by Kabir Sehgal
Remember Your On
In all my travels and research, the most fascinating and curious gift economy that I encountered was in Japan. Not only do we find the constant movement of gifts and the seesaw between gratitude and anxiety, but there’s a high degree of thoughtfulness and detail that goes into procuring and giving gifts. Unpacking Japanese gift exchange reveals complex ideas about social debt and gratitude.
In the mid-twentieth century, anthropologist Ruth Benedict detailed Japanese conceptions of debt, known as on and giri. On is defined most broadly as an obligation. It’s the social burden that one carries from others, such as managers or parents. A worker who receives a benefit from his manager, say a promotion or bonus, is said to carry an on to his manager. To remember your on is to feel gratitude toward whoever provided you with the benefit, and eventually to reciprocate.
The burden of on makes many reluctant to get entangled with others, as in refusing to accept casual acts of kindness from a stranger who offers a beer or a cigarette. Even today, some conceal their trips abroad from friends to avoid having to bring gifts.55 Benedict says that the Japanese have various ways of expressing thanks, such as arigato, which means “Oh, this difficult thing.”56 Another word for thanks, sumimasen, has an apologetic connotation and is loosely translated as “I’m very sorry” or “This doesn’t end.” The feeling of obligation is so deep, it seemingly cannot be repaid.57
To repay an on can be long and complicated. A man is said not to know how to repay the on to his own parents until he himself has children. To care for your children is to repay parental on that you accrued when you were a needy child. During World War II, many Japanese recognized their imperial on toward the emperor of Japan. Every gift distributed to the soldiers, from sake to cigarettes, was an advance of the imperial on. To die in a kamikaze mission was to repay an imperial on.58
Benedict describes two types of repayment: gimu is a repayment of an on that can never be totally repaid, debts you take on at birth, like on toward parents; giri is a repayment of on with some measure of equivalence.59 She distinguishes between giri to the world, repaying one’s contemporaries and extended family, and giri to one’s name, maintaining your honor, reputation, and good name. Giri is even embedded in the names of certain familial relations: Instead of “father-in-law,” it’s “father-in-giri.”60 Not to give a giri risks one’s reputation or “credit” of not knowing how to act and honor on. Giri payments are even dressed up as Valentine’s Day presents or giri choco, which means “obligation chocolate,” when women give sweets to men with whom they’re not romantically involved. One survey showed that 84 percent of women give gifts to people who have aided them, repaying an on, yet only 28 percent give to someone with whom they’re romantically involved.61 On March 14, a month after Valentine’s Day, the tables are turned and the men reciprocate with white chocolate gifts for women.
Repayment is expected even when you experience personal tragedy. My American friend’s mother died while he was living in Japan. When he returned to work, there was a pile of envelopes, known as okouden bukuro, with cash gifts that his colleagues had given as condolences. He learned that the proper protocol is to spend half of this money on return gifts such as handkerchiefs for his colleagues, known as hangaishi, or “half return.”
Anthropologist Katherine Rupp picks up from Benedict, exploring the art form of gift exchange in Japan. Not all Japanese people take part in ritualized gift exchange, but she identifies noteworthy patterns. The Japanese gift economy spells real business: The summer (chûgen) and winter (seibo) gift seasons account for 60 percent of earnings for many department stores. Stores start their seibo advertising campaigns early and hire staff to keep up with demand, just like the Christmas season in the United States. Folks are flush with cash because they receive bonuses worth two or more months of salary.62
These giving seasons began in China, possibly as a Buddhist tradition, and were an opportunity to show gratitude to one’s deceased ancestors. During the Meiji Restoration in Japan, in the nineteenth century, the government urged citizens to replace Buddhist shrines with more nationalist Shintō ones, in order to create a sense of commonality. Over time, gift giving became less of a way to honor deities. It became a way to bestow favor on one’s parents and ancestors, or simply to repay an on. Younger people today have even updated, contemporized, and merged seibo with Christmas, since both happen around the same time of the year.63
In Japan, gratitude isn’t just symbolically represented by the bow and ribbons tied around a gift, but by how the gift is wrapped—an indication of the high attention to detail found in this gift economy. Gifts for weddings and funerals are tied with a unique knot known as musubikiri, meaning “to tie completely,” and which cannot be unraveled easily.64 Gifts for birthdays, graduations, and newborns ought to be tied with cho-musubi, or a “butterfly knot,” which can be unraveled readily, suggesting that these events happen more frequently.65 To tie a funeral gift with a butterfly knot is foreboding, meaning that another death may occur. Similarly, a wedding gift tied with a butterfly knot doesn’t bode well for the success of the marriage.
