コラム

Matías Chiappe Ippolito (Professor, El Colegio de Mexico, Center for Asian and African Studies)

During my undergraduate program in Literary Studies at the University of Buenos Aires, I was deeply fascinated by Latin American authors who expressed an interest in Japanese culture. This group included figures from the early 20th century Modernismo movement, such as Juan José Tablada and Enrique Gómez Carrillo, celebrated postwar writers like Jorge Luis Borges, and also contemporary journalists who had traveled to Japan for various reasons, such as Araceli Tinajero and Julián Varsavsky. The motivation behind my desire to learn more about these authors stemmed from a personal connection; like them, I had also been profoundly attracted to Japan, and I sought to understand, in scholarly terms, the reasons behind Latin America’s growing interest in Japanese culture. Throughout those transformative years, I delved into the texts and works of these writers, immersing myself in their perspectives and insights. However, I eventually came to realize that the findings of my research paled in comparison to the deeper, more profound motivation that had ignited my inquiry in the first place: my personal experience as a Latin American interested in Japanese culture.

During my Master’s program in Japanese Studies at El Colegio de México, I developed a keen interest in the cultural exchange flows of Japanese culture during the 20th Century. As an Argentinian ryūgakusei living in Mexico, I was eager to explore the channels that had facilitated deep intercultural connections and two-way flows between Japan and Latin America. Among many examples, I found that Haroldo de Campos, a Brazilian poet highly influenced by Japanese haiku, not only shaped literary movements in Brazil but also helped establish poetry circles in Japan together with Yoshimasu Gōzō. Similarly, Gabriel García Márquez famously penned a short-story version of Kawabata’s Nemureru bijo, but his translations were also highly influential to authors such as Nakagami Kenji and Hiromi Kawakami. This prompted me to consider unexpected pathways through which Japanese culture flourished in Latin America and vice versa. My personal experience resonated with this exchange again: I had never anticipated that a Mexican university would serve as bridge connecting my Argentinian roots and my passion for Japan. Yet, in that unexpected environment, I recognized a valuable opportunity to explore the dynamics of cultural exchange and its implications on our understanding of global literary movements.

During my Doctoral Program in Intercultural Studies at Waseda University, I conducted an in-depth analysis of the reception of Latin American culture among Japanese writers. This research represented a methodological inversion of my undergraduate studies, as I was now prepared to engage directly with untranslated Japanese sources. Notable writers such as Shimazaki Tōson, Yukio Mishima, Ōe Kenzaburō, and Banana Yoshimoto had traveled to Latin America, drawing significant inspiration from the region’s art, literature, and history. Through my analysis, I identified several distinct images that these authors and others had formulated about Latin America, which I classified into three categories: the primitive image, the primeval image, and the peripheral image. These observations emerged during the first of my seven years of living in Japan, a period during which I became increasingly fascinated by the cultural aspects and social nuances of my home region that captured the interest and curiosity of the Japanese people with whom I was interacting. In essence, examining Japanese writers’ perceptions of Latin America mirrored my personal experience in Japan, particularly when locals inquired about my customs, thereby highlighting in literature the dynamics of everyday interculturality that shape our mutual understanding.

Deliberately or inadvertently, my personal experiences have been a powerful motivation for my research throughout my career. Does this mean that I am a self-centered researcher? I apologize if I can’t fully pin down a negative answer, but this question actually opens a vital conversation about the role of personal experience in scholarly work. After all, isn’t every scholar a little bit self-referential? We can’t help but view the world through our unique lenses shaped by our backgrounds, beliefs, and experiences. Isn’t it ironic that while we strive for objectivity, our very existence introduces a layer of subjectivity into our research?

Perhaps a more constructive way to phrase the above inquiry would be: “How self-aware am I as a researcher?” The issue extends beyond showcasing one’s personal narrative; it involves a critical understanding of how one’s positionality informs and influences the insights derived from research. By reflecting on how our individual stories intersect with our research questions, we can develop more nuanced perspectives that not only enrich our findings but also challenge conventional interpretations and assumptions. In turn, this approach not only broadens the scope of inquiry but also invites more meaningful and multifaceted conversations within academia.

Why is this relevant for non-Japanese students in Japanese Studies? First, because the field inherently involves navigating the complex interplay between the self and the “Other”. Personal experiences as a foreigner offer a unique perspective on Japan, revealing how our cultural backgrounds and biases shape the way we engage with the subject. This self-awareness leads to more critical and thoughtful research, allowing scholars to challenge stereotypes, romanticized views, and exoticized portrayals of Japan. Second, personal experience enables researchers to question and deconstruct preconceived images, fostering more authentic, nuanced, and multidimensional representations of Japanese culture. There is always something new to be discovered in Japanese culture, and some of that can be directly linked to you! Third, Japanese Studies thrives when scholars embrace their positionality, acknowledging how their distinct perspectives, whether shaped by nationality, language, or lived experience, can unearth insights that would otherwise remain hidden. By incorporating these personal narratives, we enrich academic inquiry, demonstrating that the rigorous pursuit of knowledge can coexist with, and even benefit from, the depth of lived experience.

