…”I ask him if he is ‘out’ and he looks at me, moves his head slightly forward and asks, ‘Pardon?’”

“Are you out of the closet?” I explain.

He shakes his head from side to side a little, leans in and says slowly, “I’m not gay in Japanese, I’m only gay in English.”

The above excerpt introduces Marlen Elliot Harrison’s “Discovering Voices,” an examination of language, sexuality, and identity in 21^st century Japan. After living and teaching in Western Japan for 4 years, Harrison returned to the United States to complete a doctoral program in applied linguistics. When considering a dissertation topic, he recalled a conversation in which a friend discussed being gay in one language and not in another (above) and wanted to further explore why this might be. By weaving together his own narratives about Japan and sexuality with the autoethnographic narratives of queer Japanese individuals, Harrison showcases the intersection between linguistic repertoire and those critical moments when we conceptualize, reveal, and perform our sexualities. Harrison writes:

I can remember my reaction to Takashi’s statement – confusion. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I replied. Takashi went on to explain that his family, co-workers, and most of his Japanese friends were unaware of his sexuality. What is it about English that Takashi should say that? Did he mean 1) that the actual word “gay” had either a different meaning or no meaning for him in Japanese, but a very specific meaning in English or vice versa; 2) that he prefers to reveal or perform his sexuality with English speakers or using the English language; or 3) that for Takashi, “gay” only exists as an identity construction in non-Japanese contexts? In other words, with regards to this last possibility, perhaps Takashi does not consider himself to have constructed a “gay” identity in his L1 communities, or if he has, perhaps this identity is silenced there (or according to Yoshino, “covered”) but expressed in other linguistic communities.

In this dissertation, Harrison introduces a puzzle of questions and responds to them by discussing key theoretical and methodological themes such as imagined communities and the role of narrative in sexuality ethnography, examining histories of same sex intimacy in Japan,  and considering the social significance of English language and culture in Japan.

Please browse this site for excerpts, background information, correspondence with participants, and other related projects from this researcher.

Interview, invite, or contact Marlen at [m dot e dot harrison at iup dot edu].

“So what is it like to write a dissertation?”

I suppose this question had always been lurking in my head, and I know from time to time I pondered getting to the other side of 120 pages, only the first half, especially at the time when the project was merely an idea discussed over lunch in a Middle Eastern restaurant in Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill. David had encouraged me to pursue the LGBT path because it had rarely been walked before. I questioned whether or not I wanted to be the “gay” researcher and how that might affect my future opportunities. We concluded together that I would be unlikely to want to work anywhere that wouldn’t welcome this part of me, that wouldn’t allow me to explore the answers to questions I so obviously wanted to research.

120 pages handed in, and then a sense of blank, grey, quiet, emptiness.

“It’s like climbing a mountain”  – this was a metaphor one of my fellow graduate students used to refer to the process of creating a dissertation.

Was it? Well, it certainly was challenging, and at times overwhelming, but like all great challenges I believe this mountain climbing was more mental/emotional than anything else. I want to minimize the difficulty because actually it wasn’t truly difficult. I didn’t rescue any endangered animals, didn’t save any lives by finding cures, didn’t feed the hungry or help the homeless, and didn’t run any triathlons. There was nothing truly hard about this. Stressful? Yes. Did I procrastinate and did that procrastination cause more stress? Yes. Did I ever doubt myself? Absolutely. But was it really something difficult? I don’t think difficult is an accurate word…one word couldn’t possibly describe this journey…so far.

I’ll explain further. I spent approximately $2,000 US on over 60 books purchased for the express purpose of research for the dissertation. I downloaded (over a 2 year period) almost 100 journal articles, was referred to another 50 or so by colleagues, and consulted approximately 25 websites. I read about 10 theses and dissertations and spoke to about 50 people in the process of developing my ideas. I recycled at least 5 papers I had written over the last 3 years, surprised to find that they fit so well into the current research. Maybe I shouldn’t really be surprised. Maybe they were the stepping stones that led me here.

“What is it like to write a dissertation?”

The most challenging aspect is knowing when to stop. No, the most challenging aspect is believing that what I’ve created is good. Well, actually, even more challenging is believing that what I’ve created is worthwhile. This is where my participants come in.

I have collected 10 stories from men and women brave and kind enough to share their experiences and words with me. They have definitely helped me during those times when my head spun like a dervish, exhausted from looking in so many places. You see, creating the beginning of a research project – and I should say that there were great expectations for this project – is like a scavenger hunt. Every time I found a clue, excited with the joy of discovery, I realized that it ultimately was only one among many, and that there were many more left to find. Once clues were found, some sense had to be made of them.

You see, creating the beginning of a research project is like sculpting a figure from stone or wood – chip away, scrape, polish. It’s like building an elaborate dwelling. Foundations, walls, floors, ceilings. Sometimes they collapse. Sometimes the rooms need to be bigger and others need to be removed altogether. It is a process that can only happen with a great amount of time. The majority of work needed was not the building but the thinking, the processing, the mulling, the a-ha moments. I joke that I wrote more in my mind than I did on paper.

And back to the participants. I dreamed of them for months, before ever meeting them, before actually making contact. I wondered who would come forward to tell their stories. At first I wondered how their stories would prove or disprove my points. Now I am content to let their stories stand as monuments to their own journeys. Instead of looking for confirmation in their words, their words are merely enough. They are evocative, sad, touching, funny, angry, confusing, poetic and tell more, so much more than ticked boxes on a questionnaire. They move me, they take me on journeys, they begin and they end but they still live on in my mind.

“What is it like to write a dissertation?”

It’s a journey of self-discipline and drive. I repeat that it was not difficult – a dissertation is writing, research, re-writing, more research, reading, talking, thinking, forgetting, deleting, re-writing…these are not difficult. No, the real difficulty is the battle with and within myself. Believing that I can do this and that someone would actually want to read this and that it could actually be a useful endeavor. That’s difficult. Finding time and space to think and write when the sun shines onto green grass and the fan blows cool air onto linen sheets and the world beckons with diversion. That’s difficult. Learning to be fair to myself – reading and re-reading and re-reading yet again, knowing that the last ten pages of writing have to go. That’s difficult. It’s the mental and emotional aspect of creating a large project that involves more than myself, that has people waiting to see “how I do” and yet so many who don’t ask at all, who take no interest other than to inquire “are you done yet?” When some of those closest to me don’t show any desire to glimpse at my journey – that’s difficult. I tell myself, “I don’t do it for them, I do it for me.”

