Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes, one of my favorite poets from the Harlem Renaissance, wrote a poem called The Negro Speaks of Rivers. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Beautiful, deshou? The man was a God with a typewriter!

Well, this here negro is about to speak of Subways!  (Mainly cuz if it ain’t the Hudson River (or East River) I don’t know jack about it except what I’ve read in books (btw, best book ever about a river: Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain…if you haven’t read it you should be ashamed of yourself!)

Well, I’ve known Subways…

I grew up on the NYC Subway the way one says I grew up on a farm or a ranch. The subway was my first love, even before I understood what I was feeling. My first whatchawannabewhenugrowup dream was not to be a Police Man or a Fire Man, or even a King. It was to be a Motor Man on the subway (or even a conductor, though driving that sucker held a stronger appeal than conducting- that is, opening and closing doors and announcing stations- ever held.) My family and friends rode the train merely for transportation. Not I. I not only rode the trains for transportation, I rode them to be transported; to be spirited away, in exaltation, to a realm where power and speed were mine to command; on a whim I could cover a great sweep at a terrific clip to join the Hardy Boys on some exotic mission  or play catch with Willie Mays.  Adventure lay ahead…even if the last stop was only Coney Island, or Far Rockaway…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dK6zPbkFnE

On the train, I was Huckleberry Finn and the subway was my river, the “A” train my skiff.  I knew the subway as well as Twain knew the Mississippi. If anyone wanted to know how to get anywhere, even at a tender prepubescent age, I could give directions and even illustrations if  they needed them. I used to steal subway maps from the train, take them home and study them like they were my homework. I’d also steal advertisements from the walls of subway cars and hang them in my room so even my bedroom would have a subway feel to it. My older brother, an accomplished graffiti artist of some note back in the day- and I can say without reservation had a more intimate relationship with the subway then even I had- having spent a great deal of his free time roaming the train yards with his crew of artists / vandals: NSA,

One of my favorite artist back then: LEE

dodging yard bums, dogs and police in order to spend several hours painting a piece that had a possible shelf life of a week dependent entirely on the diligence of the subway car cleaning staff), had spray painted his girlfriend’s name the width and length of our 10 x 30 foot bedroom wall (something I didn’t appreciate at the time but thinking back I realize it was actually an exceptional piece) so our room even had the aroma of a subway car.

We were intimate, the subway and I. It played a cameo if not a starring role in many precious and indelible moments of my life.

I can still remember one of my first subway rides.

Compared to the subway cars now it was a dark (turd brown actually), gloomily lit, uncomfortable death trap (see above) but it was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen.  I was small and the windows were tall so I had to be lifted by someone to see the dimly lit tunnel we raced through. The seats were made of a sort of shellacked straw or something like that.  It had ceiling fans with exposed fan blades overhead! (I wonder how many people lost fingers stretching) It shook, rattled and roared its way from station to station. The wheels against the rails made a wrenching grinding metallic yet raw and melodic tune, like a skiffle band, or the sound that inspired Johnny Cash.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1xSt7iganA

My heart danced to it. I could hardly contain myself the combination of power and beauty was so impressive. And it was so loud you had to yell to be heard. “Nooooo,” I had to yell at my father when he told me we were to get off at the next station.

I still get the same thrill on a speeding train.

There were also the first day of school ride, the first solo ride, umpteen girlfriend meets (and break-ups), my first (and only) arrest (for turnstile jumping- something I did so regularly that I felt like I was being bilked every time I was forced to pay to ride the train), numerous robberies (fortunately I was neither perpetrator nor victim in any,) some of the best ZZZs I’ve ever gotten (something about trains just relaxes me like nothing else,) the setting of many a function (old school nickname for a marijuana session,) my first witnessing (and unfortunately not my last) of a murder, etc, etc, etc… Yep, the NYC subway is a stage for life’s comedies and tragedies…or at least it was.

The subway in NY  never had a schedule, far as I know. At least not one that was taken seriously by any native New Yorker. What it did have was…well, I guess the best word for it would be tendencies. These tendencies varied according to the time of the day, or night (NYC subway, unlike Tokyo / Yokohama, is 24 hours.) To be honest, I knew some trains’ tendencies better than others. For example, The “A” Train’s tendencies I knew like the beating of my heart. It was consistent yet as unpredictable as the weather  in NY. It tended to rain in spring but sometimes it snows in April. It tended to be be frigid in January but sometimes it’d be so warm and wonderful that you’d swear the end of the world was at hand. That was the “A” Train. In the morning, you might get used to catching the same train at say 7:20-ish. The whole week it’ll be there 7:20-ish, until that day you have to meet that girl you’ve been coveting for a month or that morning meeting you can’t miss…then that fucker’ll arrive at 7:30-ish and you’ll stand there cursing at your watch with a few thousand other people…and when it does arrive you best be having your shit in-gear or you’ll be waiting for the 7:40-ish, which’ll also be packed to the teeth.

As far as etiquette is concerned, well, it depends, you know? I mean, a push is precursor to an altercation usually, so you best be apologetic, at a minimum. And, depending on who you’ve pushed and who you are, it could get out of hand easily. So, as a rule, I didn’t push unless it was imperative, and rarely was it imperative enough to go jostling strangers on the subway. But, there are people who push with a devil-may-care posture and depending on how overpowering and threatening that posture is or on how vexed the pushee becomes, does the response depend. I’ve seen pushes escalate into fisticuffs and I’ve seen them  forgiven, seen them ignored and seen them ignite a flame of indignation and rage so ferocious I’d cleared out in anticipation of a hail of gunfire and the ever-present stray bullets  we all know have no names and claim the innocent with the same frequency that they claim their targets. That’s the thing about the NYC subway- it’s like that Forrest Gumpian box of chocolates: you never know what you’re gonna get.

People have loud conversations, homeless people prowl the cars for handouts, performers do all kinds of things to get attention and maybe a little money. It’s all good. There’s a guy named Carlos who lives around my way…rumor has it his family died in a fire and he went crazy. I love the guy and always hit him off with whatever change I might have on me, and one Christmas I gave him a whole fifth of Jack D, and yet in the 20 years or so he’s been a staple in my community I’d never had a coherent conversation with him. Sometimes I’d see him on the train wearing dark shades, a cane and a rattling can of coins and bills, bumping into shit and getting paid. He’s as blind as Columbo. Once I saw him plying his trade and said what’s up and slid my foot in his path to trip him up…he winked over his shades and stumbled over my foot, without falling, with the agility and balance of a Olympic gymnast or a cat. Yep, people from all walks of  life give life to the subway.

New York’s subway was born in the late 1800s and hasn’t been well maintained, let the truth be known, so when I was growing up, not surprisingly, senior moments were practically the norm. Trains derailed, delays were common, even some crashes due to signal problems and switch issues, track fires, homeless people living in the tunnels emerging from their cubbyholes misstepping in the rat-infested darkness and falling right into the path of an oncoming train or onto the electrified third rail, etc, etc, etc…

Why the poor maintenance? Who knows? But the NYC Transit Authority loved to blame us, the riders. If we were willing to pay more maybe they’d have the money to replace rails, upgrade technology, repair signals and trains properly, etc, etc…When I left home in 2003 the fare was $1.50…(and unlike Japan, a buck fifty would take you anywhere you wanted to go, except Staten Island…but aside from S.I. residents who would ever want to go there?) and when I went home for a visit it was $2 bucks. I hear it’ll be $2.25 soon. (for my Japanese readers, $1 = about￥１００) So, yes, New Yorkers pay a pittance compared with the commuters in Japan. So, maybe the NYCTA is right: you get what you pay for. Japanese pay out their asses for the trains here but you know what? Compared to NY, I have to admit, Japanese trains are FAR superior…service-wise, that is. It’s almost like the same thing the Japanese did with the automobile and why they dominate the market in the US. Even the subway cars in NY are  made by Kawasaki.

