Recent events in my life and in the Japanese media have led me to consideration of our treatment of each other as fellow human beings. TV and newspapers tell us of child abuse, murders committed by children, corrupt companies and scam artists. And in my own life, reading through my grandfather’s diary which describes his experience as a Japanese POW during World War II and continuing my research on the Shikoku Pilgrimage route, I have begun to compare the ways people treat each other and themselves.

　I sometimes wonder where equality and respect have gone. Do people value others or themselves anymore? While it is perhaps relatively easy to attach a value to an inanimate object, such as a used car or new TV, what is the value of a human being? How much are we worth to each other? It is clear that some people treat others as if they have little or no value, and do not hesitate to destroy another person’s life whether that destruction be physical or mental. What then, is our value? Where or how can we learn about our own worth? Where can we find total acceptance - a place where one can be accepted as an equal and treated with respect?

　Between February 1942 and August 1945, my grandfather, as a British soldier, was a Prisoner of War under the control of the Japanese. He was one of hundreds of thousands forced to build the Taimen Tetsudo - the 400-kilometer railroad from Thailand to Burma. During his internment he kept a diary in secret and this document records details of his day to day life, the conditions of the camps and fellow prisoners, the treatment received by the Japanese, and his thoughts about his captors. One entry written after the war states:
　 “A year ago I was still a prisoner and during this month we moved with 500 men up to Krain Krai - what a nightmare! The wet, the mud, filthy clothing, sweating bodies, mosquitoes biting hard as we lay like sardines in the railways tracks trying to sleep, the look of last hope in men’s faces as they returned from work after marching back barefoot. But always the hope that we were going to win.”
　 Conjuring up this image makes me feel so sad about the conditions he and others had to endure for so long. As well, he suffered from diarrhea, beriberi, malaria, dengue, goiter and dysentery as well as having various teeth pulled, numerous blood transfusions and an appendix operation. His diary, like many others, describes the cruelty of the Japanese and how the Allied POWs and local coolies were treated as subhuman - worthless objects that deserved to be (and were) worked to death. However, his journal is not entirely bleak. He does offer examples of some Japanese who spoke words of compassion or those who treated him as something of value. For example, in early 1944, he wrote that a Japanese doctor said, “In one year the fighting will stop, so you must look after your health to go home to your wife and children.” In May 25, 1944 he was told, “Most of the Japanese troops are fed up with war and want to return home just as much as we do.” We can only guess at how these words encouraged him to persevere. He must have appreciated hearing such words in that world of gloom - to be treated, even momentarily, as something of value.

　An interesting similarity between my grandfather and I is that neither of us chose to begin our experiences with the Japanese. And yet we both felt that most Japanese would never treat us as equals or with full respect. I spoke about such feelings more than a decade ago at a Japanese Speech Contest. The title of my speech was, “The Value of a Human Being.” At the beginning of my speech I related an experience I had at a Science Center in Vancouver where there was a most unusual weight scale. When one stood on it, the machine determined according to one’s weight, one’s worth in society based on the amount of materials such as calcium, water, and minerals in one’s body. The machine said I was worth $5.00 or about 500 yen! I was shocked. “Is that my true worth?” I asked the audience. In the rest of my speech, I urged people not to judge, or determine someone’s worth, by skin color, nose or feet sizes etc but to move past the physical features and get to know others as fellow human beings. I also mentioned that, at the time, I felt that Japanese did not seem to accept me into their circle, that I was always regarded as a tall nosed, big footed Caucasian, in other words, a gaijin - someone from the `outside world. ` However, I am glad to report that this feeling did change and, over time, I felt that `wall` between us dissipate.

　However, too many people, especially those I meet for the first time, determine my value because I am Caucasian - in their eyes probably American - and thus a speaker of English. It seems that my existence as someone who can speak English is of more worth to them and so I am treated as `someone to practice my English on` more than as a fellow human being. On some occasions when I have been by myself looking at books at a bookstore, sitting at a caf・ waiting for the light to change or going grocery shopping someone has approached me and has asked me one of the following questions: “Are you American?” or “Where are you from?” or “Do you like Japan?” For my first couple of years, I answered politely in English to them, but that lead to more questions. I become trapped in an interrogation of sorts. Now when this happens, I often reply in Japanese asking the questioner a question. I notice this does not occur with non-Japanese who are not Caucasian? Why is this? Are Caucasians worth more in the eyes of Japanese? Is being a native speaker of English more valuable?