And yet, there have been strong supporters, serendipitous moments, synchronicity and supreme joy. Angels have flown to my aid, sometimes strange, sometimes familiar. Devils have tempted me off my path.

“What is it like to write a dissertation?”

It is to make something from nothing that directly represents me. The greatest challenge is to find a way to love this metaphor for myself, this project I’ve created. The greatest challenge is to love myself, and that’s what it is like to write a dissertation….although the word “write” doesn’t begin to encompass all that I have passed through, gained, and lost.  To create requires a little bit of love and yes, a little bit of hate. But if I hadn’t loved myself, hadn’t really believed in myself, then I never could have come this far. And as far as I have come I feel as though I am truly only at the beginning. I read over my pages now and see so much room for expansion. It could be better. It could be stronger. It could be longer, deeper, more sophisticated, more profound…couldn’t we all?

“What does a dissertation require?

In a word – love.

ENGL 815: Feminist Communitarian Moral/Ethical Framework

“presumes a researcher who builds a reciprocal, collaborative, trusting, and friendly relations with the persons he or she is studying.” (Denzin, 2003, p. xii)

INTRO: While planning my dissertation project, a narrative examination of the significance of English language and communication in the lives of self-identified queer Japanese, I often considered the difficulties inherent in being a researcher from the outside looking in. In other words, how could I possibly minimize or reduce my own ethnocentric analyses while also accepting the limitations of my own etic perspective?

ENGL 815 feminist communitarian (click me to view presentation handout)

Taking the Narrative Turn

“We are the storytellers, and we are the stories we tell.”
(McAdams, D., Josselson, R., & Lieblich, A., 2006, p. 3)

After the last bite of salad, Dana suggested we take a walk to help digest our huge reunion dinner (it had been a year since we had last met; I was living in the States working on my PhD) and I’m so glad she did! Kyoto was a familiar city of serendipitous encounters and this night would prove to be no different.

We had both eaten so much tofu and daikon that we needed to get our bodies moving, otherwise that 20 minute train ride home would be agony as I stood squashed amongst drunk college students and businessmen, my food sitting in my stomach like a boulder. So, we paid our bill, thanked the restaurant owner with gochi so sama deshita and descended the small spiral staircase leading back to the street.

Kyoto was a city I knew fairly well, having both worked and lived just minutes from the famed, one-time capital. I liked to stroll the streets around Kawaramachi admiring the various examples of architecture, browsing modern stores like Benetton and The Body Shop and enjoying ocha or ame in centuries-old, traditional kisaten and confectionaries. My favorite streets in the city, where I often brought visitors to look for geisha and maiko , were just minutes east towards Gion and the Kyoto hills. If lucky, we could catch a glimpse of the lavishly dressed women scurrying between restaurants and bars or being whisked away to parties on the Kamo river in Kyoto’s shiny black taxicabs – powdered, white faces and flowing, embroidered robes a reminder of how traditions live on in Nihon.

The evening was perfect for a stroll and it was great to see Dana again. Having worked with her for the entire 4 years I had lived in Japan, we reminisced, chatted, laughed, and stopped at various stores to buy omiyage for friends and family back at home. About 20 minutes into our stroll we reached a popular area for dining and shopping where there were many outdoor cafes and coffeehouses. At one point, I looked to my right and noticed a Japanese man sitting at a table outside a Seattle’s Best Coffee shop with a gaijin. His face looked so familiar to me, but on this, my second visit to Japan after moving back to the states, many people looked familiar to me; I was constantly searching my memory with each familiar face I spied – “Do I know her?” I wondered. “Could that be what’s his name?”

In those seconds when one passes an individual, desperately searching for recognition, there is a small window of opportunity to make eye contact and wait for response. As Dana and I walked, I turned my head from right to left, from the Japanese guy to Dana and back again. I can see it all playing out again in my mind in slow motion.

“I think I know that guy,” I explained.

“You think you know everyone,” kidded Dana.

“No, I really do think I know him.”

I did a 180, backtracked and walked right up to him and exclaimed, “I think I know you!” He looked at me, turning his head from right to left and almost as a question, uttered in surprise “Ma-chan!? Bikurishita !”
I hadn’t seen Ken in 4 years! It was the strangest story: I had moved from Washington, DC to Osaka at the same time he had moved from Osaka to Washington, DC. A couple of years later upon his return to Japan we had met via, what else, JGuyUsGuy, and became friends. In our first conversations about living in DC, we realized that we had some of the same friends – he had even played tennis with my buddy, Josh Stein!

“Ken! Genki ? Saikin dou ? Honto ni bikuri ne !?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah, good. What are you doing here?” Ken wondered.

“I’m living in Japan for the summer giving academic presentations and gathering information for my dissertation. Ganbarimasu !”

A conversation ensued between Ken and I while Dana introduced herself to his companion, an American named Kevin who had been teaching at Ritsumeikan University. What an amazing coincidence for Ken and I to meet…again. I explained my dissertation topic and both Ken and Kevin found it fascinating. Kevin immediately told us about a student who had come out in his English class just weeks prior in response to a discussion about gay marriage, “Like she could do that in her economics class?” he wondered. From there we all pondered the phenomenon of the English classroom in Japan; we discussed the significance of the identities of the instructors, the material we teach and discuss, and the nature of language studies necessitating students to talk about themselves. “I doubt any of her other professors were discussing gay marriage,” concluded Kevin.

A few nights later, Ken and I met for dinner in Kyoto to catch up. We reminisced, talked about our love lives, and I felt that he was someone with whom I could really explore some of my hypotheses about language and sexuality in Japan. Still unsure at the time what methods I would use to gather data when I officially began to work with participants, I simply had a conversation with my old friend, Ken.

I asked him questions about his English language learning experiences like “After the mandatory English classes in high school, tell me about your decision to continue your language studies,” and “what connections if any exist between your English studies and your sexuality?”