New Kawasaki Trains in NY

Interior of Kawasaki trains in NYC

_________________________________________________________

Well, I could go and on about the NYC Subway but I’ll let The Duke’s fingers and Betty Roche’s vocal stylings say what would take me an entire book to convey.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHRbEhLj540

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yaj9e4ZxFgQ

Can’t you just feel the train a-coming when you listen to that song?

*****

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acjGuTmZWqI

まもなく、八番線に各駅停車が参ります。危ないですから黄色い線までおさがりください。

Mamonaku, hachi ban sen ni kakuekiteisya ga mairimasu. Abunai desu kara ki iroi sen made osagari kudasai.

Rough Translation: The local train will arrive on track eight shortly . It’s dangerous so please stand behind the yellow line.

This is one of the first Japanese phrases I learned upon moving to Japan. Any foreigner living here knows it or some variation of it. I’m not sure why but probably because it’s repeated so often when you ride the train that your brain begins to covet it. Each train line says it a different way. The video above is from the Toyoko Line. My quote is from the JR Line.

Once I’d memorized it I used to repeat it to my Japanese friends. Of course they thought it was an odd thing for me to set to memory. After all it’s a courtesy and a warning most Japanese take for granted having listened to it their entire lives, the way I ignored red lights back home when I was crossing the street (not while driving though).  I suspect they don’t even hear it anymore. On the train, there’s an announcement in Japanese (and sometimes in English depending on which line you ride or which company owns the line) of the coming stop and which side of the car the doors will open. On the Yokohama line the announcement is only in Japanese…I used to like to conspicuously react to the announcement to indicate to the people in my vicinity that I understood it. (If you’ve read my essay about Props and Camouflage you know why) If I’m to get off at the following stop I’d glance up from my book or cellphone at the beginning of the announcement, staring into the air like I could see the words, like I was being paged,  and when it says the doors will open on the left I’d turn towards the left side’s doors. I’d pantomime these movements purely for the benefit of the natives standing nervously in my vicinity and doing their shifty-eyed there’s a Gaijin near medance. They, however, would not react to the announcement. It’s as if they hadn’t even heard it. Some would still be lined up at the right side doors and only shift to the left side after we’ve entered the station and the doors behind them open. You’d think they were all listening to their IPODs and missed the recording.

In NY, the roar of the train entering the station is the only warning you’ll get unless you’re standing too close to the edge of the platform. If so, the Motor Man of the train entering the station might blast his horn at you, like a trucker might at a motorist driving the speed limit in the passing lane back home, or Louis Armstrong giving the public a taste of why he’s the greatest trumpeter ever- a blast of sound so loud and jarring it might scare the shit outta you, scare you to your death if it really catches you off guard.

When I was a kid, the conductor stood between the cars, with either hand on levers situated on either side of him that opened and closed the doors and shouted up and down the platform,”Please stand clear of the closing doors.” Well, in NY, we’ve come along way, baby. But, in Japan, they’ve come a much longer way! For you Trekkies out there (like myself) just think the difference between Captain Kirk’s Enterprise and Captain Picard’s.

Sometimes when I ride the trains here in Japan I feel a certain jealousy and animosity spurred by the arrogance of being a native of  “the greatest city on earth”. I imagine that a group of Japanese engineers descended on my hometown, pens and pads in hand, all polite and humble, disarming the bloated egos of those NY transit engineers with filial piety, reverence and a bit of unctuous flattery (お世辞) Japanese style, and studied our subways (my subway) for a couple of years with the studiousness and fastidiousness I witness on a daily basis here from my JHS students…and absorbed everything there is to know about the NY way of getting from point A to point B. Checked, double checked, cross referenced and re-checked their data: the history, the issues and their resolutions (if there were any.)

Then they flew (or sailed) back to Japan (laughing over Sake and Shouchu the whole trip) at how silly,  gullible, inefficient and ultimately pathetic those American engineers were while they deconstructed the whole theory of inner city transit and reconstructed it to suit the needs of their multitudes. And once they arrived back in their homeland they proceeded to engineer and build what has to be the most sophisticated and efficient transportation system in the world (or close to it.)

I say to myself (like Sergeant Barnes in “Platoon” in reference to the Vietnamese who had just garroted, castrated and tied to a tree as a warning one of his troops) : Them Motherfuckers!  (-:

But this is just my imagination…I’m sure the Japanese engineers gained inspiration from other countries, like England, as well. And, since I live here now and will for the foreseeable future, and I benefit from these advancements, so I can hardly maintain that feeling. It comes over me briefly and then vanishes utterly.

Now, more often, I wonder at the differences and how these differences would fare back home. For example, if you ever go to Shin-Yokohama station  and wait for the Yokohama line, while you’re waiting the average 7 or 8 minutes for the next train you’ll notice that the birds in the area are constantly singing, chirping a most distracting melody only birds, bird lovers and Japanese can appreciate fully I expect.  And they simply won’t stop. You look around to find out why these birds are perpetually joyful expecting to find some sort of bird Karaoke booth above your head and you realize that the sound is not coming from birds roosting in the station’s overhead shelter’s metal beams for there are 5-inch long pins erected along all perch-able surfaces that would impale any bird unfortunate enough to land upon them.

What you will find are speakers playing pre-recorded bird song…

And initially you say to yourself: “WTF!”

Then you stop and think and look at the blitheness and naïve innocence around you (aside from those people who have noticed you…they are decidedly on guard) and you can feel how these sounds contribute to that feeling…like a subway in the garden or Eden.  And you think back to NY and the feeling you had when a lone saxophonist sat on the filthy station platform and did his rendition of Coltrane’s Naima and the feeling that gave you…you know, one of those life is a beautiful thing moments…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_ywkpVJ624

And eventually you say to yourself: “Oh, I get it!”

I find myself constantly having these Oh I get it moments here in Japan…

Especially on the trains.

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Me: (looking over his shoulder) They’re cute. Who’s that? AKB48?
Co-Worker: No, this is Girls Generation.
Me: Never heard of them.
CW: They’re very popular right now.
Me: I can see why. get a lot of cute Japanese girls together, dress em up like models, and hand them a mic and you can hardly go wrong.
CW: (laughs) They’re Korean.
Me: Really? I can’t see the difference. Can you?
CW: Of course.
Me: Get outta here. What is it? The language? The clothes?
CW: No…their faces are a little different.
Me: I can’t see it. I mean sometimes I can see it. Like with Chinese and other Asians I can see a big difference. But with Koreans, it’s really difficult for me most of the time.
Another CW chimes in: Oh, the difference is huge!
Me: I see…well maybe you have to be Japanese to see it. I guess It’s like with African-Americans and people from Africa.
CW: Eeeee?
Me: For example, you know Bobby? The K-1 fighter and comedian?

