Marriage and Marriageability: The Practices of Matchmaking between Men from Japan and Women from Northeast China

By Chigusa Yamaura

How do the Japanese men and Chinese women who participate in cross-border matchmaking—individuals whose only interaction is often just one brief meeting—come to see one another as potential marriage partners? Motivated by this question, Chigusa Yamaura traces the practices of Sino-Japanese matchmaking from transnational marriage agencies in Tokyo to branch offices and language schools in China, from initial meetings to marriage, the visa application processes, and beyond to marital life in Japan.

Engaging issues of colonial history, local norms, and the very ability to conceive of another or oneself as marriageable, Marriage and Marriageability rethinks cross-border marriage not only as a form of gendered migration, but also as a set of practices that constructs marriageable partners and imaginable marriages. Yamaura shows that instead of desiring different others, these transnational marital relations are based on the tactical deployment of socially and historically created conceptions of proximity between Japan and northeast China. Far from seeking to escape local practices, participants in these marriages actively seek to avoid transgressing local norms. By doing so on a transnational scale, they paradoxically reaffirm and attempt to remain within the boundaries of local marital ideologies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cornell University Press
• Release date: Jul 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781501750151

Book preview

MARRIAGE AND MARRIAGEABILITY

The Practices of Matchmaking between Men from Japan and Women from Northeast China

Chigusa Yamaura

CORNELL UNIVERSITY PRESS ITHACA AND LONDON

For Todd

Contents

Acknowledgments

Note on Naming, Translating, and Converting

Introduction

1. From Manchukuo to Marriage

2. The Making and Unmaking of Unmarriageable Persons in Japan

3. Creating Similar Others at Transnational Matchmaking Agencies in Japan

4. Marrying Up, Down, or Off in Dongyang

5. Gendered Investments in Marriage Migration

6. Crafting Legitimate Marital Relations

Conclusion

Notes

References

Index

Acknowledgments

Woven throughout this book are the generosity, kindness, encouragement, struggles, frustrations, desperation, and both tears and laughter that many people have shared with me over the years. I am hugely grateful to those who helped me in the process of researching and writing this book. First, my thanks go to the people I met during my fieldwork both in Japan and China. I really appreciate their generosity in letting me be part of their lives and their kindness in caring about my health and safety, regardless of whatever they themselves might have been facing. Although I began my research into the industry of cross-border matchmaking with a rather critical eye, the time spent with them made it possible for me to understand the intimately human dimensions of this phenomenon. Without their munificence and help, I could not have managed the not-always-easy fieldwork and this book could not have been written. Although they all appear under pseudonyms in the book, I can visualize each face and my sincere hope is that they are all doing well in Japan, China, or wherever they may be.

My gratitude also goes to those who have helped me turn my fieldwork into a work of ethnography. I am deeply indebted to Louisa Schein. Her analytical eye pushed me further in examining and making sense of these practices and her belief in me kept me going. I was also very fortunate to work with Bruce Grant. His intellectual and emotional support helped me survive through the process of writing. It was his comments that added a final twist to the argument in this book. I would also like to thank Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi, Laura Ahearn, and Ulla Berg for providing both critical feedback and support. I first encountered this phenomenon in 2002, and I would like to thank Chris Nelson and Mary Ann O’Donnell for sharing my impulse that this was worthy of studying and encouraging me to continue my explorations of it.

Many other people helped me in the process of writing this book at multiple stages. My thanks go out to Eunsung Lee, Laura Lovin, Sarah Wise, Satsuki Takahashi, Simone Delerme, Margarita Huayhua, Oh-Jung Kwon, June Hee Kwon, Caren Freeman, and Lily Chumley. I am particularly grateful to Allison Alexy, Glenda Roberts, and Jesook Song for their feedback, which pushed me further and helped me form a more nuanced perspective.

At Cornell University Press, I am extremely grateful to Roger Hayden, who originally showed his interest in this project, and Jim Lance, who subsequently supported me throughout the process with his kindness and always warm and understanding encouragement. Without Jim’s belief in this project, this book would not have been completed.

