Japan (part III): the stuff that Twitter loves - babies, YIMBYism and religion

Enough of musing about holidays! It's time for Issues with a capital I. Let's take it away with the big 3 favourites of Twitter (by which I mean X and all its imitators): babies, YIMBYism and religion. 

I repeat that I don't pretend to understand Japan: all I intend to do below is to set out some relevant observations on these topics. I leave both the explanations and the lessons to be learned for more qualified people. 

Japan (part II): the sights

I started this series of posts by describing the experience of being in Japan. One reason I did so is because that experience is one of the highlights of visiting Japan. More fundamentally, in this post I will suggest that you need to consider the sights of Japan as a whole in experiential terms. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that "sights" - meaning, things that are to be seen - is the wrong word and "gestalt experiences" would be a better phrase, but this post is already sufficiently pretentious. 

In my first post, I described the quotidian aspects of being in Japan. Let's consider another example, perhaps one more common to Brits: visiting New York. 

Simply being in New York - experiencing the fact that it's "just like the movies" - is one of the highlights of any such visit. You want to "be a part of it", as the song has it. If you were to have a thoroughly New York-y day, you might: buy a hotdog from someone with a strong accent; see some yellow taxi cabs; watch steam coming out of the ground; go to a big park (Central Park); observe that there are lots of straight roads lined by skyscrapers (some of which are readily recognisable); spot guns, fire hydrants, fire escapes, stoops, brownstone buildings, "DON'T WALK" signs and so on; and ride the subway. These experiences are not in themselves terribly exciting things to do, certanly not individually, but they have a cumulative effect of contributing to that feeling of experiencing New York which is one of the reasons you went in the first place. 

Being in Japan is similar: sitting on a fast train or buying food from a convenience store are also not terribly exciting things to do in their own right, but they contribute to the overall experience. But what is striking about the Japanese experience is that the quotidian is not only distinctive but also pleasant.

Of course, there needs to be more than just the everyday to make a long trip worthwhile. New York and, say, Venice are nice places to stroll around, but they each have vaut le voyage highlights too. What are the Japanese sights?

There are many sights, but you need to think of them differently from the sights of a similarly old European country. To try to explain, I'lll start by telling you what not to expect.

Tokyo has been a prominent city since the 17th century. It had a million inhabitants in the 18th century. But it went through a lot in the 20th century. Wikipedia tells me that the "raids that were conducted by the U.S. military on the night of 9–10 March 1945, codenamed Operation Meetinghouse, are the single most destructive bombing raid in human history. 16 square miles (41 km2; 10,000 acres) of central Tokyo was destroyed, leaving an estimated 100,000 civilians dead and over one million homeless. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima in August 1945, by comparison, resulted in the immediate death of an estimated 70,000 to 150,000 people" - incendiary bombs are very effective against wood and paper housing. And that was just one raid: strategic urban bombing had been going on for some time before that. (There is a Studio Ghibli film, Grave of the Fireflies, dramatising the effects of similar bombing on the civilian population of Kobe. Worth a watch.) What you see in modern Tokyo, therefore, is a lot of post-war development. 

The next point to note is that Tokyo is not a place for what we might call landmarks. There's Tokyo Tower (which owes a lot to the Eiffel Tower) and the Tokyo Skytree (the tallest tower in the world) but there is not monumental architecture in the manner familiar to visitors to European cities. Indeed, it is unlike other Asian cities that I know: there is no setpiece - no physical drama - equivalent to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, or the Taj Mahal; and while Seoul and Tokyo have many street-by-street similarities, Gyeongbokgung Palace is definitely not in Tokyo (and not only because the captions in the museum are definitely not written by Japanese people). Even Singapore, which, like Tokyo, is safe, clean and largely built since the War, has a desire to create dramatic setpieces: think of the merlions, Marina Bay Sands, the Gardens by the Bay or the amazing centrepiece to its airport. That is not Japan.

Here is Tripadvisor's list of the top 12 sights of Tokyo:

This list is a little misleading. The Senseo-ji Temple (no 2) is the temple in Asakusa (no 7): there are two photos of the same thing in that list. Also, Tokyo National Museum (no 12) is in Ueno Park (no 8), so it's a bit two birds with one stone. So the top sights according to Tripadvisor are: one old bit (Asakusa temple and its environs); a couple of parks/gardens; some new fun things to do (go up tall modern buildings, Teamlab, cross the Shibuya crossing); some funky neighbourhoods; and the Meiji Jingu Shrine. 