CW: of course.
Me: You think he looks like me?
CW and several other CWs suck air…Their way of saying yes carefully.
Me: That’s what I mean? Hardly any African Americans would confuse me and Bobby as being from the same country.
CW: Is that a fact…
Me: As much a fact as no Japanese mistaking those girls for being Japanese if they didn’t know anything about them.

This one also made it into the book, “Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist”, as part of chapter 3.

I’ve included this post in the series because of the comments it generated, particularly those discussing the relationship between black men and women here in Japan.   This chapter was actually Part 22 of the original (37 part) series.

Enjoy!

Yep, I was still a hater.

But, lucky for me, I went home to Joe and Greg, (the Aussie and Kiwi I wrote about earlier this year in my Black and White in Japan series) and often I’d find them hammered, sprawled out on the sofa or floor, living-room littered with beer and liquor bottles…or they’d be preparing to tie one on and just waiting for me to come home and join in. They were just what a therapist would have prescribed as an antidote for any racist symptoms I might have been suffering from… at least against white folks

As I mentioned in that series, it  had been a little hairy at first, living with two guys from entirely different cultures from mine. We had to work through a number of issues, race among them. The minor racial wrinkles had gotten ironed out pretty quickly…nipped in the bud in the first couple of months, in fact. Before long I hardly saw them as white guys. They were just guys…cool ass guys!

But, the envy was another story. And when I’d turn green, they’d turn white!

I also told you guys in that series that Joe and Greg used to have a posse of Aussies and Kiwis (all white of course…I’ve never seen an Aborigine or Maori) coming through on a regular basis…drinking, laughing, and fucking off til dawn. Just having the time of their lives. You wouldn’t even have known they weren’t back home Down Under if it weren’t for the complaining Japanese neighbors and the threatening phone calls from our employer, Nova.

But often, though I was invited to join in, I’d pass. I wasn’t much of a drinker back home and  didn’t long to do it here in Japan, either. They’d be disappointed, of course. Couldn’t figure me out, those two, nor could their friends. Whenever I did hang out with them we’d all have a great time, so they couldn’t make heads or tails out of why I passed on it so often. And, I couldn’t rightly explain either at the time. I’d just make up some excuse they never bought and they’d just shake their heads and go, “uh huh…”

Maybe they even thought it was racial. That I had some reservations about being the only black guy in a posse of whites, carousing in the streets of Saitama to the wee hours of the night, getting into all kinds of misadventures. I sincerely hope not, though, cuz it was nothing like that. Over the course of my lifetime I’ve been the solitary or one of a couple of chocolate chips on a vanilla ice cream cone a number of times and had developed a measure of comfortability with it.

What was really fucking with me was the camaraderie among them. I’d watch their Fellowship of the Bottle, or listen to them through the thin walls of my bedroom, all together, a circle of friendship, kinship, and support through the tough patches here in Kawaii-land. And I’d be seething with envy. I mean, to them, it made perfect sense to find a group of like-minded, similarly oriented individuals

Homey The Clown

and make the best of  the challenges they face here.

But for me, and for the other African Americans here, it seemed: not so much.

I simply didn’t feel that way about Americans…especially African Americans. And, I got the distinct impression that the feeling was mutual.

The African cats were the complete opposite. They were more like the Down Under posse and the Japanese. They have their own version of “We”. They congregate all the time. And when they see me, it’s nothing but love. They’d holler “my brother!” across a Boulevard, blow their horns when they pass in a car, or even walk through a crowded train from the opposite end just to shake my hand and make my acquaintance. I mean, they’d totally go out of their way to show some love.

If I ran into an African American guy however (and I can usually tell at a glance) fuhgeddaboudit. We’d nod at each other and maybe mutter a few words if we found ourselves in a situation where it would be too blatantly rude to not engage in a conversation. And, for the most part, it never went beyond that. If emails or phone numbers were somehow exchanged, there’d be no follow up. Sometimes, I’d get a vibe from the person…a feeling like maybe they were on the run from the American authorities, hiding out here in Japan, afraid I might ID them and text John Walsh. Or, that they’d felt I was a saboteur looking to fuck up whatever scheme they had going over here…something sweet and fragile, and the last thing they needed was Homie the Clown fucking up the works. Either that or they were so friggin’ clueless, corny or geeky I’d see no common ground aside from race and nationality.

There was absolutely no love in the air quite often, and I couldn’t understand why. All I knew is I wasn’t sending any love and I wasn’t receiving any. And, actually, to be honest, I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt like I was on my own private adventure…not to be shared, particularly not with other black guys. I rationalized it to myself this way: I didn’t come to a foreign country to hang out with cats from around the way.

As for the handful of African-American women you might run into…well, I’d wager cockroaches get a warmer reception at the dinner table. The hostility is so potent, so open, you feel like the reason for it is obvious and personal. Like they were saying, “you can front all you want! You might have all these Japanese bozos fooled but I know you and I know why you’re here, so don’t even think about getting in my face!”

I spend a lot of time writing and this is an activity done on one’s lonesome usually. But, I’m not a loner, per se. I didn’t shun the company of others. I was definitely in the market for some cool companionship that I could speak in complete sentences with. Just not American. And definitely not African-American.

Occasionally I’d make exceptions, though. I’ve taken on a few black running mates during my stint here in Japan.

Damon was the first.

It was my second year here when I met Damon, a fellow Nova instructor. He was Canadian, straight outta Toronto, but he had “peeps” in Detroit, a three-hour drive away, across the US border. This was his ghetto pass, this connection to the Motor City, dubious as it was. But, hell, who was I to challenge it, anyway? Aside from being from a notoriously tough community, my Street Cred is suspect itself. Fairly clean cut college kid, straight outta corporate New York with a blemish-less criminal record like I was when I arrived here. Aside from an affinity for stuff grown hydroponically, I was a single mother’s wet dream. But, if I’m around people who don’t know me I know how to play the role. All I do is channel one of the older brothers or any number of characters I ran with back in the days. I can be pretty convincing if I need to be.

Damon was one of them pretty mocha-complected cats and could sing like R.Kelly. He was pretty intelligent, could turn his ”ghetto” on and off like a light switch- transforming from a Motor City pimp into damn near Ivy League whenever he wanted to, and could dress either part. He was a little overly concerned with personal grooming  for my taste but, all in all, aside from his ego, which was certifiable, he was pretty cool. Reminded me of some of the cats I knew back home.

There was, however, something about him I didn’t like.

Aside from his singing, which he hoped to do professionally some day, his hobby was baggin’ Japanese girls. He was crazy about them. It consumed his thinking. His M.O. was to get them into a karaoke booth (or his apartment) and sing their panties off. Worked like a charm. In fact, this so-called Yellow Fever was one of the few things we had in common. We were similarly afflicted.

We’d spend our downtime at Nova comparing notes on conquest. I’d tell him about some jukujo I’d tapped the night before, on a humble, while stopping for a drink in a bar, and he’d weave a tale of  how he’d mesmerized two J-babes from The Hub to his crib with his pimped-out nampa but, since they uncharacteristically weren’t down for a three-some, he’d called up his homeboy (another black cat he hung out with. Damon lived in Tokyo while I lived out in Saitama in the boonies so he hadn’t bothered to call me) offering him the second girl. But his boy wound up almost fucking up the whole extravaganza by being a dick and treating the girl like she was supposed to do him, no game required.

“You can’t treat a bitch like a hoe, even if she is one!” he’d explained, imparting his wisdom to me. “I hate hooking up niggas like him…got no fuckin’ class!”