My affiliation with the Nissan Institute of Japanese Studies at the University of Oxford provided me scholarly and emotional support when writing and rewriting this book. My thanks go to Sho Konishi, Ian Neary, Takehiko Kariya, and Hugh Whittaker. I am particularly grateful to Roger Goodman, whose intellectual passion for anthropology and Japanese society helped me advance my argument. Wolfson College at the University of Oxford also provided the ideal environment in which to complete this book. My thanks also go to Greg Noble for his generosity and critical feedback while I was a visiting researcher at the Institute of Social Science at the University of Tokyo in 2017.

Numerous research grants from Rutgers University enabled me to conduct my preliminary fieldwork between 2006 and 2008. My long-term fieldwork from 2009 to 2010 was funded by grants from the National Science Foundation and the Konosuke Matsushita Memorial Foundation. In addition, I received the Association for Asian Studies and the China and Inner Asia Council (CIAC) small grant to fund follow-up research in 2013.

An earlier version of chapter 1 appeared in article form as From Manchukuo to Marriages: Localizing Cross-Border Marriages between Japan and Northeast China, in the Journal of Asian Studies 74, no. 3 (2015): 565–588. Some portions of the material used in chapters 3 and 4 also appeared in the article Marrying Transnational, Desiring Local: Making ‘Marriageable Others’ in Japanese–Chinese Cross-Border Matchmaking, in Anthropological Quarterly 88, no. 4 (2015): 1029–1058.

Finally, indeed, it has been a long journey to see this final manuscript published. My deepest gratitude goes to those who witnessed this journey from beginning to end, from near and afar. My parents, Shigeko and Yoshiki Yamaura, believed in me and provided me much comfort with their assurance that they were always there to support me. My parents-in-law, Jan and George Hall, consistently showed much interest in and enthusiasm for my work. Jan also kindly read my introduction and helped me rewrite it to reach a wider audience. My sons, Oscar and Lewis, were born in the middle of this journey. Without them, this book should have been published much earlier, but with them, I managed to enjoy much laughter during the last phase of writing. Finally, I cannot finish these acknowledgments without thanking my partner, Todd Hall, who made this project possible. He has read through literally hundreds of different iterations of this project and consistently offered critical feedback and encouragement. His enduring faith in this project and in me made completion of this book possible.

Note on Naming, Translating, and Converting

Throughout this book, I generally romanize Japanese names and words using a modified Hepburn system and Mandarin Chinese names and words using the pinyin system. To protect the confidentiality of my informants, all of their names as provided in the text, as well as those of the marriage agencies, are pseudonyms. Except for the names of large cities, such as Tokyo, Dalian, and Harbin, the names of all other communities where my informants lived, including the names Xinghai and Dongyang, are pseudonyms.

All translations are mine unless otherwise so identified. When provided, original Japanese words or phrases are denoted with Jp and original Chinese words or phrases are denoted with Chin.

Japanese yen and Chinese yuan renminbi (RMB) amounts and their approximate converted rates in US dollars are provided as they stood at their respective times in the course of my fieldwork. As a result, there may appear to be inconsistencies in conversion throughout the text as the rates changed over the period of my fieldwork. The changes in the exchange rate also form part of the backdrop to the ethnographic stories provided here.

Introduction

BEGINNINGS

Welcome to China! Using the few Japanese words they knew, the local Chinese staff greeted an incoming client from Japan. It was late July 2007, a warm summer day. The client in question, Mr. Matsuda, was a Japanese man on a matchmaking tour.¹ He had just arrived in Dongyang from Tokyo with a marriage broker. The trip had not been short, requiring first a two-hour flight, then a four-hour drive by car from the nearest international airport. The hotel where the local staff welcomed this new client had at one time been the best Dongyang could offer. Over the past several years, however, a number of newer and more modern hotels had emerged to eclipse it. The hotel was still respectable, but the design of its building and interior gave a dated impression. Nevertheless, the broker had continued patronizing this same hotel; it was the one he had used since starting his brokerage business in 1995.

