Firefly in Japan on the Your-Japan Blog Network

Roadrage is an almost non-existent phenomenon in Japan. Japanese drivers draw upon un-natural reserves of patience as they inch through traffic jams kilometers long. I am unable to do this - I’m either zooming down the middle on my scooter, or banging my head on the steering wheel in frustration. I very rarely see any kind of anger on the roads at all. Actually, I have a memory of accidentally cutting someone off on the road. I looked into therear view mirror expectantly, hoping for some signs of anger or frustration. He looked at me through the mirror indirectly with a look of surprise, and then it seemed he recognised me as a foreigner. He then broke out into a smile, pointed to my car and presumably informed the other people in the car that the car ahead has a “Gaijin on board”. I shook my head and drove off. This article however, is about another breed of driver.

One of the very few people that seem to do exactly what they feel like without concern for Japanese social obligation, are the Yakuza. If you put more than one Japanese in a room, it seems to create a social expectancy - each Japanese watches the other Japanese, to make sure that they don’t accidentally do something considered unbecoming for a Japanese. This effect seems to multiply the more people are around. There are only a few people who don’t give a shit about this omnipotent social pressure - crazy people, foreigners, andYakuza.

I’ve had some minor encounters with the Yakuza during the time I’ve been here. Once, I sat across one on a train. This guy was huge, easily twice my size - the kind of guy you normally only see in exaggerated Japanese fight comics. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that must have been tailor made, and he had scars on his face. He seemed as interested in me, as I was in him. We were happened to be on an express train that went for long periods of time with no stops. Both of us from a sense ofcuriousity caught each others eye. For a period of about 8 minutes, we were locked in eye contact. We coolly stared each other down. As I peered into his eyes, I tried to imagine his world. Was he a bodyguard? Some kind of fighter? Was his loyalty with one of the famousYakuza groups? Some kind of freelancer? I can only imagine he was looking at me, trying to likewise get a glimpse into my world. After some time, he broke eye contact, and got off at the next stop with a grace that defied his large frame. However the sense of accomplishment I got from winning thestaredown was defused by the realisation that he could twist my head off using his forefinger and thumb.

Most Yakuza seem to be regarded in a way akin to dangerous animals. Just stay out of their way, don’t mess with them, avoid provoking them, and you will be able to co-exist without too many issues. TheYakuza seem to support some sections of Japanese society, and add their own value (and probably dallops of blackmail) which allows them to function without a huge amount of external problems from the police. There seem to be lines drawn in the sand however that both sides respect, and as long as neither side crosses the line,Yakuza and the other side of society functions in an uneasy symbiosis. Every now and again, these lines are blurred, and I was lucky enough to witness such an event.

Myself and some co-workers were sitting at an outside table at a Tullies in a downtown Kamiyacho. We were enjoying the summer heat (read : we were drenched in sweat and wishing we were anywhere else), and having a relaxed conversation. All of a sudden, we heard some brakes screeching. I looked up, and saw that a black Mercedes (a classicYakuza car) was stopped by a truck, which had slammed on its brakes. The truck was reacting to something unexpected on the road, and did an emergency stop. The black Mercedes followed suit. A taxi following behind the black Mercedes wasn’t paying quite as much attention to the road as the truck and the Mercedes. The Taxi slammed on it’s brakes, narrowly avoiding the black Mercedes. There was a moment of stunned silence from everyone, which was broken by the loud horn of the taxi.

*WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*. *WHAAAWHAAAAAAAAAA* *WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*

The Taxi driver held the horn down in a frustrated response to the unexpected stop. Silence fell once more.

*WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*

The Mercedes door flew open. A fat, extremely well dressed man kicked his way out of the car, fumbling furiously with his seat beat. He turned and slammed the door behind him and began storming towards the taxi. The taxi driver immediately shit himself, locked his doors, and wound up his window.

“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT. YOU THINK YOU’RE TOUGH WITH YOUR HORN? YEAH? YOU THINK YOU’RE HARD? COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN. DONT YOU FUCKING PUT YOUR WINDOW UP,” His words rumbled and screamed at the same time as he began hitting the glass with his fist.

The taxi driver put the car into reverse, before realising there was about half a meter of space from the car behind him, and a few inches from the car in front of him. He had no escape. He turned white as he double checked the locks on the door, and began scrambling for a phone to call the police.

“COME ON YOU BIG TOUGH MAN, GET OUT OF YOUR CAR AND FACE ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” He roared.

Meanwhile, all four of us were sitting about 5 meters away watching the entire scene unfold. It was thoroughly fascinating.

Now, as luck would have it, there was a police station on the other side of the road. Two policemen approached the scene much like the bomb squad approaches a live explosive. The taxi driver looked visibly relieved.

“Uh, *ahem*, excuse me, sir?” The older policemen weakly offered.

“THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE. This human TURD started honking at me, and now he won’t come out and face me like a FUCKING MAN. Can you please arrest this asshole immediately.” The fat man exclaimed to the policemen. The policemen gulped and looked at each other. The taxi driver began turning white again, realising the police were of no help at all.

“Well… I’m sure you’ve been greatly troubled by this incident, sir,” one policeman said, “but I don’t think he’s actually… um… comm… committed…uhh” he began stammering.

“OH FUCK OFF, I’ve had enough of this shit. I’ve got places to go. Just give him some fucking fine or something.” The fat man shouted, and turned back to his car. He stormed back to his car.

It was at this point, the taxi driver attempted to recover some of his lost man-hood. The taxi driver wound down his window, and extended his arm. I could imagine what was about to unfold. “Nooo… NOOO” I begged him mentally. The taxi driver waited intently, until the fat man was stepping into his car, and was unable to see him. Then, in an oddly western gesture, he extended his middle finger. Almost as though SENSING this, the fat man froze, and snapped his head back to the taxi driver. I could almost see the fire ignite in the fat man’s eyes. The taxi driver’s jaw dropped as he realised he was being watched, and quickly retracted his finger and arm. The fat man went into meltdown.

He got out of the car again, and slammed the door twice as hard. He then ran over and began pounding on the glass, screaming and yelling insults at the taxi driver. The policemen stood by impotently, unwilling to interfere. After a little while of performing his tantrum, he kicked the taxi solidly above the tire, drew back his fist again and looked at the taxi driver. The taxi driver was busy attempting to suck his head back into his neck. The fat mans face twisted into a scowl, and he seemed satisfied with his handiwork. He walked back to his car, fanged a short burnout and took off. The taxi driver shot a look of disgust at the police, and dro
ve off, making the first turn he could. The police shrugged, and returned to their box. We 4 coffee shop Yakuza spectators exchanged silent wide eyed glances.

It was a very interesting glimpse into the world of the Yakuza. The Yakuza have deep roots in Japanese culture, centuries of intensely Japanese tradition. Yet they exhibit many non-Japanese characteristics : walking apart from the crowd - Japanese feel most comfortable being part of a crowd. Not taking any shit from anyone (including angry car horns) - Japanese patience and tolerance is almost supernatural. Never feeling the need to impose any limit on his anger and distaste for other people - Japanese are extremely sensitive to those around them, and do their best to keep the harmony with people around them.

A final word of advice - treat a Yakuza like a highly venemous snake. Somehow mesmorising to watch, yet you wouldn’t want to have one within 10 meters of you.