I understood the moral of his story: “Being a magnanimous pimp with triflin’ friends aint easy.”

I even understood his compulsive one-upmanship. It’s endemic where I come from.

What I didn’t understand was why it seemed every black guy I ran into fit this or a similar M.O.. 

And Now for the Comments!!

Chris Ballard

“All I knew is I wasn’t sending any love and I wasn’t receiving any. And, actually, to be honest, I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt like I was on my own private adventure…not to be shared, particularly not with other black guys. I rationalized it to myself this way: I didn’t come to a foreign country to hang out with cats from around the way.”

Stealing my thoughts again bro!!

I have always been alone wolf I suppose? I just never had the patience to put up with others and their insecurities or whatever the fuck it was that was slowing them down physically or mentally. I ain’t no one’s mama and I’m not gonna wipe someones emotional ass to move things along. 99% of the people I have met in my life are not worth my energy..I have always been the smartest and most hard working guy wherever I have been. I was a terrible co-worker. Fuck peace and tact. Do your fucking job cuz I ain’t gonna do it for your lazy unmotivated momma’s boy ass. I was a great worker though so I always moved up and forward.

I got no love for the ( ) insert any race you like cuz they are all mostly fucked -up.

******************

Never surrender, it’s all about the faith you got

don’t ever stop, just push it til you hit the top

and if you drop, at least you know you gave your all

be true to you, and that way you can never fall

But beware, these backstabbers ain’t no joke

just like a rope, they hang on you until you’re broke

and when you’re broke, they move onto the next dope

and there you are, can’t even pay your car, nope

and when you reminisce thinkin how you got dissed

remember how it felt and do remember this

Be true to you

for me that there’s no one bigger

cause they can all suck dick

Cause strictly 4 my niggaz

..**********************

I got a handful of people that I would go to fucking war for. I would get up at 4am and wire them cash. I would really stress my own life to help theirs because they did it for me someday in the way back and my ability and understanding that I must do that to keep MY pride is what the 99%ers don’t fuckin get.

If your my friend you got duties and you don’t know when they might come up and you gotta be there. and believe I will do the same when it’s your turn to be down and in need. If you can’t work in that way then you are worthless to me. Virtually ALL of the foreigners I have met over here are just boozing flunkies with loose lips who make beer promises which made me wanna shove a bottle in their fucking eye for even goin’ there. God forbid I would be dumb enough to buy it and when I called in there promised chip …they let me down. I will beat a bad “friend” down with hate more than a stranger every time. Thus I have few friends because they are all told this when their loose lips flap.

To put it in Black and White terms

Who you are IS what you do especially when no ones lookin. You are the sum total of every fucking thing you have ever done in your entire life up to this very second.. Do you take the easy way? Do you ignore the suffering of your fellow human brother or sister and blame it on your schedule or some bullshit. How do you act when no one in the world will ever know but yourself?? Big or small. That’s who the fuck YOU are.

I have broke bout’ every commandment but I have done a thousand solids in my day and if I am judged by my final score than this big mouthed shit talkin, fist flying asshole is getting escorted into the pearly gates. Bet!!

A Like Reply 2 years ago 2 Likes F .

Locohama

Expand Heaven awaits you bruh, fear not. Your final score will be in your favor. And you won’t be in cornball heaven, Angels with Harps and horns and whatnot. lol

Lurker

You never fail to impress man, I love reading your stuff.

- Lurker

Bored in Kanagawa 

Another great post! I feel exactly what you’re saying on this subject. when I lived in Tokyo the Africans and Brazilians showed mad love, but the AA’s couldn’t be bothered. I asked this one AA what he did for a living and he reacted as if I asked him to divulge a state secret or something.It was only after i moved to Kanagawa that I received the type of “WE” you speak of amongst AA’s. man I can tell you that I have met some brothers down here that I feel are closer than my own blood relatives. I’m not one to call someone a friend until it has been test in fire and that’s what I’ve been lucky enough to find down here. Since entering Japan I have lived in Okinawa, Tokyo, and Kanagawa – I’ve also been to 26 prefectures. Out of them all the Africans, Jamaicans, and Brazilians are always the same. AA’s on the other hand seen to be the worst in Okinawa followed closely by Tokyo. I say fuck’em and meet people who are also interested in you! On the black girl thing I also feel you, around the bases they seem to have the most negative attitude, I don’t want to make judgments as I’m not sure what causes this, but it is there. Sorry I’ve been off the radar for awhile, please see reason below

Currently bored in Kobe.

Locohama

Hey Bored in Kobe? permanently? When will u be back? Btw thanks for the shout yo! Clearly u understand exactly where i’m coming from.

Bored in kanagawa

Nah, I’m back now just went down to do the O’bon and in-law thing.

Locohama

glad to hear it…we still gotta hook up!

Terrintokyo

Scrolled down after reading half way to say-um, run tell that! and I speak as an older chocolate chip in vanilla and butterscotch seas…okay, now heading back up to keep reading

Terrintokyo

okay, done now.

sigh.

just some impressions:

I do find myself making the assumption (because everything is, of course, about me – hadn’t you heard?!;-) that the reason African-American men don’t connect with me here (in general) is because they are here for the Japanese women, and that, as they say, is that.

my experience tells me that there’s a fair amount of that going on.

(but, when I’m honest: I certainly did not limit myself to going out with African-American men when I was going out back home. Far from it. I don’t have a ‘type’ per se.)

as for the lack of heart connection when meeting up with African-American women, luckily, my experience is different: there probably is some level of wariness, but generally, having grown up in the States, we at very least kind of understand each other, and there is quiet, tacit agreement to live and let live.

wow, this is the year of living racialiciously, isn’t it?

looking forward to the next installment.

Locohama  

Hey terri, thanks for the shout!! Not sure what racialiciously means, but it sounds tasty. (-:

Terrintokyo

Hiya loco, it came from here: http://www.racialicious.com/

Rubi

I noticed that once I opened my mouth, the demeanour would thaw some (I’m a Brit).

I always considered the initial frosty reception from African American women (mostly those whose friends have not introduced me to them) down to interlinked causes, simplified:

1) A perception that I’ll be trying to run game… The same game that I’ve been running on these Japanese girls. Which brings us to

2) A perception that I prefer Japanese girls, which feels to the observer like a rejection of black femininity and

3) A perception I’m the same kind of triflin’ knucklehead they hoped to get away from when they left the US .

Terrintokyo

Hey Rubi: yeah, re: the Brit accent: I’m a sucker for ‘em(lol!).

very succinct round up of the reasons for the frosty reception. I’ll respond:

1) yup

2) of course it is a rejection of black femininity.

3) triflin’ knuckleheads are everywhere, but easier to ignore them here

ah well. as I get older, I figure that living my life for my own enjoyment and enlightenment is the best way to deal with all of the above.

Rubi

Hello, Terri. Good to see another racialicious.com reader, and thanks for your response.

I wanted to expand a little bit on my feelings about perception number 2.

Firstly I totally understand the perception. It’s not as if black women have really ever been portrayed as capable of launching a thousand ships. And I’m sure you’re well aware of the ways in which the bodies of women of colour are marginalised.

I’ve heard some African American men I met in Japan talk about black women in ways that dovetail very neatly with racist and sexist tropes. In fact quite a few guys I’ve talked to described their preference for Japanese women purely in terms of how NOT like pushy, domineering, unfeminine, Western women they are.