The Lonely Planet has a longer but similar list, adding the Ghibli Museum (obviously not old) and the Imperial Palace (which I will come back to). CN Traveller has an overlapping list which is a little more heavy on places to consume food and drink, while Viator has a similar list, albeit one that starts by proposing that you leave Tokyo entirely to see Mt Fuji. One thing they all agree on is that, as mentioned in my first post on Japan, the crossing in Shibuya is one of the top sights of Tokyo, and I think you can calibrate your expectations accordingly.

These are all good recommendations. (To the best of my knowledge, that is. I wasn't bothered about going up a tall building to see a city that is mostly unfamiliar to me, so I haven't done that and can't comment - I bet that the experience will be typically well-managed and affordable, as is the Japanese way, but that's just my prejudices speaking.) But you'll have noticed that what you are going to see in Tokyo is mostly (a) either a park or a neighbourhood and (b), as I've hinted, not that old. 

Let's take the Meiji Shrine. It's very nice (gardens, gates, path, pleasant shrine complex); it's just by Harajuku, so it makes a lot of sense to see it; it's quirky - look out for the barrels of wine. But it is not old. It's the shrine dedicated to the deified spirits of Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken (it is not their tomb - their bodies are elsewhere), who didn't die that long ago, and so it's only about 100 years old. (And even that's leaving aside the fact that lots of what you see now is much newer than that, for various reasons, not all of which are related to the War.) That's pretty unusual for a Top 10 highlight of a European city.

What about the Imperial Palace? I said I'd come back to it. The name suggests that you might be getting some Big Castle Action here. You won't. 

The picture of the Imperial Palace at the Lonely Planet link above is taken from a famous bit on the periphery where you see a couple of bridges and a pleasant pavillion, near to a historic gate with an historically important killing. Here's my photo from the same spot, which gives you more of an impression of what it is like to be there (i.e., you are likely to be far from the action).

The Imperial Palace, to the visitor, is mostly just a large garden with some buildings that you can spy from a distance. It's outward appearance is very definitely not designed to impress or overawe in the manner of Versailles, St Petersburg or even Buckingham Palace. 

(An aside. Just as the vast population of Tokyo - something that is potentially awesome, even overwhelming - appears, to Western eyes, to be carefully avoiding causing offence by sight, sound or smell, so too the extraordinary history and traditions of the last remaining imperial presence on earth - something with surely an immense potential to overawe - seems to consist of a restrained set of buildings modestly and politely obscured by a number of carefully tended trees. Draw your own conclusions.)

So that is, at some length, what you won't be going to see. Now let me tell you what you will see. As I said, it's all about experience.

One of the great glories of Japan is its gardens: Kanazawa alone has at least three wonderful ones (Kenroku-en, Gyokusen-en and the garden of the samurai's house). I don't pretend to know much about gardens, but I can say that Japanese gardens are designed to be experienced. The different vistas, the ornaments (bridges, lanterns and so on), the designs of trees, the sounds of waterfalls, the sight of the koi swimming - all this is something that you need to be in to "get". That, I suggest, is a strong pointer to the rest of the sights of Japan: the gestalt is key.

Let's just go back to the various lists of Tokyo's highlights. 

- Neighbourhoods: visiting a neighbourhood is inherently an immersive experience. (Harajuku was a surprise to me: I was expecting edgy - and you might see some naughty things in this photo below (look out for the rabbits on the shop sign, if visible on your screen) - but it's more like a chichi upscale shopping district occupied by independent shops. Think of a smart but quirky Cornwall village rather than Brixton.)

- The Ghibli Museum. I heartily recommend this to anyone with even a passing familiarity with the films. It's hard to explain, but it's a building to experience, rather than a straight museum.

- Teamlab. This is a set of rooms with ever-changing light shows of various kinds, abstract or representational, some inter-active and some not, some with smoke or hanging structures or moving balls, and so on. It's very Instagram-able, but don't let that put you off: it's absolutely something you need to be in, something to wander around within and experience. 

