World Pressenza
The Woman Behind the “Japayuki” Label: One Entertainer’s Story
What does it mean to work as an entertainer? Julia (not her real name) and an estimated one million Filipino women entered Japan on a “Kōgyō” or Entertainer visa in the span of over 30 years. At its p
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What does it mean to work as an entertainer? Julia (not her real name) and an estimated one million Filipino women entered Japan on a “Kōgyō” or Entertainer visa in the span of over 30 years. At its peak in 2004, over 82,000 entertainer visas were granted to mostly Filipina performers. The 2005 anti-trafficking crackdown reduced that number to less than 1,000. Julia shares her story in her own words.
“I went to Japan in 1987. I was 18 years old then. So, I didn’t have to lie. Underaged girls, 16 or 17, had to visit Recto [a street in Manila] to get a ‘new’ birth certificate made… or have their marital status changed to ‘single’ in documents.”
“I heard about the opportunity to work in Japan from a neighbor who knew a talent manager recruiting cultural dancers. So, I went with my neighbor to the house of this recruiter. There we heard stories of how fabulous Japan was… We would come by and receive gifts–like Japanese shampoo. And before I knew it, we were rehearsing Hawaiian [Hula], modern, and a suite of Muslim dances. Then we were prepping for the audition next.”
“Audition was simple before the ARB [Artist Record Book]. Before Sioson, we did those three dances in front of the promoter.” Julia narrated, as a matter of fact, how her journey began.
By 1994, Julia had been going to Japan for seven years. That year, the Artist Record Book (ARB) certification system was established by the Philippine government after Maricris Sioson’s mysterious death in 1991. Sioson, rumored to be 17-years old, died four months after arriving in Japan. While the cause of death was officially declared as Hepatitis, her family alleged that her body showed signs of beatings.
Issued by the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration (POEA), the ARB certification proved that an aspiring entertainer had the training and Japanese language skills. To be certified, an entertainer must pass the test conducted by the Technical Education and Skills Development Authority (TESDA). The Japanese Immigration Office required ARB certification to issue the Certificate of Eligibility (COE) for Filipino performing artists to work in Japan.
“We Flashed our Best Smile”
Julia recalled the process before ARB. “To get a booking, we only had to audition at a night club somewhere in Mabini [Manila’s red-light district]. The promoter [recruiter on the Japanese side] rented the club for the auditions. Sometimes we didn’t even have to dance. We just showed our face–no dancing, no singing. Other times, the promoter only needed to see our headshots.”
“On rare occasions, the Japanese bar owner went with the promoter to find the girls. He auditioned singers or dancers himself. The Japanese-speaking promoter was in charge of the paperwork. He or a ‘fixer’ got us our visa from the Japanese Embassy.”
“Once we got booked [passed the audition], and our passport and visa were ready, the Japanese employer would advance a month’s booking [talent] fee. It was $800 for first-timers. The talent manager [local recruiter] gets $100. In truth, the booking fee paid by the Japanese employer was between $1,200 and $ 1,500 a month.”
“This ‘advance’ was the money we used to buy our make-up and the clothes to bring. We were told to buy a few cold-weather clothes, at least 3 pieces.”
“Bar Girls”
“The first time I went, three of us newbies arrived to see 20 to 30 women already working there at the bar owned by a Korean businessman. These women became our ‘ate’ [Filipino honorific for older sister]. We were bar girls. Our work was to sit with customers.”
Julia used the Filipino colloquial, “tine-table kami,” as her job description. Applicable to the service provided by a hostess in a Filipino Cabaret Club (“kyabakura” in Japan), the verb “tine-table” describes the process of a male customer picking from a lineup one bar girl of his choice to join him to drink and eat bar food (snacks) at his table. In Japan, however, the “kyabakura” or “sunnaku” (snack bar) drinking places are not big enough for dining tables. Instead, lounge seating with a low center table is the setup.