That being said the perception -as well as those kinds of comments- bother me. The fact that I’m in Japan doesn’t mean I reject black femininity, hell even if they saw me with a Japanese woman on my arm it still wouldn’t necessarily follow. I would be dating an individual, not Japanese women over black women.

Terrintokyo

Hey Rubi:

thanks for yours as well: you’ve been quite thoughtful, and I appreciate it.

I’m sure it does bother you to hear that someone like me feels that Black guys are rejecting Black femininity when they’re only interested in Japanese (or other non-Black) women.

I’m not sure that the depth of the ‘botheration’ is as deep as the feeling of rejection, though: guys here have plenty of other distractions, if they (unlike Damon, for example) even give it a second thought.

Black women’s feelings, on the other hand, are probably beside the point, which is par for the course.

Having said that, I do see this a bit more dispassionately than it may sound, as my only two long term relationships have been with white guys. from the south, yet.

so, I’m not blaming you for going where the heart (or other organs) may lead;-)

I just think it’s interesting how difficult it can be to be a Black woman and maintain a healthy sense of self-esteem even in this day and age. and don’t even try to be middle-aged – whew! if I come out of all of this alive, I am going to treat myself to something very special.

anyway, this bit of talk therapy is loco’s fault: let’s all blame him!

Rubi

Well, I was attempting to be a little more nuanced than that. Hopefully I can be clearer this time around.

It’s almost certain that a guy who’s only interested in Japanese women, and will not consider other partners, could be said to be rejecting black femininity. However, I would argue that unless the guy comes right off the bat saying, “sorry, unless you’re Japanese, I ain’t interested in really getting to know you”, it would be quite hard to tell their preferences when you meet them for the first time.

What I meant then was not that I’m bothered by someone like you feeling that Black guys are rejecting Black femininity when they’re only interested in Japanese (or other non-Black) women. What bothers me is the idea that based on my location, or who is on my arm at one time, a person can just know that I prefer non-Black women, and treat me accordingly. What bothers me is not black women’s feelings, but what some Black women think they know.

Locohama

@rubi @terri Thank you for blessing my blog with such thoughtful, insightful and provocative comments. It’s people like yourselves that keep me motivated to keep Loco In Yoko alive, and help me to se the relevance of it. I want to thank both of you for broadcasting your discussion here so that my other readers might benefit from your ideas. Of course Rubi -san, you’ve been doing this for quite a while, so thanks for your continued support. And Terri, welcome to Loco and hope to see and hear much more from you. You rock! And if I did go back to dating sisters I’d definitely…

just joking lol

Loco

jason

Interesting pattern that seems to be emerging here. The Brits, Aussies, Kiwis and even Canadians that I’ve met here have always been cheerful, friendly, and cool with other folk, but the Americans I’ve met have always been pretty stand-offish.

Actually, I think the only American I know here that I can genuinely call a friend is someone I was friends with back in university who also had the Japan bug…

Ozball

Damn Loco, you always pick the worst (best?) places to stop! Can’t wait for the next part.

You always help remind me why I’m studying Japanese, and inspire me to study harder so I can get over there and see all the stuff you write about for myself.

Locohama

I do this just to torture you Oz! Nah

Locohama  

Hey Ozball! Thanks.Next part is underway….going to Atami tomorrow so may not finish it til Wed. I’ll try and make it worth the wait! (-;

*****

Well, that’s about it for part 5 of the lost chapters. Hope you enjoyed it! I’ll be doing another in the days to come. Look out for it (-; But, of course, you can (and should) pick up your own copy of Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist. It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Loco

Haven’t done any interviews since last year but with the soon to be released second book, I’ll probably be doing a few more in the days to come, as well as a number of readings, so hold tight for that.

Tune in tomorrow and check it out. You can even call-in Skype in, or send your questions and I’ll do my best to answer them.

For more information, here’s a link to Katie Adler’s home page:

http://englishwithkatie.com/internet-show-loco-in-yokohama/

That’s is all (-:

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Continued from Part 1

Me: Do you think it makes a difference whether their players are black or white or any other color?
Student: Eeeee?
Me: I mean, It seems in Japanese baseball, teams consider it an unfair advantage to have a foreign player. I even heard there’s a rule that japanese teams are only allowed 4 foreign players per team…which seems like a pretty arbitrary number. Do you think race will impact the outcome?
Student: Foreign players are bigger and stronger, no? We, Japanese, are small. We don’t have power like foreign players.
Me: If you say so…
Student: no?
Me: Well, seems to me if the best players are recruited everybody wins. Ichiro is a stronger player than many foreign players and was very successful. So was Matsui. Hell, he’s a hero in my hometown cuz he helped the Yankees get the world championship.

Student: True…
Me: And, look at Sumo. Lately the most successful wrestlers have been Mongolian. But that has set the bar higher for Japanese wrestlers, and foreigners have probably kept the sport from losing popularity worldwide. Besides, I think when japanese wrestlers strive to reach that new bar they will become better wrestlers…and I’d like to think the result will be increased respect by the Japanese fans as well as Sumo fans everywhere. Much higher than for Japanese wrestlers that believe they can only compete fairly against other Japanese wrestlers, anyway.

Student: Hmmm…
Me: I think if you want to raise the level of play then you gotta expand the playing field a bit…and that goes for all industries. That’s if raising the level of play is a priority. I think it’s been proven that when the level of competition is higher it produces superior competitors…over time of course. Might seem a bit lopsided at first though. I mean, even professional basketball in America used to be segregated but once the color line was broken, and teams began to recruit the best players regardless of race, over time, it changed the game for the better. At first it was a bit awkward, with blacks seeming like clearly the superior athletes, but nowadays you can hardly predict where the next NBA star will come from or what he will look like. The best players come from many nations, in all shapes, sizes and colors. Even I have been surprised at the results.
Student: Hmmm, I see…Perhaps the priorities in Japanese baseball are a bit different. I think we want to see Japanese players do well…perhaps we have a complex.
Me: Yeah…well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. But you can’t blame a team for enlisting the best players at their disposal like Holland did.
Student: Yeah, If you say so…
Me: LOL!

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Student: Americans like baseball number one…

Me: I dunno…probably that, or American football, or basketball…or maybe soccer.

Student: Oh no! Americans don’t like soccer.

Me: If you say so…

Student: Eeeee?

Me: Where I grew up, in New York, most of my friends’ families are from the Caribbean and other countries where soccer is popular. Hell, most immigrants and children of immigrants play soccer all the time. I never did, though. I played baseball.

Student: Oh, I see…Did you watch the World Baseball classic?

Me: Nah. Don’t care much for baseball nowadays.

Student: The Netherlands team is almost black.

Me: Is that right?

Student: Yes, but Holland is not a black country. The team members come from a Dutch colony in the Caribbean.

Me: Curaçao, right?

Student: Yes, how do you know?

Me: I have friends from there.

Student: I see…I was very surprised!

Me: Yeah, colonization has many different colors…black, brown, white, even yellow sometimes.

Student: Eeeee?

Me: Well, Japan has colonized a number of countries, too, no? Korea? China?  Taiwan? Even Okinawa, no?

Student: Oh…that’s a bit different though.

Me: If you say so…

to be continued…

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

First, check out the two videos:

.