Nevertheless, academia has negative assumptions about mixing personal experience in scholarly research. We have all heard them before: objectivity is believed to be superior to subjectivity, personal experience is anecdotal, personal narratives can only be used in the humanities or qualitative methods. These assumptions often stem from a rigid understanding of what constitutes “valid” knowledge, privileging detached and impersonal methodologies over approaches. Still, many researchers promote the use of personal experience at least at some stage of scholarly research, challenging the false dichotomy between objectivity and subjectivity. Marjorie Steward, for instance, in her essay “Weaving Personal Experience into Academic Writing” (2020), has shown that personal story can work as frame, context, example, and discovery in academic writing. This perspective opens the door for researchers to use their lived experiences as a lens through which to interpret data or construct arguments, enriching their work with unique insights that might not emerge through traditional methodologies alone. Moreover, integrating personal narratives can help bridge the gap between academia and wider audiences, making research more relatable and accessible without sacrificing intellectual rigor.

Aside from the applications in academic writing, I would like to highlight that personal experience can help us achieve the so elusive originality that all researchers covet. Originality, after all, is not just about presenting something entirely new but about offering a fresh perspective that enhances our understanding of a topic. Personal experience is a powerful tool for this because it provides a lens shaped by unique cultural, social, and intellectual influences. This approach is particularly valuable in Japanese Studies, a field that often grapples with deeply entrenched stereotypes and one-dimensional portrayals. Did you know, for instance, that both Mishima Yukio and Ōe Kenzaburō were attracted to Latin America because many intellectuals of the region were, just like them, anti-Americans? Did you also know that anti-Americanism and anti-imperialism convoked many other Japanese writers, such as Hotta Yoshie or Tomiyama Taeko, taking them to Brazil, Haiti, and Cuba? As a Latin American familiar with the study of the history of the region, I felt I could contribute something meaningful to the field of Japanese Studies by exploring and inscribing these overlooked transnational connections into academic discourse, informed by my own personal experiences and cultural background.

Personal experience is also a powerful tool against Artificial Intelligence. It humanizes research by adding emotional depth and context that AI can hardly replicate. It challenges the limitations of algorithmic interpretations, enriching conclusions with nuanced, human perspectives and promoting diversity in discourse. Specifically, in regard to Japanese Studies, personal experience offers a critical advantage over AI by addressing cultural and contextual subtleties that algorithms often miss. If I may use my personal experience as an example again, while AI can mention some well-known examples of the connections between Japan and Latin America, it can hardly explain the emotional resonance these intellectual exchanges held for both sides. This includes the aforementioned deep anti-imperialist sentiments shared by Latin American writers and Japanese intellectuals during the Cold War, but also the reinterpretations and parodies of such feelings in the works of writers like Shimada Masahiko and Hoshino Tomoyuki. The deeply personal ways in which writers from Japan and Latin America interpreted each other’s cultures necessitate an equally empathetic research perspective capable of exploring these cross-cultural literary and historical subtleties. What can AI say about that? Probably, it will make something up—at least until your paper gets published, and the algorithm uses it as a source.

One final compelling reason to advocate for the inclusion of personal experience in academic research is its capacity to transform lived experiences into theoretical concepts. The ability to translate personal experience into intellectual inquiry enriches both the research process and its outcomes, grounding them in authenticity and passion. For me, this process was essential, as my experiences in Latin America and Japan became the foundation and inspiration for my scholarship. As an undergraduate, I sought to understand why Latin American writers were drawn to Japan, a curiosity born from my own personal connection to the subject. During my Master’s program, I focused on exploring intercultural exchanges between Latin America and Japan, influenced by my own environment at the time. My PhD research deepened this exploration, analyzing Japanese writers’ perceptions of Latin America, recognizing that I had become part of this dynamic while living in Japan. This intellectual pursuit, however, extended beyond my personal experiences; it pointed to a broader cultural and intellectual phenomenon that required deeper investigation. The reception of Japanese culture in Latin America, its global impact, and Japanese perceptions of Latin Americans are not mere personal matters but part of a larger discourse, in which my experiences serve as a starting point for further academic exploration.

All things considered, can personal experience be regarded as a methodology? At present, I would categorize the use of personal experience in Japanese Studies as a mere “method”; that is, as a tool rather than a fully developed theoretical framework. However, I argue that personal experience is indispensable for a comprehensive understanding and interpretation of complex intercultural phenomena. Methodologies in the humanities are not confined to rigid frameworks; rather, they evolve and adapt to the unique challenges presented by each research context. In Japanese Studies, particularly in the examination of cross-cultural exchanges, personal experience provides a profound means of linking theoretical frameworks to lived realities. When we analyze cultural interactions between Japan and Latin America, for instance, the human element —those who lived, traveled, and created within these environments —cannot be overlooked. As a researcher, my position within these global exchanges, grounded in both my Latin American background and my time in Japan, enabled me to approach the subject matter with personal engagement and intellectual curiosity, thereby demonstrating that personal experience can indeed serve as a valuable methodological tool.

What about you? Can you leverage your personal experience in your scholarly research? My final argument is this: if you can, you are already halfway to achieving meaningful academic success.