Gifts with wrapping paper from top department stores indicate that the giver has spent considerable time and money on the selection. Top department stores are adamant about wrapping gifts themselves in order to control quality and maintain their reputation. On the wrapping paper is usually the store brand and address, so that the recipient knows from which branch location it was purchased. And new hires are trained over many days on how to wrap presents properly.66 The person who receives the gift is expected to unwrap it deliberately and thoughtfully. Other cultural practices include giving money in odd numbers; even numbers are considered unlucky because they are divisible. And envelopes containing money for weddings should have in the top right corner a small depiction of an abalone, which is a symbol of auspiciousness. All of this to say, it can be a highly elaborate process to give a gift and enact a social debt in Japan. Even though there’s not a formal accounting system, the Japanese gift economy acts as if there is one in place—gifts are evaluated closely. The only thing missing is a price.
Into the Wilds of the Market
Computing obligations with money can transform them into debt instruments found in the market economy, from a mortgage to buy your house to a bank loan to renovate it. Financial debt has been with us since the beginnings of civilization. Interest-bearing loans predated the invention of coins by thousands of years.
Around 5000 BC, in what’s now known as the Middle East, various types of debt instruments emerged. Friendly loans with no interest were common, but these resembled gifts: Despite not having a price, there was still an obligation to repay. Interest-bearing loans started with agriculture and farming: seeds, nuts, olives, grains, and cows borrowed by destitute farmers who repaid the loan with interest—in the form of the surplus from their harvest.67 Loaning agricultural goods, however, was fraught with difficulty. The gains on an agricultural loan were uncertain due to unpredictable weather.68
As civilization took root, the need for lending grew. Short-term interest-free loans remained since they helped people, particularly family members, cope with a crisis. But again, these loans were more like gifts. To recognize the importance of interest-bearing loans to ancient societies, consider the Third Dynasty of Ur.
Around 2100 BC, after the decline of the Akkadian Kingdom, a dynasty emerged in the city of Ur, in what is now southern Iraq, which lasted for 104 years. It’s a period known as the “Sumerian Renaissance.”69 City leaders incorporated advanced architecture, like brick buildings with sloped arches, and built walkways so that people could amble to work. Surviving documents from this period also show a society rich with literature, language, religion, and commerce.
Many documents mention a merchant known as Turam-ili. Fifty-nine tablets constitute the Turam-ili archive, now housed at Yale University. Nearly 20 percent of these records are loan documents. Turam-ili was known as “ugula dam-gàr,
” which translates to “overseer of the merchants.”70 Turam-ili acted as an agent for others, buying and selling goods, and extending credit to those in need. He and other merchants made loans to finance payments and the transfer of items, a necessary function to keep any economy humming. Moneylending among merchants and others was attractive because income generated from interest-bearing loans could be used to procure even more land, animals, and slaves.71 Money made money.
During this time period, loans that required interest payments were structured in various ways. Some stipulated that borrowers make interest payments in the form of labor: Silver-based loans usually required a debtor to provide a skilled laborer; barley-based loans required the labor of an agricultural worker. Historian Steven Garfinkle says that loans that required nonlabor interest payments can be classified as “productive” and “consumptive.” Productive loans were made in silver by merchants or institutions and for the enhancement of a debtor’s living situation, such as improving their home. Consumptive loans were made in barley and intended to help a debtor make ends meet before the harvest.72 These loans also helped to reinforce the status of people in a hierarchical society, as creditors could increase the dependency of laborers.
Garfinkle calls credit a “functional necessity,” since almost everyone relied on it, destitute farmers and wealthy individuals alike.73 Affluent folks may have been trying to finance their high cost of living, or reloaning to others at higher rates. Creditors included wealthy families, merchants like Turam-ili, and large institutions.
The temples, the palace, and the households of governors and officials were the principal institutions of Sumerian society, and they were the major creditors, in some cases functioning like banks.74 They took in taxes and dues in the form of grains, animals, and silver. They also accrued income from land that had been given by kings or won during a war. They even distinguished between items that could be exchanged and those that couldn’t, publishing exchange rates and establishing the basis for trade. Acting as institutional lenders, they made interest-bearing “consumptive” loans to individuals so they could make ends meet until the harvest season—and Shamash the God of Justice was often listed as the creditor.75 Also listed were the names of the debtor, the principal amount, the name of a witness, the year the loan was originated, and the seal of the debtor. Loan contracts were agreed to orally because most people were illiterate.76 The creditor kept the sealed loan agreement until it was repaid, at which time the record was usually destroyed.
