A read from the Straits Times which made me fondly recall my loo experiences in Japan.

Washing the past away
Japan's culture of politeness is to blame for the omissions of Yasukuni
By Ong Sor Fern, culturevulture
April 26, 2007

IN HIS essay on aesthetics, In Praise Of Shadows (1933), Japanese writer Junichiro Tanizaki waxes lyrical about the loo.
He writes that 'the Japanese toilet truly is a place of spiritual repose' and speculates that it must have inspired many a haiku poet.

His conclusion: 'Our forebears, making poetry of everything in their lives, transformed what by rights should be the most unsanitary room in the house into a place of unsurpassed elegance, replete with fond associations with the beauties of nature.'

I finally appreciated Tanizaki's love affair with the facilities when I first visited Tokyo four years ago. I remember the mixture of hilarity and awe when I first encountered a Japanese washroom with all the trimmings.

It was equipped not just with a bidet - three spray options, no less - but also, quite thoughtfully, a blow dryer. There was also the obligatory 'courtesy tinkle' - a button which, when pressed, played a recording of flushing noises as sound camouflage.

The cubicle also housed a plastic pillar fitted neatly into a corner which could hold an infant or a toddler while mother was busy with other things.

That washroom experience was a pivotal encounter. I have been enamoured and enthralled by Japan ever since.

Japanese toilets are fascinating not simply because they are nicely appointed. It is the care and consideration that so much technology represents.

All that equipment with such specific functions had to be invented by someone who actually sat down and thought long and hard about the needs of a person in the toilet.

To me, this says a lot about Japan's culture and its people. In everything that the Japanese do, there is an awareness of the presence, and the needs, of others. Hence, the famed politesse of its people.

But this culture of courtesy also has a dark side.

On my most recent trip to Tokyo, I visited the Yasukuni Shrine. The shrine has been a source of great controversy, both in Japan and in Asia, because it honours Japan's war dead. It has been a diplomatic flashpoint for years, especially because convicted Japanese war criminals were enshrined there in 1978.

The place looks like any other Shinto shrine in Japan, with the obligatory torii gate, manicured gardens and prayer hall. But Yasukuni is also home to the Yushukan, a museum containing war relics and a permanent exhibition that documents Japan's military history.

It is this latter space that proved the most troubling for me. A tour begins with a short film, which, although shown in Japanese without subtitles, was unmistakably nationalistic and celebratory in tone. If the dramatic voiceover, with its theatrical highs and lows, failed to clue you in, the martial music was a dead giveaway.

The first half of the exhibit, about the traditions of the samurai and its weaponry and armour, seemed no different from the museums in Europe I had seen which documented knights and their equipage.

Once the exhibition moved to Japan's military history in the 20th century, however, I saw what the fuss was about. The crime that Yushukan commits is the sin of omission.

While it scrupulously documents every military conflict Japan engaged in, it fails to acknowledge Japan's aggressive military policies. In practically every wall note and caption, most of which were in English as well, Japan is conveyed as a peace-loving nation which acted purely in self-defence.

Japan's invasion of South-east Asia, for example, is portrayed as part of the nation's effort to secure natural resources for its growing economy. There is no mention of the brutality of Japanese soldiers in the conquered countries.

What was even more unforgivable was the conclusion, which noted that after World War II, former colonies in South-east Asia fought for their independence. The implication was that the Japanese were to be credited for inspiring the battle for independence.

In a very warped fashion, I suppose that could be true. After the horrors of the Japanese Occupation in Singapore, there could hardly be anyone here who believed colonisers were a good thing.

The museum was a disturbing experience as it was a close encounter with a militaristic point of view which remains alive and well in Japan. On Yasukuni's grounds, I spotted an elderly man, evidently a veteran, dressed to the nines in military garb.

Yet, distasteful as the exhibition was, I could also understand why the museum conveyed such a lopsided point of view.

Since its founding in 1882, Yasukuni's purpose has been to honour those who died fighting for the Emperor and, by extension, for the country.

In a way, the exhibition's exclusion of any uncomfortable facts can be seen as part of the Japanese habit of being polite. The soldiers died for their country, they were heroes and, ergo, it is rude to talk about nastier truths like the slaughter of civilians and the rape of comfort women.

But that does not mean this approach is right. In fact, Yushukan's existence is an indictment of people who carry correctness too far, respecting the form but neglecting the spirit of the intent.

While critics rightfully object to the place as an insult to war victims, it is also a mistake to vilify Yasukuni. The place, after all, commemorates more than two million war dead, including Taiwanese and Koreans, not just war criminals.

In the end, I took a leaf from the Japanese way and left a polite, if lengthy, essay in its guestbook, expressing my disappointment at the Yushukan's lack of objectivity.

If more people were to offer considered feedback in such fashion, perhaps Yushukan could be persuaded to change.

After all, to communicate, you must first learn the other party's language.