Japanese-Brazilians: Straddling Two Cultures

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Paulo Siqueira grew up in São Paolo, Brazil, going to school in the 1980s with friends whose grandparents had immigrated from Japan earlier in the 20th century to work on coffee plantations. Inside their homes, Japanese language, culture and cuisine prevailed. His friends, he thought, were an interesting mix.

A generation later, some of those young people sought their fortunes in the land of their ancestors, lured back with visas to work in Japan’s auto industry, in factories that made every imaginable auto component. As Mr. Siqueira and his wife, Nadia Shira Cohen, have learned in their recently completed photo essay, “Japanese Brazilians,” navigating the crosscurrents of hopes and cultures is never simple for the Nikkeijin. It is a story familiar to anyone who left home and family for a few years of work that turned into decades.

“In Brazil, they were considered Japanese, but in Japan, they are seen as more Brazilian,” Mr. Siqueira said. “They’ve gone from spending three years in Japan to as much as 15 before they go back to Brazil. They have kids, they have a comfortable life and the migration becomes more stable, but lived in an improvised way.”

The roots of this migration date to the turn of the 20th century, when Brazil sought field hands to do work that had been done by slaves until abolition in 1888. Ms. Cohen said the Brazilian government had pushed this migration before World War I, which set the stage for another wave after World War II.

The Japanese community in Brazil, the couple noted, had the infrastructure to absorb new arrivals: neighborhoods where Japanese newspapers, schools and stores were common. “It was a very closed community, and a lot of the older Japanese maintained their culture,” Mr. Siqueira said. “It was easy for the next migrants to choose Brazil as a destination because everything was set.”

In the late 1980s, two factors combined to spur reverse migration. Brazil abolished its military dictatorship, and Japan was looking for foreign workers for its booming automotive industry. Ms. Cohen said the Japanese government wanted foreign laborers, because they expected their native-born children to become businessmen.

Paulo Siqueira/ParalelloZero and Nadia Shira Cohen Hayumi Honda blew out a candle at her 15th birthday party. Hayumi, who is Brazilian-Japanese, was born and raised in Japan. She speaks Portuguese at home, but speaks and writes Japanese fluently.

“A small group of government officials went to Brazil and saw the Japanese there who retained the culture and spoke Japanese,” Ms. Cohen said. “The problem is they focused mainly on the older generation, not that any of them were going to use the opportunity of a visa to get a job. The ones who went to Japan were the Brazilianized kids.”

The community now numbers some 200,000 migrants, she said. Those first migrants were able to work for a few years and return to Brazil to open small businesses and buy a house. But as years went on â€" and the global economy soured â€" people have stayed longer and faced more difficult challenges. Now they compete with other workers from Asia for a smaller number of jobs. Work contracts â€" which sometimes provide other practical services to help with life and chores outside of work â€" are shorter and bring fewer benefits.

Those changes accentuated some of the cultural clashes that were inevitable. While some of those whose children were born in Japan learned the language â€" which is critical to integrating into the culture â€" others have fared less well. Ms. Cohen recalls one woman who left her newborn child with a relative in Brazil as she went to look for work in Japan. Fourteen years later, no closer to returning, she sent for the boy.

“She doesn’t have the money to send him to a Brazilian school, which is expensive,” Ms. Cohen said. “So he goes to a Japanese school. I asked him how it was and he said he didn’t do anything, just sit around. He is not integrating and learning because the language barrier is huge. And he’s already at an age where it’s so easy to get lost.”

The Japanese government, she said, since 2009 has been offering migrants $3,000 per head of household and $2,000 for family members â€" and a one-way ticket to Brazil. Yet some persist in staying. The reasons became clear as the couple worked on their project this year, which coincided with street protests in Brazil over corruption, unemployment and poverty.

“The Japan story gave us a different angle to look at those troubles,” Ms. Cohen said. “They are staying in Japan to raise their families, not because they love Japan, but because it is a place that has public services, health care, schools and a working pension system. It’s a safe environment for them to play and walk around.”

The couple â€" as well as their 13-month-old son, Rafael, who accompanies them on their projects â€" now plan to explore the Brazilian side of the story when they return to Brazil in the winter from their base in Italy. It will be interesting to see how those who spent a chunk of their lives on the other side of the world manage their way in a place they may not have seen in decades.

“I can’t think of two cultures that are more different than Brazil and Japan,” Mr. Siqueira said. “When you say hi to someone in Brazil, you kiss or have physical contact. Japanese are really reserved, and everything works in society because nobody gets out of line. In Brazil, there is no line.”

Paulo Siqueira/ParalelloZero and Nadia Shira Cohen A boy caught butterflies in a public housing complex’s park, in Chiryu.

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