‘Where is Charlotte from?’
Silence in the classroom. Stares from thirty second-year students pierce the space where answers should be.
Do they really not know? Honestly I have no idea. One thing I've learnt about Japanese schools is that silence doesn't necessarily equate to a lack of knowledge. More often than not the tumbleweeds that roll through my classroom are blown by fatigue, or the fear of answering and - god forbid - being wrong. My colleague Ryan isn't sure either. This morning they are particularly unreceptive. Even Ryan’s enigmatic adroitness could barely conjure more than a vague murmur in reply to his ‘Good Morning’. So he asks again:
‘Anyone? Where is Charlotte from?’
They think it's a trick. We’re learning demonyms, how to turn country names like ‘Japan’ into proper nouns for people, language, and culture. We’ve just reached ‘The UK’ on our worksheet, but Ryan’s suffered through enough of my rants at this point that he knows far better than to refer to me as just ‘British’. Or even worse, ‘English’.
‘No-one? Really?’
I stand silent, dejected. Exasperated. At this point, what more can I do? How many more times can I tell them? I have the dragon keyring on my pencil case, I’ve done the introduction PowerPoint. I’ve even paraded a five-foot flag around the classroom - basically everything to publicize Cymru short of getting a Vanessa Shanessa Jenkins-style dragon tattooed on my arm. Which I don’t really think is a realistic solution given that I’d never be allowed in an onsen again. I don’t think I should have to go that far anyway. Given the ease with which my students seem to recall countries like France, England, Spain and Italy, I still have this vain hope that every time Ryan asks where I come from, maybe one student will remember.
Still, silence. When Ryan puts them out of their unvoiced misery and reminds them I’m from Wales, I see a flash of recognition across maybe two students’ faces. The others betray nothing but confusion or indifference, a couple of ‘eh?’s punctuating the moment like fat full stops stamping pockmarks all over my enthusiasm for teaching.
This happens every. Single. Time. Not just in school either, I’d say it’s most days in a week I’ll have a conversation with a good-natured service worker/health professional/rando in the coin laundry who will ask me where I’m from.
‘Ah yes, Wales. In England’, says my doctor. At the time she's hitting a hammer on my wrist checking reflexes, so I think it best not to correct her. I’d say this is probably the hardest bit about living in Japan for me, the almost daily reminder of Cymru’s’ insignificance in an international eye.
‘But there’s no point getting frustrated,’ I’m sure some of you are thinking. ‘It’s literally not that deep, why are you overthinking it?’
And to that I say: Babe. Do you even know me? It’s physically impossible for me not to think about the big picture in most circumstances, and even though my frustration and disappointment are just feelings at the end of the day, I’d like to think that there’s at least some logic behind them. So I thought I’d write them all down. Maybe that way I’d be able to find some peace. Or I at least want to understand more about Wales' Status as an unrecognized country. Whilst thinking and scribbling I came up with three potential reasons for why it might be justifiable for me to ‘not deep it’ and just chalk up this daily denial to the natural limits of human worldliness.
Reason One: It’s just actually just not that deep.
Okay, so seriously now, why do I care? At the end of the day, it’s not these kids, my doctor’s or anybody else’s fault here that they know nothing about my tiny country. My frustration only comes from my own biased and insular view of what Geography is important in this world. I’m sure my student’s lack of knowledge is not Wales - specific. Hey, when asked I know a lot of them barely know where Europe is on a map, let alone Cymru! Even knowing of such a small country may seem like a lot to ask - I’m sure if I came from Nicaragua, Guam, or Azerbaijan they would be exactly the same in forgetting.
But I can’t say it doesn’t still sting a bit. More than that, if I’m not going to educate my students on my small country, who is? I am a teacher, it is my job to teach. And if they can learn pluralisations, by gosh they can remember Wales.
But maybe it’s more than that… Maybe I need to look deeper than Geography.
Reason Two: It’s just not in the language.