Our conversation was fascinating – there was so much I hadn’t known about this handsome, successful, 40 year old man. We had dated once or twice and then each gone our separate ways; I now pondered the significance of meeting him both initially and now recently and decided that the world indeed works in mysterious ways.
Perhaps what was most significant about our conversation that evening was learning that one of Ken’s motivations to learn English, perhaps his greatest motivation, was to meet foreign men that he could be romantic and sexual with and that there was so much about his own sexuality that he had never really discussed with friends. It occurred to me in that moment that I was both his friend and a researcher, selfishly prodding him with questions hoping to learn more about my topic, but immensely satisfied to be learning about my friend.
We often came back to the larger questions about partnership, happiness, and sex that seemed to be peppering so many of my conversations at that time. I learned that although he was physically attracted to Caucasian men, he hadn’t really had what he considered to be a successful, emotionally-fulfilling relationship with a Caucasian. In fact, he had recently fallen in love with a Japanese man a few years his senior. When I asked him about this relationship, he explained that it had been the first time he had ever had a relationship with a Japanese man, “I think the fact that we are from the same culture makes it easier for me, even though I am still very much attracted to non-Japanese.” A drink or two later and a little more prodding revealed that there had been something missing in his relationships with these gaijin, some kind of connection that only another nihonjin could offer, and yet there was also something missing in his sex life with his new boyfriend, something that he felt he might never experience with a Japanese man. This ultimately led to the larger questions, “What is sexuality?” and “Isn’t it fascinating how language allows us to do things that we might not be able to do if we were monolingual?”

By the end of our dinner of shabu shabu , yet another non-traditional approach to cooking meat, I was excited by Ken’s pensive attitude and eagerness to consider each new question I came up with. However, I did feel guilty at times that our conversation was mostly in English; poor Ken, though completely proficient in English, he had very little time to think, formulate responses, or edit himself. I wondered, “If he had more time to really reminisce about his English language history, what more might he come up with? What other connections could he make?” It also occurred to me that although I was jotting down notes about our conversation, mostly paying attention to his responses, I would never truly be able to capture Ken’s voice unless he composed the entire text himself. It was in that moment that my earlier idea about story telling as method was confirmed; I had decided that participant responses had to be in their own voices. And in that moment, the narrative turn was taken.

YATTA! Hurray! Sugoi! Today I turned in the first half of my dissertation – 120 pages, 5 chapters:

• Preface explaining role of story in the project and significance of the title
• Chapter 1:  Introduction of research questions
• Chapter 2:  Language and identity; The social significance of English in the lives of Japanese
• Chapter 3:  Sexuality and identity
• Chapter 4:  Story telling, story sharing, and story analysis: An introduction to narrative, autoethnographic, phenomenological research; feminist communitarian ethical framework
• Chapter 5:  Participants and procedures

First Draft, Participant #1: English Language Learning History

Why and How I studied English and How it Affected my Sexuality

“The most comfortable thing in speaking in English was that I call myself “I”. In Japanese, there are so many words refer to yourself and it differs by their sex and age. For instance, women usually call themselves “ Watashi ” or “ Atashi “ or sometimes “ Uchi “ (Osaka dialect) and men call themselves “ Boku “ or “ Ore “ or “ Washi “( older men ). When I was in Japan, I hated and refused to call myself “ Watashi “because I did not recognize myself as a girl. But I did not want to call myself “ Boku “, either because it was too weird. In Canada, the problem was easily solved. I just call myself “ I “. Everybody call themselves “ I “ regardless of their sex or age.”

Let me introduce myself first. My name is Rika and I am 36 years old now. I’ve been teaching English, mostly conversation, for more than 15 years. Now I have my own little school where I teach a wide range of people. Some people want to study English just as a hobby, others need to study for their schools examinations or TOEIC Test. Since I was a child, I liked women. So I thought I was a lesbian. But now that I have a boyfriend, it makes me a bisexual. I am in between lesbian and bisexual.

I was studying English in a little town near Vancouver for 4 years. 3 years as a high school student and I took a University Transfer course for a year. I learned not only English but also how to communicate with people, to be myself, to help others and it is OK to be helped sometimes. Anyway, I learned many things in Canada.

The reason I went to Canada was not to study English, but to get out of Japan. I was different in every way from ordinary girls. I wanted blue things while other girls wanted pink or red ones. I never wore skirts. I’d rather play baseball with boys than play with dolls. When my friends and I played house, my role was always a father or brother. I wanted to be a boy, but I could not tell anyone about it. I knew it would upset my parents even at age of 5 or 6.

I entered a very strict elementary school which is a mission women school and it has Junior high school, high school, and even a college. This kind of school is called “ An escalator school” because once you entered the elementary school, the students do not have to take special examinations to get into Junior high school and high school unless your behavior is too bad. We have to take an entrance examination to enter the college, but it is an external one. The school role was so strict that even our hair style was decided by teachers. The role book said how long our hair should be, but it did not say how short hair we could have. Therefore, I had my hair cut extremely short like a boy when I was 14 or 15 years old. Then, the Principal hit the roof and told me that I was an alien in this school.

At this time, I was having my first relationship with a woman. She was an older sister of my friend. We had dated for about a year and a half and broke up because she went to a college. It was the time I started thinking about getting out of Japan. I had lost her and it made me so depressed. I started searching for something. Something that could make me happy or feel fulfilled. I did not fit into this strict school which we seldom had freedom. Moreover, I was not good at anything, Japanese, Math, History, PE or even music. I wanted to get a special skill so that I do not have to relay on getting married and having a husband feed me. I knew I didn’t want to get married.

However, my parents did not allow me to quit the school. They had paid so much money since elementary school to put me into the college. And I am the only child. They wanted me to stay with them. It took me over a year to persuade them. The Principal, who was a sister, told me that I would never make it. Nobody was on my side, the Principal, teachers, or my parents. They believed without doubt that I would fail and come back to Japan within a month. My friends did not support me, either. They said I was running away from an entrance examination of a university. But what they had said was totally ridiculous. Studying academic subjects in English and graduate from Canadian high school is much more difficult than that. I had courage of my convictions. I told everyone “ What would you do for me if I gave up this dream?” Can you take full responsibility for my life? I want to decide what I want to do because it is my life and life comes just once”. And finally they let me choose my own way. Actually, it was my very first time to choose my own way. I was never happy while I was in Japan.

