Shimmering Shizuoka (Part 2 of 2)

–Gorgeous Beaches and Mountains in One Prefecture

A bridge over the Oi River, as seen from the Ikawa Line

Introduction:

The following are more highlights from my recent travels to Shizuoka prefecture. (Part 1 can be found here.)

1月から2月にかけて、静岡県における3週間の通訳のお仕事の傍ら、県内のあらゆるところを観光しました。下記の投稿は、前編に続き、特に印象深かった箇所を取り上げます。

6. Train rides along the Oi River

This was hands down my favorite activity in Shizuoka! As a big fan of trains, I was thrilled to learn that Oigawa Railway, a local train company, still runs steam locomotives. I expected the ride to be more bumpy, but it was just as smooth as electric trains–the only difference were the puffs of smoke we could see from the window and the slightly smoky smell! It’s usually an hour-long ride on the Oigawa Main Line running alongside the Oi River. After a typhoon last fall, the ride has been cut to 30 minutes, but it was still well worth it!

Great train rides should always be enjoyed with food, and I was super excited to find cute train-related sweets. I particularly enjoyed one called “SL (steam locomotive) food,” a pack of peanuts coated in a mixture of black sesame powder, soy bean powder, and sugar. It’s meant to look like the coal that’s “fed” into the steam locomotive–and I thought that concept was so cute! I melted upon seeing the back of the package: it has an illustrated disclaimer (probably meant for little boys) that warns, “unfortunately, eating this won’t turn you into a steam locomotive”!

After enjoying the steam train, I switched to the Ikawa Line (a regular train also run by Oigawa Railway), which goes further up the Oi River. I really wanted to visit Okuoikojo Station, which is on a tiny piece of land jutting into the riverbend. The isolated station looks like it’s on top of an island, and the contrast of the greenery, the turquoise water, and the red bridge is absolutely gorgeous. Part of the bridge is walkable on foot, so it’s easy to cross to the other side of the river and head to the vantage point where you can take in this incredible view.

Okuoikojo Station is the tiny structure in the middle of the bridge

Okuoikojo Station is so remote and free of light pollution that on weekends during the winter, Oigawa Railway runs special roundtrip trains to the station at night. Passengers spend an hour gazing at stars before the train heads back. This sounded really nice, too (it reminds me of Kenji Miyazawa’s story, “Night on the Galactic Railroad”), but it was fully booked that evening. Maybe some other time!

A view of the walkable part of the bridge stretching from Okuoikojo Station. I love the dramatic straight path and the light streaming from the clouds–a nice metaphor for a better tomorrow!

Incidentally, Ikawa Line is the only line in Japan that uses what’s called an Abt system, a rack-and-pinion railway that allows trains to go up or down steep inclines. The steam locomotive, the beautiful Okuikojo Station, and the Abt system all make train rides along the Oi River a fun trip worth exploring!

7. Shizuoka City (Other Highlights)

While I’ve already discussed various locations within Shizuoka City (such as Kunozan Toshogu and Miho no Matsubara), downtown Shizuoka has many other locations to sightsee.

One of the main spots is Sumpu Castle, which Tokugawa Ieyasu built. While only part of the castle remains today, the premises have been turned into a park, so it’s a very nice place to walk around, read the descriptions, and learn about history. The park is surrounded by a moat, and crossing the bridge to enter the park feels like you’re traveling back in time!

Sumpu Castle in the evening–a beautiful place to walk around

2023 happens to be a special year to commemorate Ieyasu, because NHK, Japan’s public broadcaster, is airing a year-long historical drama that focuses on him. Until I visited Shizuoka, I didn’t realize how strong his ties to this area were. Dozens of historical locations throughout the city highlighted their connections to Ieyasu, often by displaying posters of the drama.

The lobby of my hotel displayed the replica of an armor that was worn by Ieyasu. The Japanese restaurant in the hotel served Ieyasu specials based on dishes that he apparently liked!

Another highlight is Shizuoka Sengen Shrine, which is just a 10-minute walk away from Sumpu Castle. It’s a collection of seven shrines, each with distinct buildings that enshrine different gods.

The impressive gate leading to two of the shrines. The board in the foreground that says 鬼 (demon) was apparently used during setsubun (a spring festival to drive evil spirits away) on Feb. 3.

One of the shrines sits atop a mountain, and behind it is a hiking trail. On that trail I found this fascinating set of stairs. I thought it could serve as a metaphor for the many different paths we can take before reaching a goal: shall we climb steep stairs quickly, go up more gradual steps slowly, or give up and and go back down?

Another place worth visiting is the Shizuoka City Museum of Art. It’s a compact but modern space atop a building in downtown Shizuoka, less than a 10-minute walk from Shizuoka station. I enjoyed an excellent exhibit on Sugiura Hisui, who was a pioneer in modern Japanese graphic design.

A social media booth based on Sugiura’s poster (1927) commemorating Japan’s first subway system

Setsubun was not the only seasonal event celebrated. In the lobby of my hotel was a wonderful display of dolls for Hinamatsuri (Doll Festival or Girls’ Day), which celebrates the health and development of young girls. I, too, grew up decorating hina dolls, but have never seen dolls hanging down like this. They are apparently called tsurushibina, and I was delighted to learn that Shizuoka is one of the prefectures that has this tradition. Because hina dolls tend to be expensive, family members and friends would apparently visit girls together, bringing pieces of cloth and sewing them to create dolls.

Shizuoka is a dynamic city with many different faces. Apparently it is also known for plastic models (major toy companies like Bandai have factories here). I was delighted to come across this cute sculpture in Shizuoka Station: a plastic model of payphones!

8. Yaizu City

Yaizu is a port city where a lot of the seafood Shizuoka is known for is caught or processed.

A fishmonger Hello Kitty welcoming visitors to the Yaizu Fish Center

The Yaizu Fish Center is a big fish market with several eateries. The lunch I had there packed so many Yaizu / Shizuoka specialties: tuna and bonito sashimi, shirasu (whitebait), a kakiage of tiny sakura shrimp, and miso soup with crab.

The fish market had many gacha (capsule toy) machines or simple arcade games. That in itself isn’t surprising, but upon closer inspection, I found that the prizes were related to seafood! This included salmon roe, frozen lobsters, and even a 3kg tuna delivered to your home. The gacha machine that offered the tuna grand prize was expensive, costing a cool 1,000 yen to enter (although there are consolation prizes of seafood-related trinkets)!

I also loved this sign encouraging visitors to maintain a social distance worth the length of two bonitos (but I wonder how many people know how long bonitos are?!).

9. Yui (Shizuoka City)

Yui is another area in Shizuoka City that has its own distinct flavor (literally!). It’s known as the place where sakura shrimp are caught, and I very much enjoyed seeing quirky shrimp sculptures everywhere.

The subject (shrimp!), the stringy appearance of the shrimp sculptures, and the blue tiles that look like the bottom of pools make this one of the quirkiest works of public art I’ve ever seen!

Yui is also part of the old Tokaido Road that connected Tokyo and Kyoto during the Edo period (early 1600s to late 1800s). It was a post station where travelers could rest, and has maintained historic buildings such as honjin (large local residences where traveling samurai stayed), some stores, and even water troughs for horses.

The main reason I was in Yui was to visit the Shizuoka City Tokaido Hiroshige Museum of Art. As Yui makes an appearance in Hiroshige’s masterpiece, 53 Stations of the Tokaido (a series of ukiyo-e highlighting post stations along the old Tokaido Road), this seemed like the perfect place to appreciate both Hiroshige and Shizuoka.

The museum was fairly small, but I loved the comprehensive permanent exhibit that explains the history and technique of ukiyo-e. It makes interesting comparisons to modern equivalents, describing how scenic ukiyo-es (such as 53 Stations of the Tokaido) were like travel guidebooks, while portraits of kabuki actors were like entertainment magazines.

I thoroughly enjoyed the Hiroshige prints on display as well–I love the subtle humor he exudes in the expressive body language of tiny people and animals.

“Fukagawa Lumberyards” by Hiroshige (from “One Hundred Famous Views of Edo”). I love the tiny puppies showing their cute butts on the lower left!

One of the best parts of the museum was a small station that allows visitors to make their own ukiyo-e prints to take home. The design changes periodically, and on this day it was “Yui” and “Okitsu” from 53 Stations of the Tokaido Road.

The DIY ukiyo-e station for “Yui.” This activity alone is well worth the visit to this museum!

10. (Bonus) Food

I thoroughly enjoyed the food in Shizuoka prefecture. This included seafood like sakura shrimp and shirasu, as well as agricultural products like strawberries. Local dishes like Shizuoka oden (stew with fishcakes) and Hamamatsu gyoza (fried dumplings) were memorable, too.

But one of the best discoveries for me was related to unagi (eel). I visited a lovely restaurant (left photo) where they use unagi raised with sashimi. It was so good! And there, I learned about snacks called “unagi bones” (right photo)–fried eel bones! I’d never had these before, and loved these crispy, calcium-rich snacks so much that I bought several packets (in salt and soy sauce flavors).

When I visited Hamamatsu, I also came across a cute dessert place called Unagiimo. I was surprised to learn that this store uses Japanese sweet potatoes grown with fertilizers made from unagi parts, such as bones and heads. (Its mascot, which reminded me of Slime from Dragon Quest, is in fact a sweet potato whose body is an eel.) I love how innovative and environmentally friendly this concept is!

Pink mochi (sooo cute!) with sweet potato cream (right) and a cookie sandwich with cream (left)

One of the best known Shizuoka specialties, though, is probably green tea. I couldn’t resist visiting Nanaya, a cafe and store that specializes in matcha desserts. They’re well known for their tea-flavored ice cream, which runs the gamut from matcha (in SEVEN different levels, depending on how strong you want the matcha flavor to be) to hojicha (roasted green tea) to genmaicha (green tea with roasted brown rice). I tried genmaicha, black sesame, and matcha No. 7–the latter has a very rich, deep flavor, and definitely worth experiencing!

