TOKYO JOURNAL - WHO'S MAKING WHAT?

HOMEPAGE	CONTENTS	CITYSCOPE
WHO'S MAKING WHAT? by John R. Harris *Additional reporting by Chieko Wales.*

In the jaded 1990s, such intimate queries as "Are you mad?" "How large are your thighs?" and "Where do you keep the mayonnaise?" are little more than opening gambits over the hors d'oeuvres. But one rude question remains, and we decided it had to be asked. "Excuse me. How much do you make?"

In December 1991, Tokyo Journal took an in-depth but informal survey of some 100 foreigners, their salary packages and their attitudes. What we found was that people would share their secrets if promised anonymity. What we also found was that there were economic castes in the the city, each bound by a specific set of privileges and limitations.

Halfway through the decade, we decided to retrace our steps. We wondered how the slowed pace of the economy had affected the lives and lifestyles of Tokyo's foreign contingent. Have numbers dwindled? Have suicides soared? Here's what we found.

WHEREAS THE JAPANESE population of Tokyo can only grow in the conventional way, foreigners can multiply simply by passing under the gaze of the immigration men at Narita. Among the various creatures begotten by this method are--not screaming babies--but something very similar: nama gaijin--"nama" as in "green" or "raw." The difference between true nama gaijin and some of their foreign brethren is that nama gaijin don't have a secretary to tell them not to eat the sea urchin shell. Nor do they have skills, other than being able to speak their own language and put on their clothes in the morning.

In pre-Bubble days, nama gaijin were earnest and nerdy youngsters from Kansas or Canberra with some sort of hormonal imbalance that resulted in Japanophilia. After a year, most would go home with a stock of pat anecdotes "explaining Japan" to be used in a speech to the local Rotary Club.

Then the yen went through the roof. As word spread that illiterates could make big money teaching English, a new breed began to arrive: people to whom Noh meant "buy her another drink and ask again." By the time most of them arrived, the gold rush was just about over. Luckily, their arrival coincided with a collective decision by young Japanese that many types of work were demeaning. This opened up vast prairies to the incoming settlers and hastily penned missives to friends and family brought even more to these shores.

Even after the collapse of the Bubble, low-end English teaching still pulls in fresh meat every year. Rates are down from levels in the eighties--yes, there really were Y10,000 privates!--but, with the still-soaring yen, the deal in dollars is about the same.

As one budding educator told us: "Some schools try to get you down to Y2000 an hour, but most people hold out for Y2500 to Y3000. If you get a private student, I've heard you can get up to Y6000!"

Schools still use visa sponsorship as a form of indenture. And not only do they want a university degree, the Nova mega-school actually tried to get recruits to pee in a bottle so they could identify drug users. But maybe rates will go back up. Surely there is a finite supply of young persons-of-no-color with a B.A. and no THC.

Much more interesting have been the increasingly wide-open doors of mizu shobai. Hostessing has always been there for halfway presentable gaijin women, but in 1991 we predicted its demise. Wrong! Wages have dropped from Y5000 to Y2000 an hour, but there are more positions open than ever in Akasaka and Roppongi. Unlike teaching, you get six straight hours at that rate, plus a cut on what your table drinks. "I'm as uptight and English as they come," one round-the-worlder told us, "but it's not at all sleazy. And I've managed to talk some guests into private classes at their offices for Y4000 an hour. Bril!" Waiters, waitresses and bartenders can also find some opportunities in the Y2000 an hour range, but some claim that wages are being pushed lower from encroachment by the caste below.

Pressure of another kind is applied by the handful of foreign bouncers who also pull in Y2000 per hour. But what with the new hard-edged, coke-fueled energy on the street, there are demerits. "I got my lip busted twice the first week," a young Aussie told us, "so now I hit first. It's only the gaijin that cause trouble."

Not only do today's nama gaijin seem to be muscling in all over town, many have powerful friends behind them. If you're an aspiring English teacher, for instance, there is no better friend than the Ministry of Education, whose JET Program puts assistant language teachers from selected "advanced" nations in schools across the country. JETs get Y310,000 a month, housing and a thorough immersion in Japanese society. Much better run since the days when a couple of young JETs jumped in front of trains, this is now the cushiest nama gaijin niche on offer.

Others have national "mafias" to count on. Winners hands down in this category are the Israelis, whose code of omerta prevents them from sharing their secrets with us. One theory we've heard is that they are participants in a veterans' benefit scheme: when they hand in their Uzis they get a ticket and a bag full of chintzy jewelry to sell in the street.

