Cio-Cio-san: native-born Gaijin

To arrive at a deeper understanding of Madama Butterfly, there are two questions arising from the story that should be addressed. These are:

1. Why does Butterfly stubbornly deny that her marriage to Pinkerton is over, even after three years have passed and it's obvious she has been abandoned? (Remember: as noted in an earlier post, there were tens of thousands of Japanese women who entered into temporary marriages with Western men with no expectations of lifelong committment.) And
2. Why does she kill herself? 

Do not jump to the romantic conclusion that Butterfly takes her life because Pinkerton doesn't love her any more. That is not the case. In my opinion, an understanding of Japanese culture and attitudes of  Japanese people are required to arrive at a satisfactory explanation.

And what would I know about that? A fair question. As it happens, my sister Juliet Winters Carpenter has lived in Japan for virtually all of her adult life. A long-time professor at Doshisha Women's College in Kyoto, she and her American husband have raised three sons there. Julie is a highly-regarded translator of Japanese literature by acclaimed novelists such as Kobo Abe, Shion Miura, Minae Mizumura and many others. (Here's a review of Miura's The Great Passage.) So I have picked up a few insights along the way; they inform my theories about the title character.

Of course, the short answer to the question of her suicide is simple: Butterfly kills herself because John Luther Long thought it would make a more sensational story. Long, of course, is the author of Madame Butterfly, the 1898 novella that served as basis for David Belasco's 1900 play and, in turn, Puccini's masterpiece. 

The genesis of Long's fictional work was his sister's anecdotes about her observations of Japan during the five years she was stationed there as a Christian missionary.  (The character of Pinkerton is said to be based on a Scottish merchant named Thomas Glover and his Japanese wife and child.) Naturally, the more lurid the climax, the greater the best-seller potential.

But that explanation alone is unsatisfactory. If the opera deserves it's high reputation, the rationale for Butterfly's actions must be in sync with reality. I think I can make the case that they are, despite the historical fact that thousands of Japanese women took part in temporary marriages with no rancor and no suicides.

One clue comes in the disclosure by Goro that Butterfly's father, in disfavor with the Emperor, was ordered to commit hara-kiri. With this act, her family fell into disgrace and poverty. It's only natural that she might attach more importance to her wedding than women not suffering similar adversity. Lt. Pinkerton must have seemed like a life-line back to status and ease for the entire family. But this circumstance alone isn't enough to account for the story's end.

Clearly the interruption of the wedding by the Bonze is a key turning point in the opera. From one moment to the next, Butterfly goes from blissful bride to humiliated outcast. There is nothing exclusively Japanese about her distress - no one would want their wedding ruined in such a manner. You wouldn't. I wouldn't.

But I believe her family's rejection takes on added layers of meaning in light of the meaning of the word gaijin. This is the Japanese word for foreigner; outsider; "other";non-Japanese.

As I mentioned above, my sister Julie has lived and worked in Japan for some 45 years. She is beloved by generations of her students and well-liked by her neighbors.

But after all this time, she and her family remain gaijin.

To grasp this concept, you must compare Japanese attitudes towards foreigners to those of America. In the U.S, (current political situations aside), ours is a melting-pot concept. Come to our country and you become one of us. Thus we have African-Americans, German-Americans, Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans and so on.

But in Japan (and yes, in other corners of the world as well), the opposite is the case. Non-Japanese never become part of the culture. They may be beloved; they may be honored; they may be respected.

But they remain "other" - gaijin.

The Bonze and the rest weren't angry because Cio-Cio-san married an American; that was common. It was rejecting her Buddhist faith and becoming Christian that crossed the line. When they all shout "Ti rinneghiamo!" at her, they're not just saying "we renounce you"; they're telling her she is no longer part of them; she no longer belongs; in a sense, she is no longer Japanese. She is denied her former self.

This native of Nagasaki has made herself a gaijin.

Now consider her desperation to believe that Pinkerton will return to her. It's even more a lifeline! And when he does return, it's with his American wife. He doesn't want her; he wants her child. Now she is gaijin to America as well!

She belongs to nothing. She is part of nothing. She has no identity, no future. Ritual suicide at least allows her to reclaim the dignity in death she had lost in life. That's why the final music heard as the curtain descends is the Japanese song "Suriyo Bushi", or "Song of Foreboding". She dies Japanese once again.

I ask you not to misunderstand me; the people of Japan are the loveliest people on earth. Here's a quick story on that point.

I visited my sister in 2007, spending two weeks traveling to Nara, Kyoto, Tokyo, Osaka, Hiroshima and Mt. Koya (a mountain-top Buddhist monastery). One morning I went for a walk by myself. Juliet's neighborhood was typical: a crowded cluster of houses that all looked alike to a stranger. After a few blocks, I turned around and realized I was lost - couldn't find my way back.

No cell phone. Bummer. My total Japanese vocabulary consisted of three phrases. I knew how to say "I'm hungry", "I love you" and "How cute" plus assorted words. For instance, I'd learned that the way to make any sentence a question is to append the syllable "wa" at the end. Kind of a linguistic question-mark.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I marched up to a random house and knocked on the door. A middle-aged housewife came to the door and smiled expectantly.

Extending my arms in what I hoped was the universal gesture of hopeless confusion, I said: "Carpenter wa?" (I pronounced it the way my sister had taught me, as her neighbos did: "Kaah-pen-tah".

Instantly she understood me. Her face breaking into even wider wreathes of smiles, she took my arm and with a certain maternal care guided me a few yards down the road until my sister's house came into view. She pointed, nodded and grinned.

I bowed and smiled and bowed and smiled.

That's so typical! They are helpful, kind, unfailingly civil and polite to a degree that would shame many Americans.

So my observation of Japan as a closed society is not an accusation; there is no value judgement to be made. It's simply a different way of regarding society, perhaps born of eons of existence as a small island nation at perpetual risk of invasion.

When Butterfly lost her identity, there was no going back. When her new identity proved false, it was the end of everything.