　We must remember that treating others with worth does not only occur between people of different races and countries. In my grandfather’s diary he writes, “This imprisonment has showed me the real character of men among themselves, cheating each other and trying to get more than the others seems to be the order of the day.” He is describing the behaviour of English soldiers. He also writes of a time when he saw sick Japanese soldiers coming back from the Burmese front who were mistreated and ignored by others in the Japanese army. In society today, there are many instances of similar behaviour. For example: bullying, children ﾔlosing it’ (kireru) or abuse (gyakutai). All these problems are constantly on the news and I wonder why there are so many cases now. Why are people treating others with such little respect or value? One proposed hypothesis is that children who play violent video games can no longer distinguish between the game world and the real world; they quickly become irritated and are numb to violence. I was most surprised to see in one questionnaire, conducted among elementary school children, that almost one in five students believe that if a person is killed s/he can come back to life! “Just press the reset button and start over.”

　Japan has a long history of ostracizing minorities, the disabled and the diseased. During the early 1990s, I had the opportunity to do volunteer work with disabled children. We had weekend playtime at a nearby kindergarten, held summer and winter camps and other activities. It was a pleasure to participate in various activities with them but, when we traveled outside the relatively private temple compound, I was always interested to see how other people looked at us critically. Their looks and their actions demonstrated our worth to them. However, over the past decade, it is wonderful to see that people’s attitudes are changing and not only disabled people but others considered to be outside on the fringe are now being accepted as part of mainstream society.

　While treating others with respect or as something of value, we must also consider how much we are worth to ourselves. It disappoints me to see on TV and to have talked with various females - students at the schools where I have taught - who, in order to obtain material goods, work at night mainly for the entertainment of men - whether it is just being a companion or hostess, one who pours drinks and keeps a man company or one who does even more. It is sad to see this booming business where men pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for a bottle of wine and openly flirt with the women there. And men spent even more money to buy gifts for their girls. It is unpleasant to see that both the women who work at such places and the men who frequent them appear to have lost their sense of values.

　It seems that for many years, people have focused more on `mono` (physical or material things) than `kokoro` (heart). As a result, during the bubble period of Japan and even today to some extent, people determine their own and other’s value by the brand goods they have and/or wear. Haven’t we know all known or seen someone in Japan who has a fetish for a certain brand name? Someone who feels worthless without such goods? Or don’t we often see on TV rich people being highlighted with all of their goods being shown off? It is clear that the media has a strong influence on how we think and how we value others. The end of the bubble may have brought a close to the overflowing world of extravagance, but even today some women still want or need that Gucci bag or Rolex watch and to obtain it take on companion jobs and the like to make a quick buck, not considering their own personal worth. It amazes me that, despite Japan being a predominantly Buddhist country, the Japanese do not exhibit one of the fundamental Buddhist tenets - that is, of non-attachment. People want to be attached to fancy cars, big homes, various goods, and this determines how they will be valued by others around them.

　We must ask ourselves if there is not a place in Japan where anyone - whether Japanese, non-Japanese, disabled, female etc are accepted as equals, where one is valued as a fellow being or where there is a focus on the heart and not on material things? I think the answer is the Shikoku Pilgrimage route. This 1,400 kilometer pilgrimage which goes around the island of Shikoku in a circular route consists of 88 official temples, 20 non-official temples and hundreds more sacred sites. It is said to have been founded by Kobo Daishi (774-835), the 8th Patriarch of Shingon Buddhism. The earliest history of this route is unclear but since the 17th Century the number of pilgrims has continually increased. Today, it is said that approximately 150,000 do the pilgrimage annually whether by foot, bicycle, skateboard, car, or bus. In the past, there was even a helicopter pilgrimage tour available! What is the attraction of this route over other pilgrimage routes in Japan, such as the 33-temple Saikoku, 34-temple Chichibu or 33-temple Bando routes?