In one of my previous posts, I wrote about my frustrations with the UK’s perceived monoculturalism being deeply embedded in the Japanese language itself. But I’ll say it again: In Japanese, the word for the UK is Igirisu, which, surprise surprise, is also the name for exactly what it sounds like - England. I have frustrated a long line of Japanese teachers through my insistence that I grew up in Warusu rather than Igirisu.
‘It’s not right - Igirisu is the word, you must use this word or people will not understand where you mean’.
But I keep saying Warusu anyway, if only just to remind people that there are other countries in the UK too. For how long have Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales lived in the monarchical and cultural shadow of dear old Anglia? If I’m getting even more specific I should probably include The Isle of Man and certain parts of Cornwall in the ‘Overshadowed by England’ club. But for now let’s stick to the basics. Language aside, are there any other reasons why my students recognise England, but not any of its neighbours?
Reason Three: It’s just not in anyone’s culture
Let’s be honest now, if I’m going to start getting pissy with anyone for Cymru’s erasure, I should probably start slinging stones a little closer to home. What right do I have, for example, to get annoyed at Kaori in second year or Mizuki in fourth if I don’t spend a proportionate amount of time shining my interrogation light on Westminster?
I still remember my first term at university with hugely fond memories, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a culture shock to suddenly be around students who, not three hours drive away from the border, had no idea about Welsh culture, history, politics, or language/ Well, aside from Gavin and Stacey and certain episodes of Doctor Who. Not through their own fault of course - it’s a hard thing to grow up, and young people tend to only retain information they’re interested in. In English schools there is little if any opportunity to learn about the UK’s Celtic and Brythonic communities. Sometimes there is little negative impact - it doesn’t matter ultimately, for example, if an English teenager doesn’t know the difference between Northern and Southern Welsh dialects. But sometimes this neglect of adequate education about all four nations in the United Kingdom can have worrying consequences. Ireland, for example, was not considered nearly as much as it should have been during discussions surrounding Brexit. Given that we are still very much living in The Troubles’ shadow I’d go so far as to say that had tensions risen further, this lack of awareness could have been very dangerous.
I’m in no way an expert in any of the Celtic nation’s histories - I would urge you to use that grey matter and do your own research. But I can say with total certainty that all throughout Welsh history there has been a consistent and concerted effort by Westminster to erase Cymru from global cultural focus. Let me set it out for you:
Cymru was first united as a country in the early 1000s by Gruffydd ap Llewellyn, who was originally king of Gwynedd (North Wales) back when the land was divided by separate kingdoms. In 1277, Llywelyn ap Gryffudd (the Welsh ap means ‘named after’, so as you can see there were many Grufydds and Llewellyns kicking about in those days) was leading Wales when it was invaded by England. In 1282, the Edwardian conquest brought about an end to Wales' princely lineage, with all remaining Welsh lords pledging homage to the English crown. At this point, Wales was recognised as separate to England but ruled by the same monarch. During the next 200 years there were several rebellions against English rule, perhaps most notably by Owain Glyndŵr or Madog ap Llywelyn. Following these rebellions, penal laws were established to classify the Welsh as second-class citizens, and with the reign of Henry Tudor came the Laws in Wales Acts in 1535 and 1542 which officially unified Wales with England, retaining its status as a Principality in name only.
What followed was a systematic and systemic attempt to fully assimilate Wales into England - culturally, politically, and linguistically. In 1847, the British government published ‘the Blue Books’, a three-part report which disparaged Welsh society and its people, in response to a series of riots in Wales. Three non-Welsh-speaking English lawyers were commissioned to produce this report, and were tasked with advising Westminster on how best to improve education in Wales. Because what better long-term solution to the prevention of rioting adults is there than to inculcate submissiveness in our children? However, when the report was published, it wasn’t only Wales’ schooling that came under criticism. Judgements were cast on the intelligence, civility, and moral fortitude of the Welsh, with Welsh women in particular being targets of derision:
"As wives they are most slovenly and improvinent, and as mothers, ignorant, and injudicious."
