On masking in Japan

In 2019, after living in Japan for five years, my family and I moved to San Diego, California, so I could attend an MFA in Creative Writing program. The pandemic hit seven months into our stay. 

We all remember those first months. Disinfecting groceries (or wondering if we should). Stumbling off the sidewalk when someone passed by. Holding our breath in elevators. Thinking I’ll certainly be fine, but gripped by anxiety after reading stories of even young people dying. 2020 was a year none of us will forget, for all the worst reasons. I was so happy when it (and most of 2021) was over and I could return to in-person classes, visit family, see people’s faces and smile again. I remember going for a run when things were first getting better and a lady walking a dog, neither one of us with masks on, though most people still wore them, said that it was so nice to see someone’s smiling face again. I hadn’t even realized I was smiling. Her comment made me smile even more. 

I graduated from my MFA program in May and, after much deliberation, we moved back to Japan last month. With news of shootings, drug overdoses, and a general sense of people being angrier, Japan seemed safer for our family.

BA.5 was just beginning to spike when we left San Diego, but most people hadn’t worn masks in ages. I certainly hadn’t. Some people do wear masks, as my parents who are over 65 thankfully do, and I’m glad that it’s easy to buy high quality ones now. All of my own family is vaxxed and boosted, so when it comes to COVID, we feel safe. It is, after all, not 2020 anymore.

Except in Japan.

In spite of high vaccination rates (though low booster uptake) and general good health, Japanese people are still masking everywhere. On public transportation. In grocery stores. At school. Walking down the street. Hiking up a windy mountain. In 30°C heat with 85% humidity. I’ve heard reports of there being more hospitalizations for heat related conditions than COVID early this summer. It doesn’t matter if there’s anyone else around, most people mask up before turning the handle on their front door to go out. And if they do remove or lower their mask, they’ll pull it back up the minute they see someone else. Never mind if the person is even nearby.

It’s all about visibility, about how you’re seen.

The social contract in Japan is extremely strong. Appearances are oftentimes more important than results. Literally being at work is more important than being productive at work. Having a law is more important than enforcing said law. Politeness exists before sincere kindness. To wear a mask is to signal that you’re one with the group, heat stroke and smiles be damned. 

Japan has one of the lowest rates of death from COVID-19. I’m sure masking has played a role in that. But, as we’re seeing with the BA.5 surge, there are limits to their effectiveness. Japan is seeing some of the highest case numbers in the world currently, even with near-universal masking. Deaths have risen, too, though they’re nowhere near the rate of those in the U.S. 

Across the world, COVID is still killing people in large numbers. Masking, to some degree, reduces the number of infections and subsequent deaths. But at what point is the cost of masking—difficulty breathing, increased risk of heat stroke, inability to read others’ emotions, emotional development impediments in children—too much? At what point does the non-lethal suffering of the group outweigh the added risk of unmasking to those who may die from COVID-19? 

I’m sure there are cultural differences at work here. Perhaps most Japanese people don’t see hiding one’s face as all that different from the way they hide their true feelings from one another (i.e., tatemae vs. honne). Plenty of people wore masks before the pandemic to tame hay fever, prevent the spread of a cold or flu, hide bad teeth, or get away with not putting makeup on. The people I’ve asked about masking since moving back say they forget the mask is even on.  

For me, though, masking drags me back to 2020, when I couldn’t stop clenching my jaw and had horrible TMJ pain, when masking meant I had to put myself in a risky situation, when I felt alone and trapped behind necessary but burdensome barriers. I knew that others felt the same way in the U.S. and that we were all relieved to toss the masks and see one another’s faces again. A mental burden was lifted and we could all, literally and figuratively, breathe easier.

I’m just not sure what to do when the people around me now are content with life circa 2020. Do I really have to go back to that year I’d rather forget? Does wanting to live life without a mask mean I’m selfish?