This is a special time of year to reflect on what it was like growing up as a missionary kid in Japan. Late July to late August was our one month of precious family holiday time up at Lake Nojiri in Nagano. This was life in community, in the “International Village” with mostly missionary families from other parts of the world. We were in beautiful, natural surroundings, free to explore and to speak my third language, “chanpon” (“mixed”) or “Enganese” and be fully understood.
My parents, Jack and Beth McIntosh, served in partnership with the Presbyterian Church in Canada and the Korean Christian Church in Japan for 40 years, from 1961-2001. Our home was in the heart of Ikuno-ku, Osaka, a working-class neighbourhood of mixed Japanese and Korean neighbours. During the week, I attended Japanese school and on Sunday our family of six attended Osaka Korean Church, my church home from birth. I learned to sing and pray in Korean. I learned to speak, read and write in Japanese. And, thanks to mom, I learned to speak, read and write in English at home.
Back then, being a gaijin (“outsider”) was a rarity. Three of the four of us (Mira was born Korean and was adopted by my parents) were easily identifiable by our brown and blonde hair. Any stranger could identify us as gaijin and they would point fingers and make remarks. We came to accept it but it was annoying. I was grateful for good friends who didn’t care how I looked. But in my teen years I became more aware of the systemic discrimination and disliked being singled out, given special treatment, or expected to fit the American stereotype. No matter how well I spoke Japanese, I didn’t think I would ever fit in. When I was 16, our family returned to Canada for a furlough year and I chose to stay in Canada.
Growing up in Japan has left a lasting impression. All four siblings have intercultural marriages. At one time or another we have pursued careers and volunteering efforts that give back to the community, and we see things through a social justice lens. Two of us live in Japan, two of us in Canada. Two of us remain active in church life; two are loosely connected. Our life and work remain intercultural in various ways, and we care deeply about people who are disenfranchised.
My siblings have their own perspectives. David lives and works in Japan on a joint UCC-PCC appointment at the Asian Rural Institute.
David writes: “I’m quite often asked what it was like, growing up as a missionary kid in Japan. The first part of my answer is usually, ‘It’s the only life I knew, so it all seemed normal to me.’ Part of my ‘normal’ was being inescapably different. I felt self-conscious about this much of the time, because I was stared at or pointed at regularly. As a child I remember wishing, practically every day, that I could be like everyone else—not so visible. On the other hand, our family lived among Koreans in Japan; they looked Japanese, but were discriminated against in ways that we never were. I remember feeling perplexed by this, and that’s how I was sensitized to the unfairness of prejudice and discrimination.”
Our sister, Mira has a unique story—one which made life exceptionally challenging for her at times. I learned firsthand through her challenges (even though I did not fully appreciate nor understand them back then) the two sides of racial prejudice: favourtism and discrimination. For Mira, being Korean meant discrimination at the hands of the wider Japanese community. She often was teased or told to “go back home.” In a society where conformity is highly valued and the Japan-Korea history so complicated, Koreans were looked down upon, adding stress to community ties and relationships. Discrimination in education, housing and employment opportunities still remain today.
Mira writes: “From age three I grew up close to the church as the adopted Korean daughter of missionaries who were ‘famous’ in both the KCCJ and PCC. It was wonderful to be so widely loved and recognized, but this extra attention also brought with it the weight of expectations—or so it felt. This is probably why I’ve long felt conflicted about my relationship with the church and about my faith. In retrospect, I think I struggled to find time and space to figure out my own identity.”
Gwyn writes: “As the youngest of the four McIntosh kids, Mira and I shared the experience of living upstairs from the small church, the ‘House of Reconciliation’ during the 1980s.
“During this time there was a growing movement afoot among the Koreans in Japan to reclaim their heritage through use of their Korean names (many Koreans in Japan were expected to adapt their names to Japanese-sounding names), and protesting their ‘outsider’ status, which was reinforced by the alien registration law. The discrimination my Korean friends experienced in Japan compared to the reverse discrimination I experienced as a blond, blue-eyed kid, provided the foundation to my understanding of what it is to be an outsider—an understanding that became woven into the very fabric of my identity. Since moving to Canada at the age of 16, I enjoyed the anonymity of being assumed to be like the majority of others; but my friends and I would laughingly talk about my being ‘Caucasian on the outside and Asian on the inside.’”
Despite challenges, our lives have been enriched by good relations and the gift of “third culture” insight which we integrate into our lives. We simply wish to pass on the good we have been so privileged to know. As mom says: “Life is an adventure in learning.”
