Heartfulness

We were introducing the topic of health disparities to a group of medical students when it happened. The film we used showed the difficulties of an elderly Asian American with cancer negotiating the health care system. Some of the students had expressed their beliefs that cultural competence was an important part of studying about disparities and the class was going smoothly.

While I (Richard Katz) was teaching at Harvard, I was invited to give a talk about the education of healers to students in the combined Harvard-M.I.T. MD/PhD program. The invitation came from a student in that program who was interested in my research on spiritually oriented healing in Indigenous cultures, and who led me to believe that fellow students in his program would be eager to hear me. Looking forward to such an opportunity to speak with interested young people in an elite medical training program, I eagerly accepted.

We sat there wanting to hear about other people, but the professor told us to look at ourselves first. That was not what we wanted to hear. We wanted to become competent in working with patients who were culturally or racially different and less fortunate than us, but we wanted it to be easier. We wanted to help them, but did not want to examine ourselves. We were there to learn about them, not us. Some of us became irritated and impatient.

When I was told that I had been assigned a person named Yoshiko Meyers to visit, the questions began. What do you talk about with someone who is dying? Would they be interested in small talk about the weather outside their room? Does the news hold any importance for them? Would they like to talk about their religious beliefs? But what if they have none? Would they want to talk about their feelings? And if they wanted to talk about death, what could I say?

Faced with the challenge of teaching pre-medical students about narrative and cultural competence, I decided to take a chance. I walked into the room for the fi rst class sensing that all eyes were on me, and hearing a buzz. I was self-conscious but fully expecting this attention. After all, I was wearing a kimono. I smiled at their anticipating faces and began speaking…in Japanese. I noticed their energy, facial expressions, bodily movements.

Lane Hirabayashi's life story in When Half is Whole. “For the community. ”Lane was a pioneer in using the word hapa, to identify mixed Japanese Americans on the mainland, and in claiming “our” right to self definition. He was a dedicated scholar/activist who devoted his life’s work to research, writing, and teaching about the JA and Asian American communities. When he found out that I wanted to include his story in my book, When Half is Whole, he was humble as always, and told me he was honored. I’m so glad that I did this while he was still here so that he could see how valued his life was. We were allies in asserting our right to be both hapa and Japanese American. I miss him, but he lives on in the ripples his work continues to send out to others.

Black and Indian? Yes, Kamala Harris has raised awareness of multiple identities. Here is the story of Mitzi Uehara Carter, Okinawan Japanese and African American. 

When my mother, two older sisters, and I realized that my grandmother could no longer live alone in Japan, we brought Obaachan to the United States to die. No one actually said, that but we all knew it was true. After all, Grandma was ninety-nine. How many more years could she possibly live? Better to die among those she loved the most, we reasoned. She could pass her few remaining years in peace and would be able to die surrounded by her only child and grandchildren.

My mom and dad met in postwar Tokyo, Occupied Japan. They worked in the same building downtown where MacArthur's general headquarters were. Mom spoke a little English and Dad spoke a litte Japanese, and like most people, they couldn't understand each other. So naturally they fell in love. 

Many young Japanese like to go to the United States or some other countries for homestays. These experiences can be eye-opening in many ways. One of my students in Japan, Yasuko, went to California for a homestay. For two weeks her American host mother hugged and kissed her. At the end of the two weeks her host mother embraced her at the airport and said warmly, "I love you." 

The social representations of Amerasians of American-Japanese ancestry in Japan have evolved from the derogatory "Ainoko" of the postwar period to the "Konketsuji" as social problem. The term "Haafu" that followed brought stylish images to American-Japanese while "Kokusaiji" and "Daburu" declare their international character.

These changing images reflect evolving social conditions to a certain extent but also are stereotypes and misrepresentations. In general, more positive social attitudes and legal conditions have improved the quality of life for American-Japanese. However, continued belief in the myth of Japanese ethnic purity remains a barrier to the acceptance of multiethnic people.

The letter from the Ministry of Justice informed me that I was now Japanese and no longer a foreigner. But I wondered, was it really so easy? Could one become Japanese simply by submitting a few documents to the proper authorities?

The nationality law at the time of my birth in Tokyo had made me a foreigner, forcing me to naturalize as an adult as the only way to become a citizen. Ministry officials told me that my naturalization was easy since my mother was Japanese. But I had always thought that having a Japanese mother made me Japanese, not their stamp of approval. And I am constantly reminded by others that regardless of what the state claims, being Japanese is really a matter of blood.

When my father died, my Japanese mother had a smile on her face during the entire funeral. When people came up to her to express their condolences, she gave them an even bigger smile. When she spoke to them, she often laughed, even when talking about heartbreaking things. The Japanese smile irks some Americans and people from other countries, who find it puzzling, inappropriate and disturbing. But such behaviors that appear so different are often surprisingly familiar.