Japan’s Ultimate Gratitude Lesson

For centuries, the Ainu lived in harmony with the seasonal elements, first as hunters and then as traders in Hokkaido; the Kuril Islands; Sakhalin Island (which is now Russia: the last Ainu living there were expelled in 1951); and some northern areas of Japan’s largest island, Honshu. They lived in peace and in harmony with nature, respecting the Kamuy, until the Japanese colonized their land, which began in earnest at the end of the 19th century.

The Ainu are not monocultural; there are differences between the communities living today throughout Hokkaido. But during their forced assimilation, some things were universal: their language was banned, traditional tattoos outlawed, and fishing banned, ending their way of life, stripping them of any ability to earn income and be self-sufficient. Many ended up working as contract workers throughout Japan. Through remarkable resilience, around 24,000 Ainu live in Hokkaido today (although the number is suspected to be higher, as many still feel safer from being counted) and impressively, despite the persecutions suffered, there is a revival of their language and traditions.

The consistently aggressive treatment they received only makes the Ainu’s positivity, gratitude and enduring sense of abundance all the more incredible. “I asked all my interviewees if they were happy to be Ainu, and they all said they were happy where they were and appreciated it,” Ito told me. “They are very resilient. There were wars between the Ainu and the Japanese, the Ainu were not passive. They are a peace-loving people, but they fought back where they could.”

As we walked through the forest, Takiguchi demonstrated the Ainu’s gratitude for the natural world, not only by speaking, but also by subtly doing. He knew the names of every tree, plant, and animal in three languages ​​(Japanese, Ainu, English), noted any interesting aesthetics, and described how the Ainu use them. Before the tour ended, I received a lesson on how to play the mukkuri, a mouth harp made of bamboo. Takiguchi suggested that “hearing the mukkuri resound amidst the quiet forest gives you the feeling that humans are a part of nature.” He certainly did when he played: each note sent vibrations through my chest, weaving a connection between me and everything in the forest. I felt this unity clearly in the stillness as the dazzling sunlight reflected off the snow.