The country could have been anywhere. I did not have particular liking where to study. The language could have been anything, too. I was not planning to study English from the beginning. But my father knew a Canadian Ambassador and he recommended me to go to Vancouver. At age of 16, I left Japan and started living in a home stay in a little town called “ Port Coquitlam ”.

The school I entered is a Canadian private school with many foreign students from all over the world. Therefore, the school has ESL classes of 4 levels. You can not take academic subjects unless you finish the ESL level 2.

The first semester, I had to take 4 ESL classes which I learned listening, writing, reading and speaking English. The teachers were all nice and the very first time in my life, I thought studying was fun. I studied very hard and I got very good marks. Then I became sure of that I had chosen the right way.

I learned a lot from my host family, too. The host parents told me to call them “Mom and Dad “ while other friends call their host parents by their first names. I was lucky to be in this house. They treated me like their own child. They opened a surprise Birthday party for me, celebrate Christmas with me, took me to a church, and so forth. That is how I learned Canadian culture. There were a host sister, Nicole, who is the same age as me, and a host brother, Ryan, who is younger than me by 2 years. They taught me many slangs or helped me with my homework. I spent my life just like an ordinary Canadian student. When I was having a problem of pronouncing Ls and Rs, my Mom and Dad told me that having an accent or grammar mistakes automatically proves that you are able to speak at least more than one language, so you should be proud and confident. They encouraged me a lot. My English was getting better day by day. And three months later, I was able to say what I wanted to say, but with a poor grammar.

The second semester, I took 2 ESL classes and 2 academic classes which do not require much English ability, such as Canadian Indian Art and Computer Science. As the time went by, I finished all the ESL classes and started taking academic classes. I took Social studies, Algebra, Accounting, English, and so on. The academic subjects were very difficult, so sometimes I had to burn the midnight oil. I learned so much from learning those subjects. Not only the subject itself, but also so many vocabularies and phrases. Catching up with Canadian students was always a problem, but somehow I survived. Many friends helped me, teachers volunteered their time for me. I could not have passed all the subjects without their warm help. Three years later, I took all the credits needed to graduate from high school and I took Provincial Examinations. Luckily, I passed the examinations on the first try. Some Canadians could not pass them.

The most comfortable thing in speaking in English was that I call myself “I”. In Japanese, there are so many words refer to yourself and it differs by their sex and age. For instance, women usually call themselves “ Watashi ” or “ Atashi “ or sometimes “ Uchi “ (Osaka dialect) and men call themselves “ Boku “ or “ Ore “ or “ Washi “( older men ). When I was in Japan, I hated and refused to call myself “ Watashi “because I did not recognize myself as a girl. But I did not want to call myself “ Boku “, either because it was too weird. In Canada, the problem was easily solved. I just call myself “ I “. Everybody call themselves “ I “ regardless of their sex or age.

Before going to Vancouver, I hated my first name “ Rika “ because it is too feminine. Rika is in Hiragana characters which only girls have. Men’s names are absolutely in kanji ( Chinese characters ). So I did not like this awfully feminine name. But after I went to Vancouver, of course, everyone called me “ Rika “ and I got used to it. I even started to like this name. Through using English, I was able to become” a person with no sex “ The words “ She “ or “ Her “ were kind of new words for me, so I accepted them naturally.

I wore boy’s clothes in Canada and had tremendously short hair, so sometimes I was mistaken for a boy. I was a little happier than being sad when someone called me “ he “ or “Mr “.

People around me, mostly Canadian, Hong Konger, Korean never minded what I wore or how I acted. They accepted me as I was. I think it has a close relationship that Canada is a multicultural country. People in Canada naturally accept people who are different from them. They respect the others. Therefore, it was very comfortable for me to be in Canada, especially Vancouver where there are tremendous numbers of immigrants.

However, I did not come out to anyone about my sexuality. Strictly speaking, I did not care or mind about my sexuality while I was in Canada. I had no chance to meet gay or lesbians. There was an area called “ a gay area “ but I could not go there because I was under age. I was a teenager so that I could not enter bars and clubs. There was no internet at that time, but despite this isolated situation, I was true me in a little town. People could have suspected that I was a lesbian, but nobody asked me or mentioned it to me. So that I could forget about my sexuality and just be who I was.

Needless to say, I had some crushes on girls, but surprisingly, at the same time, I had crushes on boys, too. At that time, I thought I was not completely lesbian. I could be a bisexual. I just had not had opportunities to meet boys when I was younger because I had attended women school. When I found out that I also liked men, I was happy. I felt I was totally free. I did not have to choose the sex to love. I just love whomever I love.

After spending four years in Vancouver, I came back to Japan. I really wanted to go to a college or university, but my father did not allow me to. So I could not help it. Instead, I decided to take Eiken ( Society for Testing English Proficiency ) pre-first grade to prove my English level. Pre-first grade is so difficult that the pass rate for the examination was only 7%. But I wanted to give it a try. Fortunately, I passed and I was so happy. I studied for the examination by myself. I did not attend any schools. I used reference books and studied difficult grammar, such as participial construction or third conditional and memorized tons of vocabularies. Since I had basic grammar knowledge, studying on my own was not so difficult. Actually, it was fun.

I passed Eiken pre-first grade, and wondering what to do next. Well-timed, my friend’s younger brother was studying English to go to Boston, and he had attended many English schools before he met me, but he did not like any of them. So his parents asked me to be his English tutor. It was my very first time to teach, but I took the chance. He substantially liked me and learned good English. His parents and he appreciated me so much that I thought I had found a vocation; to be a teacher.

I put advertisements on town magazines and got some students and stared teaching at my house or their houses. I taught English conversation and also a grammar for their school examinations. As I was teaching English ( sometimes Math or History as well ) I felt I needed to study English for myself . Thus, I found a British teacher near my house and took his advanced class.

