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A postcard from Japan, the other country that had no lockdown

"I would hazard an unscientific guess that perhaps 99 per cent of people in Tokyo wear face masks all the time outside home at the moment" - getty
"I would hazard an unscientific guess that perhaps 99 per cent of people in Tokyo wear face masks all the time outside home at the moment" - getty

“Mama, have you got cronivus on your hands? Quick, wash it off!”

This is what my six-year-old daughter said to me when I arrived home from our local supermarket in Tokyo the other day – and perhaps goes some way to reflecting how normalised the pandemic has become in Japan for all ages.

If 2020 had gone according to plan, Tokyo would currently be basking in a blaze of international glory, with throngs of visitors from across the globe marveling at the sporting wonders unfolding in its long-planned Summer Olympics.

Instead? The Japanese capital – my home for the past 13 years – is now focused on something altogether less glorious: grappling with the “new normal” as it tries to stay afloat in an unpredictable global pandemic that continues to wax and wane.

On the surface, things have been bubbling along as usual since Tokyo’s state of emergency was lifted in late May. My daughters have been back at school and nursery for weeks (albeit with face masks and temperature checks); trains are busy with commuters; most restaurants are open for sit-down customers; should I so wish, I can go to a yoga class, attend a press conference, sing karaoke, sip a cocktail and swim at the local pool (maybe not at the same time).

A railway station attendant in Tokyo - getty
A railway station attendant in Tokyo - getty

Yet against this backdrop of “normality”, coronavirus cases have, perhaps predictably, been rising, triggering growing second wave concerns and a renewed undercurrent of unease: on Tuesday, Japan confirmed 982 new cases, the highest single-day total on record (of these, 266 were in Tokyo).

For the country, it feels like something of a crossroads. It’s well documented that we were not hit as hard as other nations, with current figures showing 31,000 cases and 998 deaths.

Whether Japan can repeat the feat is not so clear. Japan’s so-called “bullet dodging” of the high casualties experienced elsewhere, without implementing a strict lockdown, was attributed to a speculative range of hypotheses – from the nation’s famed culture of cleanliness (such as shoes removed inside homes and bowing instead of hand shaking) and its innate respect for authority to misleadingly low testing rates when the pandemic first unfolded.

Not to forget face masks. I would hazard an unscientific guess that perhaps 99 per cent of people in Tokyo wear them all the time outside home at the moment – on trains, walking down the street, in shops, at work, in parks (our family included – aside from my youngest daughter who point blank refuses unless bribed with sweets).

A restaurant used mannequins to encourage social distancing - getty
A restaurant used mannequins to encourage social distancing - getty

In short, wearing a face mask is not a political issue in Japan. Conversely, people tend to wear them not to avoid getting sick themselves, but to prevent infecting other people – tapping into an altruistic sense of collectivism that is firmly rooted into the DNA of Japanese society.

It’s a subtle yet rock solid trait which, like many things in Japan, is often wrapped in nuance and language (for foreigners at least) – as I discovered early on in the pandemic, when my daughter’s nursery sent home a letter which I interpreted as saying she could continue to attend if she was well.

My Japanese husband, however, quickly picked up on one key word: “jishiku” – a culturally loaded word meaning “self restraint”, which immediately shifted the focus of the letter onto a sense of responsibility in avoiding the risk of infecting others.

A mascot outside a Japanese ferry terminal - getty
A mascot outside a Japanese ferry terminal - getty

The government’s strategy in handling the pandemic has been no less oblique. It has caused widespread confusion by treading a fine line between attempting to protect the dangerously fragile economy and urging “self restraint” to avoid further infections.

This was perfectly illustrated last week, when it launched a controversial “Go To Travel” campaign, offering heavy subsidies on accommodation and transport across Japan to help boost the ailing tourism industry – despite rising cases and growing calls from Tokyo authorities to stay at home (Tokyo was excluded from the campaign at the 11th hour following widespread complaints).

Meanwhile, Japanese society is adapting to the pandemic in its own unique way. Countless companies have announced plans to swap humans for automated robots in recent weeks, tapping neatly into the need for social distancing. And so cutting edge robots will soon be working at a burger chain, delivering take-away soba dishes to customers and stacking shelves in convenience stores, as part of a wide range of pilot schemes kicking off this summer.

The nation’s much-loved karaoke culture has even got in on the pandemic act: one company recently launched a special “mask effect” on its karaoke machines, which helps to enhance the muffled voices of people singing while wearing masks.

As the school holidays approach, it’s clear that, as is the case globally, this will not be a normal summer. Instead of visiting family in Europe (I will sadly miss my mum’s 70th birthday next week), we will most likely be staying much closer to home, probably driving to some local beaches, while keeping an eye on the latest coronavirus figures.

And for Tokyo? There are widespread hopes that this time next year, the Japanese capital will be in a very different situation – and maybe even hosting the Olympics.