- Shibuya Crossing. I keep coming back to this, but there's a reason it's iconic. Crossing the road as holidaymaking experience!

In this context, I think it's also worth pointing out that one of the most famous aspects of Japanese culture is the tea ceremony, i.e. an event to experience from within, to participate in, rather than a thing to see from without. You can watch Morris dancing, an opera or a cricket match - you've 'done it' even if you just sit in a chair - but you can't 'do' a tea ceremony without drinking tea. The parallels between the tea ceremony and the Mass are well attested (Jesuits, eh?, they get everywhere) and that, in I hope not a blasphemous way, is a good indication of what I've been getting at: Mass is an experience, not a thing. I've said I won't go all Mysteries of the Ancient East on you, so I'm not going to make too much of this fact, but I will say that it is not a surprise to me that Japan should regard a wholly immersive and carefully curated experience as one of its cultural treasures. 

There you have it. Should you go to Japan - and I suggest that you do - be prepared for the gestalt. Be prepared for something to do with Holy Mass and something to do with crossing the road, plenty of green thoughts in green shades, some immodest rabbits and a modest imperium, museums that aren't museums and shrines that aren't tombs. You'll love it.

Japan (part I): Being in Japan

I have recently returned from a trip to Japan. Just as when I went to Korea, I have come back convinced that I am now the fount of all wisdom about the country. But rather than give you the full "Mysteries of the Land of the Rising Sun"-style thinkpiece, laden with gnomic quotations from Bashō, I will instead provide some helpful and accurate observations about Japan today, and I will do so over the course of a number of posts. (A full set of profound insights is of course available on request through the usual channels.)

I will start with this post, in which I try to give an explanation of what it is like to be in Japan. Subsequent posts will address other topics of interest to people thinking of travelling to Japan or simply interested in the normal topics of this blog.

TL;DR - you should visit Japan. You should visit it now.

On being frozen in time - and on looking forward

The end of a living thing has the effect of bringing equality to every moment in its life. Let me try to explain what I mean.

Think of one of those long prestige TV series. What is it? It is what it is right now: right at this point, series 7 episode 4 or whatever. But, when it ends, no moment within its life is privileged in this way. You might prefer this series or consider its peak to be that episode. But each one of these, for better or worse, is equally what it - the series itself - is.

Or, more seriously, think of a human life. You might have seen someone growing older, weaker, dying. Who are they? What is their condition? An old, weak, dying person, sadly. But after their death, their whole life is equally who they are (or were, if you prefer - it makes no difference to my point). Perhaps you have been to a funeral or memorial service with an order of service adorned by photographs of a much younger, healthier and happier person than the one you knew. And rightly so. That person - the one in their pomp and their prime - is the one you are remembering too.

More significant than even the most CGI'd American TV series, but much less important than a human life, we are, it seems, coming to the end of a government. (Yes, pedants, I know that Parliament has already been dissolved. You know what I mean.) When it has been finally dispatched, it will immediately acquire that quality of temporal indifference that both your great great aunt and Game of Thrones have: there is no "now" to take precedence over the other moments of its existence; it's up to you what you remember of it; and perhaps it's up to history to decide what part of it matters.

The government that is to come will one day have that quality too. It will one day be over and frozen in time. No life - no TV series, even - consists of nothing but high points, and I doubt that anyone claim that either this government is the exception or that the next one will be. But I think all people of goodwill can hope there will be some good episodes to replay, some joyful photos for the albums, for us to take from what is to come.

How to get better MPs; or Why things were better in the past

You have, I am sure, heard the plaintive cries: politicians nowadays - a bunch of pygmies! Useless, drab, uninspiring, hopeless! How we can get better MPs? 

The problem seems to be this: there are plenty of MP-adjacent people (spads, for example, and various public policy sorts) who are bright and able, and generally interested in the job, but the job itself looks so off-putting that they don't go for it. How can we change that? 

This old chestnut came up recently on an online platform (not Twitter, but let's say Twitter). There was some talk about pay, but a couple of intelligent people pointed out that the bigger issues are matters such as losing your job overnight or being less employable after doing it.