Though most creditors preferred to be repaid the principal plus interest, there were times when debtors just couldn’t make good on the loan. Declaring personal bankruptcy wasn’t an option, so there was some creative license in making repayments. When a debtor couldn’t repay a silver-based loan, they offered livestock and food. The Sumerian word for interest, máš, or “calf,” has been interpreted to mean that payments were to be made in livestock.77 There were even instances of men giving up their wives or sons to avoid interest payments.78 When debts outstanding amounted to levels at which the public threatened unrest, sometimes the royal court, usually with the ascension of a new king, decreed clean slates that canceled all agricultural debts.79
A similar practice of debt amnesty happens even in modern societies. Until recently, the first act of a new French president was to cancel all parking tickets.80
In Mesopotamia, the logic for setting interest rates varied based on the type of loan. Variation in seasonality was the reason that barley-based loans had higher interest rates than silver-based loans, approximately one-third of the principal versus one-fifth.81 These rates were inscribed in the Code of Hammurabi, named after the Babylonian king who installed it as a type of governing directive, though it wasn’t always followed to the letter, and as Garfinkle notes, may have also served as “royal propaganda.”82 Sometimes, however, temples acted like a modern central bank, dropping interest rates to lower the cost of borrowing for debtors.
Economic records suggest that interest rates declined through successive ancient civilizations: 20 percent in Mesopotamia, 10 percent in Greece, and just over 8 percent in Rome. Lower interest rates can be a sign of market efficiency and lower risks of lending, and could reflect increases in productivity and development between successive civilizations.83 However, Michael Hudson, an expert in Babylonian economics, surmises that rates were based on mathematical simplicity and not so much on economic conditions.84 In Mesopotamia, most payments, including interest payments, were measured with weights, so it was helpful to use simple fractions and round numbers. The Sumerians used a sexagesimal numeral system, a system with the number 60 as its base.85 We even use such a system today for measuring seconds and minutes. Calculating interest rates with this system was straightforward because 60 is easily divisible: The measurement of silver, mina, was split into sixty shekels, and interest was typically charged at one shekel per month on a one-mina loan. That amounted to 12/60ths of a mina per year, or a 20 percent annual interest rate. Even today, interest rate payments for some mortgages are based on a sexagesimal system, a 360-day calendar, partly because it’s easier to use. Classical Greece and Rome employed numerical systems with different bases of 10 and 12 respectively. Interest typically charged worked out to 1/10th of principal, or 10 percent in Greece, and 1/12th, or just over 8 percent, in Rome.86
In short, almost everyone needed credit, and interest-bearing loans have been integral to the functioning of economies both ancient and modern.
Sinister Bonds
Raju thought he had just landed himself a new job. A Burmese laborer, he journeyed to Thailand to work. He was required to pay a “brokerage fee,” which he couldn’t afford, so he borrowed the funds. He reasoned that his eventual income would help pay off the debt. He was then forced at gunpoint to work long hours on a Thai fishing boat. Raju said of one person who attempted to escape, “The man was tied to a post… electrocuted and tortured with cigarette butts… later shot through the head.”87 Raju courageously dove into the water, swam to safety, and lived to share his story. This isn’t an ancient tale but rather a modern one detailed in the US Department of State’s 2012 report on human trafficking.
Stories like these show that all too often, debt becomes not just a way to reinforce status but an instrument of oppression. Debtors’ inability to repay loans can result in situations that deprive them of their freedom. Debt becomes a way to control others.
In the case of a social debt, it can be difficult to determine an acceptably equivalent way to reciprocate. Without specific prices, the value of a gift is open to interpretation and approximation. With lending and borrowing in the commercial sphere, there’s no guessing because it comes with an exact price. Attaching a nominal money value to debt certainly makes clear to everyone where they stand, down to the penny. But it also provides less wiggle room when someone can’t repay. In the name of debt contracts, creditors can ask a borrower to do things that they normally wouldn’t in the familial sphere—forgo a visit to the doctor, sell your wife, or work as a bonded laborer—all in order to make a debt payment.
Anthropologist Alain Testart distinguishes among different types of debt bondage: (1) Slavery is when insolvent debtors lose rights and citizenship and are essentially exiled with no chance to attain freedom; (2) pawning is a type of forced labor in which a debtor serves a creditor, and eventually, but not always, attains freedom after the debt has been repaid.88 Both deprive a debtor of freedom, and often pawns become slaves, as creditors add the cost of food and medicine to the outstanding debt as well as charging high interest rates.
In ancient Mesopotamia, pawning involved ruthless practices. Graeber’s research finds that a man was disallowed to sell his wife. But the Code of Hammurabi stipulated that creditors could seize a man, his family, or his slaves if he was unable to repay a debt—and force them to work. A debt contract effectively turned a person into an object or commodity to settle an account, contorting the familial sphere into the commercial one.89 Upholding one�
�s creditworthiness was part of maintaining honor, apparently a virtue for which anything or anyone could be sacrificed.90 Maintaining one’s reputation is vital to the gift economy, too, but the punishments in the commercial sphere are usually more severe. In a gift economy, the benefactor risks his own reputation if he treats a debtor without compunction. In the market economy, historically, the creditor could resort to cruel measures.