Not far behind are the Irish, who have a government body known as "the FAS" that breeds techno nerds and parachutes them into Japanese companies. Once here they are supported by the very active "Irish Network." The previous ambassador, Jim Sharkey, would actually drink with these raw foreigners. If someone isn't careful, the Irish will rule Tokyo one day.

BUT NOT JUST YET. TOPPING THE ranks of the expatriates are the corporate inheritors of the same caste privileges once accorded Occupation emperor Douglas MacArthur and his generals. They stay just a few years, don't learn the language and live in those ubiquitous multi-story boxes with "American" amenities and big, swinging names like Homat Oppressor. As a species, they are as sensitive as pandas to environmental shock. Put them in too small a living space, deny them squash courts, trips to Mashiko, or even Cheerios, and they'll refuse to mate, or decide to leave.

Such frailty has always been expensive to maintain in Tokyo, but since the dollar fell below Y100, the cost has been astronomical. Moreover, some of the folks paying the bills back home have begun to ask absurd questions like, "Is it really worth a million bucks a year for some guy who can't read his own name in Japanese?"

No wonder there is anxiety among those who stable and care for these exotics. The Tokyo American Club has seen membership drop 10 percent over the past five years, and is reportedly considering a higher quota of native members. The American School in Japan has held enrollment steady, but only by taking in Japanese returnees and other "foreign" types.

Rents offer the best evidence that numbers are declining. Prime housing stock now goes for half the rate commanded during Bubble days. "There's still demand for the top end--Y1.5 to Y2 mill a month units--and for the Y300,000 to Y800,000 level," says one realtor who caters to expats. "But there is none for the Y1 million-a-month units that were once a huge chunk of the business."

An elite headhunter explains why: "Foreign firms with big money invested here need a senior guy to watch it. They also need operational types who can deliver the company's particular edge--in finance, marketing, engineering and such. It's the EVPs [Executive Vice Presidents], second tier from the top, who have been moved out."

What's more, Tokyo is not the financial mecca it was in the `80's. Many foreign money mills have moved core operations to Hong Kong or Singapore, some leaving behind little more than a facade. "Hong Kong is no cheaper," one trader says, "but at least they still speak bloody English, and the airport isn't a million miles away. Singapore's okay, too, if you don't chew gum."

In fact, such squishy issues do have an impact. "It's hard to quantify," our headhunter says, "but events like the quake and the sarin attacks are putting people off Tokyo postings. From 10,000 miles away, the other Asian cities just sound better than Tokyo."

That's no skin off the backs of expats who know Tokyo is actually a great place to live. It makes them tough to replace and lends credence to the tales of hardship and sacrifice they feed the head office. And who would want to be replaced with this kind of money on offer?

The elite of this group are unbelievably pampered. According to headhunters, Tokyo's "50 to 100 or so" captains of foreign finance can expect a Y30 to Y50 million base salary plus 25-35 percent extra in COLA (cost of living allowance) and bonuses or stock options up to double the base. Some even get this package net of all taxes, a feat our headhunter says involves "elaborate subterfuge." And, lest we forget, benefits can include a car and driver, Y2 million a month housing, a maid, two or three club memberships, school fees and home leave--all paid by the firm.

Although big bonuses had vanished and wage growth had been stagnant for years, exchange rate gains kept people at all levels of finance happy until last year. Now there is great unease as New York and London begin wielding the knives on bloated Tokyo operations.

Things are much happier at foreign firms in the high-tech, consumer products, health care and manufacturing fields. The high yen is helping companies like Apple, Microsoft, Disney and Tropicana rack up huge gains in market share--results that help their bean counters bite their tongues while ponying up extravagant overheads.

In high tech there are "several hundred" country heads with base salaries in the Y18-25 million range. Add to that 15-20 percent COLA plus bonus and stock options worth up to double the base. They get fewer perks than the finance guys (What? No chauffeur?) and housing budgets may be lower: say Y1.5 million a month.

Another "thousand or so" expats head up the other serious foreign operations, one notch below the techies. Base salary is in the Y18-25 million range plus 15-20 percent COLA and bonus at 50 percent of base, maximum. Here, too, perks are less lavish.

