SNA (Tokyo) — As the pandemic stretches into yet another season, the media is starting to assess how Covid is changing the world permanently. At least one pundit has called the situation “epochal,” with the ever-rising worldwide death toll causing disruptions to politics, government, economics, and social life in general. It’s no longer a matter of just getting everyone vaccinated and then everything going back to normal: for the foreseeable future, we’ll have to accept some form of deprivation as the new normal.

Some countries are coping with deprivation (or at least a deferred gratification) less well. The United States is a good example. Despite being one of the most advanced economies and developed civil societies in the world, it has botched the pandemic badly–and it is not only because the previous president was willing to sacrifice hundreds of thousands of people to maintain his power. It’s also because of a design flaw deeply embedded in America’s national psyche.

American society is oddly susceptible to charismatic frauds posing as leaders, inept at everything except the uncanny talent of playing off social expectations framed as “freedoms”: 1) “freedom from want” (i.e., in a land of plenty, you should be able to get whatever you want); and 2) “freedom from being told what to do by government” (better known as “liberty,” where, as long as it’s not specifically illegal, you should be able to do whatever you want).

Consider how Covid has devastated American expectations. In terms of want, supply chains worldwide have broken down, meaning Americans have had to defer consumer gratification in places where it hurts, from toilet paper to used cars to sudden exorbitant rents. In terms of government nonintervention, the audacity of a national vaccine mandate demanding people get a Covid shot is being denounced as “tyranny.”

Not all societies have reacted like this. What makes the United States particularly egregious is how people have been triggered into insanity–where they will seek anything but a government-approved vaccine, including quack treatments or nothing at all. Many would rather risk death than submit. And die they have. Look up the “Herman Cain Awards” if you want to see how weird it’s gotten.

For those still alive, there’s antisocial behavior. Consider America’s startling statistics: Homicide numbers went up nearly 30% in 2020. Depression rates are up three-fold, while drug overdoses are at record highs. And people are acting out. Full-grown adults are yelling at kids for wearing masks to school, being duct-taped to airplane seats for fighting with flight attendants, and calling for anti-government insurrection at public rallies.

Even on the left, strikes and the threat of job walkouts are at levels not seen in many decades. A full 3% of the American labor force (7% in the hospitality and restaurant industries) have quit their job in the past month alone!

Armchair social psychologists say this is what happens when problems are so complex that even experts cannot convincingly explain what’s going on. They liken it to being stuck in a traffic jam with no apparent cause or solution, and several months of idling is taxing patience.

That I can understand. But when the expectation becomes that this jam had better work itself out by Christmas or we’ll call the manager (or attack the president), I can no longer empathize.

This is where Japan comes in.

At a time of historic stressors around the globe, I realized that my decades living in Japan have come in handy. In fact, Japan has been an excellent training ground for deprivation and deferred gratification.

Admittedly, I’ve had a soft landing during this pandemic compared to many. As a college teacher blessed with a stable internet, I have spent the past nineteen months doing classes remotely. I’m quite happy to teach from home in cargo shorts, and I certainly don’t miss the commute to campus. I count myself lucky to have earned a job that allows all this. I’ve found myself in the online-ordering class, not the delivery precariat.

Yet others who don’t have to venture outside to make a living don’t share my sentiments. They still grouse about how much they’ve had to sacrifice–to the point of, say, storming a local board of education meeting over mask mandates.

They seem to lack the ability to keep things in perspective, particularly the one I gained from living under Japan’s “Culture of No.”

Japan prides itself on delaying gratification, and it trains our people accordingly. Words in everyday currency that justify this attitude are gaman (endure), ganbatte (stick at it), shikata ga nai (it can’t be helped), as well as other collective shrugs that every student of Japanese learns in their first year. This is the linguistic default when you’re simply not going to get what you want for reasons beyond anyone’s control.

Want a policy reform? It’s probably not going to happen because there’s no precedent for it. Want to try a new way of doing things? Sorry, that’s not the “Japanese Way.” Want to take some childcare leave at your company? Well, you’re not going to get it if none of your co-workers are. Want a boiled egg instead of a fried one for breakfast? No can do; it’s a set menu.

In essence, these are also traffic jams with no apparent cause or solution. But they are an everyday and normal part of life in Japan.

This lack of options only gets worse the older you get. By around age forty you realize you’re in a social groove of expectations and provisions all the way to retirement. If you want to change course, you’ll have to start all over again from zero in an entry-level position, losing just about everything (from seniority to salary) you’ve hitherto accrued. That’s your lot, so learn to live with what you have.

It wasn’t always that way, at least I didn’t see it that way when I was younger. When I first went to Japan in the 1980s, a combination of the Bubble Economy and a youthful attitude (as well as gaijin status) made me feel a lot less constricted in my twenties than in my forties. Every day was an adventure, a new set of hurdles and challenges to negotiate my way around; and as my Japanese abilities got better, so did my negotiations.

However, at about age 45, the adventures that made Japan so appealing had faded into an awful boredom. I realized that unless a meteorite struck, I knew what would happen to me from sunup to bedtime. I could even predict the outcome of every social interaction that might befall me on any given day.

Plus I was just generally ground down by the experience of constant negotiations. I intuitively knew which interactions with the social supply chain would be instant, or time-consuming, or just plain futile. The Culture of No in Japan was too strong and inescapable for so many things. Hence the sense of resignation that ultimately becomes the default in older people: shikata ga nai.

But one thing I’ve learned in my fifties is how to come to terms with it–how many older Japanese just look on the bright side. Why be constantly negative and unable to enjoy what you have, when you can turn a frown upside down just by changing your sense of perspective?

Sure, I might have to wait a little while for an order to wend its way through the supply chain; but it’s on its way and will get here someday; meanwhile, let’s have a Plan B as a stopgap. Can’t get an extended vacation? Figure out a way to squeeze a comparable experience into a weekend (or an overnight) like everyone else does; and there are convenient markets catering specifically to that. Can’t eat out with friends? Go to the konbini (convenience store) and get on Zoom. Bored? Clean the apartment.

You can’t always get what you want, but you can get what you need–especially if you learn to like what you already have. So as long as it’s not a life-threatening issue like a medical emergency, I’d just endure and defer until I get the gratification. Might as well. I’m not going to devote that energy to storming the Capitol.

That is how I’ve lived my life in Japan.

Yes, it has its demerits, especially when it comes to dealing with situations of clear corruption, racism towards minorities, and structural inequalities that could be more easily rectified if the powers-that-be got a new perspective. But when it comes to just hunkering down, and possessing the right mental attitude in order to wait patiently for the storm to pass, my training in Japan has enabled me to weather this pandemic a lot better than if I’d only experienced life as an American.

A society that has the second-longest lifespans on the planet is clearly doing something right when it comes to aging, including mentally managing the natural deprivations that go along with senescence.

I’m not saying gaman is a panacea for all times and places. It’s just that at times like these, when a deadly disease is forcing you to be patient, I’ve learned a healthier mental attitude to cope with it from some of the best. Switch on the gaman and persevere.

As of this writing, I’m at around 600 days of lockdown. I feel I can mentally go 600 more, and I have Japan to thank for that. I have learned to focus on the essentials: Clean the room, make the bed, open the windows, pass the cup noodles, and switch on the internet to make some scratch. I’ll make do, like Japanese do.

Because what else are you gonna do? Gaman. Ganbatte. For when you’re waiting for public solutions best left to the experts, shikata ga nai.

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