English | Japanese
I’m half Japanese & half English, I identify as a mixed-race Londoner. My Mother was born and raised in Japan in a small city about 2 hours away from Tokyo. My Dad grew up in the Devonshire countryside and spent most of his childhood making dens and fishing. My Mother moved to London in her early twenties with little English, in pursuit of a city life abroad and to study art.
Generations from both of my parents' families fought each other on opposite sides of the war. In 1944, my paternal Grandfather was sent to train British soldiers in the jungle in colonial India, whilst members of my Mother’s family fought for the Japanese in the Battle of Imphal in northeast India that same year. My Mother recites her fond memories of her great Uncle who survived the war and returned with a love for mangoes and pineapples, which he later taught my Mother and Aunt how to peel.
My parents met in Covent Garden in the 90s where my Dad used to busk with the Gutter Brothers (band) and other performers. It’s always felt a little peculiar going back to the square now and watching all of the entertainers, picturing that that would have once been my Dad. Although my parents had entirely contrasting cultural experiences of childhood they both were accustomed to country life, whether their evenings were accompanied by the hum of cicadas in the paddy fields or the cooing of owls in the woods. Whilst having fond memories in both peaceful places, the bustling of Brick Lane market and the sound of sirens at night was what I remember growing up.
My parents encouraged both my brothers and I to embrace both our British and Japanese identities. We were taught that our ethnicity did not wholly define us and to be both endlessly curious and appreciative of our friends family stories too. Whether it was going for fish and chips on the beach in Whitstable or assembling our own sushi at home and watching Studio Ghibli, we were blissfully unaware of the ideas of race and class as young children. Everyone was just another individual in their own right.
My Mum grew up watching the Ghibli films in Japan and was 19 years old when she first saw Grave of the Fireflies, a film she knew that she would one day show her children. The animation set in Kobe follows a semi-autobiographical story of two siblings who struggle to survive after becoming separated from their parents during the American bombings in the final months of the war. Years later, I asked why that film was so important to her and she said that the sheer human cost of war is something that we cannot let happen again. Her vehemence for this was in particular reference to the use of nuclear weapons, an attitude that I later inherited after visiting both Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That was the first time I noticed how firmly rooted this was in Japanese schools, something I’ve felt which my education here has slightly missed, it seems to be rather glorified.
My upbringing in the East End was both vibrant and eclectic. The East End always had an array of community events all year round, whether it was the Diwali festivals in the park or Melas in the school playground. All children were welcome and the cultural, religious and linguistic differences were celebrated not shunned, encouraged not silenced. Although I was fortunate to have so many opportunities on my doorstep, the effects that years of relentless cuts to council budgets and wider community funding in my area are so visible. I fear the consequences that this is already having on so many young people’s lives who are reliant on these services as I once was.
It feels quite strange to even discuss ‘interracial couples’, it’s a term that I feel is rarely used anymore. Whilst my parents had notably faced struggles as an interracial couple in less multicultural areas, I think that generational attitudes have changed. I don’t think I’d even consider a couple as interracial; they’d just be a couple.
Having a mixed-raced background can sometimes be a little confusing when it comes to a sense of belonging. Born and bred as British and not looking stereotypically English, but also feeling distant from a culture you weren’t immersed in. Visiting the motherland whilst looking foreign amongst a highly monolithic population was a rather odd experience to navigate. Sometimes I am asked if I see myself as more of one half than the other, which is something I still don’t really think I can answer. Mixed race ancestry is not linear but complex, so it feels strange to discuss it in halves or to choose between different sides. Being mixed race is eternally rewarding. Migration has consistently enabled such amazing amalgamations of language and culture and challenges ideas around national borders which no longer assume what a person within a society may look like.
Every year at my primary school each class would perform an assembly that would be based on a story, ranging from historical events to random musical experts. In year two my teacher chose to focus on Japan, with a mixture of different songs and an eclectic mix of acting scenes (from what I remember quite experimental) in traditional dress. My Mother offered to help with costumes and sewed basic yukatas (a lighter and more casual kimono) for all of the children in my class, from a variety of random fabrics from Watney Market. My classmates were so curious about my Mother’s country, that as a child it filled me with pride to be able to share these stories with them.
When I was a child people would often be confused by my ethnicity, but I rarely took it offensively as it often came from a place of curiosity. I was always interested to see what countries would arise. Spain, South America, Taiwan and the Philippines were some of the main guesses. I even got compared to Moana once, but I’ll take that one as a compliment.
If I was born again I wouldn’t wish for anything to be different. Although there can be certain hardships which arise from having a mixed-race heritage, I would never trade anything for my East Asian roots.
I’ve always been conflicted about the political connotations associated with the label ‘BAME’. It’s something I’ve spoken at length with my brothers and mixed-race friends, but I still struggle to articulate. Whilst so much progress has stemmed from initiatives and within industries calling for greater inclusivity, the term BAME can sometimes be a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it feels a tad tokenistic, like a requirement to tick the diversity box or that by being labelled ‘BAME’ emphasizes your ethnicity as the most significant feature of your identity. I haven’t quite got a replacement for it just yet, but I’m working on it!