After exchanging greetings and introductions with the local staff and translators in the hotel lobby, Mr. Matsuda quickly proceeded to check in. The broker told him, Please go to your room, change your clothing, and then come to Suite 819 in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, we—the local staff members and myself—went ahead to Suite 819, where the staff had prepared personal profiles and maps of Japan and Japanese cities. These maps were for showing potential Chinese brides where exactly Mr. Matsuda lived. The local broker went down to the hotel lobby to meet the waiting Chinese candidates. Outside, the sky gradually darkened as the day entered the early evening.

About twenty minutes later, Mr. Matsuda knocked on the door. He had exchanged his casual chino pants for a navy suit. He was in his mid-forties, worked at a well-known Japanese electronics company, and had never been married. By Japanese standards, he would probably be described as ordinary looking and, at somewhere around 165 centimeters tall, a little shorter than average. The staff members told me that although he had dated a Japanese woman in the past, he was so indecisive that he could not make up his mind to marry her. When he came in, he looked a little intimidated.

A local translator asked in Japanese, Are you nervous, Mr. Matsuda?

Yes, a little, this is my first time doing this, he answered.

A Japanese staff member sought to assure him, saying, Please don’t worry about anything, we will translate everything and if you have any questions, please let us know.

Soon thereafter, the local broker came into the room, escorting with him three Chinese women. The three women wore modest makeup and colorful summer dresses; they looked anxious, but also curious. A local staff member asked them to sit on the couch. The translator introduced Mr. Matsuda to the women. Then the broker asked one of them to stay and the other two to wait outside. In the past, matchmaking meetings had been held with groups of up to ten Chinese women sitting across from one Japanese man. When the Japanese man asked a question, all the Chinese candidates would answer in turn. More recently, however, some clientele had expressed that they felt uncomfortable meeting all the women together in a group, and the broker had consequently switched to a one-on-one format.

The translator said: Mr. Matsuda, here is Ms. Gao’s profile. Do you want to ask any questions?

He looked at the translator and timidly asked: Well … what should I ask? I am so nervous. She translated this to Ms. Gao.

Ms. Gao responded, I am also nervous. When the staff member translated this back to Mr. Matsuda, they all laughed and somehow it broke the ice. Ms. Gao was in her early twenties, slim, had a small face, long straight hair, and large eyes. The broker commented in Japanese to him, "She is really pretty [Jp: kirei]," and he nodded.

Matsuda asked, Do you know anything about Japan?

She said, I know there are bullet trains.

He asked, Are your parents alright with you marrying a Japanese man?

Yes, they consent, she replied.

I like golfing and skiing, do you play golf and ski? Matsuda asked.

No, she quickly replied.

What do you do when you have time off? I usually go to the movies, sing karaoke … do you like karaoke?

So-so, she responded.

Matsuda continued, Are you studying Japanese now?

Not yet, she responded.

He then inquired about her favorite cuisine and songs, and asked if she had any questions for him. She said, No.

After approximately twenty minutes, the first meeting was over. A staff member asked Ms. Gao to wait outside. Then, the second woman entered the room. She was with her parents. Mr. Matsuda greeted her parents, saying, Thank you very much for coming.

Ms. Yang and her parents sat on the couch. The broker introduced him to the three of them, saying, Mr. Matsuda lives in Saitama prefecture.

Her father asked, How far is it from Tokyo?

Mr. Matsuda answered, approximately two hours by train. Although his answer was translated, the broker added, Well, it is about one hour, very close to Tokyo. Knowing from his experience that proximity to larger cities was important for many women, the broker stressed, or even exaggerated, the town’s closeness to Tokyo.

Ms. Yang then herself asked, Do you live by yourself now?

Yes, Mr. Matsuda replied.

Her father asked, How is your mother doing?

She is doing well and still very healthy.

Ms. Yang asked, What are your hobbies?

I like traveling, Mr. Matsuda replied.

Have you been to Shanghai or Hong Kong?

No, I haven’t. This is my first visit to China.

Then, Yang’s father said with enthusiasm: I have three daughters and she is my second daughter. She has not married because she was waiting to meet you! I am already retired and have no financial problems, so don’t worry about us. Her mother is still working at a watch factory.

Mr. Matsuda nervously smiled, and asked Ms. Yang, Would it be possible in the future to live with my parents, if necessary?

