Reflections From a Father in Changing Times

As someone raising a family in Japan, married to a Japanese partner, I find myself thinking often about what kind of society my children will grow up in. I write this as an outsider looking in. As someone whose life and future are inseparable from Japan's. As someone who loves this country deeply enough to worry about it, and to hope alongside many Japanese friends and thinkers who share these concerns.

I live in Tokyo, in a quiet and quaint neighborhood near Ueno Park. Recently, Unkei´s Buddha was exhibited at the Tokyo National Museum and several times I found myself standing right before this magnificent sculpture. Now, somehow my last visit felt a bit different. Perhaps because of conversations I've been having with my wife, with neighbors, with some of my students, about Japan's relationship with the world beyond its shores.

The Buddha's calm face seemed to be asking me something. And I realized: these aren't new questions. They're ancient ones that every generation must answer anew.

What Are We Afraid Of?

There's an undeniable tension in the air right now. Some people worry about preserving Japanese culture and harmony as more foreigners live and work here. Others worry that fear itself might cause Japan to lose sight of the very values it's trying to protect.

Both concerns are real. Both deserve to be taken seriously.

I don't pretend to have answers. But I keep thinking about Unkei and his Buddha, which he carved during the Kamakura period, one of the most turbulent times in Japanese history. Wars, power shifts, uncertainty everywhere. Yet Unkei didn't create an image of fear or defensiveness. He created something that radiates calm, openness, and compassion.

Why? What did he understand that we're struggling with now?

The Pattern in History

I enjoy reading and learning about Japanese history. There is always something new to learn. But even with my limited understanding, a pattern seems clear:

When Japan has opened itself, during the Nara period, the Meiji restoration, the post-war reconstruction, it has transformed outside influences into something uniquely Japanese, and flourished.

When Japan has closed itself off, particularly during the later Edo period, culture refined itself beautifully, yes, but eventually stagnated, and the reopening was traumatic rather than chosen.

This isn't judgment. It's just… my appreciation of what happened.

Buddhism itself came from outside, from India, through China and Korea. The writing system came from outside. Even Unkei's sculpting techniques were influenced by Song Dynasty art. Yet what emerged was unmistakably, powerfully Japanese.

So based on this I ask, is Japan's strength its purity and isolation? Or is it its remarkable ability to take what comes from outside, digest it deeply, and transform it into something that serves Japanese values?

If it's the latter, and from my perception of history suggests it might be, then what are we actually afraid of losing?

What My Children Are Teaching Me

My children are being raised Japanese. They speak Japanese at home (far better than I do), they attend Japanese schools, they're learning what it means to live in a society that values wa, harmony, consideration and collective wellbeing.

But they're also learning to navigate complexity. They see their father struggle with kanji. They see their mother explain cultural contexts I miss. They see their classmates with different backgrounds, different home languages, different family structures.

And you know what? They're not confused. They're not losing their Japanese identity. If anything, they're developing a more sophisticated understanding of what it means to be Japanese in a connected world.

They're teaching me that identity isn't fragile. It's resilient. It grows stronger through encounter, not weaker.

But that's just my family. I know many Japanese families are thinking about these questions differently, and I respect that. Which is exactly why we need to talk about it.

The Voices Already Speaking

I want to be clear: I'm not bringing some revelation from outside. Many Japanese people are already having this conversation, and I am certain probably more thoughtfully than I can.

Journalists, artists, scholars, activists, religious leaders, business people - there are Japanese voices already exploring what it means to be open without losing identity, to welcome others without sacrificing harmony, to adapt without abandoning values.

I'm not trying to start this conversation. I'm trying to join it. And I'm using Unkei's Buddha because it helps me understand what some of those Japanese voices are already saying.

The Real Complexity

Let me acknowledge what I don't know and can't answer:

How do you preserve cultural cohesion while integrating newcomers? I don't know. It's genuinely hard.

How do you protect workers - both Japanese and foreign - from exploitation in an expanding labor market? That's a real policy challenge.

How do you maintain neighborhood harmony when people don't share the same cultural assumptions about noise, space, interaction? These are legitimate concerns.

How do you ensure children in schools aren't disadvantaged by language barriers? Teachers are already stretched thin.

I don't have answers to these questions. Anyone who pretends they're simple is not being honest. But here's what worries me: When fear becomes the dominant emotion, we stop having nuanced conversations about these real challenges. We stop distinguishing between "thoughtful integration" and "reckless openness." We stop asking "how can we do this well?" and start asking "should we do this at all?" And history suggests that fear-based decisions have rarely served Japan well.

What the Buddha Might Ask

I sometimes imagine what Unkei was thinking as he carved, piece by piece, that beautiful chunk of wood. As I mentioned before, the Kamakura period was violent, uncertain, and dangerous. He could have created a Buddha that looked defensive, guarded, protective.

Instead, he created one that looks... open. Calm. As if to say: "Yes, the world is chaotic. Yes, there is danger. But closing your heart is not the answer. Awareness is. Compassion is. Wisdom is."

Of course, thoughts and feelings based on Buddhist teachings that speaks of engi (縁起) - interdependence. We are all connected. The wellbeing of one affects all. This mirrors what Japan has al ways valued: wa, harmony. 和

But here's the question I believe Unkei's Buddha seems to ask: Is harmony the absence of difference? Or is harmony the ability to hold difference without fear?

Is wa (和) something so fragile it shatters when others arrive? Or is it strong enough to expand, to include, to find balance even in complexity?

I don't know the answer. But I think it's worth asking.

What I Hope For

I'm not arguing for uncontrolled immigration. I'm not saying there aren't real challenges. I'm not dismissing legitimate concerns about cultural preservation, social cohesion, or practical integration issues.

What I'm arguing for is this: That we face these challenges from a position of confidence rather than fear. That we remember Japan's historical strength has been its ability to transform outside influences, not its ability to wall them out. That we trust Japanese culture is robust enough to maintain its essence while adapting its forms.

And most of all: That we have this conversation with nuance, respect, and honesty. Let´s avoid and stay away from fear, suspicion, or oversimplification.

An Invitation

I know some readers will think I'm naive. Some will think I don't understand Japan well enough to have this conversation. Some will have very different views on immigration, identity, and cultural preservation.

That's exactly why I want to hear from you as the discussion is being had.

What do you think when you look at Unkei's Buddha? What does it say to you about how we should face uncertainty? What does Japanese history teach you about openness and closure? What are your genuine concerns about the changes happening now? What solutions do you think could work? What are the hard realities - population, economics, technology, the rest of the world - that Japan faces nowadays?

I don't have all the answers. But I believe in the power of conversation, real conversation, where we listen to complexity rather than retreat into simplicity.

For my children, for all our children, I hope we can engage these questions with the same calm, open awareness that Unkei carved into wood 800 years ago.

The Buddha doesn't give us answers. It asks us to sit with the questions.

Maybe that's exactly what we need right now.

Thanks for reading. Abrazos.

Diego Rojas