When we disparage mothers, we devalue the homes in which their children are raised. I would argue that this misogyny’s purpose was to encourage Welsh children out of their mother’s arms - and their mother’s tongues - and into the fatherly state school system. Following the Blue Books’ assassination of Welsh-led schooling, even though the report itself led to no direct action, there was a huge increase in Westminster’s intervention in Welsh schools. English teachers were shipped in to create a more unified system of education, and more Welsh young people set their sights on England in the knowledge that Wales did not have ample opportunity for career advancement. Welsh was banned in school, with any child using their mother tongue facing the Welsh Not - a wooden sign hung around the neck that carried the promise of punishment if a child were to be wearing it at the school day’s end. Toll gates and taxes economically disadvantaged Welsh farmers and led the people to riot. whilst in the 1900’s entire valleys filled with villages were flooded to create reservoirs for English cities like Liverpool. Drowned villages like Capel Celyn - one of Cymru’s last fully Welsh monolingual communities - never ended up being used to provide people with water. Instead the flooded Treweryn valley now maintains the river Dee's flow.
Apparently when the water’s low you can see tips of gravestones poking out.
In other parts of our parents’ memories, communities across Cymru were decimated by the closure of mines. This was not an awful idea in theory, given the danger posed to miners and their families by the mines themselves and neglectful profiteers. We will always remember the Aberfan disaster, where 116 children and 28 adults were killed in a landslide caused by the coal board’s refusal to move a colliery spoil tip. For years it loomed over the valley before eventually turning to slurry once it rained and liquefied. As the landslide came down upon the village of Aberfan, witnesses say it sounded like a ‘great thunderstorm’. Later, people hand-picked through the ruins of Pantglas Junior School. So too were they picking through the ruins of their community’s future. The National Coal Board faced no consequences, and before a disaster fund was set up, the village was expected to pay for their own relief.
But despite Westminster’s argument that closing the mines was best for people’s safety - which of course had nothing to do with coal’s increasing lack of profitability. Very little compensation or foresight was given by Westminster after the strikes and closures. This meant that no alternative forms of employment were made available. Consequently, many ex-mining communities soon become economically and aspirationally desolate. It’s also worth noting that this neglect of mining communities is something the North of England and Cymru have in common, and is perhaps why these two areas experience similar social issues compared to other parts of the UK.
In the present day, most of Wales’ pressing socio-cultural and economic issues can be traced back to this political neglect. Rural schools are underfunded and unequipped to deal with students who must travel long distances in sparsely-populated areas for their education. This leads to a general sense of malaise and academic underachievement amongst young people who see the job market as insufficient for their needs. Underage drinking and drug use is a natural consequence of low aspirations and a lack of investment in adequate third spaces. Even for students who do aspire to wealth, academic success, or specific career paths, they are directed over the border with an implicit assumption that most of our dreams cannot be reached in Cymru.
Even if we did want to stay in our local areas, getting on the property ladder is becoming increasingly difficult. In areas like my home county of Ceredigion, those outside the community have bought up local property for use as holiday housing - an issue exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic, when many wealthy individuals saw sparsely populated regions as providing safety and freedom compared to city dwelling. Consequently, house prices in Ceredigion have doubled in the 20 years since my Mum bought our house (according to the Office for National Statistics).
All is not lost however. Regeneration projects in certain areas, such as the capital of Cardiff, have been successful in increasing Wales’ appeal, and we certainly excel in the fields of Art and Music. Despite the horror of Aberfan and Tryweryn, these disasters arguably led to the eventual establishment of the Welsh government, and increased support for the Welsh language’s preservation. But for every small blessing, there also seems to be a withdrawal of support - such as the Port Talbot steelworks’ closure earlier this month, one of the area's core industrial sites. In this case, I can't help but fear for the community's future. If Cymru is to be recognised as a country by the international community, we must be given more opportunities to make our voices heard. That is to say, we must be given hope and attention.
Ending Thoughts.