*****

If you spend any time out and about in Yokohama, sooner or later — usually sooner — you’ll come across some Japanese youth who appear to be enamored of Hip-Hop. They mostly dress like they went shopping in some Hip-Hop accessory shop and stocked up on baseball caps and jerseys, jeans designed to hang off the ass and sneakers that swallow them whole. In other words, some kind of cringe-worthy parody of Hip-Hop. This style they will parade about in with a great deal of pride and aplomb…that is, until they see me. A person with whom they identify the fashion they’ve appropriated. Then, perhaps for a moment, they see themselves in a different mirror than they usually do. One that reflects their inner wares rather than their outerwear, and, to varying degrees and durations, there appears to be a moment of shame or embarrassment…similar to what I felt, I imagine, that one time I broke down and wore a yukata to a hanabi.

From time to time, I find myself at a club in Yokohama or Tokyo, and there’ll generally be a few seasoned Japanese hip-hopsters on the premises. Upon spotting me, in all my boundless blackness, they’d approach me…like their choice of fashion and “lifestyle” has torn down whatever artificial walls of decorum and separateness had been erected between us by our superficial cultural differences and has mystically bound us, and he or she will hit me with a “what’s up?” accompanied by some neurotic rhythmic nodding to whatever song might be playing aloud or in their heads. I usually cut them some slack and respond, but always withholding a bit of disgust at how pathetic they are…sometimes. I know they’re just trying to be friendly and believe that by being adorned in garb they associate with my kind they’ve made a clear-cut, irrefutable peace-offering. I even know that there are blacks in Japan who have accepted this as such, and reward this effort by positively reinforcing these ignorant presumptions about what “we” do and do not approve of.

But, for the most part, I give Hip-Hop in Japan as much thought as I give Hip-Hop in America these days. That is to say, not much.

I don’t get Japanese Hip-Hop lyrics. I have enough trouble with casual and polite forms of the language. Japanese slang is a whole other animal I simply don’t care enough about to be bothered with. And as for most popular American Hip-Hop artists and songs that find their way to Japan these days, I really can’t see the appeal. I don’t know if that’s because Japanese have fucked up taste in Hip-Hop, if it’s the result of a combination of living damn near a decade in Asia away from Hip-Hop’s sway and a lack of exposure to the vernacular, if I’ve simply somehow “outgrown” it or disowned it, or has the quality of Hip-Hop sunk so low that I’ve simply unconsciously taken a sabbatical until it gets its shit together.

I really can’t say.

I stay connected to Hip-Hop music and culture these days almost solely through one respectable and authoritative source: the “Hunter S. Thompson of Hip-Hop,” the Donsiglier himself, Bonz Malone…a man I’ve found to be a connoisseur, as well, of all genres of music, arts, and other fineries, and thus retains a fuller appreciation of the universal ties that bind than most. I follow his feed on Facebook and my hunger is sated for he’ll post everything a music lover like myself needs to know.

I came across the above videos by Mr. Thomas the other day and, like Bonz himself, he reminded me of the power of this majestic and influential art form I was in the delivery room to watch as it came kicking and screaming into this world of ours. Baby pics, like flash cards, popped into my mind, of how precious Hip-Hop was to black people in its infancy, how it was nurtured and indoctrinated into the ways of our world, nursed on our joy and pain, fed with our shortcomings and successes, bathed in the sweat from our tireless bodies and and dried off with the breath borne ingenuity from our lungs and gusts caused by our rhythmic dancing (the Japanese have apparently discovered the secret to).

And, as was done with Gospel, Blues, Jazz, Rock & Roll, Funk, R&B AND even disco before it, we served, supported, reared and unleashed Hip-Hop on the greater world.

And, so, to hear how it is being used here in Japan…well, honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised. It almost seems like the natural evolution of misunderstanding. Like that game I play with my Japanese students, where I tell a secret phrase to the student in the first seat and each passes the phrase back in a whisper, but by the time it reaches the last student in the row, it’s another creature entirely.

On the dark side, I’m also reminded of a great mockumentary called Bob Roberts.

Watch this scene and you’ll see what I mean:

Bob Roberts was a brilliant film, though not as well-known as it should be.

Anyway, I still don’t know enough about this issue to say much more, and I don’t see this changing my listening habits at all. Japanese Hip-Hop will remain off of my playlist. But I will be following this gentleman, Dexter Thomas, to see where his future research takes him.

BTW, WELL DONE, DEXDIGI! Impressive work! I’m totally feeling your project here, and I wish you continued success!

(follow him on Twitter @dexdigi)

And, I’ll probably pick up that crazy titled book. Maybe someone has truly found the secret to this rhythm I supposedly have cuz it certainly eludes me whenever I take to the dance floor (-;

I’ll let y’all know how that goes…

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

This one also made it into the book, “Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist”, as part of chapter 5.

I’ve included this post in the series not so much because of the comments it generated  at the time (though I have included them), but because just yesterday one of my first-grade teachers from the elementary school discussed in this chapter blessed me with a class photo taken at that time (which I’ve attached to this post.) I hadn’t seen this pic myself since I was kid, so it blew me away, as I’m sure it’ll likely do to you, as well.

This chapter was actually Part 3 of the original (37 part) series.

Enjoy!

*****

 Is there anything I can say that will justify my scapegoating and scrap-heaping an entire race? Of course not. I’ll say this much, though: It wasn’t one event, or even a handful of events, that brought this about, What I have experienced here in Japan is more like the erosive effect the ocean’s current has on the shoreline. Little by little, with the appearance of inevitability, the sea encroaches and the beach recedes. Even if you have those tetrapod contraptions set up to dissipate the force of incoming waves, or you’ve imported sand and mixed sediments to protect the shoreline, the ocean will keep applying the pressure and eventually wash away all remnants of a shore.

This erosion didn’t begin in Japan, though. It really began a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

It began back when I was young, gifted and coming of age in the greatest city on Earth: New York.

*****

I was six years old and in the first grade when some white cop shot 10-year old Clifford Glover in the back, in the streets of Jamaica, Queens, killing him in cold blood.

I didn’t know Clifford Glover personally, but for the shockwave of anger and despair that swept through my weird little school, and my community, and many other black communities in NY that day, he could have been a fellow classmate. Hell, kin!

Clifford Glover

“He’s dead?” I asked one of my teachers. Dead wasn’t a foreign concept to me at the time but the death of a child practically my own age was! Children didn’t die. Grandparents died. People who stick heroin needles in their arms, like my uncle Raheem, they die. People who don’t run from vampires die…well, kinda die. But kids only get hurt, fall out of trees and get hit by cars, forcing them to wear casts on their legs and arms for weeks. We don’t die, I thought.

“Ndiyo, ndugu. (yes, little brother) Some honky pig shot him down in the streets like a dog!” my teacher cried bitterly.

I had grown accustomed to hearing slurs of that nature (honky and pig being synonyms for “white” and “police officer” respectively) for they would echo through the halls of my private school, Uhuru Sasa Shule (Swahili for “Freedom Now School”), and through the streets of Bed-Stuy, on a regular basis. My favorite all-time slur, though, was “crackers” meaning white people. Just always loved the way the world flowed, especially when my father would use it. It had to be his favorite word, too, at the time.

A year after the shooting, that honky pig, who’d actually been put on trial for murder (a first for a NYC police officer), walked away from the courthouse free as a bird, found Not Guilty by a jury of his peers (meaning some other honkies, I learned).