All in all, I had a wonderful three weeks in Shizuoka. I feel so lucky to have had the chance to explore the prefecture in depth, and would love to revisit again soon!

Shimmering Shizuoka (Part 1 of 2)

–Gorgeous Beaches and Mountains in One Prefecture

The view from Mt. Kuno in Shizuoka City

Introduction:

The following are highlights from my recent travels to Shizuoka prefecture. (Click here to see Part 2.)

1月から2月にかけて、静岡県で3週間にわたる通訳のお仕事をしました。仕事が終わった後の平日夕方や週末は、静岡の海、山、神社仏閣など、あらゆるところを観光しました。気候がよく、美しく、食べ物もおいしくて、本当に素敵な場所でした。下記の投稿(そして続編)では、特に印象深かった箇所を取り上げます。

For three weeks from January to February, I had an interpretation assignment in Shizuoka prefecture. I had visited the prefecture before, but never had the opportunity to explore it in depth. I took advantage of any time off I had to explore beaches, mountains, museums, and shrines–and fell in love with the amazing sights and food the prefecture offers. Here are some highlights, in alphabetical order of location. (The rest will continue in a second blog post.)

1. Fuji City

The view of Mt. Fuji from a local train (the Tokaido Line) heading to Fuji City. Cropped out of this photo are commuters nodding off on the train (it was early in the morning), all with their backs to this amazing view!

Fuji City is one of Shizuoka’s cities that’s closest to Mt. Fuji, and offers great views of the snow-capped mountain. It’s about 30 minutes from Shizuoka station by local train, and a mere 10 minutes by bullet train.

I was lucky enough to be in Fuji City when a local temple called Myohoji hosted an annual festival called Bishamontensai. This is apparently considered one of the largest daruma festivals in Japan. There were daruma dolls of every size, with multiple color variations that promised good fortune in different aspects of our lives (academic success, health, romantic happiness, etc.). Many local residents had brought their own old darumas to be burned, some so big that they have to be carried in both arms. I bought some tiny ones for good luck. Tradition says that we’re supposed to draw in its left eye when we make a wish (and its right eye when that wish comes true), but they’re so cute that I’ve kept them as is–I worry that I might ruin their faces!

A manhole cover (illustrated manhole covers are a big thing in Japan!) in Fuji City, with Princess Kaguya from The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. Mt. Fuji makes an appearance in this Japanese fairytale that’s about a thousand years old.

2. Fujinomiya City

Fujinomiya is another city that is close to Mt. Fuji and honors the majestic mountain in many ways.

Central to this is a shrine called Fujisan Hongu Sengen Taisha. I was drawn to the name because when I lived in Tokyo as a child, there was a Sengen shrine in my neighborhood–I didn’t realize until now that Sengen shrines throughout Japan all honor Mt. Fuji, and that this shrine in Fujinomiya was the main one! I especially loved the pond at the back of the shrine, which serves as a nice oasis in the middle of the city. The water comes from melted snow trickling down from Mt. Fuji, and there are bamboo pipes that capture this water for visitors who wish to drink it or wash their hands.

Fujinomiya is also home to the Mt. Fuji World Heritage Center. Mt. Fuji and multiple entities related to it (including the Fujisan Hongu Sengen Taisha) were designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2013. This center apparently opened four years later. I fell in love with this gorgeous, modern building that complements the torii gate right next to it. It’s also shaped like an upside down mountain. Visitors first go to the top and gradually descend gentle slopes that wind down. I enjoyed visiting galleries that examined the geology and history of Mt. Fuji, including how the mountain has been revered as a deity and honored in numerous works of art and literature.

I love how, when reflected upside down into the water, the building looks like a mountain

I then took a 30-minute bus ride to visit Shiraito Falls, which is also part of the Mt. Fuji World Heritage Site. The falling water that comes from Mt. Fuji certainly looks like a bunch of white thread (the meaning of “shiraito”) and is very pretty. I was especially amazed at how blue the bottom of the waterfall was. The one unfortunate aspect was that the trees and grass were a disappointing brown. Of course that can’t be helped during the winter, and I suspect everything looks even better during the warmer months.

3. Hamamatsu City

While Shizuoka City is the prefectural seat of government, the biggest city is actually Hamamatsu. It’s at the edge, almost bordering Aichi prefecture, and about an hour away on the local train (20-30 minutes on the bullet train) from Shizuoka City.

My guidebook suggested several places to visit, but as a fan of all things related to art, I made a beeline to the Hamamatsu Museum of Musical Instruments. In contrast to similar institutions in the West (such as the Musical Instruments Museum in Brussels and the musical instruments section at the Met), there was of course a big emphasis on Asian instruments. This included traditional Japanese instruments that are used for gagaku or kabuki performances, as well as several grand instruments from other Asian countries.

Colorful instruments from Indonesia (foreground) and Korea (background)

I also made a quick visit to Hamamatsu Castle, a replica of the castle Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had spent his youth in. It was too late for me to tour inside the castle, but I enjoyed walking around and examining the exterior of this compact but elegant building.

4. Kunozan Toshogu (Shizuoka City)

This beautiful shrine in Shizuoka City is a short train and bus ride away from Shizuoka station. It’s a smaller version of the Toshogu in Nikko, and where the grave of Tokugawa Ieyasu lies. It’s up on a mountain (Mt. Kuno) by the ocean, and has about 1,000 steps to the top–but the breathtaking view is definitely worth the hike.

While a thousand steps is a bit of workout . . .
. . . this view makes it all worth it
(and there are cable cars available for those who don
t wish to
or are unable to walk)

The bright colors of the Toshogu looked especially beautiful against the blue sky. Plums trees (including a tree that was supposedly planted by Ieyasu himself) were blooming nicely on this late January day.

Incidentally, this area is also known for its strawberries. Since they’re grown in greenhouses (which can be seen in the photo above, lining the beach), strawberry season had already begun in January! I bought a box as well as some desserts like strawberry daifuku (mochi stuffed with red bean paste).

Shizuoka is also known for its sakura shrimp, or tiny dried shrimp eaten whole. For lunch, I had the biggest, crunchiest, most delicious kakiage (a type of tempura with shredded vegetables or tiny shrimp) I’ve ever had!

The kakiage was as big as the udon bowl (!), and seemed to contain at least 30 tiny shrimps

5. Miho no Matsubara (Shizuoka City)

This is a famous spot on the beach for scenic views of Mt. Fuji, and is also a short bus ride away from Shizuoka station. Mt. Fuji looked a bit farther than I expected, but I caught the sunset in time to see the mountain bathed in pink. The blue waters, black sand, pieces of white driftwood, and gorgeous rocks that were flattened after years of tumbling in the waves made for picturesque photos!

This place is also known for being the location where The Legend of the Winged Robe takes place. The funny thing was that the sign that described the story said that the man immediately returned the winged robe to the celestial maiden. The versions of the story I’ve heard have the man hiding the robe and forcing the maiden to be his wife. I couldn’t help but chuckle and wonder if there’s some local bias that paints a favorable picture of this man . . . (Incidentally, when I looked up the English title of this story, I found that different iterations exist all over the world, including the West. How fascinating!)

There’s also a beautiful wooden walkway, surrounded by pines, that connects this beach with another shrine called Miho Shrine. While most of the walkway is a straight line, I was fascinated by this one location where the path curves a bit to allow for a pine that leans forward. This seemed like a great metaphor for the journey of life: sometimes unexpected incidents prevent us from going forth in the way we envision, but we must be strong enough to find news ways to keep going.

More Shizuoka adventures are available in Part 2 .

Goodnight, Dad

–My Father’s Passing

My parents and I at the National Art Center, Tokyo, visiting a Yayoi Kusama exhibit (March 2017)
Introduction:

I lost my father to a terrible disease last November. In the post below, I discuss my memories of my father and what I learned from him. This experience has also become an incentive to resume this blog, which I had been unable to keep up recently.

昨年11月、大好きな父が亡くなりました。下記の投稿では、父との思い出、父から学んだこと、近年は「多系統萎縮症」という病気に苦しんだ父との関わりについて取り上げました。こうした出来事を受け、しばらくできていなかったこのブログへの投稿を再開したいと思います。

My father passed away suddenly at the end of November. He had been fighting a terminal disease, but he was supposed to have a few more years. I’m reeling from the loss and am trying to focus on the many wonderful memories I have of him. 

Childhood Memories

My father was kind, above anything else. As a child, I looked forward to his return every night. He often came back from work carrying gifts, from little cakes to books by my favorite author. He carried me on his shoulders at our condo swimming pool in Hawaii, and on his back inside our condo unit. 

My drawing (when I was 10 years old) of me and my mother welcoming my father home after work

He was a voracious reader. As a child, he had supposedly read every single book in his elementary school library. As a young worker in Tokyo, he apparently brought an empty suitcase to work on paydays, made a beeline to Jinbocho (an area in Tokyo known for its many used bookstores) immediately after work, and bought a suitcase’s worth of used books. My mother loves reading as well, so as a family, the three of us often spent evenings in the living room, sitting together and each enjoying a separate book. 

He was a jokester, especially when he had a bit to drink. After he tucked me in bed every night, I always asked for a glass of water. “Why would you say that now, *after* I’ve tucked you in?!” he’d always say, pretending to be annoyed as he came back with water. But we did this ritual every night, passing by the kitchen on the way to my room but never discussing water until I was in bed.