Now, we need to be clear that, in a functioning democracy, there must always be the possibility of going overnight from running the country to being essentially a nobody. That's a feature, not a bug. But it's a fair point that being removed from power should not mean personal disaster, and it's also true that if the job requires people to accept the risk of personal disaster then it will (a) attract some pretty odd people and (b) incentivise them to do some pretty odd things once they get power (for fear of that very disaster).

Were MPs better in the past? I don't know. But it seems to me that there were a variety of features of political life in place a generation or so ago (now, I'm afraid, routinely roundly despised) that mitigated these worries about personal disaster. If MPs were better, perhaps these are some of the reasons why. Let me take you through them (below the break).

Some short (and often negative) book reviews

As I have repeatedly said, I'm a great believer in the useful book review. Please consider these reviews in that spirit.

Shy, Max Porter

I'm a fan of Max Porter. I'd say a big fan: I thought Grief is the Thing with Feathers was amazing and I loved Lanny too. But I'm sorry to say that Shy is only for the Porter completists. It's a Jez Butterworth's Jerusalem-England type thing, with Porter-esque quirks. Fine, but you may well have better uses for your time. 

Gimpel the Fool and Other Stories, Isaac Bashevis Singer

The title story is quite good, probably worth your time, but that one's head and shoulders better than the other ones in the collection, a surprising number of which feature demons. (Surprising to me, anyway, given that I was expecting charming, anecdote-ish stories of the old shtetls.)

The Fraud, Zadie Smith

God gives burdens, also shoulders, as Gimpel says. One of my happily-shouldered burdens is to review all of Smith's work (see this blog, passim). I would describe The Fraud as a careful book: it's entertaining and interesting enough, light and readable, but it lacks something of the zip and energy - the sheer aliveness - of her best work. The pros include her imaginative sympathy for different people, always one of her strengths: in this book, it's the second Mrs Ainsworth who stands out in this regard, as Smith can't help but turn someone we might laugh at into a real person. The cons include the sex life of the main character, which seems under-motivated, to my (male) mind. I described The Autograph Man as rather indulgent of the literary male: perhaps The Fraud is in part an attempt to redress the balance, although even in laughing at the various literary male, Smith can't help seeing something of value to him.

Babel, RF Kuang
Prepare for a slightly longer review here.

Babel is, in many ways, one of the worst books I have ever read. And it surely must be one of the worst books to get a glowing review in the British broadsheet press and to win multiple prizes. Don't worry - I'll get to the 'buts' in a bit, but I can't let you loose on a book set in a (slightly) alternative reality Oxford of the 1830s without warning you that it is absolutely chocka with Americanisms and anachronisms: a character says "just a tad", there is sticky toffee pudding, there are docents and postdocs, the female undergraduates (there is an explanation for the very existence of female undergraduates - it's not that silly) hang out in male undergraduates' bedrooms, a "Professor" says that she won't get "tenure", every thought appears to involve 21st century racial categories and so on. I don't know that every page contains a howler, but I'm pretty confident that every chapter does. At one point someone says (in effect) "when you were in London, did you see the King?" and receives the reply "William? No, what with the Poor Law and the Factory Act, there's been a lot of rioting so he stays at home" (yes, the "William?" is genuinely in there). The whole thing is terribly woke as well: everyone who is non-white (including some "Black" with a capital B characters) is a goody and almost everyone who is white is a baddy (the main exceptions being Luddites and a few other honest working class characters); killing innocent people is bad if you're white but, I think, ok if you're not; the British Empire is super-bad in every way, including being maybe responsible for the state of Haiti, but somehow also incompetent and idiotic; oh, and I almost forgot to mention that British people boil their food too much and don't use seasoning (although our cakes seem to be ok).

It's high time for the "buts", of which I have two. The first "but" is that the book is an fascinating glimpse into a modern worldview in which universities are massively powerful. For reasons that make (somewhat) more sense in the alternative reality of the book (in which silver plus skilled translators equals powerful magic) than in real life, the climax of the story comes when a group of undergraduates seek to overthrow the British Empire by [if you're going to read it, turn away now] ... seizing control of a university building! Other glimpses of this worldview are also evident: for example, an Oxford Professor is seen as a high-prestige job that might plausibly come with a high-status wife (yes, I know - married professors in the 1830s ...), a house in Hampstead and a country estate. At one point we are shown some 'aesthete' undergraduates, almost all of whom are set on having careers in the professions after Oxford: again, the idea is that universities control access to power and wealth and, allied to that, that high-prestige jobs are the source of power and wealth. 