　In 1999, I began researching the Shikoku Pilgrimage route for my Master’s thesis, “The History of Charitable Giving along the Shikoku Pilgrimage Route.” Charitable giving is the phrase I have used for o-settai which is a gift, whether it be something tangible, for example, money, food or clothing or something intangible, for example, not having to pay for a temple stamp or place to stay, assistance in some way or some act of kindness to a pilgrim. This differs from the word settai, normally thought of in society, which is the action of providing food and entertainment for one’s advantage. For example, a company will take a client out to lunch and perhaps offer entertainment in the hopes of continual partnership. I have found that this pilgrimage welcomes all, that o-settai is provided indiscriminately to all pilgrims, that many people who do the pilgrimage discover their own true worth, and that many people learn to how to live without `mono` and to focus on `kokoro.`

　Let me explain in more detail. First of all, there is acceptance. Over the past few years I have met approximately a dozen non-Japanese who have done the Shikoku pilgrimage. Their experiences along with my own, have shown that the people of Shikoku do not treat a foreigner with apprehension, do not show any discomfort in associating with them, nor use them as `English practice boards.`Once one dons the pilgrim attire, one becomes a o-henro-san and loses one’s identity. This is the same for Japanese as well. There is a story of an elderly Japanese pilgrim who was a `life pilgrim` who continually went around Shikoku living mainly off the generosity of the local people through their giving of o-settai. Along his journey, he created haiku poems which caught the attention of the media. Reporters went to interview this man and his story appeared on national TV. A police officer saw the program and realized that the man was wanted for a crime committed many years before and as a result, he arrested him, thus ending his peaceful existence on the pilgrimage. However, the local people did not care about this man’s background. They valued him highly as a henro and willingly and constantly provided o-settai to him. Another example, is people with Hansen’s disease or leprosy who until recently were not recognized as members of society and were deemed sub-human or worthless. Since the Edo period - more than three hundred years ago -such people were ostracized, sent out of their villages and forced to live in places set aside just for them. It was clear that the feeling was, “Out of sight, out of mind.” However, one place that such people could go was Shikoku where they could freely participate on the pilgrimage. They were accepted as pilgrims.

　Let me return to the custom of o-settai. Most people who come to Shikoku - whether Japanese or non-Japanese - are most surprised at this tradition. In other areas of Japan, this practice existed in the past but disappeared over time with modernization and commercialization of the pilgrimage routes. However, in Shikoku, due partially to the belief that when one gives to a pilgrim one is actually giving to Kobo Daishi, this has continued strongly for more than three hundred years. One day this April, I walked part of the pilgrimage trail in Tokushima from Temple 11, Fujiidera to Temple 12, Shosanji with two Americans. When we reached the bottom of the mountain a woman came out of her home and handed us dried yams. Further along, we met a man who invited us into his house for tea. We sat in the genkan at a small table and looked out over the valley in front of us. However, what shall I remember most from that visit was his telling the story of seeing hundreds of B29s flying over the valley on their way to bomb Tokushima. He also talked about the many men in his village who were sent to Burma to fight during World War II and how so few made it back. His stories reminded me of my grandfather and his experience. I think, “War - why does it occur?” There is only pain, suffering and death on both sides where so many people are treated as worthless objects. And yet this man willingly opened his home to three foreign pilgrims offering what he could and talking with them - not caring what nationality they were, what their past was, their social status in the `real` world nor how much material wealth these visitors had.

　The culture of the Shikoku Pilgrimage where all are treated equally and all support each other with respect is something I think we need to examine. Recently I have noticed that disabled people, foreigners, hikikomori (those who seclude themselves from society), those looking to find themselves, those looking to get away from the materialistic society, those wanting a simpler existence, those wanting to find their own worth are coming to do this pilgrimage. What makes the route so special? To me, the custom of o-settai will humble one, the concept of camaraderie- people sharing the same goal- will encourage one, and the ability to travel without an identity will appeal to most people.

　Your chemical value may indeed be only 500 yen. But the pilgrimage will teach you your true worth, as well as the worth of others although they may be different from you. In other words, you will learn the value of a human being.