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LEISURE & ARTS

Tea With the Emperor
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In Japan , An American Joins
The Celebrations Marking
A Royal 10-Year Anniversary
By Steven L. Herman
 
01/05/2000
The Wall Street Journal
Page A20
(Copyright (c) 2000, Dow Jones & Company, Inc.)

Tokyo -- The surprise came in an envelope bearing the 16-leaf chrysanthemum seal, symbol of Japan's Imperial Household. To my amazement, I was being invited to tea with the emperor and empress as part of the festivities marking the 10th anniversary of his enthronement. Such gatherings are quite rare, and invitations to foreigners for this sort of event are even rarer. According to veteran Palace watchers, an invitation to a foreign journalist is completely unprecedented.

I couldn't help but chuckle. I first lived in Japan for a year in 1981 and have been a resident continuously since 1990, so I have plenty of experience being the outsider. I recalled the times when I had been refused service in noodle shops and nightclubs or turned down for a mortgage solely because I was a foreigner. Maybe my presence at this event was a small sign that homogeneous Japan was changing just a little -- that perhaps foreigners could be accepted into all aspects of Japanese society, not as equals perhaps, but as fellow human beings capable of understanding the subtleties of Japanese protocol.

Later, probing to find out why I had actually been invited, I learned that it was a suggestion from the Prime Minister's Office, not the Imperial Household Agency. During my term as president of the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Japan and more recently as chairman of Foreign Press in Japan, I had discretely chided both the Prime Minister's Office and the Imperial Household Agency for not being more open to foreign journalists, explaining that it could only enhance their images internationally.

Reading the invitation I conjured up an image of a few gentlefolk on a plush sofa with the regal couple sitting in stiff-backed chairs as we sipped, with extended pinky fingers, Earl Grey out of fine china. Somehow, I knew it wasn't going to be quite that intimate.

The invitation stated that men were to wear either morning coat or hakama (formal pleated culottes), neither of which grace my closet, thus I settled on a charcoal colored suit and black tie. All of my fellow male attendees were indeed clad in morning coat. Apparently the traditional hakama has fallen out of favor and this being Japan, if you're Japanese, you strictly adhere to the other option presented for the dress code.

On the morning of Nov. 13 I found myself in exceptional company inside the Imperial Palace. Familiar faces paraded by as I spotted nearly every Japanese prime minister from the last 20 years, even the bushy-browed lone Socialist, Tomiichi Murayama. Among the 200 or so VIPs, I spotted most of the cabinet of Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi. It took me a minute to realize that not only my lack of morning coat made me unique -- I was also the sole non-Japanese in attendance.

The imperial family entered from the front of the room and a hush descended. The emperor, a role once considered beyond human, and the empress, both in their mid 60s, stood on a slightly elevated stage behind two microphones. Four princes stood to the emperor's right and four princesses were positioned on the empress's left, representing the two contemporary generations of the family, which claims an unbroken lineage back to 660 B.C. and the Emperor Jimmu, son of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu.

Mr. Obuchi stepped forward facing the royals and congratulated the emperor on the first decade of his reign. He then stepped back but was nudged back forward by an assistant standing behind him to keep him in line with protocol, about which the prime minister appeared somewhat confused.

The emperor made a brief statement thanking the prime minister and wishing everyone good health and urging them to take care of their bodies. His remarks were made in extremely polite, but standard Japanese. This, I noted, has been another change since the end of the war. In August 1945, when Akihito's father gave his unprecedented radio broadcast announcing the country's first-ever defeat, he used court language, which left the majority of his subjects puzzled as to what he was trying to convey.

As a toast was made, a hearty "kanpai" resounded. The royals broke rank and mingled with guests for about 45 minutes. Security was virtually invisible and guests were able to easily greet any royal they chose to saunter up to, but usually after a wait of several minutes. The male royals, also all in morning suits, wore circular badges on their lapels, not unlike those worn by nearly every salaryman in Japanese society. But the 16-leaf chrysanthemum symbol on these badges clearly marked these men as perhaps the only males in Japan who would never be seen handing out name cards to introduce themselves.

No one from the Imperial Household Agency had prepped me on speaking with the imperial family. But I knew that in order for any foreign correspondent to be allowed this close to the royals again within the next few decades it behooved me not to touch on any matter that could be construed as the least bit controversial. Japan's press practices extreme self-restraint regarding anything remotely controversial concerning the royal family. There's no legal restriction against such criticism, unlike in Thailand, but the press here fears attacks by extreme right-wingers, known as uyoku. Although they are officially shunned by the Imperial Household Agency and government figures, the uyoku seem to be the imperial family's best defender against bad PR.

So I took my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to chat with Empress Michiko about her videotaped speech in English for a children's literacy conference in India. I told her that some of my colleagues, in addition to myself, had been quite impressed with it. The comment brought forth a pleasing royal smile. There were many other things I would have liked to discuss, such as her rumored longstanding feud with some of the more conservative Palace staff or the historical influence of female Japanese Quakers inside the Imperial Household during this century, but I knew that would be inappropriate in this setting.

Princess Masako was the most animated of the family and switched to her flawless English after I introduced myself. She seemed truly interested in the life of a humble correspondent in Japan as she asked a number of questions about my personal and professional life. Finally, my face flushed, somewhat embarrassed by the amount of attention, I thanked her for the conversation and remarked that there were many people standing around us, eager to meet her.

Someone had recently asked me if I could meet anyone in Japan, who would it be and what would I say to them? I had replied that it would be the former Masako Owada and I would like to ask her if she could honestly tell me whether she had any regrets trading in her career in government service for the life of a future empress. Well, perhaps some other time. Perhaps another lifetime.