Sometimes he was the one going to bed first. He’d be reading in bed as I came to say goodnight. “I’m done reading tonight,” he would say. “Come over here.” When I’d approach him, he’d reach over and pretend to close the book on my face. “I’ve found the perfect bookmark,” he’d laugh, making a pun with my name “Shiori,” which is a homonym for “bookmark” in Japanese. We did this routine a few times, too.

Support for Education

As I grew older, I began to see his more serious side. He didn’t give out compliments easily. When I once handed him my report card in high school, he looked at it and returned it without saying a word (unlike him, I was not a straight-A student). When I told him one morning that I was nervous about an exam that day, he said, “If you had studied for it properly, you wouldn’t be nervous.” Years later, when I was accepted to graduate school, he told me point blank, “I didn’t think you’d get into Columbia” (I suppose that was a compliment…??).

But he was always supportive, especially in terms of my education. When I was a high school student in Hawaii and his company transferred him to the Tokyo headquarters, he headed there alone, leaving my mother with me for a year so that I could complete my studies. When I wanted to go to Dartmouth as an undergraduate student, he allowed me to do so, even though financially it was a difficult decision. He accompanied me from Tokyo to New Hampshire, helping me settle into my dorm, open my bank account, and run other errands. That night, I felt incredibly lonely after he’d left–other students had attended a multi-day pre-enrollment hiking trip, which meant they had already found friends. In a moment of desperation, I called my father at his hotel. He responded sleepily at first but increasingly took on an angry tone when he heard me gripe about feeling lonely. He told me angrily that it was my choice to come here, and that I cannot be complaining already. Even though his words were harsh, it helped me realize that I needed to stick to my decision to attend college far from home.

With my parents at my high school graduation ceremony (June 2000)

Recent Years

And far from home I was for the following two decades. I studied abroad, went to grad school, and worked in the U.S. and Europe. I only visited Japan once or twice a year, but my parents and I often met up in other countries and traveled together, visiting museums and enjoying the local food. My father, a big foodie who was also a good cook, kept extensive records of what he ate for each meal during those trips. 

Our last trip together was to Austria and Hungary. Here are my parents at the Leopold Museum in Vienna (June 2019)

My father’s diagnosis three years ago came as a shock. He was the picture of health, but his speech had gradually started to slur. He went through extensive tests, and it took several months until we found what it was: he was suffering from a rare neurological disease called Multiple System Atrophy. None of us had heard of the disease. He was one of 10,000 Japanese people affected by it. The causes are unknown, there is no cure, and worst of all, there is no way to stop the progression of this terminal disease. 

My father began to suffer from various symptoms, from losing his ability to walk and speak, to severe rigidity and blurred vision. Due to this debilitating disease that affects autonomic functions, every few months, a new symptom struck a new part of his body. His back gradually became more and more bent. He had to give up a lot of things he loved at a rapid pace. Driving (he had trouble maneuvering the wheel). Eating with enjoyment (he had trouble using utensils). Cooking (he could not use his hands, and was eventually so bent over that his face was dangerously close to the gas stove). Reading atlases and art books (they were now too heavy to hold). Listening to classical music (he was too tired to turn on his grand but complicated Westminster stereo system). My mother took care of him around the clock, which increasingly took a toll on her, too. 

For the past three years, I spent months in Tokyo (the pandemic allowed me to work virtually) and helped where I could, cooking meals, tucking him in bed, cheering him up with sweets and stories from DC, and buying tools that I hoped made his life a little easier. Witnessing moments when he had to give things up one by one was difficult–the opposite of how a joyful parent witnesses a child gradually develop skills like walking and talking. Seeing him made me want to cry–but I couldn’t do that in front of him, when he himself didn’t complain. So my mom and I cried with each other after he had gone to bed. 

One of the last photos I took of my dad–celebrating his birthday in 2021 (April 2021)

The Last Advice

When I arrived in Tokyo this past November, I saw that his condition had worsened further. But one day, he was in relatively good health. Unlike other days, he never dozed off, and instead quietly read books. It was easier to communicate with him, so I asked him about some questions I had been grappling with. I was unsure about the direction of my career, and asked whether I should take certain steps even when I felt underqualified. “You should try anything you’re curious about,” he said. 

My father collapsed the next morning. He never regained consciousness. And two days later, he passed away. 

There’s so much that I regret. I never got to thank him for all that he’s done for me. It was incredible that I got to seek advice on the last day before he collapsed–but I didn’t get to say goodnight, and don’t remember what our last verbal exchange was. When I found him the following morning, he was on the floor, not breathing, and he had no pulse. His breathing and heartbeat eventually came back as ambulance workers rushed him to the hospital. My mother and I like to think that he held on for two days so that we could say goodbye to him. And I also feel incredibly lucky that I was with him in Tokyo during his final days.

In the weeks since his passing, my mother and I received so many letters of condolences from my father’s friends. Those letters include memories they had shared with him, from elementary school to graduate school (he studied architecture) to the workplace. It’s a bittersweet feeling to get to know my father in another way, but not having the chance to ask him about it. 

As I look around his room–we call it the “music room,” since it’s filled with thousands of his CDs and books–I marvel at the amount of information he’s amassed. I don’t think I’d be able to read everything, like he did in his elementary school library. But I will try to catch up and learn more about his interests and passions. And following his advice, I want to resume this blog too. I had been busy with my daily work, but I want to find a way to pursue both.

During his final years, I felt a mixed sense of melancholy and happiness when I helped him lie down in bed at night, putting away his glasses and tucking the sheets around his neck as he closed his eyes and smiled peacefully. While he never asked for a glass of water, it was nice to be able to help him rest, just like he had helped me. 

I want to say now the words I couldn’t say that final evening: 
“Thank you, Dad–and goodnight.”

And I really hope we meet again.

人形に見る理想像とありのままの姿

ーバービー人形等の多様性や魅力

Introduction (the full text in Japanese continues below (日本語の本文が続きます)):

米国社会を構成する様々な人を反映し、最近どんどん多様になっていくバービー人形。下記の投稿では、バービー、日本のリカちゃん、シルバニアファミリー、昔の人形(ひとがた)やお雛様などを取り上げ、人形の様々な役割(コミュニケーションツール、インスピレーションを提供するおもちゃ、自己投影をする相手など)について考えてみました。

“Dolls: Another Version of Ourselves”

This Japanese blog post celebrates the recent growth in diverse Barbie dolls (including body type, skin color, and gender), which better represent the U.S. demographic. I also discuss other dolls (Licca, a Japanese equivalent of Barbie; Sylvanian Family, a collection of animal figurines; and traditional Japanese hina dolls), exploring the many roles that dolls have, including as communication tools and sources of inspiration.

LGBTQのコミュニティを支援します、という言葉とともにバービーの公式インスタグラムに投稿された様々な人形。

近年の米国では、 小説映画やテレビ番組広告政治など、あらゆる分野においてrepresentation (実社会における多様な人々が各分野においてしっかりと反映されていること)が話題になっています。「白人だらけ」「男性ばかり」ーそういった批判を受けては進歩を遂げることの繰り返しです。

その一環として、子供が幼い時から触れる人形については、バービー人形が大きく進化しています。人種、体型、職業などが徐々に多様になり、その変化がメディアでも頻繁に取り上げられています。ありのままの社会をより忠実に表すべく、変化していると言えるでしょう。私たちがバービーや他の人形からどんなインスピレーションを受け、人形にどのように自己を投影し続けているのかを考えてみました。

バービー人形の変革

ハワイで子供時代を過ごした私は、学校や日々の生活でアジア系の人々に囲まれて育ちました。童謡のテープや童話の本など、両親が日本から取り寄せてくれたものもとても多かったのですが、何もしなくても、日本を含むアジアの文化に簡単に触れられる環境でした。他方、 ドラマ、映画、小説など、米国本土から来るエンターテインメントにおいては、圧倒的に白人が主人公で、ハワイにおける日々の生活とはかけ離れた社会を描いていました。バービー人形も、(実際には既に黒人のものも出ていたようですが)おもちゃ屋さんや友人の家で目に入るものは、背が高くて細い金髪碧眼の女性のみでした。

それから30年が経った今、バービー人形は驚くほど多様になっています。 多様性に関するバービーの特設ページによれば、現在35以上の肌の色と9つの体型のバリエーションがあるそうです。 職業やジェンダーなど、いろいろな形の多様性がありますが、古くから発達していた分野からごく最近変化のあった分野まで、時系列順に並べると、米国の社会における各時代の変化をとてもよく反映していることが分かります。

コロナ禍でマスクをしつつ、Black History Month(黒人歴史月間)の2月にデモに参加する人形たち(左から二人目は白斑のある人形)。称賛しているコメントが多い中、「こういった活動には白人のバービーやケンも参加しなくては意味がない」と言う指摘も。

多様性に強い関心がある私としては、こうした選択肢の広がりがとても嬉しいです。もちろん、こういった変化の裏には商業的な理由がありますし、「少し進歩があったとしても、バービーは所詮きれいという理由だけで称賛される、典型的な『女の子のためのおもちゃ』であり、女性にとって大きな飛躍とは思えない」「子供の頃丸かった私がふっくらしたバービー人形を人からプレゼントされたら、逆に絶望しただろう」(それぞれ筆者訳)といった批判もあります。また、先日別の投稿で、「人型の絵文字をどれほど作り続けてもきりがなく、作れば作るほど、そこに自分の姿を見い出せない人を失望させる」と書きましたが、人形についても似たようなことが言えるでしょう。 ただ、全体としては、よい方向に進んでいると思います。

人間ではないシルバニアファミリーの魅力

私は本来、そこまで人形に興味がなく、子供の頃も、人からいただいたジェム(当時放映されていたアニメの主人公で、ロック歌手兼レコード会社の社長)の人形を持っているだけでした。通常はおとなしい社長が時折派手な歌手に変身するということで、服も二セットあり、 今考えれば、アーティストとビジネスリーダーと言う二つの仕事を持つ女性はかなりかっこいいと思います。ただ、日本やハワイに縁のない白人だからか、興味のある職業でなかったからか、当時はそこまで感情移入できませんでした。