How old are they? How is their health? Yang asked.

Right now, they are doing well. They are seventy-five years old.

Yang replied, Maybe not right after I relocate to Japan, but in the future it might be possible to live together.

Matsuda added, Right now, since it is just myself, I live in a one-bedroom apartment, but if I marry, I would probably buy a house for my family.

Yang’s father suddenly asked, Do you like China?

Matsuda responded, Yes, I think China is so spacious and nice, and looks like Hokkaido.

After another twenty minutes, the broker stopped the conversation and asked Ms. Yang and her parents to wait outside. The third woman came in and sat on the couch. Apparently, Matsuda had already spoken with her via the Internet (at an Internet matchmaking meeting, a service provided by the same agency). He greeted her, saying, We talked earlier on the Internet.

Ms. Zhang was in her late twenties and from a town neighboring Dongyang. She had long curly hair and was wearing a summer dress. She was only a little shorter than Mr. Matsuda. Since traveling to Dongyang on the morning of the matchmaking meeting was too difficult, she had arrived the day prior. The broker had asked me to share a hotel room with her the night before. We were almost the same height and soon learned that we were also the same age. We chatted about many different topics, including our favorite Chinese foods, fashion, and so on. Before going to bed, she told me: "I think, after all, marriage is not about romance. It is about having a stable [Chin: anding] and peaceful [Chin: pingan] life."

Ms. Zhang had already seen Mr. Matsuda’s profile, including pictures of his house and family, before the meeting. She was ready to agree to marry him even before he proposed. Ms. Zhang also seemed to be the one the broker was strongly encouraging Mr. Matsuda to choose. During the matchmaking meeting, the broker repeatedly stated, She is the best girl. The meeting began and their conversation covered topics similar to those discussed with the other women, such as hobbies, karaoke, cooking, traveling, and so on. Mr. Matsuda also asked if she liked children. She said yes, and expressed that she definitely wanted to have children should she marry.

When Ms. Zhang left, we—Mr. Matsuda, the translators, the brokers, and I—were all exhausted. Nonetheless, we were not yet finished. It was standard procedure that the client had to choose whom he wanted as a future bride shortly after the last meeting; often this choice was made within twenty minutes of the last meeting ending. Mr. Matsuda now had to make a decision.

The broker asked him: What shall we do? The last girl looked to be the best, didn’t she?

Yeah, I think so, Mr. Matsuda answered.

So, is it Ms. Zhang? Is that your final decision? The broker looked at Mr. Matsuda’s face. However, Mr. Matsuda still appeared undecided. The broker asked, Do you want to see her again before making a decision?

Mr. Matsuda seemed unable to make up his mind.

The broker pressed, Well, if you came all the way to Dongyang, you’ve got to make a decision. It is interesting to note that the broker seemed to know what Matsuda was thinking. The broker asked, You are debating between Ms. Gao and Ms. Zhang, aren’t you? The second candidate, Ms. Yang, had been eliminated. The broker flipped Ms. Yang’s profile over. The broker told him: "Ms. Gao had very attractive, large eyes. But Ms. Zhang is more domestic [Jp: kateiteki] and probably good for marriage." While Mr. Matsuda was trying to decide, the local broker came in and apologetically conveyed that Ms. Gao was not interested (Chin: ta bu tongyi). That moment decided the engagement between Mr. Matsuda and Ms. Zhang.

During the engagement dinner that night—a large Chinese meal of multiple courses served at a circular table seating ten people—Mr. Matsuda and Ms. Zhang sat next to one another. They did not, however, talk to each other, in no small part because they lacked a common language with which to communicate. But Ms. Zhang poured beer into Mr. Matsuda’s glass a number of times, and each time he thanked her. As the night wore on with many dishes, drinks, and multiple toasts, the broker repeatedly urged the couple to hold hands and put their arms around each other’s shoulders. At first, the couple looked hesitant to do so. But when the broker took Mr. Matsuda’s hand and put it in Ms. Zhang’s hand, they both shyly smiled. They assented to the broker’s request, bordering on an order, and a photographer took pictures so as not to miss this moment of intimacy (and document it for the purpose of visa applications to come).

