Being Black in Japan (Part 3 – The Dancing Jigger Toy[1])
I’ve been procrastinating on this post because this is probably the most difficult/uncomfortable thing that’s happened to me in Japan–well, race-related. Now that I think about it, it might very well be the most uncomfortable, race-related situation that has happened to me in my life. And instead of drawing it out, I want to get right into what happened.
It was the middle of May.
My old roommate Kira introduced my to my favorite place on earth, the bar I mentioned in my previous post. After I went there twice with Kira, the bar owner and his wife invited us and a few others to their house for an okonomiyaki party. As we stepped into their house, I noticed that the house looked a lot like their bar–full of American paraphernalia. All sorts of gadgets and toys lined their walls and shelves. Cans of Campbell’s soup, a box of Stove Top stuffing mix, figurines of the Budweiser toads, 1950’s Coco Cola bottles, a stuffed animal of Alf (the 1980’s television show), Tom and Jerry mugs, etc. If you name something American, I’m sure they have a replica of it in their house. And if not, it’s in their bar.
I scanned the room in awe. There were so many American items; things I had forgotten about, things I’d never seen before. So many items recognizable, many were not because I hadn’t been born yet.
The bar owner’s wife served me and her guests so much food and I was having the time of my life, although I couldn’t really join in the conversations… since they were in Japanese. There air was filled with the heavenly aroma of okonomiyaki and yakisoba. The two dished sizzled and smoked on the table grill in front of us. Our mouths watered in anticipation.
As the group talked, I listened intently, trying to pick up words that I had heard before, but most of it was a lost cause. Kira continuously asked me, “Are you okay? Do you want me to translate things for you?” The bar owner asked me in Japanese how much of the conversation I understood and I laughed out a, “Go paasento (5%).”
Nope, I didn’t understand much then, but it didn’t matter! I was having the time of my life listening to them. I was in Japan, at the house of my favorite bar owners, eating okonomiyaki and yakisoba with amazing people. We laughed, joked, and drank Corona until our stomachs happily poked out.
It was great until the bar owner brought out his other American toys.
There were two. The first was an old, white grandfather sitting on a rocking chair. He was only about 5 inches tall, but he was so life-like. His blue bathrobe swayed on the chair as he rocked back and forth, back and forth. His graying hair was stringy and his cheeks were like little puffs of pink cotton. Here’s the kicker: as he rocked, a small pipe in his hand went into his mouth. When he put it down, he blew out smoke!
It was pretty cool. But the other toy was not.
As our amusement died down with the old grandfather, the bar owner brought out another toy to keep us entertained. When he sat this toy down next to the other, the Americans in the room (Kira and I), knew this situation could get bad very quickly. Standing on a circular platform was an African-American male averaging out to about 5 inches tall. Dressed in a tattered gray suit with his knobby knees exposed, his feet jumped and clumsily hit the platform when the bar owner pulled a wooden tab on his back. His body was dark and his eyeballs were wide and white. His lips were red, plump and flimsy. To seal the deal, the toy’s platform read, “Dancing Jigger – Arkansas” in bright vibrant colors of yellow, blue, and orange.
Something like what I saw
As his feet slammed the platform, the Japanese people at the party smirked and were amused just as they had been for the other toy. But Kira and I looked at each other, not really knowing what to say. In an effort to make me feel less alone, Kira said, “Wow, that might be the most racist thing I’ve ever seen.”
“….Yea….oh my god,” I said. There was nothing else for me to say.
No one else at the party said anything about it. Without anyone but Kira noticing my shock, the bar owner put his toys away and joined the party again. Just like that, it was over, and no one thought anything of the toy. I didn’t say anything else. Soon, everyone was back to drinking and laughing, and I was too.