私は人間よりも動物に惹かれ、シルバニアファミリーがとても好きでした。小さな家具やお皿のセットを徐々に買ってもらって集めては、クマやウサギの一家で遊んでいました。シルバニアファミリーのウェブサイトは、「自己投影できる多彩なキャラクターたち」と遊ぶことが「人と関わるコミュニケーション力を豊かにする」としていますが、私はそれが適度な投影だと思います。つまり、 動物ですので、人間である自分と肌の色や体型等を比較して落ち込んだりする心配はありません( 私は、人型の絵文字よりもピトグラムの方が、人種等を超えて皆が共感できると考えていますが、それと同様です )。また、違う種類の動物が次々に登場し、共生しているシルバニアファミリーの世界は、多様性への意識も育むように思います。

ただ、今再考すると、さらなる進化の余地はある気がします。たとえば、主に日本の子供が対象であるだろうにもかかわらず、シルバニアファミリーの服装、家、街並み等は皆西洋のものなので、なんとなく欧米中心で、日本らしさがあまりないのが残念です。また、「ファミリー」というブランド名からして家族の大切さを示している半面、セットとして売られている各ファミリーにはお父さんとお母さんが一人ずついて、子供も親と同じ種類の動物であるようです。シングルペアレントの家族、お母さんが二人いる家族、動物の種類が混じった家族などはないため、実世界のいろいろな家族の形を反映したい場合には、複数のファミリーを買って組み合わせるしかなさそうです。

数年前にデパートでシルバニアファミリーの特別展に通りかかり、懐かしくて等身大(?)のショコラウサギファミリー一家とパシャリ。気付けば後ろには5歳くらいの女の子が順番を待っており、恥ずかしかったです💦 (2019年12月、新宿小田急デパートにて)

リカちゃんと解釈の強み

日本の人形で一番知られているのはリカちゃんでしょう。趣味がファッションやお菓子作りということで、どのリカちゃんもお洒落でおしとやかなイメージです(スポーツも趣味だそうですが、あまり行動が伴っていません)。バービーに比べるとバラエティが少なく、多様性と言う意味でそこまで進化がないようです。

他方、リカちゃんのイメージを覆す面白い試みをされている方がいます。ある20代の会社員の女性がずぼらなリカちゃんの写真や動画をインスタグラムに挙げており、それがとても話題になっています。NHKがインタビューしたところ、その女性は「自分がリカちゃんだったらどんなんだろう、自分を投影してみようと思った」そうです。また、「家の中くらいこんなんでもいいじゃんって自己肯定感を高めている」とも語っています。私も各投稿にとても共感し、毎度細かいインテリアに感嘆しています。人形そのものは変わっていないのに、服装や周囲のもので解釈を変えることにより、ありのままの世界を示しています。だらしないリカちゃんは、 多様なバービーよりもさらに親しみやすく、温かみのある人形に見えてくるから不思議です。

数ある「現実を生きるリカちゃん」の投稿の中でも、私が最も共感したものの一つ。

人形への投影

人形は、少なくとも日本では、元は自己を投影するものでした。病気等を避けるため、自分の災厄を人形(ひとがた)に託して川に流したのがお雛様の起源であるというのは有名な話です。神事においては、自分の代わりにお祓いを受けてもらうこともできます。コロナ禍を受け、鶴岡八幡宮などは、自分でお祓いができるように、紙の人形(ひとがた)と、それを納める箱を常時設置しています。

今、鶴岡八幡宮では茅の輪をくぐり、人形(ひとがた)を納めることができます。(2020年2月)

人形(ひとがた)は人形(にんぎょう)になりましたが、今でも私たちはそこに自分を投影しています。米国の非営利団体「A Doll Like Me」は、注文を受けて、多様な子供たちと同じ姿の人形を作っています。同団体のフェイスブックのページは、皮膚や四肢などが他人と異なる子供が人形を抱えて微笑む写真でいっぱいです。 人形の作者である女性は、「人形は、ストレスの多い状況に子供が対応するときに助けてくれますし、何より、子供に自信を与えます。そのためにも、人形は、彼らを愛してくれる子供たちに似せて作られるべきなのです(筆者訳)」と書いており、人形の料金を取らずに寄付金だけで経営を行っているようです。

同時に、人形の発達を受け、私たちはいつの間にか、人形の姿からインスピレーションを受けるようにもなりました。人が人形に投影していたのが、人形から人へも投影するのです。昔の人が病を託していたお雛様は、今では少女の成長を祝い、結婚や家庭を象徴するめでたい道具となっています。(素晴らしい伝統ですが、これまた、明確なジェンダーロールや結婚に対するプレッシャー等が今後問題になって、変わりゆく可能性はあると思います。)

ウエストが恐ろしく細かった昔のバービーは、少し強制的な理想像でした。今のロールモデルのバービー人形は、実在の大人に似せているので、ある意味ありのままの姿ですが、同時に、将来を夢見る子供にとっては理想像でもあります。 また、ずばらなリカちゃんを見ると、同じ人形でも、環境や服装をどう変えるかによって、ありのままと理想像の間を行ったり来たりできることが分かります。

いずれの場合も、人形はコミュニケーションツールだと言えるでしょう。人形の作者、人形を買って子供にあげる大人、社会の風潮などがすべて織り交ざって、人形をもらう人に対して、各々のメッセージを作っています。「こうなったらいいよね」、「こんな夢も君なら実現できるよ」、そして、「ありのままの君でいいんだよ」、と。

小さなシルバニアファミリーにも、さらに小さな人形(写真右下)が出てきます。ヒツジの子供がウサギの人形を持って育つとどうなるか、考え出すと興味深いです!

今の社会は、どんどん自分らしさを前面に出す風潮となっており、そのため、人形にも多様性が反映されていると言えます。全体として、日本の人形はバービーをはじめとする米国のものに遅れていますが、今後状況は変わっていくと期待しています。また、ずぼらなリカちゃん、車椅子に置かれたバービー、家族が混ざったシルバニアファミリーのように、出来合いのものを買ったとしても、そこから先の解釈は、私たち自身が変えることができます。

人形を見た時、私たちは、今の自分、もしくは将来なりたい自分を無意識に探してしまいます。常に共感したい気持ちでいっぱいで、自分との共通点を見つけた時には、思わず嬉しくなってしまいます。もし今後誰かに人形を買う機会があれば、その瞬間に気に入ってもらえるかだけでなく、どうすれば長期的に心が休まる空間を提供し、自信やインスピレーションのリソースとなってもらえるかも考えたいと思います。

Historic Interpreters: Connecting Time Rather Than Geography

–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.

下記の投稿では、17世紀と18世紀のバージニアを再現した歴史博物館「コロニアル・ウィリアムスバーグ」と「ジェームズタウン・セトルメント」を訪ねた際に学んだ、historic interpreter (歴史の演出者)と言われるお仕事について取り上げました。通訳(language interpreter)となぜ似た呼び方がなされているのか、その目的や仕事における共通点は何なのかを模索しています。

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?

Historic Interpreters

While I didn’t have the opportunity to speak directly to a historic interpreter about this, I was intrigued by the explanation posted on the website of Colonial Williamsburg (quoting Mr. Ken Treese, Manager of Interpretation and Professional Development for the Historic Area):

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.

Let’s All Be Champions with Pictograms

–The universal appeal of pictograms, as shown during the 2020 Tokyo Olympics

Introduction:

As a big fan of pictograms (I wrote my master’s thesis on it), I explore in this post the story behind the 2020 Olympic pictograms, as well as the huge success of the performance during the opening ceremony. I also argue that pictograms can play a bigger role in our everyday communications: by embodying common human experiences that go beyond nationality, ethnicity, gender, and more, pictograms may be easier to use than people emoji in this increasingly interconnected world.

下記の投稿では、私が以前から強い関心を抱いてきたピクトグラム(修士論文のテーマでもありました)について取り上げました。2020年東京五輪のピクトグラムが作られた経緯を辿り、開会式におけるパフォーマンスが世界的に評価された理由を分析しています。また、国籍、人種、ジェンダー等にとらわれることのないピクトグラムは、世界中の多様な人々が瞬時につながる今の時代、日々のコミュニケーションにおいても、人型の絵文字以上に使いやすいのではないか、と論じています。

From the pictograms performance of the opening ceremony: emulating the skateboarding pictogram

The 2020 Tokyo Olympics has shown us some amazing athletic achievements so far. But for me, the most memorable performance has been the pictograms show during the opening ceremony. It was a great tribute to the previous Tokyo Olympics in 1964, where Olympic pictograms were first officially designed in order to overcome language barriers. As the first Olympic pictograms to be animated–and of course, the first to be performed live by people in blue and white bodysuits–the 2020 pictograms made history in their own way.

I wrote my master’s project (the equivalent of a master’s thesis in journalism school) on pictograms, and have always been interested in these little symbols as a form of language and communication. Based on how much the Olympic pictograms have evolved, as well as the huge success of the performance during the opening ceremony, I feel that we can better incorporate pictograms into our everyday lives. These universal symbols appeal to everyone in an increasingly interconnected world, and allow us to be more mindful of our commonalities regardless of our backgrounds.

The 2020 Olympic Pictograms

The story of the 2020 Olympic pictograms has several layers. At its foundation is the 1964 pictograms, which in itself carry older Japanese traditions of ukiyo-e (flattening three-dimensional images into two dimensions) and crest designs (little uniform symbols). Every Olympic host city has since used its own version of pictograms, from bright tones that reflect the country’s vivid colors (Mexico City, 1968; based on my interview with designer Lance Wyman for my master’s project in 2010), to universal and inclusive figures that deliberately moved away from Nazi-era history (Munich, 1972), to symbols inspired by ancient carvings in a Norwegian cave (Lillehammer, 1994), and characters inspired by old seals (Beijing, 2008).