I was not born in Cymru. By blood I am probably more Croatian than I am Welsh. But when I think of myself, I do not think in terms of Biology. I think of the community that raised me. The struggles I faced. The history I am a part of. The headland I know like the back of my hand, memories of which make me ache down to my bones in missing. I think of the people I love and the language I struggled to learn. The values I hold close to my chest and represent the best of a Britain I know we can be - kindness. Warmth. Care. I think of myself, and my land. And how lucky I am to call Cymru my home - how I’m even luckier to do so without blood or birth. There are many parts that make up a nation, and even more that make up a nationality. If you disagree, and perceive my writing as a deceptive act - that I’m ‘fake Welsh’, an English person playing Celtic dress up, then I say fine. It’s your opinion, and who am I to tell you otherwise? But I am lucky to come from somewhere I am free to define myself, and be mostly welcomed as such with big open cwtching arms.
I am lucky.
And because of that luck I write. And fight. And make Welsh cakes when I’m lonely.
Here in Japan, lines of nationhood are more strict. I know that I could live here for many years, learn the language to above native fluency, immerse myself in culture, have a Japanese family, and I would still be seen as a foreigner. And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with the fact that I will never be Japanese.
I just wish I was allowed to be Welsh.
Cariad Mawr am byth. Big Love always.
Char xoxo
And now for some poetry...
Lady Charlotte Guest
She could pass as
What?
Shapeshifter?
Risk taker.
Memory maker.
Tracks a beat,
A breath,
A pulse
That’s underlined an identity.
Slick underfoot
‘Where’s she at now? Bigger than where she’s from’.
Nightrider.
Flushed cheeks, creeping anxieties of
‘Too much, too little’
Too late to catch the last train home.
I’m shaving back in 2019
And notice a lump
It shrinks back.
I’m fiteen and juggling
Rocks and responsibilities lifting
Chained to my desk and pulled
By images of
ENGLAND.
Starglow bulbs pop
Than frazzle out in postmodern fray:
Examine the end of a burnt match.
Search for the smoke,
It’s where you find meaning.
Search in the words of others, create a ransom-note patchwork
of narrative voice,
‘Original’ spelled out in three different languages.
Search in yourself, for yourself.
Find yourself in the cracks of
A city where memories stick like
Words such as ‘home’ in my throat
I burp bubbles and shatter,
Change with the flash.
Bird's Eye View
TWENTY SIX
Lino-cut etchings
Yearning creative, I make
Memories of home.
FIVE
Tongue laps, pebble-dash
Amongst crustacean houseshares
I lose my first tooth.
NINE
Snail plods up the hill
Sweat-licked daffodil tops strain
Breathe through 'Nearly there!'
THIRTEEN
Cattle-grid blocking
Precocious calf, breaks her leg
Incarceration.
SIXTEEN
Screams through the valley
Wet whelp. Mixoma. Mum yells:
'Dog's got a rabbit!'
EIGHTEEN
Fledgling won't look back
Eyes on orange horizon
University.
TWENTY
Blurred skies, senses numb
COVID-ground, gorse grows softer
Stokholm Syndrome knocks.
TWENTY ONE
Valley's like a cwtch
London-cold I defrost in
Crepuscular rays.
TWENTY FOUR
Raincloud skies reveal
Jet-puff dreams of Japan, kiss
My headland goodbye.
TWENTY FIVE
Persimmon fruits hang
Dusted with frost, my mind is
Full of blackberries..
Note:
This week was the anniversary of Capel Celyn’s flooding. It was also that of Aberfan. The 21st of October is a day of grief and remembering for many in Wales, and I want to share my thoughts and heart with all of you going through such struggles. But it isn’t just in Wales, communities are being decimated for profit and ego throughout the world - Congo, the Lebanon. Gaza. At times like this we must remember our pasts, and with those memories inform our futures. Remember Operation Olive Branch is still live, and I would urge you to donate if you have capacity.
Cofiwch. Remember.
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