A typical scene in Japan--
a teenage cell phone user
I am not a cultural revolutionary. Whenever possible, I try to fit in, at least well enough. In the late 1960s, for example, I wore a floppy suede hat, fringed suede vest, striped bell bottoms, and wire rimmed glasses framed by waist-length, straight hair parted in the middle, just like all the other teenagers of that day. My kids still laugh to see photos of those days, hardly believing their mother ever was “hip,” as we used to say.
But today I find myself bucking the norm—and not because I am a foreigner in Japan, where I am naturally “different.” It’s because I’m one of a rapidly shrinking minority of people without a cell phone in this land of technology where 96% of high school students have keitai. And these aren’t just any cell phones, mind you. These are the latest models that do almost everything you need in a day shy of taking a bath and eating for you. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but surely not by much.
Which is why cultural commentators in Japan are beginning—finally—to raise some red flags about these seemingly innocuous gadgets that have taken this nation by a storm. I’ve been hollering about this for some time now, but without anything but gut intuition to back me up. Needless to say, I was fascinated to open Saturday’s Daily Yoimuri newspaper and find two articles dealing with this very issue.
According to one piece, some sociologists are referring to cell phone use among Japanese young people as obsessive, noting that one-third of Japanese primary school students, aged seven to twelve years old, have cell phones. By middle school, the percentage is 60%, if a certain survey of 14-year-olds generally represents the country. And by high school, only four percent of Japanese teens are without cell phones.
Paradoxically, although they were invented to augment communication, exactly the opposite is happening, says Tetsuro Saito, a university professor who helped conduct the middle school survey. He reports that middle schoolers rarely talk on their cell phones. Instead, they use them to send e-mails, even to people they are likely to meet shortly. Paraphrasing Saito, the article noted, “Children [seem] to want the security of communicating with someone, without the bother of dealing with a real person.”
Last week Bernie and I celebrated our wedding anniversary by going out to dinner. It was a wonderful evening, and it’s been a wonderful 32 years, too. Seated at a nearby table were two young Japanese mothers and their two sons. One, perhaps seven years old, hardly looked up from his keitai the whole evening. The other boy, five-ish, managed to eat a bite here and there despite being glued to the portable DVD player in front of him. Neither mother spoke to either boy, nor did I see either boy speak to any of the other three at the table. Communication was practically non-existent, despite what was in the hands of these youngsters who, by the looks of their clothing and gadgets, have every material blessing possible. But are they learning the more important lessons of how to relate as one human being to another? I have my doubts. Surely it isn’t coincidental that Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare reports a growing divorce rate in this country.
Cell phones? Of course they have their value. But as a substitute for in-depth human relationships? No way. I’ll hold my husband’s hand any day, thank you.
