English edition: Kathelijne Bonne
Some reflections on International Women’s Day about sexism and feminism while living in Japan. We’re quick to criticize the role of women in Asia, but we haven’t made much progress in the West either.
In Japan, there is no Women’s Day. It isn’t celebrated in schools, and it is as if it doesn’t exist here. A few days ago, they had something like Girls’ Day, which sounds cute, but is actually a rather creepy and eerie doll festival. They call it Hina Matsuri. It doesn’t stand up for something; it’s just a wish for girls to, among other things, marry off well.
These dolls— just like clowns—really give me the creeps. I also find the whole idea of inheriting a doll from an ancestor and then having to take care of it to be somewhere between funny and terrifying. A while back, I mentioned that we ended up at a pretty spooky hotel in Nikko that was full of these dolls sitting in display cases.
I’m bringing this up to say that here in Japan Women’s Day isn’t celebrated in any way. There are no get-togethers or similar events. At least, nothing that I’ve come across in the nearly three years we’ve been here. But, in reality, that is not the point. What really matters is everything that happens around the world, inflicted by a bunch of clever dudes who rule the world and who make women, children, and many men go through hell.
Sometimes I walk through Musashi Koyama, Oji, or Kitashinagawa, and I see crows flying toward the bay, or people eating ramen at a counter, the freshly caught fish at Tsukiji Market, and that wonderful sun, or the mist over Miyajima Island, and I think about how disruptive this peace is, knowing that war is so close by. It’s as if this beauty—that of the temples, that of the language I don’t speak—numbed me to all of that. Japan is a hypnotic island that leaves you half-dazed.
But then I stop by a kombini, read the headlines in the Japan Times, or google the British, Spanish, and Argentine press, and you reconnect with the West and how fucked up it is.
Tabla de contenidos
The Age of men
There aren’t many conclusions we can draw from this mess, except for one thing that is very clear. We are living in the great age of men. There are many people, on the left and the right, who love this idea of the macho man who imposes order because otherwise “chaos would rule.” It’s a very attractive idea because it simplifies things a lot.
Sometimes they criticize Japan, Iran, Afghanistan. But male dominance in western countries is even more prominent, in certain domains, than in many countries that some consider “backward.”
You don’t need to read Elena Ferrante or Natalia Ginzburg. I see this every day. Machismo among Europeans, Latinos, Americans. Mad Men-type men who go around the world with their “fascinating lives” while women bake cookies at home.
They talk about how progressive their governments are. While the wives discuss household matters, the husbands discuss real big issues with their peers, who have impressive ranks, status, experience or prestigious titles.
And that’s 2026.
Always the same
Sometimes people tell me, “You go on and on about the same things” And they’re right. Perhaps it’s just that the one with a thorn in their side complains more than the one who doesn’t.
It’s curious: it’s rare for men to talk about sexism. They know it exists, but they don’t feel the need to talk about it. It’s a topic that, at best, makes them uncomfortable. Or it seems so obvious to them that they take it for granted.
So, I would say to them: It’s not that I think about the issue much; it’s that you men constantly remind us, through your actions, of the position women are in. It’s not your fault. You have to talk about something, but it’s always the same, over and over again. To the point where you don’t even realize that, in reality, you’re talking about male dominance the whole time.
With your anecdotes, with your experiences, you constantly remind us of the life you have and the one we don’t. Right now, I’m reading Al Alvarez’s book, an excellent text that I highly recommend[1] because it delves deeply into the inner workings of the literary world. What is striking is not only his writing talent, but how easy everything seems for men—at no point do they have to take care of anything, leave a job to be with their family, or juggle anything at all. He enters the professional world through his friendships. Or rather, the professional world relies on strong male friendship bonds in which women are not needed, maybe only for hosting dinners. No wonder the women become completely nuts. It’s interesting: the most important woman in his book—and perhaps in his life—is Sylvia Plath, who ends up committing suicide. There’s another woman who goes blind, and the rest are selfless and adorable. You see him moving through the world, forming strong bonds, reflecting on art—domestic life never comes up. That same “supposedly interesting” universe and the whole conversation surrounding it is what reminds many of us of what men do have and what many women do not.
The Enemies of Feminism
Women, too, remind us of this through their actions. Because there are still sexist women and misogynistic feminists who act as police over other women. They are the “maternity experts” who criticize other women, or make fun of their bodies, or dictate what constitutes a good mother. Nor do they forgive beauty and intelligence. They are the women who hate women, especially housewives, whom they despise because they believe domestic work isn’t real work. I fear and don’t trust these women because they tend to be quite unwelcoming toward other women.
An obsession
Perhaps it’s hard to forget, because sexism is such a part of everyday life that you carry it around with you all the time. I only forget about it when I travel and leave behind my roles as a mother and wife.
In that sense, sexism isn’t something you can just forget, like an annoying project that begins and ends. Or an unpleasant job you can escape from when you leave the office. It’s everyday life. It’s the words, the comments, the way society addresses men and women. Even the way men and women interact is different. Every gesture is a reminder. Of the place we occupy and the place they occupy.
In Japan, this is exacerbated.
The idea of the self-sacrificing woman
There’s another movement that calls itself feminist, and it’s about women in science, women at work, women in the office. These are preconceived notions about what a woman should be. Girls are told to excel, to win awards, to study.
I would tell them: learn to be happy. Learn to live life to the fullest. Learn not to always prioritize taking care of others. Learn to enjoy life. I think that’s where we mothers need to focus our influence on our daughters.
In this sense, sometimes other women are women’s worst enemies. That’s why my only rebellion is enjoyment and criticism. Humor, irony. Living life as I see fit without imposing my views on others.
There is hope
Even so, there are wonderful men out there whom you meet along the way who make you believe in humanity once again. I’ve always surrounded myself with men who are different—special people, a bit solitary, a bit geeky. Even men who feel out of place in a predominantly male world. I’ve been lucky.
But even so, I’m sick of living in a world where I have to be grateful for the luck I’ve had. I wish for a world where children, women, and men don’t have to depend on their lives, their paths, their education, or their ideals, on the fortune or misfortune of being born in one country or another.
I think of all those people who haven’t had the luck I’ve had. On those held hostage by tyrants and despots who call themselves saviors.
And I think, I wish for a world where luck isn’t so important.
And much more poetry.
I leave you with these verses by Sholeh Wolpé. Because after so much traveling and living abroad, one no longer knows which language is one’s own. We’re always searching for a universal language—perhaps glances, gestures. Or loss.
“Loss is a language / we all speak well, / a body moan that echoes / between ribs, the downfall / that becomes windfall.”[2]
[1] Alvarez, Al. Where Did It All Go Right? A Memoir? Harper Collins, 2021
[2] Wolpé, S. (2025). Abacus of Loss: Memoirs in Verse. University of Arkansas Press. 2022
Deja una respuesta