is active and often spewing ash, which falls in whatever direction the wind blows. When I was a child, the ashes rained on Kagoshima City in the summer. When I once attended a local school in June and July (summer break begins later than in the U.S., so a lot of parents send their children to Japan during that time), my classmates and I were gray from head to toe, the ash sticking to our sweaty limbs as we ran around.
The majestic Sakurajima
My grandfather was in Kagoshima because he was the head of Kagoshima Bank. He was allocated a big house that had three bathrooms, a long hallway in which he liked to practice putting, and various treasures (including books, a huge tortoise shell that hung on the wall, and beautiful golden clocks with pendulums). He bought laser discs (which were cutting edge at the time), including several for me to watch when I visited, including The Dark Crystal and animated films.
And he loved to drink. My image of him will always be of him watching baseball with a glass of beer. But he also worked very hard. As a young man from Tokyo, he got into the top school at the time and entered the Bank of Japan. (I was horrified to hear from my mother later on that, the very day he was accepted at the Bank, his father said, “now we’re set for life” and actually quit his own day job!)
My mother notes that my grandfather worked so much because he wanted to give my grandmother the life she deserved. He dreamed of retiring and traveling with her. My grandmother had lived with and taken care of my grandfather’s parents, and raised three children (who added to her work by constantly adopting new pets from the streets!).
But he passed away before he could retire. I still remember when I was five years old, when he lifted his shirt and showed me the stitches on his stomach. He was beaming, proud of having survived cancer. But his illness came back, and he passed the following year. (I wrote a story about this in college.)
Even though my grandmother was originally from Tokyo, she continued to live in Kagoshima after that. She moved to a small apartment and continued to cook for herself, including laborious ceremonial dishes on New Year’s Day, and always served my grandfather at the butsudan (Buddhist altar) before taking her first bite. Whenever my mother visited Kagoshima with the intention to help, my grandmother insisted on hosting her as a guest, and they often argued on who should look after whom. For decades she remained active in her community, from golfing to chorus, to playing mahjong with friends. But she’s in her 90s now. Having survived a few cancers herself and lost some of her friends, she moved back to Tokyo a few months ago, to be closer to my mother and my uncle.
Now I have no family in Kagoshima. When my grandfather passed, he became someone that I could only recall from childhood memories and my mother’s stories. But now, more recent moments from Kagoshima–like Sakurajima’s ashes when we visited my grandmother in the summer, the local sweets that she continued to send to me over the years, as well as the stubborn but kind spirit of the local people–have also become bittersweet memories.
Those memories came rushing back to me with this Satsuma Shochu event. One speaker talked about the melancholic beauty of the ashes falling from Sakurajima, and it was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time. Many see the ashes as a nuisance, and I didn’t know anyone else who thought they were pretty! Having been reminded of the history of the prefecture, I also felt proud to be connected to such a unique place. And when I told my mother about Mr. Hamada’s speech, she said that my grandfather enjoyed “daiyame,” and that he would’ve been thrilled to know that I was involved with this event.
A few weeks ago, I received a letter of thanks from Mr. Hamada. I was so touched that he took the time to write. And I realized that thanks to this job, I now know someone in Kagoshima again. I hope to one day ride those mine carts in his distillery and create new memories. Like those shochu cocktails, perhaps I can add some new lighthearted experiences to those strong memories of my youth, creating a swirl of unforgettable impressions of Kagoshima.
With the speakers of the event. Many, many thanks to the Embassy of Japan, Happi Enterprises and Daikaya for this opportunity!
