Mr. Y's Fired

That is to say, Mr. Y's contract won't be renewed this coming school year. No one ever really gets fired in Japan, at least not in the sense of "I want you out of here by lunchtime. Say your goodbyes and try not to steal anything." Here, the firing is never quite as forthcoming; it's no public spectacle. A Security guard doesn't monitor you from a distance as you clean out your desk, making sure you don't snap and try to bury a stapler in middle-management's head. No one offers tight-lipped nods of pity and awkward words of consolation, while others with a weaker immunity to unease keep their eyes on their monitors and pretend to be doing something else.

No, if you're fired in Japan, you won't ever have to hang your head low as office supplies shift around in your in your milk crate with each humiliating stride in your walk towards the exit. Very little about being let go actually becomes verbalized, openly discussed, or dwelled upon, save the initial announcement to the "firee". Like other forms of ugliness in Japan, the bad news is outwardly ignored and concealed by faux interest in the business at hand. In an office where twenty or thirty teachers are rowed and columned up, desks huddled together, upon a glance you'd never be able to tell a bomb has been dropped; all seems fine, save the mental image of Mr. Y's getting canned hovering about eight feet above the floor like cigarette-smog at an AA meeting. Everyone keeps their heads down and avoids inhaling.

Without the liberty of talking about the problem, Mr. Y's only option is to internalize all of the emotion; when life deals certain types of bad luck (firing, divorce, infidelity) sometimes even close friends cannot be turned to for consolation. To put someone out by dumping your personal problems on them is still cultural faux-pas in some circles; there exists a low threshold of tolerance for negative or tragic news. Getting it out in the open as a therpeutic strategy is unheard of for many. Swallowing your medicine and taking it like a man by exercising acceptance is not seen as maikng yourself a candidate redemption, but what's expected of you whether you're canned, canonized, promoted, or just plain ignored. Some around the office seem to welcome the drama, as it's giving them more than ample watercooler conversation to gnaw on. Apparently a lot of mileage can be gotten out of a firing.

Today, as I saw Mr. Y going about his business as if he wasn't full of worry, embarrassment and reflection, I recalled an old friend of mine, a Japanese woman. She had struggled with disappointment after disappointment within a short-lived marriage and had finally put her foot down despite ostricization and threats from both her own family and the (ex-)in-laws. She had told me she would be unable to inform her closest friends of her quitting the marriage until it was a done deal on paper. Even then, she'd said, it would be difficult.

It was explained to me in this way: "Some Japanese people enjoy hearing bad news. It makes them feel good and they love to talk about it. It is gossip. It is very Japanese."

Well, gossip is very a lot of places. The Japanese part is the charade that ensues, the belief that not confronting the problem is the surest way to make it go away.

Mr. Y's crime? On paper, it's "Poor Classroom Management". I've seen his classes; the students don't mind his reasonably unkempt appearance and stringy hair. Hell, he looks better than half of the tenured over-fifty faculty who drag their asses to each class and overrreact to the slightest student insolence. On the contrary, Mr. Y has cultivated a good rapport with students, as the job required. His kids learn English pretty well. While the head of the English department depends on his native Japanese to get by, Mr. Y's nearly bilingual. He's a loveable misfit, a good teacher.

So the real infraction? Being that misfit. There's nothing loveable about it here. Or in the whole of this city, for that matter. The ones doing the firing are fashionable, sculpted, and schmoozy to the paying customers (pronounced: parents). The best thing you can be in this office is uniform. Ordinary.

Mr. Y has about three weeks to clean out his desk.

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