Lost Property

What happens when you lose something in Japan? Say you drop your wallet, or forget your laptop, or neglect to take the cash from the ATM. In most cases, you get it back.

What you do is call the place you misplaced or lost the item. Chances are someone found it and turned it over to the police. You go to the police station, fill out a report, prove the item is yours – and you get it back. If the item has not been found, you still file the report and wait. In most cases it will be found and handed to the police within a few days.

Yes, that includes lost cash. You don’t believe me? Read this recent article from the Japan Times. Granted, sometimes the bureaucracy of proving the item is yours can be a little irritating, but you do get your property back at the end of the day.

A few personal experiences. Many years ago, my son left his favorite baseball cap in a taxi in Tokyo. We called the taxi company, they located the driver, and he drove to our home and handed us the cap. Around the same time I forgot my coat on the subway. The station called the last station of the line and the coat was put on a train heading back to where I was waiting. A couple of years ago I forgot my mobile phone on the Shinkansen (bullet train). A colleague called Japan Railways, the phone was located at the end stop, hundreds of miles away, and was hand-delivered to my home a couple of days later for a fee of $5.

This works because most Japanese are honest. It also works because there is a reward for those who return property, and the owner must pay out that reward. In most cases the finder declines the reward.

(This is a post in the series “Why Japan is the Closest Place to Paradise“)

 

Silence, by Shusako Endo

Earlier this week I read the novel “Silence”, by Shusako Endo, and yesterday I watched the eponymous newly-released movie based on this novel.

Endo’s 1966 novel tells the story of a Portuguese Jesuit priest, Sebastiao Rodrigues, who travels to Japan together with a fellow priest, to find out what happened to their mentor, Father Ferreira, with whom the church had lost contact. This is 17th century Japan, when Christianity is outlawed and Christians are being persecuted by the ruling Shogunate.

Guided by a drunkard and unreliable Japanese Christian, Rodrigues and his partner land on an island off the coast of Kyushu and find refuge in a remote village of hidden Japanese Christians. They witness the hardships these peasants need to endure, suffering torture and death and yet refusing to renounce their faith and apostatize. The Jesuit priests flee from the authorities but are eventually captured and tortured by the local inquisitor. Rodrigues meets Ferreira and finds out what happened to him.

“Silence” here refers to the silence of God. Rodrigues’ faith is tested when he witnesses, again and again, the unbelievable sufferings of these humble Japanese peasants. He cries out for God to intervene but is answered with silence. This silence shakes him to the core and leads to internal struggles and to interesting theological exchanges with his Japanese inquisitors.

The novel is very engaging and the movie, directed by Martin Scorsese, is a faithful representation of the novel. At almost 3 hours long, and given its content, it is not an easy movie to watch. But reading the novel first helped, because knowing the story ahead of time allowed me to focus on the acting and the filmography. At times I felt as if I was watching a painting rather than a movie.

Earlier this month I visited Kyushu for the first time, and witnessed firsthand the Christian legacy in Japan. I was introduced to this painful time in history through the memorial for the 26 martyrs on Nishizaka hill in Nagasaki, and the artifacts from the Shimabara Rebellion at the local castle (an event which triggered the brutal repression of Japanese Christians depicted in the novel). Endo’s book and Scorsese’s movie both resonated strongly with me after this visit.