The 2020 pictograms were a nod to the original 1964 version, according to a Japanese magazine (Katei Gaho) interview with Masaaki Hiromura, who designed the 50 Olympic pictograms and 23 Paralympic pictograms. While he initially played around with elements such as hiragana, Choju Giga, and Astro Boy, he ultimately decided to use the 1964 pictograms as reference, focusing on the athletes’ physical movements. Studying hundreds of photos and videos for each sport, he aimed to make the pictograms appear as realistic and dynamic as possible. He obtained not only the approval of the International Olympic Committee and International Paralympic Committee, but also the associations of each sport–which resulted in redoing more than half of the designs.

These pictograms were animated for the first time so that they can be used for event broadcasts, digital signage, and social media. An interview with Kota Iguchi, who created the animation, reveals the challenges of working from static images. Instead of forcing the pictograms themselves to move, he animated how they appear onto and disappear from the screen, and suggested that the flow be paused on the pictograms so that audience members could appreciate them for a few seconds. He, too, spoke with athletes to ensure that the movements looked natural, and animated in different speeds to highlight signature moves of each sport. The animation process was very challenging, but he says he “want[s] the baton to be passed” to future Olympic games. “I’d like to make it open source so that parts can be changed and the movements can evolve . . . and am happy to provide any data for that purpose” (translation my own).

Tokyo must have been searching for a way to honor the history of Olympic pictograms, and I believe that animation (the full sequence of all 73 pictograms is featured below) was the perfect update. The moving figures are endearing, and even though they are animated through technology, they even seem more human than the static versions. And if, as Mr. Iguchi offers, the data becomes open source, the pictograms could have a lasting legacy that impacts users worldwide.

The Appeal of the Pictograms Show

Despite all the work that went into the pictograms, they would not have garnered as much attention if not for the performance during the opening ceremony. Many of the comments on NBC’s video clip of the performance call it “the best part of the ceremony.” The Washington Post wrote that it “stole the show,” and The Cut called it a “hot new sport.” I think there are several reasons for its wide appeal:

  • Cuteness: While the pictogram illustrations have grace and poise, the people in bodysuits seem to scurry around clumsily with their big heads. After a while, the tacky outfits start to grow on us and begin to look adorable.
  • Imperfection: Their limbs tremble when they strike poses, and their postures are always somewhat less cool than the original pictograms. The blue man drops the badminton racket, and with the taekwondo posture, needs help bringing his leg up. It almost seems doubtful that they would manage to get through all 50 pictograms–making it seem all the more special when they succeed.
  • Emotion: With no mouths or eyes, they show emotion through body language alone. Their joy when they complete the fast-paced routine is palpable, drawing a sigh of relief from all of us.
  • The “analog” humor: Hiropon, the comedian who created the segment and starred as the main blue man, later commented on how “analog” the performance was. And it truly is: from the basketball hoop headband to the badminton shuttle signage, everything looks handmade. It is somehow both an elevated version of the digitally animated pictograms and a nod to the physical dynamism that inspired the pictograms to begin with.
Hiropon’s humble Instagram post that briefly reveals that he created the pictograms sequence. He later made an appearance at a press conference in the blue bodysuit.

Analog humor has long been appreciated in Japan. People have commented that the opening ceremony performance reminded them of Kasou Taishou (“Masquerade”), a Japanese show in which amateurs compete by enacting various aspects of life using their bodies and homemade costumes. One example is the below performance by two men emulating an athlete on a pommel horse, which won first prize in 1997. No one is expected to be a superb actor, stage carpenter, or costume maker. Family members often compete together, brilliantly executing silly but hilarious ideas.

Another commonality the pictogram performance had with Kasou Taishou was the supporter wearing white, who would often blend in the background and help with various props. This, in turn, comes from a long tradition of kabuki and bunraku (puppet theater), where stage hands (called kurogo) dressed all in black (or white, if it’s a snowy scene) carry props or puppets. The Olympics opening ceremony did feature a real kabuki performance by renowned actor Ebizo Ichikawa. But the pictograms performance was so much more accessible–no knowledge of history or culture was needed to appreciate it.

Anyone and Everyone

I think the biggest appeal of the pictograms performance comes from this last point: it can be understood by everyone, regardless of language, nationality, or background.

This spirit comes from the pictograms themselves. Mr. Hiromura says in the Katei Gaho interview that “the simpler the pictograms are, the more open to interpretation they become. Unless they are designed in a way that anyone can see themselves in them, they won’t be appreciated by everyone” (translation my own). The set of pictograms is uniform, only distinguished by the poses and items unique to each sport (be they bats, balls, or boards). The gender, age, or any other characteristic of athletes is invisible. Every swimmer and skateboarder who’s not yet at an Olympic level may see themselves in the pictograms, dreaming of someday competing among the best of the best.

I believe the pictogram performance brought this accessibility to another level. As a clumsy person whose worst grades were always P.E., I could never relate to athletes. I only watch games and competitions in awe of stars who possess skills I could never attain. But striking a pose or two with some props? That seems doable. The whole speedy routine must have taken so much practice, talent, and coordination–but with trembling limbs, handmade signs, and finger puppetry, the people in bodysuits make it seem as though any of us could give it a try. And when they manage to finish the routine, they seem like the ultimate underdogs who barely scrape by, huffing and puffing. Even their victory, unlike those of Olympic athletes, is relatable.

People Emoji: Too Detailed, Too Many

Mr. Hiromura, Mr. Iguchi, and Hiropon each had a huge challenge in bringing these pictograms to life. But one thing that I think makes their work somewhat easier is that the designs had a framework: they were limited to sports that were part of the Olympic and/or Paralympic games.

Having a framework and using simple designs work. I think this point is evident when we compare two types of emoji: smileys and people emoji. I’m a big fan of the round yellow smileys that only show facial expressions. Cute and fantastical, they are a simple representation of how I feel. I know they are abstract, and don’t expect any visual resemblances with my face. Like pictograms, they are uniform (yellow circle, a mouth, two eyes) and have a straightforward design.

I love these smileys (courtesy of Apple) because they are a fantastical representation of how I feel

But I have never felt comfortable with any of the more realistic people emoji that show body language, professions, family, and more. Those turn me off because I subconsciously look for (and fail to find) myself in them. I appreciate the recent diversity in skin tone, but five tones is not enough, and I am more than my skin (for starters, maybe I wouldn’t want to wear such a bright purple shirt every single time).

These people emoji (also from Apple) now come in various skin tones, but I still don’t see myself in them

Customized tools like Apple’s Memoji are meant to resolve this issue, but even those seem strangely over the top with exaggerated expressions. No matter what tweaks I make, I can’t identify with the little avatar.

People emoji and Memoji fall into the too-realistic-but-still-unlike-me trap

I–and I suspect many others–can never be satisfied with people emoji because people are endlessly diverse. Yes, it is very exciting that we may soon have emoji for pregnant men. But it also brings up new questions about many others who are not represented. I’m sure it’s a quagmire for developers and other authorities, who are likely contending with one complaint/request after another (here’s the list of emoji requests made to Unicode, not limited to people emoji). The more representation there is, the more problematic it becomes for those who are not represented, because we cannot help but wonder: How long does it take to get to my turn? How is my identity taking a back burner to zombies, mermaids, and twin bunny girls/boys? And from a practical standpoint, if, many years into the future, there happens to be a single emoji that comes close (say, a Japanese American woman interpreter), how many hundreds would I have to sift through on my phone to find it? People emoji seem to be trapped in a difficult situation where they will have to continue to grow in volume, which in turn will decrease their usability.

I think this is all because pictures that are too detailed end up highlighting differences. Indeed, as Mr. Hiromura said above, “the simpler they are, the more open to interpretation they become.” That must be why pictograms have such a strong appeal. Since the opening ceremony, many Japanese people have been designing their own pictograms and tweeting them. Here’s one that’s been particularly popular (dubbed “2020 Mamalympic (Papalympic) Sports”), even prompting media coverage. I think it’s clear to anyone, even without reading the Japanese captions, what “sport” each pictogram represents. These are universal struggles for many parents, regardless of language or culture.

So here’s an idea for those people emoji. How about designing them as pictograms instead? Olympic pictograms were originally created to reach an international audience for a special occasion celebrating top athletes. But now that our world is so interconnected, all of us need to communicate with diverse audiences everyday. Symbols that are more vague, where we do not have to worry about skin tone, facial or physical features, gender, etc., would appeal to more users, ostracize fewer people, and clutter less space on our phones.

And more importantly, with pictograms, we would have an easier time seeking our own identity. Instead of focusing on what we look like, we can perhaps focus on what we do, like playing basketball, raising babies, or writing. People of different backgrounds may use the same pictograms, which in turn helps us find commonalities with and compassion for others. We don’t want a competition where only a few people are represented, and others have to vie to have their likeness preserved. With pictograms, all of us can be champions in our own unique way.

Internet Slang and Anonymity

–A WaPo article on online identity

Introduction:

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.

先日、フェイスアプリを使ってツイートしているバイカー、「宗谷の蒼氷」さんへのインタビュー記事をワシントン・ポスト紙が公開しました。その取材のお手伝いをさせていただき、記者のドリューさんのご厚意で、私の名前も掲載して頂きました。宗谷さん(中島さん)は本当にエネルギーにあふれ、前向きで、かっこいい生き方をされている方で、私も多くの刺激を受けました。下記の投稿では、ツイートを翻訳することの難しさや、見ず知らず、かつ匿名の人たちの前で投稿することの勇気について触れます。

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.