For the rank-and-file expats, packages in the Y8-15 million range are less breath-taking but still look damn good in dollars or sterling. And employers are more flexible now, offering "cafeteria packages" that let you swap, say, membership at the Tokyo American Club for better housing. Financial planners are doing a healthy trade designing the menus.

Things are less rosy for consulates, where, "It's the debt, stupid," is the slogan of the day. Most governments are out to pinch diplomatic perks, which has stimulated a discreet trade in diplomatic duty-free liquor. And since blue-plate cars don't need inspection, we've noticed that some of our city's diplomatic corps are driving the worst beaters on the road.

Australia, New Zealand and Canada have followed the United States by ghettoizing staff in housing on the embassy compound. Escaping rush hour sounds nice, but working and living on the same small patch can be a great source of stress. Western diplomatic sources tell of the clear view from home to office window that allegedly let one Kiwi diplo-wife watch her husband give his secretary "the old Rotorua." But life could be worse.

THEY DON'T ARRIVE WITH Working Holiday visas. Nice ladies from Setagaya will never ask them for private lessons. And they're not tripping round the world "to find themselves." Good thing, too, because officialdom would like to pretend they don't really exist.

They are the migrants from what used to be called the Third World, and Japan wants them to do work the natives no longer desire at wages no citizen could afford to accept: washing dishes, greasing printing presses, demolishing buildings and a whole lot more. The government feigns to fret that more than 300,000 people have managed to remain in the country illegally, while turning a blind eye to the employers that hire them.

Because deporting foreigners has yet to become as politically popular as in France, the illusion created by this legal limbo act seems to satisfy the Japanese audience. There are no illusions on the foreign workers' side, however. They get no protection from the law, but they do get badly needed work. That's the deal.

"I haven't been back home for eight years," says a Bangladeshi, who gets Y750 an hour for 15 hour-days of loading ramen bowls. " I can't leave because my visa has expired long ago and I could never get back in." Ramen bowls were certainly not a part of this man's dream when he graduated from university. But without the Y150,000 he sends home each month life would be rough for the 10 members of his family. Now his Tokyo dream is to get one of his brothers a visa and move to the receiving end for a change. But he's not holding his breath.

Spend an afternoon in Ueno at the Foreign Workers' Branch of Zentoitsu and you'll hear many such stories. As one of the few places guest workers can take their problems, the union hears it all: unpaid wages, on-the-job injuries, wrongful dismissals, immigration woes. Bangladesh and Pakistan account for 75 percent of its members, but with workers from Iran, Senegal and many other nations filing through the office, Secretary-General Ippei Torii has a good idea who's doing what and where.

`Ninety percent are males in their 20s or 30s, and 98 percent have overstayed their visas," says Torii. "Most live across the river or in Saitama, near the small factories and construction companies where they work. They have no training, which is why they get into so many industrial accidents."

Typically, newcomers work seven days a week as long as they can hack it, send 80 percent of their income home, and inhabit one-third of a six-mat room provided by the employer. But once they find their feet, many take a day off a week and keep more money for themselves. Because speaking Japanese dramatically improves work prospects, study takes up most spare hours.

If speaking Japanese is an asset, being able to pass as a local is even better, as thousands of South Americans have discovered. They may be Latin inside, but as long as the outside looks Yamato, Japan's racial sentimentality buys a good chance to snag a work visa. All you need is a birth certificate mentioning Japanese immigrant forebears--easily acquired in Lima.

In 1988, Immigration counted only 4000 registered Brazilians and less than a thousand Peruvians. By 1993, the numbers had jumped to over 150,000 of the former and over 30,000 of the latter. Despite monthly incomes averaging around Y250,000--compared to Y7000 in Brazil--the Brazilians are more likely to grumble. "Life's no fun here," says a Brazilian interpreter. Many are disappointed by the welcome they receive from Japanese, by living conditions and by the lower wages paid to women.

With the tone of chagrin appearing in letters back home--and with most likely candidates already here--arrivals have tailed off since 1992. Still, many are now hooked on the high yen. "I went home to find that my kids spent all the money I sent back on cars and appliances," said a Brazilian man with a rueful smile. "So I had to come back for more."

THEY WERE HEADED ROUND the world, and the idea was to stop in Tokyo and teach English for a year. Or maybe it was some sort of student exchange. Suddenly, ten years have passed. The Bubble has burst, friends are long gone, the subways even got gassed--and they're still here. Fact is, there's no going home now: they're as much a fixed part of the landscape as the statue of the dog Hachiko. They're Permagaijin.

