DOYA DOYA

On Sunday January 14th in Osaka, Shitennoji temple held its annual Doya-Doya festival, touted in English as the "naked festival." In the main event, two groups of loincloth-clad men parade to the temple and fight over amulets. Tracy H. was visiting me from Korea, and this was her last day in Japan party blow out.

The temple grounds were crowded, and everyone was vying for the best viewing spots. We found the best standing space we could and waited for half-naked men.

A parade of pre-school and elementary school-aged boys, shouting "Rashai!" marched to the temple with their mothers' help. They wore shorts and the crowd loved the kawaii factor. After they proceeded to the temple entrance and back, a group of moddle school-aged boys, clad in loincloths, came jumping, fist-pumping and screaming "Rashai!" as they paraded the same route.

The rhythmic bleating of whistles became audible, and soon two singlefile lines of loin cloth-clad men became visible. One line wore red cloth, the other white, and they hop-marched to the whistles. Their ages ranged from young adults to older men. As they passed, butt cheeks bounced in unison. The snake-like lines slithered through the grounds and to the temple entrance. When I saw them close-up, they were full of vigor, shouting and jumping despite the cold and almost full disclosure.

Once they reached the entrance, the following events were repetitive and ritual-like:
1.) Face the masses.
2.) Be doused with cold water by temple elders.
3.) Compete for amulets falling from the ceiling.
4.) Repeat.

While trying to get a better view, we ran into Kari and Beth, two students from Wyoming. Beth was frustrated that her camera lacked the proper amount of loincloth-glory. "They have to leave sometime. And we'll be there," she said, determined to head them off at the pass. Following her through the crowd, we were standing in the front row for the exit procession.

As the men passed, we got close and took many pictures. My goal, possibly obvious from my camera angle, was to obtain as many awesome butt photos as possible. When their flimsy loincloths showed more than they should, my reaction was to feel a little shy and embarrassed about going for butts. The men, however, felt no shame. They openly acknowledged us, smiling, and making the "V" finger sign for our cameras.

Being on display and photographed didn't seem to embarrass them. Instead, they were the powerful ones in this situation. They were proud of their manliness, the courage and virility that I suppose their participation in this event represented. Fat asses, little booties, old men butts - all were going for the new year's amulet.

Earlier that week on Wednesday, we went to a Shinto festival regarding the god Ebisu and good luck in the new year. We were browsing the food vendors, considering okonomiyaki, chocolate-filled mini pancakes, or fried sweet potatoes. The crowd bottlenecked, and we watched the procession that squeezed by. Smiling, waving young women, sitting demurely on wooden platforms carried by men, were paraded through the street. They wore make-up, fashionable outfits, and sashes that said "Miss ____." I assume that they were the winners from their neighborhood for some sort of beauty contest.

I don't want to go into an analysis of the obvious differences here. There is one event in which boisterous bodies are celebrated, and anyone can participate. There is another where few are chosen to demurely be carried as they wave and smile politely. Which camp am i placed in based on my gender, and how do I feel about that? Its an obvious answer that deserves a long discussion if I were to start it.

I wrote this during a break at dance rehearsal. The rehearsals now stretch from noon until 9pm, with a lot of down time in between. Writing in a notebook is like a Japanese girl attractor - I don't know what it is, whether it's because it is English or because it is something that separates me from the group - that makes them rush over and ask me what i am doing. "Is it homework? Is it studying?" and i had to explain to a few of them today that I was writing about Doya doya. "Why?" they ask. Well, I think it is relevant to performance studies and writings about the body, so I said it is kind of related to dance studies. To cross the language barrier, I put it simply: Why is it celebrated when men do this, but it would be completely inappropriate for women to do it?

Erika answered, probably carefully choosing vocabulary that I could understand, that men are strong and women are gentle. I asked her why. She said "I wonder why."