Behind the Paper Screen / August: the month of the dead
Sawa Kurotani Special to The Daily Yomiuri
A very good friend of mine, who is also an expatriate Japanese in the United States, recently had a living will prepared. Most Japanese would wince at the idea of a living will, or for that matter any discussion of one's own eventual death. By contrast, I have found, Americans tend to approach death much more pragmatically, and often prearrange the matters of their estate while living, to make things less complicated for their family. In my friend's case, and mine also, there are more compelling reasons to think ahead. Our families live far away, and no one in our families understands English well enough to deal with the legal process in the United States.
My friend's decision to have a living will makes me think about the way in which life defines death. Events in our lives--whether by choice or otherwise--all affect the way we die.
My friend and I have particular concerns as foreigners with no close family members in this country. But if we are, for instance, to marry between now and the time of our death, our concerns will significantly change. The opposite is also true, as death, or more precisely our desire to die a particular death, influences our choices. one may wish to be surrounded by loved ones at the time of one's death, for example, which compels one to get married and have children, or keeps one from moving far away from one's family.
In Mexico, they have a holiday called Dia de los Muertos ("Day of the Dead") in early November. It is a popular holiday here in Southern California as well, where Mexican cultural influence is strong. An altar is erected and decorated with flowers, candles and mementos of the dead. Skulls and skeletons are prominent symbols, and the atmosphere is at once macabre and festive. In a more modernized reincarnation of traditional observances, people stay up late, drink, listen to music and dance. Interestingly enough, this holiday was traditionally dedicated to children as well as the dead--a recognition that life and death are intertwined and inseparable.
It seems quite fitting to celebrate the dead in the season when daylight is getting shorter and nights are becoming long and chilly. But in Japan, the season of the dead is August.
In most parts of Japan, the series of events to commemorate deceased ancestors, Bon, takes place in mid-August (Aug. 13 to 16). I grew up in an urban area where people paid only casual attention to traditional customs, and my family (with the exception of my grandmother) wasn't religious at all. Even then, Bon was one of the more visible annual events. Bon Odori dances are held around this week at nearby shrines, school grounds and other public places, and one can hear the faint sound of Japanese folk music and taiko drums almost every night. As the first day of Bon approached, you'd find small bundles of straw at the florist's shops and supermarkets. on the first day of Bon, the dead are said to find their way back to their families by the light of burning straw (mukaebi or "welcoming fire"). on the last day, straw is burned again (okuribi or "send-off fire") for the dead returning to their own realm.
Japanese companies typically close their offices during this week, and give their employees a paid Bon vacation. When I was young, most of my friends went to their ancestral part of inaka (the countryside) to visit grandparents and other relatives. They looked forward to these fun-filled visits, and they also participated in more traditional and extensive Bon observances, including a visit to the family graves.
Japan's modern history also added tragic memories to August. The days leading up to the anniversary of the atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki (Aug. 6 and 9, respectively) are filled with thoughts of brutal mass deaths inflicted upon literally hundreds of thousands of civilians. Closely following is the anniversary of the end of World War II on Aug. 15, when those who died during the war are commemorated. Aside from many public ceremonies and continuous media coverage, many Japanese families have more personal connections to these anniversaries and memories of losing their loved ones.
And a lot of people seem to die in August--that was the impression that I always had growing up in Japan. In the neighborhood where I grew up, neighborhood associations posted notices and announcements on bulletin boards along the main streets, including funeral announcements. In August, there always seemed more funerals than any other months of the year. We would also notice, on the street or in a train, people clad in black, a tell-tale sign that they had just attended or were on their way to a funeral. The heat of midsummer is hard on the elderly and the ill, my mother used to reason, as is the extreme cold of winter. Therefore, one would notice more funerals in February and August.
I don't know if there is any truth to my observation or my mother's folk explanation. Such impressions are notoriously unreliable, and perhaps a study of death statistics would prove us completely wrong. As I look back, however, I wonder whether we noticed more funerals in August because we are already made conscious of death during this month.
As we go about our daily lives, we tend to keep the thought of death outside our consciousness. Japanese seem to be particularly intent on this, to the point where they find the idea of a living will distasteful, and more generally, avoid discussing matters related to the death of family and friends as much as possible.
But in August, death becomes closer to us, as there is one event after another, whether it is religious or historical, to keep death in our minds. Because we are already thinking about it, we recognize signs of death more readily than usual.
Or perhaps, it is the stark contrast that catches our eyes. August is a month full of life--bright sunlight, robust growth of plant life and active insects all around us. The darkness of funeral announcements and all-black attire becomes so much more obvious against signs of life at this time of the year, reminding us that, even at the height of life, death comes upon us without hesitation.
I don't go home in August often, but this year, I'll be in Japan during the Bon Festival week. I think I'll go out to the small yard of my parents' home with my mother, and make mukaebi together. If death is part of life, it's good for us to embrace it, at least for a few days a year.
@: Kurotani is an associate professor of anthropology and director of Asian studies at the University of Redlands in California.
