Self-restraint: New obsession to cut back sweeps Japan
TOKYO: Even in a country whose people are known for walking in lockstep, a national consensus on the proper code of behavior has emerged with startling speed. Consider posttsunami Japan as the age of voluntary self-restraint , or jishuku, the antipode of the Japan of the "bubble" era that celebrated excess.
With hundreds of thousands of people displaced up north from the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear crisis, anything with the barest hint of luxury invites condemnation. There were only general calls for conservation , but within days of the March 11 quake, Japanese of all stripes began turning off lights, elevators, heaters and even toilet seat warmers.
But self-restraint goes beyond the need to compensate for shortages of electricity brought on by the closing of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant. At a time of collective mourning, jishuku also demands that self-restraint be practiced elsewhere. Candidates in next month's local elections are campaigning quietly for votes, instead of circling neighborhoods in their usual campaign trucks with blaring loudspeakers.
The giant Bic Camera electric appliance outlet in Tokyo has dropped the decibels on its in-store jingle, usually audible half a block away. At the high school baseball tournament in Osaka, bands put away their instruments ; instead, cheering sections have been clapping by hitting plastic horns together.
There are also doubts about whether it is proper to partake in the seasonal pleasures that regulate much of Japanese life. In fact, cherry blossom viewing parties and fireworks festivals have been canceled. Graduations have been put off. Stores and restaurants have reduced their hours or closed. Cosmetics and karaoke are out; bottled water and Geiger counters are in. It is as if much of a nation's people have simultaneously hunkered down, all with barely a rule being passed.
With hundreds of thousands of people displaced up north from the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear crisis, anything with the barest hint of luxury invites condemnation. There were only general calls for conservation , but within days of the March 11 quake, Japanese of all stripes began turning off lights, elevators, heaters and even toilet seat warmers.
But self-restraint goes beyond the need to compensate for shortages of electricity brought on by the closing of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant. At a time of collective mourning, jishuku also demands that self-restraint be practiced elsewhere. Candidates in next month's local elections are campaigning quietly for votes, instead of circling neighborhoods in their usual campaign trucks with blaring loudspeakers.
The giant Bic Camera electric appliance outlet in Tokyo has dropped the decibels on its in-store jingle, usually audible half a block away. At the high school baseball tournament in Osaka, bands put away their instruments ; instead, cheering sections have been clapping by hitting plastic horns together.
There are also doubts about whether it is proper to partake in the seasonal pleasures that regulate much of Japanese life. In fact, cherry blossom viewing parties and fireworks festivals have been canceled. Graduations have been put off. Stores and restaurants have reduced their hours or closed. Cosmetics and karaoke are out; bottled water and Geiger counters are in. It is as if much of a nation's people have simultaneously hunkered down, all with barely a rule being passed.
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