Hello, everyone. Thank you very much for giving me your time today. Let me start with a brief introduction. I’m originally from the UK, and I’ve loved anime since I was a child. That passion led me to study Japanese in university and eventually move to Japan a few years ago. Since then, I’ve been improving my Japanese, and now I work for a Japanese company. How does that introduction sound? I think it matches my appearance quite well. But, to tell you the truth, it’s a complete lie. I’m sorry if it feels like I tricked you, but I was actually born and raised in Ishikawa Prefecture-in Wajima City, to be precise. I attended public schools for elementary, junior high, high school, and university. I even went through the job-hunting process here and worked as a company employee. I’ve never lived abroad. In reality, though, when someone with a face like mine speaks fluent Japanese, the backstory I shared first probably doesn’t feel out of place to most people. But when I tell you I’m from Ishikawa, doesn’t that create a sense of incongruity for some of you? Why does this ordinary upbringing, which is completely normal in Japan, feel out of place? The answer is obvious-it’s because my appearance doesn’t match the story. Today, I’d like to use this sense of discomfort as a starting point to share my story. I’m often asked, “Where are you from?” because I don’t look like a typical Japanese person. I’ve struggled with how to answer this question and found it difficult to settle on a consistent response. The country where I was born and raised-my homeland-is Japan. However, because both of my parents are British nationals, I do not hold Japanese citizenship.
As a child, I was doing my best to fit in as a Japanese person, as I’ve explained. However, while my parents' country was the UK, my country felt like Japan. Yet my parents would often declare, almost like a mantra, “We’re a British family.” When people would point at me and exclaim, “Foreigner!” my mother would get angry and insist, “Not a foreigner, but *gaikokujin* (a more polite term for ‘foreigner’).” I remember feeling a deep sense of discomfort at the time, thinking to myself, “I’m neither *gaijin* nor *gaikokujin*.” Still, all I could do was watch my mother’s indignation, unable to muster the courage to insist, “My country is Japan.” After all, I could already see that neither the Japanese people around me nor my own parents would accept that answer. Caught between worlds, I tried to read the room constantly, behaving like a Japanese person outside the house and like a British person at home. When I turned 20 and attended the coming-of-age ceremony, I listened to the speeches about the responsibilities of adulthood. These included discussions about taxes and elections, with the message that “You’ll now help carry this country forward.” But as I listened, I felt a heavy weight on my chest. Even though I wanted to contribute to improving Japan, the country I had spent my entire life in, I couldn’t participate in elections because of my foreign citizenship. No matter how much I tried to assimilate, I was ultimately an outsider, and my opinions didn’t count. Standing there among my peers at the ceremony, I felt as though my existence was completely invalidated. That moment marked a turning point for me. If Japan didn’t want me, I decided I’d fully embrace being a foreigner. My mentality shifted, and I became more defiant toward Japan. I made friends with other foreign residents, immersed myself in an English-speaking environment, and leaned heavily into the “British” side of my identity. Though I grew up in a British household, I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about the UK. However, I didn’t see that as a problem and actively joined conversations. This was when I first realized that the "Britain" I knew was simply the version of the UK my parents had taught me-a country seen through their eyes as expatriates living in Japan during the 1980s. I came to understand that my already limited knowledge of the UK was even further skewed. When interacting with peers from the UK, I became painfully aware of how un-British I was. Apart from my exaggerated love for tea, I was teased for speaking like an old person, failing to understand pop-culture humor, and often not knowing the meaning of words due to my limited vocabulary. I discovered that blending in with British people required as much effort as it had with the Japanese. Even so, I had committed to this identity. When asked where I was from, I would simply reply, “The UK.” When people complimented my Japanese, saying, “Your Japanese is so good,” I would politely thank them. In this way, I avoided revealing my true self and began to hide behind this constructed identity. However, as someone who had only known rural Japan, I soon realized how little I knew about the world. I lacked knowledge of global affairs, history, and the understanding of racial and cultural issues-things often considered basic knowledge in the West. These were topics I had never been exposed to in Japan. At the same time, when I encountered people who spoke disparagingly about Japanese culture or the Japanese way of thinking, I found myself fiercely defending Japan. Despite my struggles, I couldn’t help but feel protective of the place that had shaped me.