Even before the verdict (and possibly in anticipation of the pig being set free; such was the nature of the Justice system), me, my classmates, and the entire school, were activated.

In Arts & Crafts class we made placards with crayons and magic markers; signs that conveyed slogans such as “No Justice! No Peace!” and “Save the Children!” and “Protect Our Kids From The Pigs!” adorned with pink swine that looked somewhat like the Three Little Pigs of the honky storybooks I’d be put to sleep with if I’d had a less conscientious mother. Only these pigs were sinister-looking and wore police uniforms, with guns drawn and aimed at black mothers holding black babies. Expertly caricatured by the school’s resident artist, and colored in imperfectly by me and my classmates. Somehow our work complimented his and had the desired effect of showing that blacks of all ages were outraged at this travesty, particularly the youth, any of whom could very well be the next Clifford Glover.

We were all Clifford Glover!

First Grade Class Photo. Little Loco in the Top Row Far Left

*****

Dressed in what became the uniform: bell-bottom Lee Jeans and matching jackets (or dashikis), over red turtlenecks with black combat boots, we’d look like an army of mini-members of the Black Panther Party (which we were in a way). We’d regularly march through the streets of Bed-Stuy in this fashion, singing songs of revolution in unison, showing off the marching drills we’d practice regularly in front of the school, following drill commands given by our teachers in Swahili, the language we studied and used everyday!

I was embarrassed at first, but for a year everywhere we went there was a spotlight on us. A spotlight we hoisted and carried via our voices, style of dress and brazen demeanor. Child soldiers in the ghetto. So, after a while I got used to being the center of attention in a neglected community, and actually grew to like it. My dashiki became a badge of honor, my red, black and green kufi (cap) a crown, while my black boots glowed like the exoskeleton of some exotic Asian beetle, buffed daily without complaint with Kiwi polish (though it was a hassle stringing them up). I used to mumble the songs, ashamed of the spectacle I was being forced to make of myself. But soon my voice grew loud and ostentatious, and I savored the first taste of swagger in my short life.

And, the people of Bed-Stuy had come to know our swagger well. They’d would hang out of windows, step out of barber shops, pause from their shopping or dice rolling or number-running or drug-peddling or any number of activities observed daily in the ghetto, to gawk in awe or beam with admiration at the promise of the future as it paraded by. Other little kids would run alongside of us to check up-close as if to see if we were really real, and would try to mimic our swagger and utter some of the strange African words coming out of our mouths. Some, from seeing us so often, would even learn the catchy English songs we’d regularly sang; adding their voices to ours so that the call and response of over a hundred children would be heard reverberating off of the tenement walls of the brownstone lined streets of Brooklyn from blocks away.

And their parents, seeing the power, charisma and discipline we exuded, and knowing that their children were getting nothing of the sort in those towering brick warehouses of lies and misinformation they called Public Schools, chock full of arrogant honky teachers indoctrinating their kids to passively languish, brood, whine, complain, and die in the great honkified world, some would yank their children out of public schools post haste. And bring them kicking and screaming and wetting their pants to the doors of Uhuru Sasa Shule. And, as the years progressed, Uhuru Sasa progressed, and the formation we marched in extended farther and farther and our voices grew louder and prouder.

Songs with lyrics like the school’s motto, “Educate, Agitate, Organize,” in which we’d proclaim “we are educated, trained and taught to prepare for a war that must be fought!”

Sure, we were part marching singing billboards at those times but people had never seen anything like this before and the possibilities we presented, the vision of a nation within a nation that we evoked, was both captivating and inspiring. Of course people wanted to be a part of it.

But, it wasn’t all song and swagger. The ghetto is a dangerous place to be militant, both physically and mentally.

*****

There had been a huge demonstration that day, in protest of the not guilty verdict against the cop who’d killed Clifford Glover, and we joined in, carrying the signs that we’d made in school and shouting lines like, “Save the Children!” and “Protect our Babies!” fully aware that we were talking about ourselves.

There had also been rioting that day, but I didn’t know anything about that. All I knew was that we were part of something. Something massive. Something important. Big men with big voices were hollering big words through megaphones. My school’s Headmaster was one of those voices, one of the biggest! Some of the other teachers, as well. And, watching them filled us with such pride. We were part of something special! These men and women were more than just teachers, and more than just our parents, too. They were revolutionaries. Like warriors from the African tribes and nations that our individual classes were named after. Tribes like Zulu, Ashanti, Nubia and Kush!

The Honky Pigs lined the route we marched, helmets on heads, batons in hand. Some trotted alongside us mounted on horses, leaving mounds of horse droppings in their wake, looking arrogant, anxious and angry all at once. Looking more malicious and unjust than my teachers would depict them in inflammatory words, even more so than the caricatures in the school’s newspaper, Black News, portrayed them.

Danger filled the air, but for some reason I couldn’t feel it. I felt safe. My whole family, and extended family, was in the immediate vicinity: My mother (who worked for the school), my older brothers and sisters (who my mother had pulled out of public school and placed in Uhuru Sasa), all my teachers, all my friends, everybody I saw everyday was right there with me. So for me, it was all a great adventure.

You’d think, as a child, anger would trouble me. Meh, anger was ubiquitous. It was as common as joy. Someone shouting angrily was just a style of communication. Over the course of the eight years I would spend in Uhuru Sasa, anger would be almost a constant.

There’d always be an innocent child or adult slain by police. Or some young black man mercilessly beat to death by some mob of racist honkies for the crime of catching a flat in their community while black. Or some child found dead with a heroin needle he’d found laying around in his arm. Or even some oil company financing the civil war in Angola. Or a government like South Africa oppressing its black majority, capturing (with the help of our CIA) and imprisoning a revolutionary like Nelson Mandela for coordinating sabotage campaigns against the white racist minority regime prone to terrorist attacks and massacring blacks, like in Sharpsville.

There was always something to be angry about, if you were black, aware and care. Always some power to fight, some injustice to right. And my school (and the organization that formed it) stayed in the mix, stayed relevant, and even lead the call for justice in some cases.

The demonstration held on behalf of little Clifford Glover would end without bloodshed and we’d return home safely that day, but it wouldn’t always be that way. The times were volatile and the community was a hotbed full of hotheads.

Here was the environment where racism was first introduced to me as an inoculation against racism. 

*****

Though they had politicized me into a black & white world, with very little grey, my school was a blessing I wouldn’t fully appreciate until I came to Japan.

Unlike most black children in the U.S. of that time, my indoctrination was not achieved through the racially biased public school system, where black kids are taught to uphold and honor the white power structure and their cultural superiority, and where precious little was taught about black history, pre-America, pre-Slavery, Pre-European invasion. Nor were these institutions inclined to present African-American contributions to American history and the American way of life in a way so as to promote the pride and dignity of the young black minds in attendance.

My education was done outside of this paradigm, done privately, by justifiably angry black racists.

I was edified with racial pride and righteous dignity. My education was designed to leave me thinking and feeling if not superior to white people, at least equal. I was trained as if there were a war well underway, in the very streets outside my window, and I was to be a soldier in that war. Not a war fought with arms but with the greatest resource available to us: our minds.

And this enemy was the White Man! A vicious, ruthless, genocidal, enslaving, raping, castrating, lynching, assassinating, evil, evil, EVIL race of men (and the white women that support and breed them). As for the white folks who weren’t actively engaged in these atrocious crimes against black humanity…well, there are always exceptions. Either that or they were clever enough to hide their true nature.

