Here we go again. Another sporting event, another round of the Japanese being lauded for their impeccable conduct while the rest of us are scolded like schoolchildren. The World Cup in Qatar has produced the predictable headlines: Japanese fans, having watched their team's match, stay behind to pick up every stray crisp packet, every discarded water bottle, every single piece of litter. They do so with Zen-like calm, without a single complaint. And now, the British commentariat, with its characteristic blend of envy and self-flagellation, demands that we follow their example. "Why can't we be more like the Japanese?" they ask, wringing their hands.
Let us take a step back. The Japanese clean-up is indeed admirable. It speaks to a culture of collective responsibility, of Shinto-influenced purity, of a people who understand that a stadium is a temporary temple and must be left as found. It is a beautiful thing, a product of centuries of social conditioning. But to demand that British crowds, with their very different cultural DNA, suddenly mimic this behaviour is both naive and faintly ridiculous. The British football crowd is not the Japanese football crowd. Our relationship with the public sphere is different, forged in the crucible of industrialisation, empire, and a stubborn individualism that would make a Spartan blush.
Consider the historical context. The Japanese reverence for order emerged from a feudal system that prized hierarchy and collective duty, later reinforced by post-war reconstruction and a near-total lack of natural resources (necessitating extreme efficiency). The British, by contrast, have a long tradition of rowdy public behaviour: from the boisterous crowds of Victorian music halls to the terraces of the 1980s, which required police in riot gear. We are a nation that invented the football hooligan, let's not forget. Our idea of a good time is often a bit of mess, a bit of noise, a bit of rebellion against the tyranny of tidiness. To expect us to suddenly transform into a nation of litter-picking saints is to ignore who we are.
Moreover, the fetishisation of Japanese behaviour reveals a deeper intellectual decadence. It is a form of cultural cringe, a belief that there exists somewhere a perfect nation whose habits we must slavishly copy. We did it with Germany in the 1990s (efficiency, punctuality, engineering) and now we do it with Japan. But national character is not a software update you can download. It is the product of blood, soil, and history. You cannot simply import the Japanese sense of public order into Britain without also importing the social pressures and conformities that often accompany it: the stifling of dissent, the fear of shame, the relentless work ethic that has contributed to a mental health crisis. Every coin has two sides.
Let us also question the premise. Are British crowds really that terrible? I recall the 2012 Olympics, which were praised for their volunteer spirit and general good cheer. Or the Wimbledon crowds, who maintain a near-monastic silence. And when it comes to actual danger, Japanese stadiums have their own problems: recent reports of excessive security and crowd control that borders on oppression. The point is, we are not all hooligans, and they are not all angels.
So by all means, let us encourage litter picking. Let us have a bit more civic pride. But let us stop this endless, fawning comparison that demeans our own culture and misunderstands theirs. The Japanese are not our moral superiors; they are different. And difference, my friends, is not always a ranking. It is a fact of life. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a crisp packet to drop on the pavement. Just to remind myself who I am.
