Tale One: Beethoven and Knives

The first tale I offer from this particular “anthill” known as Tokyo (East Capital), occurred in Yoyogi Park. It’s a wonderful part of Tokyo, where on any given day, drum circles coexist with Rockers, skaters bust tricks near buskers (who perform their music whether you tip or not). It’s commonly known as a safe haven and peaceful place for those who desire greenery, diversity and creativity.

Before I discovered this sanctuary – before living in Tokyo- I spent the first part of my stay in Japan haunting places like Eastern Inlet (Konan) and Dog Mountain (Inuyama) your basic, average, Japanese towns. They were sleepy towns where the natives bow when they pass you and the stars are visible at night. The quaint part of Inuyama I lived in, Fuso, was famous for their daikon (big,long white Japanese radishes are very exciting to some people here.)

It was an idyllic existence bordering on dull, which is why I started chasing bosozoku (bike gangs) with a Sony camera. But that’s another tale.

Before Tokyo I had limited experience with Japanese police. Strange considering my documentary involved following teenagers on illegally modified bikes, who ran red lights and roared their engines late into the night. But then again, a nervous patrolman once asked me if my trusty fold up bike was stolen (it wasn’t if you’re wondering.) Bikes, unlike umbrellas are not common property here.

So why should I have been surprised when two cops in Yoyogi park-my new oasis- asked me for my passport?

Is it because I am a naïve, white American, so ignorant to police harassment experienced by non-white residents? Perhaps.

Or, because not being at the airport, I didn’t have my passport and these boys-in-blue didn’t seem like immigration officers? The more I type, the more I’m starting to empathize more with my brown brethren who reside in the so-called “melting pot” of the USA.

Here is a re-enactment – I’ll let you decide.

EXT. YOYOGI PARK, TOKYO-DAY

The sun is pleasant and a perfect spring breeze runs its invisible tentacles through the trees. An UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN (foreigner) lays on a park bench with his head resting on a backpack. Through headphones he is listening to Beethoven’s 9th and dozing, though not quite in slumber.


An OLDER POLICEMAN and a YOUNGER POLICEMAN approach and then poke the UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN to get his attention.

YOUNGER POLICEMAN
(sheepishly in Japanese)
Do you have your passport?

UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN
(unconvincingly in English)
I don’t speak Japanese.

YOUNGER POLICEMAN
(still sheepishly in English with a strong Japanese accent)
Passport?

UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN

I don’t speak Japanese.

OLDER POLICEMAN
(less sheepishly in a stronger Japanese accent)
Passport-o?

UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN

I don’t speak Japanese.

The policemen grunt and um and ahh while they decide if this “one” is worth it. The UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN thinks about how lucky he is that he isn’t in L.A where he would have been on the ground at gunpoint.
Before they speak he pulls out his Resident Alien Card –sometimes called gaijin card-and offers it up. The policeman grunt and um and ahh like confused apes looking at a crayon drawn map of the solar system.
The UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN turns the card over so they can check that his address and info are updated. Both policeman look up from the card.

OLDER POLICEMAN
(quite matter-of-factly in Japanese)
Do you have a knife?

One or two moments pass.

YOUNGER POLICEMAN
(quite matter-of-factly in broken English)
Have a knife?
One more moment passes.

UNSUSPECTING GAIJIN
(convincingly in English)
I’m an English teacher!

The policemen hand his gaijin card back and walk off.

EL FIN

Welcome to Tokyo!