The Courage to Tweet

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:

(ノ≧ڡ≦)☆

Announcing “Shiori Communications”

Introduction:

This bilingual post is an announcement about my new company, “Shiori Communications, LLC.” I also look back to the past year, which, despite COVID-19, was an overall success thanks to the wonderful support of friends and mentors.

この投稿では、新しく設立した会社「Shiori Communications, LLC」をご紹介するとともに、コロナ禍においても、友人やメンターの温かい支援のおかげでお仕事をいただけた2020年を振り返ります。英語の本文の後に日本語が続きます。
Plum blossoms in Tokyo–blooming a little early, they seem like symbols of hope for the new year! 少し早く咲いている梅の花は、新しい年に向けた希望を示しているように見えます。

Happy New Year! While the first two weeks of the year have already been crazy and horrible due to the events at the U.S. Capitol, I am hopeful that 2021 will improve going forward. I hope I can play a small role in that by facilitating communications between American and Japanese citizens through my new company.

2020 in Review

A year ago, I was filled with trepidation and excitement. I had just quit my job at the U.S.-Japan Council, ready to try interpreting and translating full-time. I wasn’t sure if I could even cover my rent, but for years, I had wanted to try working on my own. I was determined to give myself at least a year, and see where that would take me.

That year happened to be 2020–one of the most unusual and challenging years for everyone around the world. For me, all interpreting jobs (which traditionally were mostly done in person) came to a screeching halt with COVID-19. For a few weeks, I questioned my decision to go independent as the very industry I was trying to commit to was shaken to the core. With borders closed, I was physically cut off from my parents and boyfriend in Japan, and for the first time in years, felt sad about living alone. Then my former boss passed away, affecting me more deeply than the pandemic because of its permanence. As I ruminated over the words of gratitude, respect, and farewell that I will no longer get to convey to her, the sense of loneliness worsened.

But thanks to the kind support of friends and mentors, things got better. Many friends encouraged me through this blog, emails, or social media. Many gave me translating, editing, or writing opportunities, connecting me to their colleagues and acquaintances, or sometimes even creating jobs. From there, I got to take on entirely new types of jobs in English/Japanese communications, including teaching interpretation, subtitling videos, summarizing conferences, and translating music albums. I was only able to survive because of the wonderful people around me, and am incredibly grateful for the support I have received.

Remote interpretation also became more common, and I had the opportunity to work on a wide range of projects, from a military conference with 20+ countries (and 11 languages!), to a symposium of businesses based in Kansai, to a series of meetings among 20+ Japanese and American universities on student exchange, to an international conference on trademarks. Learning how to navigate various virtual interpretation platforms and other rapid changes in the industry became much easier thanks to regular online meetings with other interpreters. The biggest lessons of COVID-19 for me were: the importance of personal relationships, the value of positivity, and the need to adapt quickly to the changing world.

Although I became very busy towards the latter half of the year and could not write as much, I was also encouraged by the positive response to some of my blog articles, including this one on Black Lives Matter. I look forward to prioritizing writing in the future, and hope to provide more information that’s insightful and interesting.

A New Beginning

As 2021 begins, I am happy to announce that I recently established a company called Shiori Communications, LLC. The reason behind registering an LLC is that I wanted to facilitate better relations with clients, build a web presence (a website is coming soon), and be better about posting updates. It is called “Communications” because I want my work to go beyond differences in language, and truly strengthen mutual understanding by digging deep into cultures, customs, history, and more. I believe that the past four years, culminating in the recent events at the Capitol, show that communications that combat biases and false information is more important than ever. While it’s a tall order, aside from continuing to focus on interpretation and translation, I also hope to write professionally in both languages, discussing current events when appropriate, to bring people closer together.

At first glance, it may seem like I simply tacked on my first name to my company. But I believe it’s an apt name because “Shiori” means “poemweaver” in Japanese–something I’ve always felt very proud of as an aspiring writer. After searching for a memorable and meaningful name for months, I realized that what my parents gave me might be a great way to show my intent to connect the U.S. and Japan through language. By linking various individuals (connecting dots horizontally and vertically), be it through interpreting, translating, or writing, I hope to ultimately weave an even stronger bond between my two home countries. More information to come soon!

With the certificate issued by Virginia, where my company is based.  バージニア州で会社を登録しました。

「Shiori Communications」について

明けましておめでとうございます!今年は、米国議会議事堂への乱入を含め、年始からひどい出来事が続いていますが、今後は状況が改善していくと信じています。日米の人々のコミュニケーションを円滑にすることを目指す会社を通じて、私も、よりよい社会の構築に微力ながら貢献したいと考えています。

2020年を振り返って

一年前、私は将来に対する不安と期待が入り混じった気持ちで新年を迎えました。米日カウンシルの仕事を辞め、通訳・翻訳の仕事をフルタイムでやってみたいと思っていました。家賃を超える収入が得られるかどうかも分かりませんでしたが、何年も前から独立することを夢見ていたため、まずは一年、一人でやってみようと考えたのです。

その一年というのがたまたま2020年でした。これが世界中の人々にとってどれほど大変な年だったかは言うまでもありません。コロナにより、これまでほとんど対面でしかなかった通訳の仕事が急に途絶え、私は、このタイミングで独立を決意し、根底から揺らいでいる通訳業界に入ろうとしていることが正しい判断だったのか疑問に感じたりもしました。国境が閉ざされ、日本にいる両親や彼と会えなくなって、一人暮らしであることに何年かぶりに寂しさを感じました。さらに、前の上司が亡くなり、その永久の別れがパンデミック以上の衝撃となりました。もう伝えられない感謝の言葉や尊敬の念、これまでの思い出や彼女から学んだことが次々に頭に浮かび、孤独感はさらに強くなりました。

でも、友人やメンターの温かい支援のおかげで、状況は改善しました。このブログやメール、SNSを通じて、多くの友人が私を励ましてくれました。翻訳や編集、執筆の機会を与えてくれたり、同僚や知人を紹介してくれたり、時には仕事を一から作ってくれたりもしました。そこから私も、英語と日本語のコミュニケーションの分野でこれまでとは異なるタイプの仕事もいただけるようになりました。通訳を教えたり、ビデオに字幕をつけたり、会議の要約をしたり、音楽のアルバムの翻訳をしたり、といったことです。

遠隔通訳も一般的になり、20カ国以上(言語は11カ国語!)が参加する軍事会議、関西を拠点とする企業のシンポジウム、日米20以上の大学間の学生交流会、商標の国際会議など、様々な場で通訳を行う機会に恵まれました。通訳の先輩らとの定期的なZoomミーティングのおかげで、いろいろな通訳プラットフォームの使い方や業界の変化について学ぶこともできました。コロナ禍で学んだ最大の教訓は、人間関係の大切さ、物事をポジティブに受け止めることの重要性、変化する世界に素早く適応する必要性です。

今年の後半は忙しくてあまり文章が書けませんでしたが、Black Lives Matterに関するものをはじめ、ブログ記事に対する反響を得られたことにも励まされました。今後は執筆により力を入れて、興味深い情報や洞察をもっと書きたいと思います。

An Etsy commercial featuring a girl named Shiori. This aired on CNN during the presidential elections, and I find it all the more meaningful that people saw the value of diversity during such a difficult time. 珍しい名前を持つ人へのギフトも特注できますよ!と言う宣伝に、Etsyが「しおり」の名前を使ってくれました。CNNで大統領選挙の時期に流れたそうです。どのシーンにも深く共感しますし、日本人・日系人の名前が選ばれたこともすごく嬉しい!

新たな始まり

2021年が始まるにあたり、この度、Shiori Communications, LLCという会社を設立したことをご報告します。LLCを設立した理由は、クライアントとの関係をより円滑にし、インターネットを通じてより多くの人に活動を知ってもらい(近日中にウェブサイトを開設します)、もっと頻繁に近況について書きたいと思ったからです。「コミュニケーション」という言葉を選んだのは、言葉の違いを超えて、文化や慣習、歴史的背景なども踏まえた上で、相互理解を深めていきたいと考えているからです。議事堂乱入でついにピークに達した過去4年間の状況は、偏見や誤った情報をなくすコミュニケーションがかつてないほど重要であることを示していると思います。なかなか難しいことかもしれませんが、通訳や翻訳を引き続き重視しつつも、両言語で執筆も行い、場合によっては時事問題も取り上げつつ、さらに人々の距離を縮めたいと考えています。

一見、自分の下の名前を付けただけの安易な会社名だと思われるかもしれません。でも、「詩を織る人」という名前は、書くことが好きな私の誇りであり、この会社にもふさわしいと思います。活動内容に関連する覚えやすい名前を探して何ヶ月も悩んでいましたが、言葉を通じて日米を繋げたいという私の思いを示すには、結局、両親がくれた名前が最良かもしれないという結論にたどり着きました。通訳、翻訳、執筆などを通じて、様々な人と人をつなぐ(縦横に点をつなぐ)ことで、両国の絆がさらに深まっていくことを願っています。また追って詳細を報告します。

Visualizing data without misleading or stereotyping

Introduction:

In the wake of the presidential elections that revealed a nation that remains highly divided, this bilingual post explores how we might visualize data in a way that doesn’t mislead audiences or stereotype different types of people.

今月初めに行われた大統領選挙では、米国でまだまだ分断が続いていることが明らかになりました。この投稿は、誤解を招かず、ステレオタイプを強化しない形でいかにデータを可視化できるかについて模索しています。英語の本文の後に日本語が続きます。

Earlier this month, we witnessed one of the most dramatic presidential elections in history. These past four years, the U.S. had been unrecognizable to me. As a woman, quasi-immigrant, and minority, I felt that I was unwelcome on all three counts. I was in a state of disbelief as racist remarks and actions were normalized, and many laws that I had been proud to associate with the U.S. were rolled back one by one.