After studying with him approximately half a year, he asked me to be his school’s teacher because he wanted to make his school bigger. Actually, he was the only teacher at his school and he thought I could be a big help as a teacher and a manager. So we started a new school where I taught variety of people, from three years old to people who had retired from their work. I did not come out to this British boss because I was afraid of losing this job. I worked at this school for about three years. Since I was teaching and managing the school almost all by myself ( which made me mad because everyone at the school put all work to me because I was the only one who can speak both English and Japanese ), I thought it could be possible to open my own school. After thinking twice, I quit this school and opened my own. I had no intention of working at a company, where I have to wear a uniform.

English is my bread-and-butter now. ( Or should I say it’s rice-and-soy sauce? )I teach, translate, and sometimes interpret. When I speak in English, I feel more comfortable and freer than speaking in Japanese. I think that it is because my English ability, especially vocabularies, is so limited that I have to use direct and simple words to express myself. When I use simple words, what I want to say becomes very clear and straightforward. Of course, there are many times that I have to struggle looking for right words, but somehow, I manage to express myself with limited vocabularies that I have.

There is a day that I can never forget about coming out in English. I was invited to a class at a Japanese major women college. My American friend was a professor at this college and he invited me to his class as an interviewee for the students as a model woman who has succeeded by using English. The students spoke quite good English and they had prepared questions for me to ask. They asked me formal questions for the first 30 minutes or so, then the atmosphere became very friendly. Then the students started asking me about my personal life, like if I had a boyfriend in Canada or if I’m dating with his professor. The professor had told me before the class that I could talk honestly if I wanted to, or I did not have to tell the truth if I want to hide about myself.

At that time, I suddenly thought I did not want to tell a lie to these women who were studying English eagerly and enjoying conversation with me. They were honest to me, so why did I have to tell a lie or made up a story. I simply said, “ I’m a lesbian, so I don’t date with boys. “ The students looked a little surprised at a moment, but 3 seconds later, all of them accepted my answer marvelously. And they asked me about how I feel being lesbian or what difficulties I have. I answered all of their questions honestly because I wanted to let them know that gay people could be anywhere, not only in the dramas or movies. Before coming out, they had seemed to like me and been interested in me, so I thought “ You like me, right? Hey, I’m a lesbian. Does it change your feelings toward me? No, right? See? Lesbian can be your friend. No big deal.” I think I was able to come out because we were talking in English. The students and even I, had to look for the right words, used simple English. I could not have done that in Japanese, maybe.

My foreign friends, especially people from western countries, are liberal and self-confident. So that it is easy and comfortable for me to say whatever I want to say. They are greatly patient with my poor English. Foreigners are tend to be open-minded and do not judge people at the first sight. On the contrary, Japanese, there is a trend toward gathering with people who are the same as the are. No wonder Japan had national isolation from 17^th century to 19^th century. I am not a racist, so I know that there are many plentiful Japanese or judgmental foreigners. What I am saying here is just my opinion. Or I am only very lucky to have warm-hearted foreign friends.

Therefore, coming out to foreigners are much easier than that to Japanese in aspect of language and cultural background. The word “ lesbian “ or “ bisexual “ are kind of discrimination words in Japanese. In English, they are not. So the lesbians in Japan call themselves “ bian “. It sounds cute and much less prejudice.

However, I do not come out to foreign co-workers at an English speaking café where I work once a week. There are/were some staffs I wanted to come out and tell the truth and be true friends, but I just did not have guts. And I will never come out to customers. There is less right information about sexuality in Japan compared to western countries. So that I am afraid of customers get a wrong impression about myself. In Japan, there is a proverb, “ Put a lid on smelly things “ and sexuality IS a smelly thing. They avoid talking about it, or when they talk about it, it’s usually dirty jokes or make fun of gay people. Probably, they do not know how to react when I come out. My mother cried and blamed herself for my being lesbian/bisexual. She can never understand true me and avoid talking about it. She thinks being gay is a mental illness and I should see a psychiatrist. My mother is not the only one who thinks this way. In my opinion, it occurs because of a lack of the right and proper information in Japan. Hence, I just come out only to some of my closest friends who understand and accept me.

When I was writing this essay, I faced a very funny problem: Should I call Japanese “ We “ or “ They “? Maybe I’m not fully Japanese. My nationality is Japan and I was born and raised in Japan, however, by the grace of spending my puberty in Vancouver, I am half Japanese and half Canadian. In fact, many people say that I am very much westernized. I’m proud of that. I can see and have good things both from Japan and Canada.

Living abroad for a long time changed my life completely. I can have jobs that I can be proud of, I became confident that I have something special ( being able to speak English ).

For a girl aged 16, studying abroad was a big and risky challenge, but I think it has succeeded. My English is still far cry from being perfect, so I would like to brush on my English. And it is my life work. So I will keep on studying.

Thank you very much for reading my story.

Is Okama Okay?

“it is through language that a person negotiates a sense of self within and across different sites at different points in time”[1]&

I met Minori where else but at karaoke. Having always loved to sing, especially around others who enjoy the hobby just as much as I do, Japan was a great place for me to put to good use all those years of classical voice training. Another friend of mine, Hiroe, told me that she had invited some friends of hers to join our karaoke party, friends who she said “really want to meet you.” I was flattered, but I just assumed that these friends were eager to meet Hiroe’s crazy English teacher and quickly forgot all about the additional guests that night. That is, until Minori walked in. My first impression told me that Minori was a lesbian. With short, spiky hair, no make-up, jeans and a men’s shirt, my experience in the gay and lesbian community helped me identify possible allies. Of course, there is no guarantee that my judgments are always correct.

There was a large crowd that night; 12 of us piled in to a small karaoke box<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[2]<!–[endif]–> complete with orange, vinyl-covered booths, a table set with remote controls for the television and catalogs of songs to choose from, and a large television screen on which to read the song lyrics while we sang. A number of my co-workers from the eikaiwa<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[3]<!–[endif]–> were present and even though we were requested by our employer not to socialize with students, none of us took this stipulation very seriously. The Japanese students, also cognizant of this rule, likewise paid it very little heed; there was an excitement shared by both Japanese and gaijin alike about entering each others’ worlds, becoming a part of each others’ communities.

 After a few songs, Minori looked at me across the table and said “Whole New World…you know it? Disney…Aladdin.”