Like a “kyabakura,” the “firipin pabu” (Philippine Pub), or drinking establishments staffed with Filipino hostesses, charge their customers an hourly rate. Often this is an “all-you-can-drink” (“nomihoudai”) fee. A girl “requested” by a customer must be attentive to his needs. She provides him “oshibori,” a small, damp towel used as a hand wipe. She pours him drinks, lights his cigarette, and flirts with him.
She also drinks, albeit watered-down beverages, and orders snacks for herself, all paid for by her customer. Sometimes she sings karaoke, especially when asked. She also goes out on a “date” with a customer who must pay a bar fine.
In some places she gives a performance, like a dance number in a striptease show. According to Julia, dancing in those places becomes more risqué as the night goes on. Another job for younger, newer girls is to assist veteran performers prepare to dance.
Money from Tips and Gifts
Julia continued. “They [Japanese employers] took our passports when we got there. They provided us housing –- like a dormitory house not far from the ‘O-mise’ [bar]. So, we didn’t have to commute. But the ‘tencho’ or club floor manager can go to our house to check on us at any time.”
“We got a 700-yen daily food allowance or 2,700 yen per week. We had to make money from tips and gifts because we did not receive our ‘monthly booking fee’ [salary]. Not until we were about to board the plane at the airport did they give us our pay for our six-month contract –minus the one-month advance.”
“Actually, it is a three-month contract, subject to ‘enchō’ or extension. And since you would want to come back for another round, you did everything to get extended. Sometimes, girls who weren’t bringing in money or customers were sent home after three months.”
“Of course, we had to please the ‘tencho.’, even though he is not the owner whom we called ‘shachō’ [company president]. ‘Mama-san’ was the most senior among us bar girls.”
No Getting Fat
“It’s the ‘tencho’ who implements the quota, or the ‘shime’ [ending count]. He keeps track of which girl a customer requested. So, for example, each of us should have about 10 customer requests every night”,
“If you’re not meeting the quota, the ‘tencho’ yells at the ‘ate’ [veteran bar girls] to teach you [the underperforming girl] how to wear make-up, maintain hygiene, or flirt. Those who meet the quota, or those who get asked out on dates by customers, got a ‘bonus’ [commission] from the ‘dōhan’ [bar fine].”
“Every week, we’re ranked according to the number of our customer requests—from the most requested to the least. We receive our ‘bonus’ in an envelope when we’re in the top group. You do not want to be out of the ranking.”
“Then there was also the weekly weigh-in. If you gained weight, you pay a fine of 1,000 Yen for every kilo (gained). If you lost the weight (you gained), you get the money back. So, we were taught by our ‘ate’ [senior] to put stuff in our pockets for the very first weigh-in.”
Falling in Love is Taboo
“On slow nights, and nobody is at the ‘O-mise’ by 10:00 PM, ‘tencho’ barks orders at us to start calling our customers. ‘Tencho’ would say things to us like: ‘Maybe your breath stinks. Why is nobody coming?’”
Every Filipina entertainer knew better to be on the good side of “tencho.” If she wanted to return for another contract, she did everything to charm him. That is, until she found a way to stay for good.
After making money on tips, the goal is to maintain a “number one,” the loyal customer who would only request for her services. But having a “number one “ take her out on dates is even better.
Competition among women for customers and ranking can be brutal, according to Julia. Because “tencho,” the floor manager, constantly shuffles them to keep the room’s energy fresh, a girl’s number one customer can easily become someone else’s. Still, while they scramble for daily tip earnings and request counts, strategic quid pro quo and the power of sisterhood are essential to advance everybody’s higher aspirations.
Where the ultimate goal is finding a Japanese husband to secure permanent residency, the women actively avoid sabotaging each other’s long-term prospects. They cover for one another so a sister can sneak out of their dorm-house to date a potential boyfriend who eventually wants to avoid paying the bar fine.
But until then, falling in love with a customer is a no-no. It is forbidden even to have a heart, one “tencho” told Julia. Still, the ever-resilient Julia kept going until 1998.