The following day, they went on a date with the translator, photographer, and myself in tow. We visited some sightseeing spots. I overheard Mr. Matsuda saying to the translator, If it had been possible, I would have wanted to marry a Japanese woman. Mr. Matsuda left early the next morning for Japan; he returned to Dongyang the next month for the wedding ceremony. Ms. Zhang, for her part, started learning Japanese and would leave for Japan six months later in February 2008. The couple had a child in 2009, purchased a house in 2010, and had a second child in 2012.

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In this book, I offer an ethnographic study of the making of marital relations across borders. Specifically, I explore the experiences and trajectories of participants involved in cross-border matchmaking and marriage practices between Japan and northeast China during a period stretching from 2007 to 2013. In the course of my research, I repeatedly witnessed virtual strangers whose only encounter was one brief matchmaking meeting come to perceive one another as prospective marriage partners. Many knew little more about the person sitting across from them than that he or she, respectively, was Japanese or Chinese. In almost all cases, they were complete strangers lacking even a common language with which to communicate. So how have and do these marriage practices come to be? That is the core question motivating this book. And to answer that question, one must pose a second, more specific question as well: How is it that the Japanese men and Chinese women who participated in these practices came to see one another as potential marriage partners?

To provide a little background, the transnational marriage agencies described in this book emerged within a very specific historical and geographical context. Transnational marriage agencies (Jp: kokusai kekkon shōkaijō) specializing in introducing Chinese women to Japanese men first appeared as a significant phenomenon in Japan in the 1990s. Some marriage brokers were professionals for whom the brokerage business was a full-time job. Others were amateurs, often themselves part of a Japanese–Chinese couple. Many of these marriage agencies had an online presence. Indeed, numerous male clientele that I met in the course of my research had found their way to a marriage agency via the Internet. Although there are marriage agencies in Japan that introduce women from other countries as well, including the Philippines, Thailand, Russia, or Vietnam, at the time I was conducting my research agencies introducing Chinese women constituted the majority within the transnational marriage industry.²

In contrast to existing work focused on the marriages of non-Japanese women to Japanese men living in the countryside (Faier 2008, 2009; Higurashi 1989; Kuwayama 1995; Shukuya 1988), the agencies I studied provided matchmaking services primarily to white-collar Japanese men in urban areas. And many turned to these agencies only after unsuccessfully attempting to find a Japanese bride through domestic matching services. A good portion of the men I interacted with also stated to me that at the age of forty or fifty—the average age of men seeking transnational marriages—it was almost impossible for them to find a suitable bride locally. This was not made easier by the fact that many of them, despite being in their forties, still wanted a bride who was in her twenties, or at the very latest, early thirties.³ Although it is typical in both Japan and China that husbands are older than their wives, such large age differences were not as common in marriages between same-nationality partners.

In northeast China, two towns, which I will refer to using the pseudonyms Dongyang (in Liaoning Province) and Xinghai (in Heilongjiang Province), were major bride-sending communities. The backgrounds of the Chinese women from these areas who sought Japanese husbands varied, and women ranged in age from being in their early twenties to their fifties. They were primarily unskilled workers, usually employed as salesclerks in local markets or as waitresses at restaurants. In some cases, they were simply unemployed and studying Japanese while waiting for their chance to be paired with a Japanese husband.

A variety of broker networks made these marriages possible. Some were based on kinship ties, such as was the case with one Japanese husband of a Chinese bride who acted as a broker in Japan while his Chinese brother-in-law played the partner role of broker in China. In other instances, the networks consisted of friends or acquaintances. Notably, these brokerage agencies were all commercial businesses. That means they made a profit from the brokerage fees they charged both men and women. Brokerage costs varied, but for Japanese men, they usually ranged from one to three million yen (approximately US$11,000 to US$33,000); such a price would include a several-day matchmaking [Jp: omiai] tour to China, a wedding, and other services, including assistance with the relevant paperwork.⁴ These fees went to the Japanese brokers. Fees for women ranged from RMB 20,000 to RMB 130,000 ($3,000 to $20,000) and went to the Chinese brokers. The women usually paid a down payment when they wedded and handed over the remaining sum on receipt of their spousal visa. Often, although not always, Chinese brides received betrothal money from their Japanese husbands. In many cases, this money was used toward brokerage fees, although it was rarely enough to cover the total costs.