(Jul. 26, 2007)
Sawa Kurotani Special to The Daily Yomiuri
A very good friend of mine, who is also an expatriate Japanese in the United States, recently had a living will prepared. Most Japanese would wince at the idea of a living will, or for that matter any discussion of one's own eventual death. By contrast, I have found, Americans tend to approach death much more pragmatically, and often prearrange the matters of their estate while living, to make things less complicated for their family. In my friend's case, and mine also, there are more compelling reasons to think ahead. Our families live far away, and no one in our families understands English well enough to deal with the legal process in the United States.
My friend's decision to have a living will makes me think about the way in which life defines death. Events in our lives--whether by choice or otherwise--all affect the way we die.
My friend and I have particular concerns as foreigners with no close family members in this country. But if we are, for instance, to marry between now and the time of our death, our concerns will significantly change. The opposite is also true, as death, or more precisely our desire to die a particular death, influences our choices. one may wish to be surrounded by loved ones at the time of one's death, for example, which compels one to get married and have children, or keeps one from moving far away from one's family.
In Mexico, they have a holiday called Dia de los Muertos ("Day of the Dead") in early November. It is a popular holiday here in Southern California as well, where Mexican cultural influence is strong. An altar is erected and decorated with flowers, candles and mementos of the dead. Skulls and skeletons are prominent symbols, and the atmosphere is at once macabre and festive. In a more modernized reincarnation of traditional observances, people stay up late, drink, listen to music and dance. Interestingly enough, this holiday was traditionally dedicated to children as well as the dead--a recognition that life and death are intertwined and inseparable.
It seems quite fitting to celebrate the dead in the season when daylight is getting shorter and nights are becoming long and chilly. But in Japan, the season of the dead is August.
In most parts of Japan, the series of events to commemorate deceased ancestors, Bon, takes place in mid-August (Aug. 13 to 16). I grew up in an urban area where people paid only casual attention to traditional customs, and my family (with the exception of my grandmother) wasn't religious at all. Even then, Bon was one of the more visible annual events. Bon Odori dances are held around this week at nearby shrines, school grounds and other public places, and one can hear the faint sound of Japanese folk music and taiko drums almost every night. As the first day of Bon approached, you'd find small bundles of straw at the florist's shops and supermarkets. on the first day of Bon, the dead are said to find their way back to their families by the light of burning straw (mukaebi or "welcoming fire"). on the last day, straw is burned again (okuribi or "send-off fire") for the dead returning to their own realm.
Japanese companies typically close their offices during this week, and give their employees a paid Bon vacation. When I was young, most of my friends went to their ancestral part of inaka (the countryside) to visit grandparents and other relatives. They looked forward to these fun-filled visits, and they also participated in more traditional and extensive Bon observances, including a visit to the family graves.
Japan's modern history also added tragic memories to August. The days leading up to the anniversary of the atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki (Aug. 6 and 9, respectively) are filled with thoughts of brutal mass deaths inflicted upon literally hundreds of thousands of civilians. Closely following is the anniversary of the end of World War II on Aug. 15, when those who died during the war are commemorated. Aside from many public ceremonies and continuous media coverage, many Japanese families have more personal connections to these anniversaries and memories of losing their loved ones.
And a lot of people seem to die in August--that was the impression that I always had growing up in Japan. In the neighborhood where I grew up, neighborhood associations posted notices and announcements on bulletin boards along the main streets, including funeral announcements. In August, there always seemed more funerals than any other months of the year. We would also notice, on the street or in a train, people clad in black, a tell-tale sign that they had just attended or were on their way to a funeral. The heat of midsummer is hard on the elderly and the ill, my mother used to reason, as is the extreme cold of winter. Therefore, one would notice more funerals in February and August.
I don't know if there is any truth to my observation or my mother's folk explanation. Such impressions are notoriously unreliable, and perhaps a study of death statistics would prove us completely wrong. As I look back, however, I wonder whether we noticed more funerals in August because we are already made conscious of death during this month.
As we go about our daily lives, we tend to keep the thought of death outside our consciousness. Japanese seem to be particularly intent on this, to the point where they find the idea of a living will distasteful, and more generally, avoid discussing matters related to the death of family and friends as much as possible.
But in August, death becomes closer to us, as there is one event after another, whether it is religious or historical, to keep death in our minds. Because we are already thinking about it, we recognize signs of death more readily than usual.
Or perhaps, it is the stark contrast that catches our eyes. August is a month full of life--bright sunlight, robust growth of plant life and active insects all around us. The darkness of funeral announcements and all-black attire becomes so much more obvious against signs of life at this time of the year, reminding us that, even at the height of life, death comes upon us without hesitation.
I don't go home in August often, but this year, I'll be in Japan during the Bon Festival week. I think I'll go out to the small yard of my parents' home with my mother, and make mukaebi together. If death is part of life, it's good for us to embrace it, at least for a few days a year.
@: Kurotani is an associate professor of anthropology and director of Asian studies at the University of Redlands in California.
(Jul. 26, 2007)