That may be just a sociological insight you weren't terribly interested in, but my second 'but' is a more literary one: it's actually not a bad read. Not bad at all. I read it all the way to the end, despite everything that was silly and annoying about it, and at each point I wanted to know what happened next. The action was well-paced, the characters, twists and so on were all well-done. (In fact, it had such merit that I half-suspected that there was going to be a really big twist - e.g., that China were to replace Britain as imperial hegemon - and turn out just as bad! But sadly no.) I am not the target audience for an anti-colonialist tirade, but I enjoyed it. If you took the book, removed all the wokery and replaced the historical details with something plausible (or perhaps set it in a sci-fi world where it made sense) then it would just be a cracking good read. 

So my final verdict is that Kuang is a writer of real talent. She's still young and I expect that her mature work will be pretty solid.

The Ebb Tide, Robert Louis Stevenson 

Cracking good novella. Would make a great film (indeed, I see that it has been filmed a few times, although the still from the French adaptation here gives you precisely the wrong idea of what the book is like), although I'd change the ending for the big screen. Also, it is a more effective attack on colonialism than Babel. 

What does the political Promised Land look like?

There's a recent advertising campaign I've seen that I don't think is very good.

The campaign features two identical photos of someone enjoying a fun activity: going on holiday, say, or eating out. The punchline is that we're told that one of them is getting the experience "on points" while the other isn't. The concept is that, if you have the right credit card, you can get these great experiences for free. 

Now, I can see that getting free stuff is a Good Thing in the abstract, but the reason that the campaign doesn't impress me is that the impression one gets from looking at the posters is that having the credit card makes no difference to one's life: one can eat gourmet food, enjoy adventurous holidays and smile a wide, white smile just as easily without the credit card as with it. I think it would have been better to show the same person in two different photos: in one, looking tired, despondent and stuck in their boring home because they've run out of money; and, in the second, looking delighted and enjoying brunch because they've got points to spend. The contrast here is with the Duracell bunny: consider how much less effective that advertising would have been if the other bunnies had continued to run because their batteries had been replaced - the point that Duracell gives you more power is far more vividly illustrated by the other bunnies dying.

But I don't want to talk about the advertising of consumer goods and services. Instead, I want to talk about the advertising of political ideas. 

Political ideas - and I'm using that phrase in a pretty broad sense - tend to have two components: (1) what the Powers that Be (or Should Be) ought to Do About It All and (2) the wonderful things that will result from them doing it - the Promised Land that awaits. So, for example, the proletariat ought to throw off the shackles of bourgois oppression via revolution (component (1)) and, if they do, a glorious egalitarian communist age will be ushered in (component (2)). 

It's possible to imagine a political idea that only has component (1). Back in the good old days of the post-Brexit British national soul-searching moment (remember that?), I wrote a series of posts, starting here, about Matthew Parris' idea that the Leave campaign knowingly rode the tiger of racism to its victory. In part 5 of that series, I described what I called Power-Transfer Policies, i.e. policies that aim to achieve the transfer of power from one group to another, and I said that such policies might be supported purely on the basis that it is only right and proper that the second group rather than the first group should have the power, however that group chooses to use it: think of those supporting independence for a colony who say that the locals should choose their future even if they choose badly. But even in these cases it's rare that the supporters of the policy don't attempt to set out a component (2) Promised Land as well: the Leave campaign famously had plenty to say about more money for the NHS, for example, and independence movements tend to say that the locals will do a better job of ruling than the distant imperial metropolis.

But recently I've become worried that I don't understand quite what the Promised Land of various policies is meant to look like. I'll give you a couple of examples.

