Presents (お礼/Orei)

At a dinner party in Titirangi, Y listened to the New Zealand potter tell how he had been put to the test by his “living treasure” sensei (teacher). After a successful exhibition, the teacher had taken him, the gallery staff and some of those who had purchased his work, out on the town after the exhibition closed. “You will pay,” he said firmly. It was a predictably expensive evening as they went from expensive Kyoto ryotei (exclusive, traditional restaurant) to expensive bar It would have been thousands of dollars worth, but the potter knew he had to pay without protest.

The next day, when his teacher met him at the studio, he handed him a plain envelope. When he opened it later (one must never open such an envelope in the presence of the donor), he found almost as much money as he had spent the night before. He told this story as if it were a classic test in Japanese culture which he had passed.

Y was not so sure, although she said nothing at the time. Most of the money would probably have come from the other partygoers, and she felt that the potter should still have given his teacher something more as an “o-rei”, an untranslatable expression which refers to something given in recognition for something previously received, and which covers a minefield of complex situations for the unwary and wary alike.

Y remembered the impact on her neighbourhood when an American family, who had been wonderfully kind to a girl from Shin-oo-e (her neighbouthood), wrote to ask them to stop sending presents in recognition of their kindness. They explained, “Instead of sending us more presents, please be kind to some foreign girl who visits Japan.” This made a lasting impression, because it was a radical break from the tight reciprocity involved in the Japanese concept of “o-rei”. Y explained the American’s attitude in terms of the Christian idea of the brotherhood of humanity.

Now that we are living in New Zealand, she finds it a relief to be away from the almost endless cycle of gift and counter-gift. Money is the usual gift for weddings, funerals and when a friend or family member leaves on a journey. The receiver is obliged to give a counter-gift, not of money, but of something worth about 40% of the original gift.

At our wedding party, the counter-gift was handmade pottery. When Y’s father died, the guests were given a packet of green tea. Travellers will bring back souvenirs which may range from key-rings to sheep-skins. It is the obligation to spend hundreds, and in the case of honeymooners, thousands of dollars, which makes Japanese tourists such boons to the economies of countries like New Zealand which happen to be high on the list of “romantic” destinations. (No longer! –2007.)

When tightly scheduled package tourists are strategically dropped for an hour at an isolated souvenir shop in Takanini, the tourists will buy, at a frenzied pace, the scores of giri (obligatory) gifts that haunt every moment of sightseeing until the complete list has been ticked off. Such cycles of reciprocal gift-giving, while obviously a delight to anthropologists making links with the Trobiand Islanders and their elaborate exchanges of shell necklaces, also provide powerful stimuli to the contemporary consumer economy.

Apart from the situations I’ve already mentioned, end of year (o-seibo) and midsummer (chūgen) presents provide 40% or more of the annual income of the prestigious department stores whose distinctive wrapping paper is as much a part of the gift as the contents. While other middle-ranking department stores in Kumamoto have been closing as the economy stagnates, Tsuru-ya, “the” Kumamoto store for such gifts, goes from strength to strength.

While Westerners will bring a bottle of wine or (in Spain) a cake, when invited for a meal, a Japanese person will be loathe to embark on even the most momentary visit without bringing something, whether it be a jar of Fortnum and Mason’s jam or a box of petit-fours from “7/14”, the French patisserie we are fortunate enough to have near our house.

Every gift has to be slightly “special”, needless to say. The result is that ordinary Japanese people buy and consume many more luxury foods and fruits than Westerners of an equivalent income. Hence the plethora of $10 apples and the $100 water melons which are shipped all over Japan from Ueki, just north of Kumamoto.

Where perishables are concerned, one can only enjoy them, or share them with the family next-door. If the gift is more durable, like wine, or sealed fish-eggs, it may become the Japanese equivalent of the Trobiand shell necklaces, and be passed through a number of hands. One is always afraid that the wine which you give to Miwa, may have been given by Miwa to Keiko, who gave it to Mayuri, who in turn gave it you…

Where there is a hierarchical relationship, gifts tend to flow upwards in a less than reciprocal manner. To those who have will be given. Although teachers are paid for their work, the socially ordained gratitude of the pupil to the teacher has traditionally meant that country teachers like Y’s father never went hungry in time of war or famine.

Although money may sometimes be an acceptable gift, it must always be concealed in an envelope when being handed from person to person, and received unexamined. Receipts may be sent later, but it would be inconceivably vulgar to open an envelope and count the money when it is received. Like the medieval English barrister, who could never see money but who was quite happy for it to be dropped into the hood of his cape, the modern Japanese professional would find it demeaning to be seen to be too overtly concerned with money. As a result, many quite large transactions are left vague and unstated.

When Y, who is a classical singer, asks a pianist to travel from Tokyo to accompany her in a recital, there is no direct discussion of the “o-rei”. She has to estimate the appropriate sum to put in the envelope from consultations with other singers or teachers. There is always the risk of an unpleasant surprise, but as the envelope is never given until after the performance, there is nothing one can do.

When I was invited to play a role in some theatrical productions, I had no idea how much, or even if, I would be paid. When the productions were city-sponsored, and therefore more bureaucratic than usual, there might be a four month interval before the arrival of the envelope.

In the academic world, the foreigner may face the same uncertainty. A “foreign teacher” may spend twenty hours correcting a long research paper and be rewarded, not by a professional fee, but by a recycled bottle of wine. The only acceptable recourse is to be “too busy” when the same academic produces his next chef-d’oeuvre for “polishing up” a year later.

While employees seem to have largely abandoned the custom of giving presents to their boss, tenants often give their landlords o-seibo (end of year presents). The attitude that employees should be grateful for the fact of employments persists. When the “foreign teachers” at my university, the Prefectural University of Kumamoto, were refusing to accept employment conditions that were based on nationality, we were told that we should accept such conditions out of gratitude for being offered jobs at all.