“Yeah, of course I know it. Duet?” I replied.

“Yeah, but I get to be Aladdin, you can be Princess Jasmine.”

The crowd of teachers and students, on their way to becoming friends, got a kick out of this and before I knew it, the opening bars of the famous Disney duet began. We got plenty of laughs and a round of applause as I did my best diva impersonation; at 5’6”, with a shaved head and dark goatee, dressed in a black shirt, camouflage pants and black army boots, I’m sure it was amusing to hear me sing the part of the headstrong princess.

 When the night had ended, many of us exchanged keitai<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[4]<!–[endif]–> numbers and wished each other ja ne<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[5]<!–[endif]–>as we headed for our train stations. A few days later, Hiroe sent me a text message asking if I would like to celebrate my birthday with her and Minori and a few other friends. After being in Japan for only four months, I was flattered that my new friends would be so thoughtful.

When I arrived at Minori’s apartment for my birthday celebration, our other guests excused themselves to buy food for our party at the supermarket across the street while I stayed behind and chatted with Minori. I’m not sure how it came about, but Minori and I began discussing our sexuality. There was nothing secretive or shocking about it, as Minori was open with all of the friends we were meeting with that night, but I hadn’t said anything about my own sexuality to anyone but Hiroe. A previous encounter with a student-turned-friend and her own tomodachi<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[6]<!–[endif]–> had left me feeling very embarrassed. In retrospect, enthusiastically being outed as gay to a van full of mothers with children should have been a moment of pride for me (proud that my new friend felt so comfortable around me to share this with others), but instead I was mortified as I sat in the back of a van being stared at by three small, smiling Japanese children, one of whom had taken to stroking my arm hair in fascination. This friend followed her announcement of my sexuality with “and he used to smoke marijuana when he was in college.” Never had I so wished for magical powers of invisibility, though by her tone, I could tell she was bragging. Was I a trophy friend?

Anyhow, Minori explained to me that Hiroe was eager to introduce us to each other because both Minori and I were “gay”. I then asked Minori what the word for “gay” was in Japanese.

“Gay,” she replied, straightforwardly.

“No, I mean in Japanese,” I clarified.

“Gay…G-E-I is ‘gay’ in Japanese. We use the English word. It’s like in the word geisha, but that gei means “art”. Though we also use R-E-Z-U or just ‘rezubian’ for women…sometimes ‘homo’…sometimes ‘queer’.”

“Well, if I wanted to use Japanese, what would I say to people?”

“Eh-tou<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[8]<!–[endif]–>,” Minori paused for a moment and then continued, laughing, “I’m not sure, but maybe okama<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[9]<!–[endif]–>?”

And with that, I would begin telling people “Okama desu<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[10]<!–[endif]–>.”

Fast forward two years and while talking with a group of mostly gay, male, Japanese friends I was asked what I say to Japanese people when I want to tell them that I’m gay.

“Okama desu,” I replied. I was met with a few giggles.

“Do you know what okama means?” asked Ryohei.

“Hai, okama no imi wa gei, deshou<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[11]<!–[endif]–>?” I asked.

“Umm, okama usually refers to a ‘queen.’”

I was confused to say the least. I had been telling people that I was okama for two years now. I felt a heat wave of embarrassment. “You mean ‘queen’ as in ‘He’s so fem, he’s such a queen’?”

“So desu<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[12]<!–[endif]–>.”

“So I’ve been telling people that I’m a queen?”

“Well, we don’t usually say okama like that ‘cause it’s slang, you know. Maybe it’s kind of like saying ‘fag’. I think nihonjin<!–[if !supportFootnotes]–>[13]<!–[endif]–> prefer the English word ‘gay.’”

“When I hear okama I think of drag queens or crossdressers,” added Yutaka.

“Aren’t there any other Japanese words that aren’t English?”

“Doseiai, same sex love” replied Ryohei, “but it sounds so clinical…or medical.”

“Gay is best,” concluded Yoshihiro.

“Well that’s just great. I’ve spent the last twenty-four months telling people I’m a drag queen.”

This last comment was met with laughter. Then a female friend chimed in.

“Only my English-speaking friends know I’m a dyke,” explained Mika.

“What do you mean? Japanese people don’t know the word dyke, or you only tell gaijin that you’re rezu?” I asked, laughing at the intricacies of having to navigate the connotations of not one, but two linguistic systems.

“Well, I think some Japanese know the word dyke, but I mean that I don’t tell many people about it…about me. I think everyone who knows is very progressive. If my friends don’t speak English, I generally don’t tell them.”

I received the following email today from one of my participants. I thought this was a good opportunity to examine how much emotion may be involved when participating in a project of this kind by asking other participants to reflect on or respond to this email.

My response is also included. I immediately felt a sense of responsibility to my participants and wanted to be able to validate XXXX by legitimizing his concerns and responses.

Dear Friends,

I apologize for sending you so many emails in one week – you are probably getting tired of hearing from me >^..^< But this email is very interesting and very important I think.

One of your fellow participants emailed me this morning – the writing he is doing for this project is bringing out some emotions. I asked for permission to share this with you and he agreed:

Ma-chan, not sure how to put it exactly, but I am very angry and depressed right now. On the process of writing, I remembered quite a lot of events that I thought I had completely forgotten. Many of them are not particularly pleassant.

I guess, because of my upbringing with heavy religious and rural-Japan
influences, I have supressed an enormous amount of my emotion and I have yet come to terms with them.

Writing seems easy, but what is going on inside me is indescribable and almost unbearable. I noticed how angry I became, as one of the guys who I exchange emails with told me that I am being such. I am almost depressed right now, being exhausted by the anger.

Not sure what to do… part of me wants to get ‘em all out and forget about it, while other one wants to bury ‘em. Almost wish I could vanish myself into thin air. What would you say I should do?

My response was:

First of all, thank you for continuing with this project, and thank you for being honest about your emotional responses during the writing. I really feel for you and I think I can understand what you’re feeling.

