by Tyler Bushnell
What I REALLY FOUND In OkINAWA
During the summer of 2022, I was itching to visit my grandmother’s homeland – Okinawa, Japan. She had survived WWII and the Battle of Okinawa, which claimed the lives of approximately 150,000 Okinawans, living in caves in the north of the island for over a year. Until my late teens, I told people I was Japanese — not wrong, but not the whole story. It wasn’t until I began reading and listening to my grandmother’s memories that I realized: being Okinawan is something different.
Okinawa was the center of the independent Kingdom of Ryukyu for centuries. It is geographically closer to China and Taiwan than to mainland Japan. Okinawa has/”had” its own language, culture and traditions. I was raised constantly being told that I was the 17th generation descendant of King Shō Shin, who reigned from 1477-1526. I knew next to nothing about the history and culture of Okinawa, a place so far away from my home of Kansas, yet something I was immensely proud of. Despite having cousins, aunts, and uncles on the island, I had never spoken to – let alone met – any of them.
I wanted to know more. And I set my eyes on making a trip to the island.
The 7th Worldwide Uchinanchu Festival (Uchinanchu means someone native to Okinawa) was set to begin at the end of October 2022. It is a global reunion, a festival that brings people from across the globe of Okinawan descent. There are approximately 400,000 of us, with a bulk being in Hawai’i, mainland U.S., Brazil and Peru. The objective of the festival is to honor the achievement of Okinawan descendants, reaffirm Okinawan culture and identity, and to continue passing on this knowledge of heritage to generations to come. My aunt attended the 3rd Uchinanchu Festival in 2001 and came away with nothing but loving memories and a stronger connection to the island. I wanted to follow in her footsteps.
When it came time to book the ticket to Okinawa, Japan’s borders were still closed to independent tourists and travelers due to COVID, but my mind was set. I was going to go. I felt like I needed to go. I contacted my cousin in Okinawa in the hopes of getting signed permission approved by the government that I could enter. After many struggles and trips to immigration offices, we were coming up short. I didn’t care, I booked the ticket anyway, on 24 October – 6 days before the start of the festival, trusting that the universe will work itself out.
11 October – Japan reopened their borders to visa-free entry. I was in the clear.
On 29 October, I met my family for the first time. My cousin picked me up and we drove to Urasoe – a city in Okinawa – to attend the Tedako Festival. I thought to myself, “Man, the Okinawans really love their festivals”, considering it was on the eve of the Uchinanchu Festival. I was told that this festival usually takes place in July, but due to a difficulty of me not being able to speak a lick of Japanese, I was not able to comprehend why it was delayed until October.
We spent that evening watching Eisa dances, reenactments, music, and in true Okinawan fashion, capped off with an extravagant 15-minute firework display. The night ended back at the family home where we chatted (via translators) and got to know each other. My aunt, uncle, and cousins communicated in the best way possible for me to understand, which was a trip down memory lane via photo albums and slideshows they had prepared.
It was a memorable night, one that I will never forget. My first taste of Okinawan culture, surrounded by loved ones whom I had never met. We shared food, drinks, stories – the heritage that I was proud to come from. And it is these intangible factors that are stronger than stone.
Over the course of the following days, I attended parades and events of the Uchinanchu Festival. I met Okinawans from across the globe, all drawn to this small island in the East China Sea. It was why I was there. And on the main and final day of the festival, my cousin and her friend joined me. We were set to attend this extravagant display of culture, and it was what I was most looking forward to. The sun was out, the people were abundant, and it was supposed to be the moment this journey had been about.
Just as we were about to make our way inside the stadium, my cousin turned to me and expressed how she and her friend do not wish to go. That they have grown a little bit restless with all the commotion around, how they have attended the festival in the past and do not wish to take part in it again. Rather, they wanted to return to my aunt’s house for dinner.
I froze. I’d flown across the world for this moment – and yet, dinner with my family pulled at me just as strongly.
I chose the latter, with the lingering thought in my mind that I was missing out on a once in a lifetime chance of being in Okinawa during the Uchinanchu Festival. How could I have made this trip, just to turn my back on why I had come?
Instead, what I got was a home cooked meal, conversation, and laughs, with the people that mattered more.
I didn’t get the cultural display of an international festival. Instead, we sat cross-legged on tatami mats, passing bowls of rice and laughter. They showed me more childhood photos of my father and grandmother I’d never seen. We didn’t need a common language – memory was enough.
It forced me to rethink what heritage really means. I realized that sitting here with the handful of loved ones I still had on the island was more important than being in a stadium with thousands of strangers – who I may be united to in a different way – but still strangers, nonetheless.
In the end, I did not attend the festival I traveled across the world to see. Instead, I found something better.
Tyler Bushnell, ARCH Intern