An Alien Presence
Impersonating Myself
One of my three greatest scams - so far - was posing as a professor at Hiroshima’s Hijiyama University. (I’m researching the statutes of limitations before disclosing the other two.)
https://www.hijiyama-u.ac.jp/en/ Hijiyama University, Hiroshima
When that opportunity was first offered, I thought it seemed ridiculous since I lacked the usual PhD (Piled higher and Deeper) credentials. But as Ralph Waldo Emerson reminded me in his essay on Compensation, “Do the deed and you will have the power,” so what? I figured Ralph was saying that of course you don’t have the necessary experience to do anything until you go ahead and do it. You’re faking your way through the first time or two, no matter what the goal is. But if you can pull it off long enough, you’re not faking it anymore. Maybe not a good idea if the goal is performing open heart surgery, but just impersonating a professor, no big deal, right?
So - I hightailed it to Hiroshima and became a professor of Comparative Culture and Comparative Literature on the spot. Turned out to be a verrry rough ride but gradually my faking improved to the point I almost believed I was legitimate myself.
My first semester included teaching Comparative Culture I, with later additions of II and III and so on. I asked the department head what text I should use, and he replied, “Just use the one you’ve been using.” I had zero knowledge or experience of any such texts but decided to keep that to myself at least long enough to get a first payday that would enable me to leave other than on foot if they fired me. It was an OJT experience in the extreme – I lost five pounds the first semester faking my way through it.
But Ralph was on the money – take the first step and somehow a way appears. Just a few days later I was riding the streetcar from West Hiroshima to Hiroshima Station, noticed a young Black man approach and board, and knew from his walk that he was not American – people from different cultures even walk differently, have you noticed?
When we reached Hiroshima Station, I invited him for a coffee and chat and learned he was from Africa’s Malawi and a student at the Saijo campus of Hiroshima University. Just what I needed! I made my pitch: I was a professor at Hijiyama U teaching Comparative Culture and would pay him 5,000 yen from my research budget to visit my class and tell my students about his country’s culture, whatever he thought made it different or special. He was astounded at the offer, said that few people anywhere seemed interested in his country, and that most Japanese he met were unaware of its existence, period. (So was I until that moment.) He was ecstatic to have the chance to introduce his culture. I had found the key to successfully impersonating the professor I was being paid to be.
This is how the scam worked:
I found non-Japanese to visit my class and describe and demonstrate what made their cultures unique, paid them the 5,000 yen, usually had dinner with them afterwards and enjoyed the new friendships, managed the class, read the student reports and advised improvements.
The students asked at least one question – nothing forbidden, whatever they wanted to ask – and wrote at least one page in English related to that visitor and culture as homework. If they did that, they could pass.
The visitor had free rein over the presentation, 5,000 yen, dinner, and new friends.
Everyone loved it, except some in the school administration, of course; the Japanese proverb that says the protruding nail gets whacked down applied, and my protruding personality attracts whacks.
In this way the students and I were able to meet and learn about people from Malawi, South Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, China, Vietnam, the Philippines, Cambodia, Brazil, Mexico, Mongolia, Canada, Florida…yes, even Florida’s exotic culture got a turn. Some showed up in native costumes and brought representative food and drink. (I had to confiscate the Mongolian fermented mare’s milk due to the no drinking alcohol in class rule. The Mongolian presenter and I enjoyed it later at dinner.)
This method worked for later Comparative Culture classes as well and I added subcultures and religion to the mix. A U.S. Marine from the nearby Iwakuni Marine Corps Air Station introduced the USMC, showed part of the movie Full Metal Jacket…and unintentionally recruited one of the class members to the Corps. (BTW, if you don’t think a Marine is part of a distinct subculture, you’ve never known one.)
An American Jewish professor from a different Hiroshima university had the entire class dancing as he introduced Judaism.
I found a descendant of the hidden Christians （隠れクリスチャン）, those who had gone underground during the centuries of Christian persecution in Japan from the early 1600’s to 1873, who played the piano and sang formerly forbidden hymns. (The Mongolian graduate student presenter and I later attended that presenter’s Christian service, unfortunately without the horse liquor.)
The Story of Japan’s Hidden Christians by Kim Kahan
We all learned about different cultures, even me (I mean I). And I learned the key to becoming a real professor: repetition. The students take the class once, and with luck learn a bit. The professor teaches it many times, learns more each time from the students, and eventually deserves the title. That Ralph Waldo Emerson knew his stuff. At least he wasn’t fake.
Then one day out of the blue a student asked me, in front of the class, to talk about my own culture. Where was I from?
I pointed skyward and replied, “Space. I’m an Alien. And I can prove it!” and produced my Alien Registration Card (外国人登録証明書カード) that foreigners working in Japan carried then; it actually included the English word Alien along with my Alien face photo. I really treasured the Alien life, so much sexier than being a misplaced Ohio cow-milker, and the students accepted my Alienness as an explanation for my bizarre teaching method and could boast of knowing an actual Alien. It was a win-win fantasy.
Alas, my pretend world came crashing down in 2012 when the Alien Registration Card was replaced by the boring Residence Card. (在留カード) Couldn’t I please at least be a Resident Alien? After all, it’s impossible for mixed European-descended me not to appear Alien in Japan.
And sometimes it’s an amusing bonus. One of my favorite Alien memories is visiting Kamakura in 1970 to see the statue of the Great Buddha.
The Great Buddha of Kamakura (Image Source: Photo AC)
I was standing there taking photos and minding my own Alien business when an elderly Japanese lady approached, got right up in my face staring at me, walked slowly completely around me examining my Alienness, and then poked me in the chest, like you would poke some strange creature you saw washed up on the beach with a stick to see if it was alive. So I said to her in Japanese, “Is this the first time you’ve seen a human?” She was so shocked she jumped completely off the ground and hobbled off at high speed when she came down.
I felt sorry I had frightened her when she did that. But I got over it.