Oh, they may still talk of going back to Toronto, Melbourne or wherever. But deep down they know home would seem deadly dull now. They wouldn't fit in anyway, having much more in common with others of their ilk than anyone back at what used to be home. And the money? Forget it!

Nihongo, if not fluent, is functional. No one says "trash" or "rubbish," it's easier to say "gomi." For many, a Japanese face is the first one seen each morning. The dues have been paid; work is secure, maybe even lucrative, and no longer so stressful. The annual visa sweat is history. So is living like students; a much better place was bagged after the Bubble ("We get CNN and Star Channel now.") and a weekend retreat may be on the agenda. "How much is the tuition at ASIJ, anyway?"

The lucky ones have made their peace with Japan and carved out a cozy niche. It may be a freelance existence--writing, translation, photography, design--that yields Y10 million a year, and they know it's a rougher market back home. "I've achieved security with six or seven long-term clients," says one writer who vehemently demanded anonymity. "I could dump my drink on Tokyo Journal's editor and not lose a moment's sleep."

Others have leveraged good Japanese and experience with local firms to land Y10-20 million expat jobs. "I started out in a company dorm and did the whole salaryman trip," said one stockbroker. "I was just lucky that there was a foreign outfit willing to buy that experience."

Those who started their own businesses in the Bubble years--communications, consulting, real estate, restaurants--may gripe about the downturn but those fortunate enough to be in recession-proof businesses are still cranking out Y20 to Y30 million a year. "They still need to eat," said a successful restaurateur. Others were prescient enough to stash sufficient loot for a long drought. "Yeah, the bloom is off the rose," said one service entrepreneur. "But my overhead is low enough that it doesn't hurt."

The ones who bitched and griped most work full-time with Japanese companies. "I get respect and responsibility now," one stockbroker told us, "but only Y8 million, and it comes with lots of stress." One long-time salaried employee complained that life was "too rigid," promotion was impossible and that an anxious Japanese wife wouldn't let him quit. "I feel trapped," he said.

Then there's the Peter Pan syndrome, often found in males who are in their late 30s, teach a bit of English, do some rewriting, make Y450,000 a month, live in Y60,000 1DKs and are frequently out on the prowl. "Life's still too easy here," says an Aussie self-styled "playboy." "I get away three months a year. And for 50 years movies and rock-'n-roll have said `white guys are sexy,' so getting laid is dead easy. But you gotta be careful they don't trap you."

Tokyo is a safe time warp for these forever youngsters. Friends back home have kids and responsible jobs by now; they're adults. But as a foreigner in Tokyo there's no need to commit to anything. You're always on the outside anyway, so why bother? Then again, what happens down the line? We already know of one 60-something American, a one-time radio personality, who sleeps in Yoyogi Park.

Maybe it's a problem the sons and daughters of the Permagaijin will have to face. That may sound strange, but it's not so far-fetched. The progeny are likely to form a culturally distinct community. They're gradually taking over the international schools now, and they're bound to have an impact as they grow up.

NO ONE EXPECTS THE heady days of high demand and easy cash to return. But Tokyo is still about money for many--if not most--particularly with the yen stuck in the stratosphere. That, plus a constant awareness that assimilation is not an option, leads foreigners to view the city with a certain cynical detachment. Government policy, through the immigration laws and in other ways, has supported that viewpoint. Don't get too comfortable here, you don't belong! And many people seem to agree. "That's a `J' thing, none of my business," snapped one American woman in reply to a question on the city's future. "I just want to make a bundle and retire to Hawaii." Or Dhaka. Or Dorset.

For those who have stayed, deflation has been a major shot in the lifestyle. Four years ago there was no Y130 imported beer or Y500 wine in the supermarket. Homat-like apartments were double today's price, far beyond the reach of most. Overseas mail-order catalogs had yet to flood the country with dollar-priced goods. And plane tickets home still cost more than Y100,000.

So it wasn't a total surprise to find how people's attitudes had changed since we last did this survey. This time, many people we interviewed spoke of Tokyo as something like home, a place to raise kids. Several talked not of villas in the south of France, but of cabins in Nagano or Izu. Many admitted to becoming strangely fond of this big gritty town. As they recited the standard rosary of Tokyo's good points--safe, good professional opportunities, adventure, lots of places to drink--we even thought we heard something like hometown pride.