It is a huge relief to have a national leader who seems rational, calm, and mindful of the growing diversity of the U.S. demographic. I am ecstatic that we now have the first woman vice president–who also happens to be Black, Asian, and the daughter of an immigrant. That fact alone allays my concerns about criticism over the president-elect’s treatment of women.

A Divided Country

But as we all know, this was no swift victory. The “blue wave” touted by pundits never came. Instead, we had a handful of swing states that flipped, one by one, from slightly red to barely blue over the course of four days. I kept taking screenshots of the close race (at one point a difference of 1,000 votes, or less than 0.1%!) and sending it to friends. I pored over the news analyzing the developments in each state, from which counties’ votes were being counted first, to why Nevada seemed to take its sweet time, to legendary figures like Stacey Abrams and the late John McCain affecting the outcome in Georgia and Arizona.

The state of the swing states as of the morning of Nov. 6. With 99% of votes reported, Georgia had a difference of 1,000 votes, or less than 0.1%. Screenshot from Google based on results compiled by the Associated Press.

Maps

With all the election results readily available online, it has been really fascinating to be able to zoom into any state and look at the results in each county. Maps like this one (for Virginia) show islands of blue cities in a sea of red.

Election results by county in Virginia. Screenshot from Google based on results compiled by the AP.

But this year, the way maps show election data seemed to undergo an important and fascinating shift. With the slogan “Land doesn’t vote; people do,” several maps came out to show votes in proportional circles based on how people voted in each county, as opposed to coloring in the entire area of each county. Since fewer people live in rural areas, this was a much more accurate representation. Based on how much recognition these newer maps received, I suspect future elections will be represented in this way.

Either way, the fact remains that we are a deeply divided country, mostly reflecting whether we live in urban or rural areas. So how do we heal as a nation? One way, I think, is to avoid stereotyping others as much as we can.

Visualizations that Reinforce Stereotypes

The below illustration is called “What it means to be a typical Democrat or Republican, based on everyday items.” A translation of the words that appear throughout the illustration are in the chart below (all translations are my own).

From this website of The Asahi Shimbun. I added the numbers in purple for the translations provided below.
DemocratsRepublicans
Prius; VolvoCarsHummer; Porsche
MSNBCTV stationsFOX
Comedy; RomanceMoviesWar; Action
Jazz; RapMusicCountry
Tennis; SoccerSportsRodeo; Motor Races
Women: Silky smooth; Men: Long with beardsHairstyleWomen: Voluminous; Men: Short and neat
CasualAttireBusiness Suits
Sushi; VegetarianFoodFried Chicken; BBQ
StarbucksBeveragesCoors Beer

This was apparently first published in The Asahi Shimbun about 10 years ago. It came up on its website this past March (with the explanation that “trends have not changed that much since then”) as part of an article that helps young job applicants / recent college graduates understand current events.

When I first saw this, I couldn’t help but laugh. It’s wonderful that Japanese audiences are paying close attention to the U.S. elections. I think visuals are very important, especially to a younger audience. But I also think we need to be careful not to generalize too much–precisely because we are shaping young minds.

To start with the basics, the data comes from mixed sources. This illustration is apparently based on “data from advertising and research firms, as well as the voices of American voters.” That’s at least three sources that probably use different methodologies, samples, dates, and collection methods. While I don’t expect the entire methodology to be part of the picture, I’d at least like to know the names of the companies that collected this data.

The illustration is full of points I want to ask more about. For example (and I am also making big generalizations here), the “Republican” category seems to combine several types of people: the military type (short, neat hair), the wealthy type (Porsches), people living in rural areas (fried chicken; country music), etc. More minor examples show weird combinations too, like Starbucks (likely coffee) with sushi for Democrats. It is very confusing because all these mixed data is illustrated in the same picture.

And while the variety in music tastes and hairstyle is certainly interesting, I don’t see how it makes a big difference. The only thing I thought was truly relevant here is the type of media consumed (FOX vs. MSNBC), which other sources also indicate. I would rather know about the difference in opinion on topics like education, immigration, and religion. And, at least in terms of food, there’s evidence that we can’t associate them with political thought: The New York Times recently published a quiz asking readers to look at photos of fridge contents and guess whether they belong to a Trump supporter or Biden supporter. As of today, readers have made 25 million (!) guesses, and were correct 52% of the time–it’s 50/50, even with that huge sample.

Caricatures

To me, the most egregious point that could be corrected is that all four people depicted here are white. According to data compiled by the Pew Research Center, as of 2019, 40% of registered Democrats were non-white (even back in 2010, when this illustration was made, it probably would have been more than 36% (2008)). The Democratic party clearly states that “diversity is a strength,” and its support for immigrants and minorities is clear. So it seems especially odd to represent 100% of the Democrats here as white people.

But I also see how it’s extremely hard to visualize people “correctly.” Take, for example, the controversial NHK video that attempted to explain the BLM movement in June. If Black people or other minorities were added to the Asahi Shimbun visualization of Democrats and Republicans, would it have made things better? I doubt it, because it’s hard to illustrate someone without resorting to caricatures, especially if you do not know them well.

A screenshot (from here) of the controversial NHK video that illustrated Black people who wore tank tops and Afros, lighting the city on fire, and saying that they were resorting to violence because they were angry about the income gap (with no mention of police brutality)

And the truth of the matter is that there’s an inherent difference in illustrating someone who is already in the majority versus someone who is not. The former has already been drawn in many different ways, and one additional illustration is just that–a collection to add to many different images that readers may have in their head. It won’t skew the audience’s minds in either direction. Someone who is rarely drawn, on the other hand, automatically becomes a representative of their entire group because they are rarely seen. It’s similar to how movie characters used to be caricatures. The token Asian characters in older films were stereotypes (Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles), whereas now we are seeing diverse backgrounds and personalities (from Crazy Rich Asians to The Farewell) because there are more films and more characters.

Visualizing Content in Better Ways

A lot of the data in the Asahi Shimbun illustration is interesting, even if not necessarily relevant. I think this could be improved by 1) listing its sources by name, 2) not showing people in the illustrations, and 3) instead of showing the top one or two in the same big picture, perhaps choosing the top five in each category and turning them into separate charts. Illustrations are so powerful, helping us understand and remember things better–but without the full context, they can also be misleading.

Media have to work with quick deadlines, and it’s easy for me to be an armchair critic. But as people pointed out with the BLM video, I believe there are ways to find consultants. On a deeper level, I believe we all need to have a better understanding of each other, so that we don’t stereotype others, and know when we are about to create caricatures.

These take long conversations, better education, more reading, stronger media representation, and so much more. But to circle back to the original discussion, at least we know that we are politically divided. At least we are beginning to learn, in the past six months, how much pain Black people have been experiencing. I hope that we can strive to understand each other. After this election, the only direction to go is onwards and upwards.

ステレオタイプを強化しない形で情報を可視化するには

今回の大統領選挙では、大好きな米国がようやく少し戻ってきた気がします。2016年の選挙以降、移民、日系人、そして女性として、ずっと緊張や不安を抱えてきました。国のリーダーがアジア人に差別的な言葉を使ったり、移民に対する大統領命令を発したり、女性蔑視の発言をするたび、心身ともに疲弊し、いつも少し怯えながら過ごす日々でした。今回、バイデンが大統領となって心から安堵しましたし、初の女性・黒人・アジア系の副大統領が誕生したことを、本当に誇りに思います。

ただ、選挙の結果を見て、国の分断がまだこんなにもひどいことに驚いたのも事実です。スイングステート(激戦州)では、最終的に民主党が勝ったところが多いものの、一時期は数千票、0.1%以下の僅差だったりもして、結果が分かるまでの数日間は本当にやきもきしました。地図を見ても、驚くくらい、都市部と田舎とで政党が真っ二つに分かれています。これからこの分断をどう乗り越えていくかが大きな課題となります。

ステレオタイプを強化する恐れのあるイラスト

そんな時にたまたま、上記の「身近な品々に見る『民主らしさ』『共和っぽさ』」というイラストを友人が送ってくれました。もとは10年前に朝日新聞に掲載されたのが、最近になって「今でも傾向は変わらない」と言う解説とともに浮上したようです。

これを最初に見た時、ツッコミどころが多くて笑ってしまいました。興味深い視点ですし、分かりやすく可視化している姿勢が素晴らしいと思います。でも、可視化するからこその危険性も多分にあると思います。

まず、情報源は「広告会社と調査会社のデータおよび米有権者の声」とありますが、そうすると、少なくとも3つの情報源から得たデータとなり、それぞれ異なるサンプル、日程、調査方法であると想定されます。それをすべて一つの絵にまとめていること自体少し不思議だと思いますが、そうであれば、少なくとも広告会社や調査会社の名前を掲載した方がよいかと思います。

細かい点を見ますと、たとえば「共和党支持層」は、いろいろなタイプの人たちが混じっているように見えます。それこそステレオタイプに基づいて例を挙げると、軍人(「整えた短髪」)、富裕層(「ポルシェ」)、田舎に住む人(「フライドチキン」「カントリー」)がすべて一緒になっています。民主党の方でも、スターバックス(のおそらくコーヒー)を寿司と飲む、という不思議な構図になっています。これも、いろいろな情報源から集めたデータが同じ絵にあるから違和感があるのかと思います。

