By Davinder L. Bhowmik
Davinder Bhowmik
Songs are not mere entertainment if we consider the case of Japan. There, they can be the very essence of life itself. Okinawans, oppressed by the outsized United States military presence on their islands, on one hand, and by a central Japanese government that routinely ignores their voices, on the other hand, often pine for the golden age of the Ryūkyū Kingdom (1429-1879), a period of independence.
The Omoro Sōshi, a collection of some 1,500 songs written in the 16th and 17th centuries, is the oldest extant text in Ryukyuan literature and a veritable treasure trove of indigenous culture. Although written in a mix of Chinese characters and Japanese syllabary to approximate Ryukyuan language, the Omoro reflects local beliefs that predate the Japanese and Chinese influences that took hold as the kingdom paid tribute to the Ming and Qing dynasties and the Satsuma clan under the Tokugawa Shogunate.
The Omoro encapsulates oral traditions passed down for centuries revealing how early Ryukyuans expressed themselves in Old Ryukyuan, which evolved into modern Okinawan, a language related to but mutually unintelligible with Japanese. The Omoro preserves early language and the oral tradition albeit in a mixture of Chinese and Japanese. Had Ryukyuans developed their own written language, perhaps their geopolitical position would be stronger today.
Together with elucidating the creation of the Ryukyus, the compilation of songs is one of the ways in which the court established its legitimacy. Written under the patronage of the Shō Dynasty, whose members consolidated power in the southern Shuri court after the Three Kingdoms period (North, Central, South), the songs underscore the dynasty’s divine right. In addition, many songs emphasize the connection between monarchy and the gods whose words religious practitioners extoll.
That Omoro songs are prayers directed to the gods indicates the importance of indigenous shamanism and animism in Ryūkyū that predated Buddhist and Confucian beliefs. Women play a key role in early religious practice, particularly Nōro priestesses. The power of their words was felt throughout the political and social aspects of the court. Religious beliefs may have waned over the ages, but the Nōro priestesses’ power still commands awe today.
The importance of the Omoro in Ryūkyūan dance and music is profound. These early songs sung during court ceremonies and religious rituals included specific and detailed dance movements. Dance scholar Sachiyo Ito debated whether Ryukyuan dance developed under the influence of Southeast Asian culture or local practices. Drawing on evidence found in the Omoro, she concludes Ryukyuan dance is indigenous, even though it is difficult to ascribe its origins to a single source.
Linguists Leon Serafim and Rumiko Shinzato have examined and debated Omoro phonology to establish connections between the Omoro and contemporary eisa dance, widely beloved today. Modern dance companies such as Okinawa’s Ukwanshin Kabudan incorporate dance elements from the Omoro into their practice, as does Kilauea Dance Club, a group that performs for the large diasporic Okinawan population in Hawai’i.
Musical knowledge abounds in the Omoro. Each song includes a notation on tune, for instance. The rhythmic structures in the collection have influenced Ryukyuan classical music, particularly in sanshin (Okinawan three-stringed lute) compositions. Omoro chants have also made their way into folk songs performed at cultural events to this day. “Tinsagu no Hana” is a wonderful example. While the lyrics are not identical to the Omoro, the notion of imbuing oneself with the values of one’s parents is an unmistakable Omoro theme. This song has many variations, but an approximation of the first verse appears below in Japanese writing, romanization, and English translation.
てぃんさぐぬ花や
爪先に染みてぃ
親ぬ寄し事や
肝に染みり
Tinsagu nu hana ya
Chimi sachi ni sumiti
Uyanu yuushi gutu ya
Chimu ni sumiri
Dye the tips of your fingernails
With the petals of the tinsagu blossom
Dye the teachings of your parents
Onto your heart
This beloved song (Okinawa prefecture’s top song in 2011) is one I hope to play on my own sanshin one day! At first glance, the song may seem to embrace the Confucian virtue of filial piety. The act of dyeing, however, conjures a different image. Hajichi—the Ryukyuan practice of tattooing the back of women’s hands to mark their coming-of-age, offer protection, or seal their status—is an indigenous practice that the Japanese government banned in the Meiji period (1868-1912) when Okinawa was made to assimilate into the nation-state of Japan.
It is empowering to read “Tinsagu nu hana” as a song that underscores a cultural practice that resists the colonial oppression of the Ryukyus by Japan, begun by the Satsuma clan through their invasion in 1609 and continued by the Meiji government’s absorption and forced assimilation of the Ryūkyū clan. Colonial conditions pervaded the Battle of Okinawa in spring 1945 when Japanese military suspicions of spy activity by any Okinawan who spoke their own language resulted in death by execution.
And, after an occupation two decades longer than the rest of Japan, Okinawa “returned” to Japan in 1972, but is beset today with the largest concentration of U.S. military installations outside of the United States. While Ryūkyū may no longer be the flourishing kingdom of yesteryear, the songs of the Omoro continue to resound in the vibrant spiritual and cultural practices of Okinawa and its diasporic populations in mainland Japan, Hawaii, and Brazil today.
Davinder Bhowmik is an associate professor of Japanese at the University of Washington in Seattle. She will be delivering a talk on the Omoro Sōshi on April 8, 2025 at the University of Washington. You can register at this link.