I think this response is very important but also very typical. For example, last week I gave a presentation in Montreal, Canada about the sounds of gay men’s voices and how people make judgments about gay people based on the sound of their voice and the way they talk. I’ve done this presentation many times, but this time I decided to share some personal stories and explore why this topic is important to me. As soon as I told my stories to my audience, I became overwhelmed with emotion and was surprised about what I had unlocked within myself. Storytelling/writing can be emotionally powerful, yes? And sometimes we’re not sure what to do with all of those emotions, right?

My advice is:

1) Use the writing to work out these emotions. There is something transformative about feeling an emotion and then writing about it – write what you’re feeling, why you think you’re feeling it, etc. You may find yourself writing letters to people that you never actually send as a way to get some of this emotion out. (write a letter to your 3rd grade teacher, you’re dad, you’re best friend from high school, the Japanese prime minister, etc – burn them, shred them, etc after writing or keep them to reflect on later) You may even write a few short stories as a way of re-writing reality.

2) Continue talking to good friends who you feel safe with so you have someone trustworthy to explore your feelings with.

3) Feel free to write to me directly – I can be your audience – and tell me who you’re angry at and why. Feel free to totally let loose and let it all out.

4) Use counseling or a support group to express your emotions and receive comfort and empathy from others. I would bet money that you are not alone in your feelings and that many others share that same sense of anger and frustration. it is very likely that other folks working on this project are going through the same thing.

XXXX, may I share your email message with the other participants, anonymously of course? I think other people will tell you that they sometimes feel the same way and may be able to provide some useful feedback. Again, I won’t tell anyone that the email is from you, unless this is ok with you.

XXXX, again, thank you for your continued participation and honesty. we can learn much from each other I think.

warmly,
ma-chan

p.s. – if you have skype or some other long distance calling, we can chat on the phone as well. +1 (561) 716 XXXX, on skype I’m Marlen Elliot Harrison

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE COMMENTS AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS. YOU CAN DO THIS ANONYMOUSLY – YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SUBMIT YOUR NAME OR EMAIL ADDRESS BELOW. YOU CAN LEAVE THESE BLANK.

Dear Friends,

I hope this finds you happy and healthy and enjoying this season’s sakura and hanami.

I am getting very excited about my trip to Japan in May (May 18th-June 8th) and hope to meet many of you while I’m in Japan.

Ok, so I have some questions/requests for you:

1) I have now sent out packages to everyone in our study but for two people who have moved recently. Please email me with your current mailing address so that I can send you your packages complete with thank you gifts and instructions (there are currently 10 people in our study, 6 men and 4 women, all in Tokyo, Nagoya, Kyoto, Osaka, or Australia). PLEASE SIGN AND MAIL THE INFORMED CONSENT CONTRACT BACK TO ME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE – I’ve only received 4 so far.

2) Please email me if you are free to meet with me during May 18-June 8th. I will likely attend a GLBT picnic in Yoyogi park in Tokyo on May 23rd, and then come to Osaka/Kyoto later that week. I’m free to come to Nagoya as well! I already have an appointment made with one of the male participants in Tokyo, and will of course meet many of my Kansai friends while there, but let’s start setting up meeting times! You don’t have to meet me, it is not a requirement, but it would be nice, deshou?!?!

3) Due dates: Please have your English language learning histories completed by the time we meet in Japan. Ideally, if you could finish this by May 15th and email it to me as a .doc or .rtf file, or just pasted into your email, that would be wonderful. This way, I can read your story before we meet in person. If you need additional time, please tell me. I CANNOT COMPLETE THIS PROJECT WITHOUT YOUR HELP, so please let me know how I can make this as easy as possible for you.

4) June: Once your English language learning history is complete, I will provide you with a set of final questions to help you more deeply consider the ideas in your writing. This last step is what we call autoethnography, or writing about oneself in order to answer a specific research question related to culture. Your final writing prompt is: “Now that you have completed your history, what relationship, if any, can you find between your English learning and usage experiences and the ways in which you a) think about or understand your sexuality, b) reveal your sexuality to others (coming out), and/or c) perform your sexuality (sexual behavior, social behavior, etc)?” I’ll ask you to find examples from your language learning history that answer this question. This is the most exciting and interesting part of the project; this is a form of self-analysis.

5) July – Sharing stories: Once all your writing is finished, I would like to put all your stories together on our project blog, but I will remove your names and identifying info. No one else will be able to read your writing at this time, only participants in our project. Your identities will not be revealed and will always remain private. I would then like to ask you to read over some of the stories and share your reactions, responses, ideas, etc. For example, did you write about something similar? Did you read something that surprised you? Did you find someone’s story to be completely the same as your own, or perhaps totally different? This does not have to be an “essay”, just some short responses will be perfect. I think you are going to find each others’ stories to be fascinating.

Ok, so let’s make this project a success!!! If you know anyone else who may be interested in participating, please have them email me!!

Itsumo arigatou mina-san,
ma-chan

Mr. Marlen Elliot Harrison, ABD
http://MarlenHarrison.com
Adjunct Faculty, Department of English
Doctoral candidate, English Composition and TESOL
Indiana University of Pennsylvania

I can remember around the age of 4 or 5 looking at a book titled “Where Do Babies Come From?” My mother, a former elementary school teacher, believed in complete honesty about the human body and reproduction, and the book was meant to help me understand the answer to the question posed in the title. What she hadn’t counted on was that I was much less fascinated by the reproductive process, let alone the illustrations of female anatomy, as I was with the illustrations of the male anatomy. There were two illustrations in particular, an adolescent male and an adult male, naked I should add, that were so stunning to me that I can actually remember staring at the illustrations late one evening when I should have been fast asleep. I flipped back to the illustrations of the women in the book for comparison, but my heart didn’t race; no spark existed when considering women. After closing the book that evening to wonder about the human body, I re-opened it to the page featuring the adult male and slid the open book under my pillow. Why would I do that? In retrospect perhaps this was a way to influence my dreams that night, “Oh man in the moon, come to South Florida and visit me…and be naked.”

