Occupied Japan

In San Francisco in the 1970s, I bought a sewing machine at a garage sale. Sewing was just construction — carpentry without the splinters and purple thumbs. This machine referenced a complex time in the history of our two countries: printed were the words, “Made in Occupied Japan.”

My guess was that after the war, there was a need to begin manufacturing, to put people to work quickly. The American “occupiers” set up shop. Singer was one of the companies brought in to start things going. I have no idea why the “occupied” was necessary, but it brought to mind questions about life in an occupied land. What was that like, for the people who had just endured a nuclear defeat and succumbed to a foreign overlord?

I’d kept the Singer ever since. My sewing needs were of the basic, linear variety: mending jeans, restoring a loose hem, making a cover or pouch. I wondered what such a relic — that is vintage machine with historical significance — would fetch if I brought it to Japan.

One afternoon on my third visit, I looked for places where I could sell it. I wasn’t going to lug it to Japan unless I knew there was a liquid market for it. So I visited some craft sales and open markets, never seeing anything similar. Time ran out for such side inquiries; yet I couldn’t stop wondering: would it fetch a good price or be a shunned reminder of a time the Japanese wished to forget? What was life like for them after the war, when their leadership had failed them — led them into war and returned their country to them in pieces? Every country had its history; but there was so much about Japan I didn’t know.