One hundred and fifty-four years ago, U.S. Navy Commodore Mathew Perry sailed into Shimoda Harbor, south of what was then called Edo, now known as Tokyo. Although his mission to have the Japanese government open up its ports to American shipping was diplomatic, his seven black gun-ships were not. Under this thinly veiled threat of superior force and an obvious willingness to use it, the Japanese authorities opened up selected "Treaty Ports" and thus abruptly ended nearly 300 years of isolation. This week Diana and I sailed into Shimoda, tied up to the pier beneath the commemorative statue of Perry, and issued a similar communiqué: Open your ports to American sailing ships!
It is ironic that the Japanese would celebrate such an aggressive intrusion as Perry's, but Shimoda's fame and now fortune is tied to that event. A replica of Perry's paddle wheel ferries happy tourists around the harbor and even the manhole covers are cast with images of his ships. We watched busloads of Japanese tourists file past Perry's statue and bow reverently as if it were a shrine. And perhaps it is of sorts, for Japan's history pivoted around that moment. At the base of the statue burns a perpetual flame that symbolizes the enduring friendship between the United States and Japan. Next to it lies a plaque to honor Perry's home port and Shimoda's official sister city, Newport, Rhode Island.
In spite of our tumultuous past and ongoing issues, such as U.S. military bases in Okinawa, the Japanese love America. Until the recent economic expansion of China, they have looked more to the West than the Orient for their sense of national identity. Baseball, jazz, and jeans, they have bought into the breezy American Way. But they are extremely sensitive to our criticisms. In a small sushi restaurant we met a Japanese woman who has spent the last 25 years teaching Japanese studies in an American university. She asked me to taste a mystery-meat and guess what it was.