To outline the growth and practices of the cross-border marriage industry between Japan and northeastern China is not, however, to fully answer the central question of this book, which requires also asking how and why participants came to view one another as potential marriage partners. Observing matchmaking processes in Japan and China, I was repeatedly struck by the ways potential marriage partners were created. Participants did not come to desire their potential partners because they somehow conceived of them as exotic, traditional, or alternately modern, phenomena frequently highlighted in work on other transnational intimate relationships. Quite the opposite; I observed that Japanese–Chinese matchmaking practices attempted to create proximate others based on perceived similarity and familiarity.

I found all this puzzling in light of the state of relations between Japan and China at the time. To put it bluntly, relations between Japan and China during that period were far from friendly; the history of Japanese colonialism and war responsibility persisted as a source of bilateral tension. This further raised the question of how it was possible that matchings between individuals from countries with such antagonistic relations could come to be viewed as legitimate unions. I would come to learn that the conditions of possibility for these transnational practices were inextricable from local histories, ideologies, and norms. Understanding contemporary practices of crossing borders between Japan and northeast China for the sake of marriage thus entails exploring and theorizing (1) marriage and the construction of marriageability; (2) the influence of the local; (3) the politics of similarity, proximity, and familiarity; and (4) the implicit ideologies pertaining to marriage itself. These constitute the major concepts and themes underpinning the arguments of this book, and it is to those I now turn.

Marriage and Marriageability

First and foremost, answering the question of how participants came to see one another as potential marriage partners requires bringing marriage into the analysis. This may seem obvious, but this has often become obscured by the current scholarly interest in gendered migration. Cross-border marriages are indeed a form of gendered migration, but cross-border marriages also crucially involve the construction of marriages. Unlike dating services or sex tours to other parts of Asia, many of the men and women I met desperately wanted to marry. For some, mobility was perceived as a central benefit; for others, it was reluctantly accepted as a necessity for the purpose of marriage. It would therefore be inaccurate to view marriage simply as a tool or means of migration, facilitating global flows of women. Rather, in the contexts I examined, marriage—as a locus of meaning—plays a role not only in the practices of negotiating mobility but also in marking and imagining, often with effort, the boundaries of potential marriage partners.

In the increasingly time/space compressed world of today, Appadurai (1996) notes that five forms of scapes have emerged, which he describes as fluid and irregular flows of technology, media, finance, people, and ideologies on a global scale. Drawing on these conceptions, Constable further suggests the existence of marriage-scapes (Constable 2005, 3) within which it is possible to seek a marriage partner by crossing national borders. Yet she stresses that marriage-scapes not only produce gendered patterns of movement; they also are shaped and limited by existing and emerging cultural, social, historical, and political-economic factors (2005, 4). In other words, not just any pairing of a poor country with a rich country produces a marriage-scape. There are limits. And yet, such limits still remain to be fully explored. What limits there are and how such limits are negotiated constitute important themes in this book, ones that are inseparable from the concept of marriageability.

I use the term marriageability in two senses: (1) the ability to be socially perceived as an individual worthy and capable of marriage; and (2) the conceptualization of others as potential marriage partners. These two meanings of marriageability concerning, respectively, the self and the other are always interlinked. To see certain others as marriageable, we also need to know the contours of our own marriageability. This book maintains that marriageability is negotiable and its limits can be reworked and stretched, but at the same time it also remains restricted within the confines of multiple values, norms, and ideologies. That is, given the historical, cultural, or social context, not everyone can be a suitable marriage partner. Thus, locating marriageability does not simply involve looking at the individuals who engage in these cross-border marriages. It also entails examining how people symbolically construct community boundaries (Barth [1988] 1969; Cohen 1985) and how, within such communities, people imagine comradeship and commonality (Anderson 1983).

My use of the term marriageability is influenced by the anthropological