A few years later around age 7 or 8, I had been invited to a pool party to celebrate a classmate’s birthday. Though I had arrived at the party in a bathing suit, I was expected to change into dry clothes once the swimming portion of the party had ended. I was alone in a room with another boy who struck up a conversation with me while changing. At one point he found it amusing to shake his penis around as if he was doing the cha-cha. I was in compete shock. “How is he so comfortable doing this?” I wondered. On one hand, I understood that, in the words of my mother, “the human body is nothing to be ashamed about…we’re all the same,” and yet on the other hand there seemed to be something both forbidden yet completely natural about my reactions to seeing this naked boy. I decided that I couldn’t be naked in front of him, no way was I showing off the goods. I was afraid, embarrassed, and couldn’t stop staring. I was the proverbial deer in the headlights who wore a soggy bathing suit under too-tight khaki shorts for the remainder of the party rather than take off my pants in front of the cha-cha dancer.

I should add that my childhood was anything but standard. A child model from the ages of 5-10, I had been exposed to some rather interesting characters, mostly photographers who forgot to put away the Playboys when the younger models visited the studio. Likewise, I had accompanied my mother to a number of hair salons (I was an only child, in many ways my mother’s shadow) where both Playboys and Playgirls[1] sat scattered amongst Good Housekeeping and Sesame Street coloring books. The point is that naked bodies were often on display around me and I opted for the Playgirls rather than the Playboys…or Sesame Street. Yes, even as a young child, I knew that I was innately drawn to the male body. As this is neither a dissertation exploring the roots of human sexual behavior nor an examination of human psychosexual development, let’s leave it at this – for me, who I have desired physically has never been a conscious choice.

Around the age of 12 it was quite clear to my peers that there was something different about me. Though I could hang with the guys, I preferred to hang with the girls. Though I had male friends, I grew increasingly nervous around them because I quickly realized that some of them were pretty damn hot! It was around this time that I became aware of my sexual desires, not yet pairing such desire with any kind of label. I had resisted this, despite years of taunting and teasing by peers. Apparently they all knew I was a “fag,” so why didn’t I? I think it was likely because “fag” was said with such disdain and scorn. I wanted to avoid the ire, but not necessarily the accuracy of the derision. How could I be “gay” if “gay” was something so horrible that it turned otherwise charming children into bullies? So I avoided any admission of difference until around the age of 15 when I finally decided that I had to tell someone about my “secret feelings” (as I had termed them, explored and deconstructed in my handwritten, cloth-bound journals of the time).

The year was 1989 and the United States was still reeling from the AIDS crisis. For me, “gay” also equaled AIDS. Gay equaled pain and death. Gay equaled, once again, scorn, so much so that some people felt that AIDS was a plague sent by God to kill off the homosexuals. There was no way in Hell that I was gonna be gay. Forget about it. And yet, I still wanted the man in the moon to come to South Florida…naked.

A good friend at the time had let me in on a little secret – she told me that her father, Allen, was now a woman, Ellen. She explained the entire situation with such a matter-of-fact-ness that I figured I could tell her about my desire for men and she likely wouldn’t flip out. When I told her, she smiled and asked if I had a boyfriend. Wow – no scorn? No disapproval? Amazing. But not quite out of the woods yet. “So are you gay?” she asked?

“I think I’m bi,” I explained.

“Have you ever been with a guy?”

“No.”

“A girl?”

“No, not really.”

“So how do you know, then?”

After a long pause, I concluded, “I just do,” and that seemed to settle it. I was now officially “bi” because I told my friend that I was. I then told another close friend, this time expecting approval, and that’s exactly what I got. People approved of me being “bi.” I liked this – I had never been made fun of on a playground or in a school parking lot for being “bi.” So, bi stuck for a few years…until college.

I went to school in a small yet liberal Blue Ridge mountain town where my family had kept a summer home. For every stereotypical “bible-thumper” there were also Jews, New Yorkers, and lesbians. I quickly found a girlfriend, and soon after that, I performed oral sex on a man for the first time. This was interesting to me: I could have a girlfriend whom I was sexually active with, yet I was also sexually active with men. I guess I was bi. Or was I?

During my sophomore year of college, I had decided that the time was right to try having a boyfriend. And I did. And it was great. And then it ended. And then I had another girlfriend. Males I had befriended in my freshman year now came to me asking what was up. “How are you fucking both guys and girls?” they asked. “Ever both at the same time?” they wondered. “We thought you were a fag,” they explained. It was as if I had some secret to share, and a couple of guys didn’t want to just talk about it, they wanted in on some of the action. So what the Hell did that mean? Were they fags? Were they bi? I was growing thoroughly confused. At the time I had it all worked out in my mind: Some people are straight, some people are gay, and some people are bi. Some people are nothing at all and some people are born with the other gender’s equipment. Damn you, genetics. I can recall more than a few conversations, spanning early morning hours that would have been better spent studying or sleeping, where human sexuality became the primary topic of interest.

In 1994, when I was 20, I moved to England, met a boy, fell in love, got drunk at a party at his house, kissed his female best friend, and then got dumped the next morning because I was “unpredictable and didn’t know what I wanted.” What did I want? The answer seemed clear to me when I was 5, 7, and 12, and less clear as I got older. Did I really have to make a decision? Couldn’t I just be with whoever I was attracted to at the time? “Bisexuality is just a rest stop on the highway to gayhood,” explained a friend. Really? So what of my earlier conviction that some people could actually claim bisexuality as an orientation?

Then I met a man who would change the way I though about sexuality. He was an older man, a professor and a researcher of great fame. His name was Alfred and I found him fascinating. Unfortunately, he had died in 1956 and we never got a chance to meet, but his scale, the Kinsey Scale, illustrated that people could perform a range of sexual behaviors and as such, people needn’t necessarily be classified as either/or.

These days I just tell people, if the need arises, that I am gay. It is true that I feel my sexuality has polarized somewhat, perhaps because of my natural emotional or physiological inclination to develop as such, or perhaps in response to my belief that I had to choose an orientation and stick with it and old habits die hard. When I do use the word “gay”, I often feel that this isn’t quite right. But as I learn more about the academic reclamation of the word queer and what queer can connote, I feel that it might be more appropriate, though certainly more confusing for my audience. I choose to develop emotional and sexual relationships with men, deep friendships with women, and more than a few times in my adult life have found myself kissing women and wondering about more. I understand that I do indeed have choices, but they are not related to who or what I desire inasmuch as they are about how I reveal or perform my desires.