When I shared my struggles with a Western friend, they said to me, “Well, Jaz, you’re basically Japanese, so it can’t be helped.” While I’m sure they meant to encourage me, that comment felt like a nail in the coffin, as if they were telling me I had failed at being British. Deep down, I had already resigned myself to the idea that it wasn’t possible-after all, I only knew life in Japan. In childhood, I tried so hard to become Japanese, only to feel rejected. Later, I attempted to embrace being British, but I began to despair, thinking maybe that was impossible too. For years, I grappled with the question: Am I Japanese or British? Which side should I choose? It wasn’t until I turned 25 that I started to ask myself if I even needed to choose. I realized I had a lineage rooted in Britain and a home in Japan. To pick one would mean neglecting the other, and I wondered if it was necessary to choose at all. Couldn’t I embrace both Japan and the UK as parts of who I am? This thought process led me to see no issue with holding both cultures as integral parts of my identity. Now, I view my unique worldview-shaped by both cultures-as a special superpower. I stopped forcing myself to fit into predefined molds, and even if my path ahead seemed untrodden, I resolved to walk it authentically as myself. It took me nearly 30 years to accept myself as I am. But I know there are many children out there growing up in situations similar to mine. If my story were unique, it could simply end here as an anecdote. But countless children struggle with their identity. Focusing on Japan, according to statistics from the Immigration Services Agency, in 1995-the year I was born-there were 50,818 foreign children aged 0-4 residing in Japan long-term, excluding tourists. When I think back to how I used to console myself, saying, “There’s no one else like me, so it can’t be helped,” this number seems shockingly large. Not all of those 50,000 children may have stayed in Japan, but the number of kids who likely grew up feeling similarly lost is undeniably significant. And those children are now adults, active members of society. Looking at the trend in the years since 1995, the number of foreign children residing in Japan has nearly doubled over the past 20 years, reflecting an increase in foreign residents calling Japan home. Among these children, over half hold long-term residency statuses, such as special permanent resident, permanent resident, or long-term resident. While some of these children might eventually leave Japan, the growing trend of long-term and permanent residency suggests that many will spend most of their formative years here. As more children who don’t fit the image of a “typical Japanese person” grow up considering Japan their home, even seemingly trivial conversations like “Where are you from?” can have significant implications. If adults label such children as outsiders due to ignorance, it can deeply hurt them. This isn’t a problem unique to Japan. Children are children, no matter where they’re from. If adults carelessly dismiss a child’s declaration of their identity or origin, it can sow seeds of doubt and confusion. The child may lose faith in their instincts and genuine feelings, leading to insecurity. Psychological research has shown that repeatedly invalidating a child’s words is linked to anxiety disorders later in life. While an adult’s dismissive remark may seem insignificant, to a child, every action and reaction from adults carries immense weight. Children observe and internalize these responses as they grow. In our increasingly diverse society, I believe even small gestures of consideration from adults can have a profound impact on a child’s future.
Eu sou brasileiro, descendente de japonês, e tenho a mesma experiência, por ter aspecto físico diferente, ainda hoje não sou aceito como brasileiro, é triste!
特別な境遇におかれ、お悩みになったことも多々あるようですが、人の言うことに振り回されず、真っ直ぐにご自分の道を歩んでください。ご自分でもお気付きになっているように、世の中には、我々のような者がどんどん増えています。いつの日か、それがごく普通のこととなるでしょう。負けずに、誇りを持って生きていってください。応援していま〜す。まもなくドイツ在住歴が50年になろうとしている日本人です。
私は全く逆の育ちです。日本国籍ですが、外国で育ち教育を受けました。26の時に来日し、日本企業に就職しました。外見は日本人そして言葉は鉛なく流暢に話します。一見普通の日本人ですが、中身は全く違います。
Full translation of Jazmine's speech below, part by part in the replies to this comment:
Hello, everyone. Thank you very much for giving me your time today. Let me start with a brief introduction.
I’m originally from the UK, and I’ve loved anime since I was a child. That passion led me to study Japanese in university and eventually move to Japan a few years ago. Since then, I’ve been improving my Japanese, and now I work for a Japanese company.
How does that introduction sound? I think it matches my appearance quite well.
But, to tell you the truth, it’s a complete lie. I’m sorry if it feels like I tricked you, but I was actually born and raised in Ishikawa Prefecture-in Wajima City, to be precise. I attended public schools for elementary, junior high, high school, and university. I even went through the job-hunting process here and worked as a company employee. I’ve never lived abroad.
In reality, though, when someone with a face like mine speaks fluent Japanese, the backstory I shared first probably doesn’t feel out of place to most people. But when I tell you I’m from Ishikawa, doesn’t that create a sense of incongruity for some of you?