Neil O'Brien MP, a lively participant in online debates, published a piece over the Christmas break about the scandal of "Deliveroo visas", i.e. visas granted to immigrants, purportedly to study in the UK (or for other worthwhile aims), which result in a large number of young people spending their time delivering fast food. The responses to the piece that I have seen from pro-immigration people have been either "yes, this is indeed a problem worth looking at" (e.g. Rob Ford, Sam Bowman) or else "O'Brien's making it all up" (e.g., Jonathan Portes, Jonathan Portes and various people less well-known than Jonathan Portes). What I did not see was people saying "hooray!" - yet that, I thought, was precisely what the pro-immigration Promised Land was meant to look like: young, keen, thrusting immigrants, toiling away at the bottom of society to work their way up, creating a vibrant but chaotic employment market something like fictional depictions of 19th century New York.

Another example is this, the ever-interesting Peter McLaughlin accusing Kate Forbes of telling "pious lies" for giving public reasons in support of a position which are not her primary, private moral/religious reasons for supporting that position. Again, as I said at the time, I thought that was what the Promised Land of liberal debate looked like: people deploying publically-available arguments based on the shared values to be found in the Venn diagram intersection of the circles of beliefs held by the numerous religious, ethnic and moral communities that make up a diverse and multicultural society. You can't refer to what Allah tells you, I can't refer to what God tells me, but we can all refer to the principles of prudent budget management. Again, aren't "pious lies" precisely what liberals want political debate to be about in a multicultural society. Or rather, while I might call them pious lies, liberals should call them "appeals to public reason" or something of that kind - although we all know that secretly we're talking about the same thing.

This all started with Brexit, I think. Before the Brexit debate, free movement of capital, goods and labour and restrictions on public subsidies were the kind of thing that right-wingers favoured, while left-wingers wanted markets to be subject to democratic control, capital to be reined in, government subsidies to industry to be widespread ... and so on, and so on. But in everyone's haste to take sides on Brexit, positions got scrambled and so, for example, "free trade" went from being a Thatcherite right-wing obsession to becoming a left of centre shibboleth ("look at those stupid Brexiteers who want to cut us off from this huge market on our doorstep!"). Who whom?, in Lenin's phrase, took over from principle.

The pattern is wider than that. Take "diversity": is it a Good Thing or a Bad Thing? Well, if you are a right-winger, diversity is a Good Thing when you are attacking Labour for never having women in charge or universities for not having enough intellectual diversity, or when you are celebrating the current cabinet for its ethnic mix. But there's no belief in any principle here, surely, merely a desire to find another stick for "Who" to beat "Whom". I feel my rightist credentials are sufficiently solid that I don't need to give a counter-example from the Left, but you can easily construct your own one for diversity with different examples (gay Muslims - good! conservative evangelicals - white men and bad! Sunak - rich!) should you not already be deeply bored of this kind of debate.

That change has an impact on what one's Promised Land looks like. Is the modern centre-left's Promised Land a world of free-trading capitalists bestriding borders? Does the modern centre-right want people with dark skins or ovaries to dominate politics? Not really. Both sides just want to win.

This is the predominant wider theme of modern politics. The Promised Land is one where Our People are in charge and Those People are not: whether Our People are "good" immigrants or sincere secularists or Remainers or the silent majority or... and whether Those People are immigrants or believers or out-of-touch elites or ... the pattern is still the same. 

To simplify only slightly, modern political debate in this country appears to have reached a consensus that there is always going to be a Blob running the publicly-funded bits of the country - and that there ought to be a Blob directing the privately-funded bits (telling it to do more manufacturing, housebuilding and domestic energy production, everyone agrees and then, depending on your tastes, less pornography or more environmental stuff or more science or more employment of ethnic minorities) - and hence the only real question is "who gets to run the Blobs?" (Or, if you prefer, "whose Long March through the institutions is the Longest and Marchiest?")

(Some examples: we have to have to "influencers", ergo they have to be "our" influencers; we have to spend billions on extra-London mass transit rather than defence or tax cuts, and the only question is where.)

I must admit that this kind of cynical Marxist view has some appeal. "Wake up and smell the coffee," its adherents say, "it's them or us. We've played fair before - and lost - but now it's time to play dirty". It's certainly got more appeal than "you can get avocado toast with points". But, ultimately, the two pictures of the alternative Promised Lands are too similar to each other for either to be tempting. I, for one, would welcome a Duracell bunny offering a wholly different outcome.