The dream that was Japan has finally come true. I was going and go I did.
First stop was Kyoto, a beautiful place with houses and buildings not going beyond five storeys high as well as streams and big trees engulfing temples and national parks.
My friend’s rented apartment looked exactly like those traditional houses I saw in Akira Kurosawa’s films except the sliding doors were made of glass and lock installations were out of this world, if not much more innovative than ours.
Convenience stores, of course, were abundant in the middle of night for those craving for sushi, ramen and Yakult (which apparently has more to offer than the small bottle containing lactobacilli Shirota strain).
The sento, or the public bath, was not to be missed out – taking me several visits to finally focus on the towels and shampoo bottles on the men’s heads instead of something else.
The politeness was definitely worth-mentioning with the word sumimasen, much like Hong Kong’s m’goi, being mentioned albeit more frequently.
Looking at the landscape, the lamp and electricity posts, the nature of the houses and by their sheer order, I thought that Philippines would have been like Kyoto, if not the whole of Japan, if all the dirt on the streets and in our government have been completely rid of.
The G8
The Hentai dream was soon to become a mere illusion, a nightmare I woke up from.
Japan has been in a long period of recession, passing them into the age of depression – much like the United States in the 1930s. Food and other products were getting more expensive than they already are, unemployment rate is high with 33% of irregular workers composed of fresh graduates and young people, suicides across all ages were simply alarming.
I was of course there not as Sailormoon aiming to save the Japanese people from debilitating hopelessness but as a friend and supporter, activist and solidarity comrade against the G8 that happened in Lake Toya, Hokkaido.
For five consecutive days, with the first two happening in Sapporo and the next three along the highways going to Lake Toya, we marched for a minimum of two hours, with Japanese slogans profusely flowing like hot lava from our mouths, banners, flags and shirts that rallied calls against the G8, and nori-wrapped sticky rice and ripe tomatoes to feed on at the end of these marches.
Nights were allotted for sharing and discussing concerns, expressing solidarity and developing networks for bigger campaigns and actions in the future.
The Ainus
I was invited by our member student organization, which joined a big group of anti-imperialist and anti-G8 groups who organized the 3-day camp-out and protest.
The Ainus, Japan’s indigenous people residing mostly in Hokkaido, were part of the organizers. As their reception to us was warm, their sentiments toward the Japanese diet and the G8 were of immense rage and hatred.
They hated the Japanese diet with a passion for it grabbed their land away from them. Having fought for this inherent right for such a long time, they were faced with sheer arrogance and neglect as well as brute military force. Much like the oh-so exaggerated deployment of military and police force as if the Bozanians were to attack Lake Toya and Voltes V was in the carburetor shop.
While some of the Ainu leaders negotiated with the diet to recognize them as an indigenous people, some were more upfront and led the protest.
They called for a summit of their own, calling the G8 Summit a farce and its leaders as the root cause of climate change, the food crisis and all the world’s problems. Something not one has to exaggerate about.
The Irony
While there in the camp, I observed how the Japanese activists were very conscious of the food they ate - not leaving even a speck of rice or a sliced pickled ginger in the plastic container. They brought their own chopsticks and bowls and segregated the trash into the combustibles and non-combustibles.
They said that they would rather cook than eat outside because it was more economical, not to mention that they too were feeling the economic crunch.
On my last night in Kyoto, activist friend Hana brought me to a 100-yen sushi shop to eat, yes, sushi. There we had 1,000 yen (10 US$) worth of sushi and takoyaki balls.
Cheap, I happily uttered. It is probably your salmon, he answered.
Those words rang in my head over and over that it took me hours before I could sleep.
It was like he implied to me that their heads too were being turned by their imperialist government – being pampered to an extent so as not to complain. That they are made to see beautiful meadows, fields and seas as others were exploited, plundered and owned. That social turmoil only exists in Africa, not in Namagasake, Osaka – where workers were abused and exploited, but fighting and resisting. Or elsewhere in Japan, like Okinawa where the US military basing and raping teenage women are okay with the diet.
So much for Hello Kitty. The Bozanians actually lived among us.
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