Why does this ordinary upbringing, which is completely normal in Japan, feel out of place? The answer is obvious-it’s because my appearance doesn’t match the story. Today, I’d like to use this sense of discomfort as a starting point to share my story.
I’m often asked, “Where are you from?” because I don’t look like a typical Japanese person. I’ve struggled with how to answer this question and found it difficult to settle on a consistent response.
The country where I was born and raised-my homeland-is Japan. However, because both of my parents are British nationals, I do not hold Japanese citizenship.
As a child, I was doing my best to fit in as a Japanese person, as I’ve explained. However, while my parents' country was the UK, my country felt like Japan. Yet my parents would often declare, almost like a mantra, “We’re a British family.”
When people would point at me and exclaim, “Foreigner!” my mother would get angry and insist, “Not a foreigner, but *gaikokujin* (a more polite term for ‘foreigner’).” I remember feeling a deep sense of discomfort at the time, thinking to myself, “I’m neither *gaijin* nor *gaikokujin*.” Still, all I could do was watch my mother’s indignation, unable to muster the courage to insist, “My country is Japan.” After all, I could already see that neither the Japanese people around me nor my own parents would accept that answer.
Caught between worlds, I tried to read the room constantly, behaving like a Japanese person outside the house and like a British person at home.
When I turned 20 and attended the coming-of-age ceremony, I listened to the speeches about the responsibilities of adulthood. These included discussions about taxes and elections, with the message that “You’ll now help carry this country forward.” But as I listened, I felt a heavy weight on my chest.
Even though I wanted to contribute to improving Japan, the country I had spent my entire life in, I couldn’t participate in elections because of my foreign citizenship. No matter how much I tried to assimilate, I was ultimately an outsider, and my opinions didn’t count. Standing there among my peers at the ceremony, I felt as though my existence was completely invalidated.
That moment marked a turning point for me. If Japan didn’t want me, I decided I’d fully embrace being a foreigner. My mentality shifted, and I became more defiant toward Japan. I made friends with other foreign residents, immersed myself in an English-speaking environment, and leaned heavily into the “British” side of my identity.
Though I grew up in a British household, I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about the UK. However, I didn’t see that as a problem and actively joined conversations. This was when I first realized that the "Britain" I knew was simply the version of the UK my parents had taught me-a country seen through their eyes as expatriates living in Japan during the 1980s.
I came to understand that my already limited knowledge of the UK was even further skewed. When interacting with peers from the UK, I became painfully aware of how un-British I was. Apart from my exaggerated love for tea, I was teased for speaking like an old person, failing to understand pop-culture humor, and often not knowing the meaning of words due to my limited vocabulary. I discovered that blending in with British people required as much effort as it had with the Japanese.
Even so, I had committed to this identity. When asked where I was from, I would simply reply, “The UK.” When people complimented my Japanese, saying, “Your Japanese is so good,” I would politely thank them. In this way, I avoided revealing my true self and began to hide behind this constructed identity.
However, as someone who had only known rural Japan, I soon realized how little I knew about the world. I lacked knowledge of global affairs, history, and the understanding of racial and cultural issues-things often considered basic knowledge in the West. These were topics I had never been exposed to in Japan.
At the same time, when I encountered people who spoke disparagingly about Japanese culture or the Japanese way of thinking, I found myself fiercely defending Japan. Despite my struggles, I couldn’t help but feel protective of the place that had shaped me.
When I shared my struggles with a Western friend, they said to me, “Well, Jaz, you’re basically Japanese, so it can’t be helped.” While I’m sure they meant to encourage me, that comment felt like a nail in the coffin, as if they were telling me I had failed at being British. Deep down, I had already resigned myself to the idea that it wasn’t possible-after all, I only knew life in Japan.
In childhood, I tried so hard to become Japanese, only to feel rejected. Later, I attempted to embrace being British, but I began to despair, thinking maybe that was impossible too. For years, I grappled with the question: Am I Japanese or British? Which side should I choose? It wasn’t until I turned 25 that I started to ask myself if I even needed to choose.
I realized I had a lineage rooted in Britain and a home in Japan. To pick one would mean neglecting the other, and I wondered if it was necessary to choose at all. Couldn’t I embrace both Japan and the UK as parts of who I am? This thought process led me to see no issue with holding both cultures as integral parts of my identity.
Now, I view my unique worldview-shaped by both cultures-as a special superpower. I stopped forcing myself to fit into predefined molds, and even if my path ahead seemed untrodden, I resolved to walk it authentically as myself.