共和党・民主党支持者が視聴するメディア(「TV局」)はとても重要であり、FOXとMSNBCが両極端にあることは他でも立証されていますが、映画や音楽など、それ以外の点に関しては、それほど重要だとも思えません。むしろ、教育や移民政策、宗教等に関する考えを取り上げた方が興味深い気がします。さらには、少なくとも食べものに関しては、政党との関連性が低いことが分かっています。最近ニューヨーク・タイムズ紙は、冷蔵庫の中身の写真を見て、トランプ支持者かバイデン支持者のものかを読者が当ててみるというクイズを発行しました。現時点で読者は2500万回(!)推測してきましたが、正解率は52%。それだけ巨大なサンプルでも、まだ五分五分なのです。

人物のステレオタイプ

私が最も残念だと思うのは、この絵に描かれている人が4人とも白人だということです。2019年の時点で、登録している民主党支持者のうち、40%が非白人でした(このイラストが描かれた2010年でも、36%(2008年)以上だったと思われます)。また、民主党は「多様性は強みである」と明言しており、移民やマイノリティを支持していることも明らかです。したがって、民主党支持者の100%が白人として描かれているのは残念なことだと思います。

同時に、「正しい」形で人を可視化するのは大変難しいことです。6月にBLM運動を動画にし、物議を醸したNHKのビデオがよい例だと思います。黒人や他のマイノリティをこの朝日新聞の民主党・共和党のイラストに入れたところで、状況は改善しなかったかもしれません。あまりなじみがない人たちを可視化しようとすると、ステレオタイプに基づいた滑稽な絵になってしまいがちです。

多数派の人とそうでない人を描くことには、本質的な違いがあります。前者は既にいろいろな場で、様々な形で描かれており、一枚の新しいイラストは、読者の頭にあるイメージのコレクションに足されるだけであり、これまでの印象を大きく変えるわけではありません。一方、めったに描かれない人は、その人が所属するグループ全員を代表するような形になってしまいます。これは、映画の登場人物にも言えることだと思います。古いアメリカ映画のアジア系の登場人物は、ひどいステレオタイプに基づいていましたが(『ティファニーで朝食を』のユニオシ氏、『すてきな片思いの』ロンなど)、最近はアジアを中心とした映画や登場人物が増えてきているおかげで、多様な背景や個性が描かれています(『クレイジー・リッチ』や『フェアウェル』など)。

より良い形での可視化

朝日新聞のイラストには、興味深いデータが満載です。もし改善するとしたら、1)情報源の会社名を明記し、2)人物は描かず、3)上位1~2位だけを同じ絵の一部として描くのではなく、たとえば各カテゴリーのトップ5などを別々の表にして出す、といったことができると思います。イラストは、物事を理解し記憶する上で素晴らしいツールとなりますが、全体像が見えないと、誤解を招くことにもなりかねないと思います。

メディアは締め切りに向けて急いで作業を行わなければなりませんし、私がこうして後から批判するのは簡単なことです。でも、BLMのビデオに関して他の人も指摘したように、コンサルタントなど、何かしら事情に詳しい人に話を聞いて確かめることはできたのではないかと思います。より長期的な話で言えば、こういったステレオタイプを行わないように、私たちそれぞれがお互いへの理解を深める努力をすべきなのかと思います。

そのためには、対話を続け、教育を改善し、より多くの本を読み、映画・テレビ・本等における登場人物をより多様にしたりと、様々な課題があります。しかし、私たちは少なくとも、政治的な分断が続いているという事実、黒人の人たちが今も苦しんでいるという事実などを学びました。今回の選挙を受け、私たち皆で一緒に前に進み、相互理解を深めていけることを願っています。

Awkwardな私と多くのワード(訳語)

カエサルの言葉「来た、見た、勝った」をもじって、I came, I saw, I made it awkward(来た、見た、微妙な雰囲気にした)と記載されたマグカップ。

最近出版されたばかりのオバマ元大統領の回顧録『A Promised Land』で、オバマ氏が鳩山元首相のことをawkwardと呼んでいることに関し、日本で様々な報道が出ているようです。Awkwardという言葉の訳がメディアによって異なるため、どれが正しい訳なのかということと、オバマ氏の評価が好意的か否かといったことも報じられています。訳しにくい言葉にまつわる興味深い話な上、awkwardという言葉には個人的な思い入れもあることから、自分の経験も交えて、考えをまとめたいと思います。

鳩山氏に対する評価の訳

オバマ氏の回顧録における文面について、既に多くの方が素晴らしいまとめをされています。私自身はこの本を読んでいないため、文脈について大きなことは言えませんが、現在報じられている内容に基づいて解釈してみたいと思います。

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。

Awkwardな人とは

Awkwardは、英語でかなり頻繁に使われる割には、とても訳しにくい言葉です。本件に関しても、「厄介」(時事通信)、「ぎこちない」(TBS)、「やりにくい」(日テレ)、「付き合いにくい」(共同通信)、「不器用」(朝日新聞鳩山氏自身)など様々な訳がなされています。

Awkwardな人はどういう人かと聞かれたら、私は「人付き合いが苦手な人」だと説明すると思います。一言に訳すと、一番近いのは上記の「不器用」だと思います。「ぎこちない」も近いと思いますが、それは身体の動きや話し方を連想させる一方で、たとえば、なかなか目を合わせてくれない人もawkwardに含まれるため、少し狭義になっているかもしれません。「やりにくい」「付き合いにくい」は、ニュアンスとして正しいのですが、オバマ氏は(実際には個人的な意見にせよ)客観的な言葉としてawkwardを使っているため、ちょっと踏み込み過ぎかもしれません。

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。

最初にこの話を聞いた時、言葉を大切にするオバマ氏がなぜわざわざawkwardと言ったのか疑問に思いました。全体として悪くない印象なら、なぜあえてそれを傷つける言葉を足したのか、と。しかし、こちらの記事を見て、オバマ氏が各国首脳をかなり批判していると知り、納得がいきました。回顧録の面白みは、当時考えたことや経験したことを率直に書くことであり、歯に衣着せぬ表現を使って当然なのですよね。

他の首脳に比べると、鳩山氏に対するオバマ氏の評価はソフトなようです。同時に、鳩山氏は相対的に強い印象を残していないとも言えます。たとえば、オバマ氏の各国首脳への評価をまとめたBBCの記事には、日本の首相は登場しません。オバマ氏は、回顧録で、鳩山氏が「3年未満で4人目」の首相であり、「7か月でいなくなった」ことに言及しています。日本のリーダーが誰であれ、存在感は薄かったのでしょう。この数年後、安倍元首相はトランプ大統領と強固な関係を築こうと並々ならぬ努力を重ねましたが、こうした首脳同士の人間関係は、やはり二国間の政治にもかなり影響するのかと思います。

Awkwardという言葉との共存

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。

つまり、誰でもawkwardに感じることはあります。ただ、そういった瞬間が比較的多いのがawkwardな人なのかと思います。オバマ回顧録にまつわる本件が特に私の心に響いたのは、私もawkwardだからです。自分の例に基づいて、この言葉の意味をもう少し考えたいと思います。

私は子供の頃から、一人で家で本を読んだり勉強したりするのが好きでした。相手の言動が予想できないことから、人付き合いには強い苦手意識を感じていました。学校でも、チームワークが必要な理科の実験や皆でやる体育が本当に不得意で、「協調性がない」と先生に言われていました。

大人になった今でも、awkwardな(気まずい)雰囲気を作ってしまうことがよくあります。人数が多い会話では特に、うまく口を挟むタイミングがつかめないこともあり、頭の中で長らく考えをまとめています。ようやくまとまって勇気が出せて、かつちょっとした沈黙が訪れた時に発言するのですが、考えに集中するあまり直前の話を聞いておらず、「とっくに皆が落とした会話のボールを今拾うんですね」と笑われたり、向こうからしたら脈絡がないので「突然どうしたの」と聞かれることもあります。

社交の場で緊張しがちだったり、手先も含めて不器用だったり、といったこともあります。私が住むワシントンDCはネットワーキングが欠かせない町です。人脈を広げるため、誰も知る人がいない立食パーティーに一人で参加することも多いです。緊張で深呼吸をしながら入場しますが、やはり知らない人とのスモールトーク(世間話)は本当にしんどく、「3人に話しかける」という自己ノルマを達成した後は、アペタイザーだけもらって帰ります。そして家に帰って鏡を見てはたと気づくのですが、いつの間にか名札のシールがはがれて髪にくっついていたり、食べ物を服にこぼしていたり。ネットワーキングが苦手な自分をただでさえ反省しているところ、どうも他の人には起きないことが自分には起きるように思え、恥ずかしさでいっぱいになります。Awkwardの極みです。

でも、場数を踏んで、徐々に人付き合いのコツがつかめてきましたし、こういった話を友人にすると、実は似た悩みを抱えている人が多いのだということに気付きました。わざわざ明かさなくてもばれてしまうらしく、以前、会って間もない職場の同僚に Don’t worry, I’m awkward too!と朗らかに言われて大笑いしたのを覚えています。

また、awkwardだからこその強みもあると思います。大人数で口頭で議論することは苦手な反面、じっくり考えて文章を練ることがとても好きです。感受性や想像力が強く、自然の彩やアートを楽しめます。威風堂々とした雰囲気はないかもしれませんが、人間らしく親しみやすいと感じてもらえることが多いように思います。

人と接することが仕事の大きな一部である政治家がawkwardと呼ばれるのは、確かに少し残念なことかもしれません。でも、awkwardであること自体は、本人はとても苦しくても、周りから見れば個性であり、決して悪いことではありません。

スピード重視のメディアの世界で、背景等をすべて踏まえた訳を行うことは非常に困難です。私がこうして後からゆっくり批評するのは簡単だということも認識しています。でも、awkwardは、私がずっともがきながら共存してきた言葉です。人付き合いは徐々にうまくなってきたとはいえ、ちょっとしたズレやタイミングの悪さは、もはや自分の個性の一部として受け入れつつあります。今回筆を執ったのは、そんな大切な言葉について書きたかったからです。

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!?