It took me nearly 30 years to accept myself as I am. But I know there are many children out there growing up in situations similar to mine. If my story were unique, it could simply end here as an anecdote. But countless children struggle with their identity.
Focusing on Japan, according to statistics from the Immigration Services Agency, in 1995-the year I was born-there were 50,818 foreign children aged 0-4 residing in Japan long-term, excluding tourists. When I think back to how I used to console myself, saying, “There’s no one else like me, so it can’t be helped,” this number seems shockingly large.
Not all of those 50,000 children may have stayed in Japan, but the number of kids who likely grew up feeling similarly lost is undeniably significant. And those children are now adults, active members of society.
Looking at the trend in the years since 1995, the number of foreign children residing in Japan has nearly doubled over the past 20 years, reflecting an increase in foreign residents calling Japan home. Among these children, over half hold long-term residency statuses, such as special permanent resident, permanent resident, or long-term resident. While some of these children might eventually leave Japan, the growing trend of long-term and permanent residency suggests that many will spend most of their formative years here.
As more children who don’t fit the image of a “typical Japanese person” grow up considering Japan their home, even seemingly trivial conversations like “Where are you from?” can have significant implications. If adults label such children as outsiders due to ignorance, it can deeply hurt them.
This isn’t a problem unique to Japan. Children are children, no matter where they’re from. If adults carelessly dismiss a child’s declaration of their identity or origin, it can sow seeds of doubt and confusion. The child may lose faith in their instincts and genuine feelings, leading to insecurity.
Psychological research has shown that repeatedly invalidating a child’s words is linked to anxiety disorders later in life. While an adult’s dismissive remark may seem insignificant, to a child, every action and reaction from adults carries immense weight. Children observe and internalize these responses as they grow.
In our increasingly diverse society, I believe even small gestures of consideration from adults can have a profound impact on a child’s future.
あなたはあなた自身です。自分自身のアイデンティティに葛藤はあると思いますが、貴方はこの世で大切な存在です。
人生はなるようになります。
Everything will be ok.
Eu sou brasileiro, descendente de japonês, e tenho a mesma experiência, por ter aspecto físico diferente, ainda hoje não sou aceito como brasileiro, é triste!
英語を話せるようにしてくれたご両親に感謝だけど、英国生まれ育ちのイギリス人とは越えられない壁があるのかな？ 言葉は通じても中味は違うんだろうね。
Unfortunately this video has no English subtitles 😢
Auto-translate works well.
for some reason not working on iPad
Interesting comment in the context of Ms. Ross's topic.
In browser auto translation works fine, btw
Look for my comment above. I posted a full translation.
お父さん お母さん 大丈夫ですか？
？？
いきなり「大丈夫ですか？」ってどういう意味で聞いているのかな...
@@NANA-0125実家が石川やから地震のことやろ
ジャズミンさんのスピーチは彼女の両親やその選択についてではなく、彼女自身が日本でアイデンティティや帰属意識に向き合いながら生きてきた経験について語ったものでした。両親に話をすり替えてしまうことで、彼女のスピーチの重要なポイントやより広い視点を見失ってしまうことになります。彼女が伝えたかった思慮深いメッセージに目を向けて、単純化したり的外れな推測で片付けたりするのではなく、内容そのものを考えてみましょう。
多様性やバイリンガルがプライオリティーの上位に来ることが本当に重要なのか疑問がある
伝統工芸や宮大工などの限られた人しかできない世界もある
また1,000年以上続いている企業も日本にはある。
私は信念があれば国籍や人種に関係なく何でもできる自由が日本にはあると思う
実力が伴ってないのに自己主張する風潮は社会を乱す恐れもある
欧州での移民政策を見た場合、善意で受け入れたとしても、要求がどんどんエスカレートして
結局、一時的には人口が増えて生産性が上がり短期的なメリットはあるが
数百年単位で評価した場合にはどのように変わっていくかを真剣に考える必要がある
日本に不満があることは理解できるが、本人の老後まで真剣に考えた場合には、帰化と言う選択肢もある。
帰化すれば法律上は完全な日本人である。アイデンティティーは本人自身の考えで色々と変化すると思う
結局、全て個人のモチベーション次第である。
石川県大変なことになってますが
貴方は大丈夫ですか？
イギリスは在外投票ないの？
概ね理解できるけど、外国人参政権については冗談じゃ無いと思う。
近隣情勢と近隣国の日本への敵意が無くなってからの話かな。
You really do not understand what she is saying.