My teachers had the pictures and documents to support their assertions, too. All the proof they felt was needed to twist my mind and heart. 400 years rife with evidence of white wickedness!

I remember being shown as a child a book containing dozens of pictures of blacks who’d been lynched by whites in the south. The methods varied. Some were tied to trees, naked, with throats cut, or were castrated. Some were just hanging from tree limbs by their necks, looking like what Billie Holiday sang of, some kind of Strange Fruit. Others had been burned on a bed of wood in large open fires, like some ancient funeral rite, or some cannibalistic Sunday outing with a nigger on the barbie as the main course.

As I went through these pictures, I’d give the charred remains of some hardly recognizable human being, or the sign hung around a corpse’s neck establishing that it was, indeed, a “nigger,” appropriate attention. But, my eyes would zoom in on and adhere to these people capable of such crimes: The white people. They were not dressed in white cloaks and white hoods with eyeholes, like the iconic images of white racism in America. There was no towering burning white cross in the backdrop of these photos. Nah. These whites were unmasked, dressed like everyday people of their time which, according to the dates on the photos, was not so long ago. They were smiling, pointing, posing proudly with pointy noses and jutted chins, folded arms, like after a job well done, and swagger in their eyes; having a good old time in the good old days.

These photos were not police records, or from FBI files, but memorabilia; postcards that these people would send to friends and family members far and near: “Nothing says Merry Christmas like Niggers roasting on an open fire, Have a happy holiday! Love, Uncle Ned.”

Not the kind of thing you’re likely to ever forget, especially in those tender years when your mind is just forming ideas to grow on. These images were chiseled onto my memory, branded on my brain.

And my school complimented this with incontrovertible proof of black superiority. And not just morally, but spiritually, cognitively, intrinsically, metaphysically, artistically and even physically superior. That despite what them honkies tried to do, all their efforts to exterminate people of African descent, to desecrate and bury our history beneath their own or destroy all traces of it, to ultimately steal our souls and leave soulless black hulls behind, we persevered and even excelled. That our ability to adapt and overcome, our capacity for love and understanding, our soulful connection with earth and the heavens, our superior survival instincts, everything about us enabled us to endure and ennobled us to rise someday, and regain our rightful place.

And, I’m forever indebted to these parents and teachers who sacrificed and gave so much of themselves to me and to the movement.

But, damn, that’s a hell of a thing to teach a child, ain’t it?

*****

You know what, though? Despite their well-meaning but misguided efforts, I never really came to hate white people. I never truly believed, in my heart, that they were as bad as my teachers said they were. Even at a young age I was able to intellectualize things a little. Not verbally, but the thought processes were high functioning. Life in New York just presented us New Yorkers with too many contradictions for any generalization, especially racially based ones, to truly stick…unless you really wanted them to.

And, I didn’t.

The reason I didn’t was because a neighbor of mine and a good friend, Chris, just happened to be one of these evil white people my teachers warned me of. But, instead of cracking my head open with a baton, he invited me to his house not weeks after we met, and regularly after that, to play Atari with him. And another neighbor, Benjamin, son of a Hasidic Jew, used to let me ride his bike and read his Marvel Comics. And, their parents never showed me anything but love and respect. In fact, Benjamin’s mother showed the entire community (a majority black community- mind you) nothing but the depth of her generosity and courage. She even started community garden and had all of us children planting flowers and beautifying the blight that surrounded and threatened to engulf us.

And, I could go on and on with the contradictions. But, do I need to? Of course not.

So I had to ask myself why did every white person I came into contact with turn out to be an exception? They all couldn’t be hiding their true nature, could they? Did they all secretly want to destroy me?

Nope. I decided at that prepubescent age, though I wasn’t even fully aware that I had, that my teachers had it half-beautifully right and half-horridly wrong. That they, too, were victims of the same madness they were preparing me to do battle with.

Yep, I love them to death but they were shit kickers and posers.

Nonetheless, the damage was done. The seed of racism had been planted in my soul.

You’d think I’d be pissed now. Here it is, over 30 years later, and I’m still doing battle with this dark seed they implanted in me. But, I ain’t mad at them…quite the contrary.

The biggest problem among black people in the U.S., in my opinion, is not hate from without, but hate from within. My school’s agenda was to offset this hate by instilling in each child a sense of cultural longevity, a foothold in history, a foundation, a legacy, and a Motherland: Africa. The primary objective was knowledge of self. The premise being once you know yourself you’ll love yourself, and once you’ve fallen in love with yourself it would be exceedingly difficult to do harm to yourself or to bring harm to your people. These are things that most other cultures and races take for granted, but had been systematically stolen from African-Americans. Self-hate was one of the results.

So, like some kind of rootless, homeless culture whose history began seemingly in chains and cotton fields, African-Americans sort of lunged into the 21st Century. But I did so, not so much in love with black people but certainly without ever holding in contempt, or harboring hate, envy, jealousy or any other dark feelings in my heart for my black brothers and sisters. And, unfortunately, in this day and age, with black-on-black crime numbers as well as the rate of broken black families both still at crisis levels, that’s saying something!

So the seed of racism was planted but it didn’t sprout. It just lay dormant inside of me. My education thus far just hadn’t provided the fertilizer this seed needed to flourish. It lacked an essential ingredient to get me to really embrace it: That all-important why. Why were Chris, and Benjamin, and their parents really evil (despite the façade they put on every time I saw them)? Without the why, it just didn’t hold water. So, I was able to navigate my way through much of their propaganda, unknowingly holding on to what was useful and jettisoning the rest.

However, as I got older and headed out into the streets, my well-educated and agitated ass ran head-on into an organization that had some fertilizer that at least attempted to answer the why.

They were an off-shoot of the Black Muslim movement, known as The Five Percent Nation of Islam, or The Nation of Gods and Earths.

Once exposed to their teachings I was well on my way to being a shit kicker in my own right.

And Now for the Comments!!

 Ashley, Surviving in Japan: without much Japanese

Thought this and pt.1 were interesting – thanks for sharing your thoughts (thus far) about it. I think, really, no matter who we are and where we are, we are socialized by our surroundings and groups. Unfortunately too many people fail to ever recognize the negatives of some of these biased thoughts/feelings/perceptions, and to some degree, it’s hard to fault people for them when they have grown up never knowing any different.

Even, like you mention, people that grow up amongst and around other sub-cultures still often fail to interact in a truly positive way, or really understand each other. When I worked for the public school system in Seattle, I saw a lot of this – and unfortunately even in the fact that when there was a funding issue with North and South schools (North, mostly white, middle-upper class; South, most lower-middle class, variety of ethnic groups). Parents and families from North Schools didn’t want their children to be sent off to high school at any South schools because they were afraid, essentially. Afraid their children would become victims of some kind of horrific event that they perceived “only happens” at south schools (and we all know that is far from the truth). Even though the South schools desperately needed funding and more PTA involvement like the North schools. It was an insane discrepancy, especially all within one large school district. Just because different sub-cultures live together in one city, doesn’t necessarily change anything. Although, among the schools I worked at with varying culture/ethnic groups, especially among the youngest grades, I saw a lot more empathy and understanding. Students I worked with in junior high/high school, how they treated others largely depended on how they were brought up and what they were exposed to, etc. Of course, there are people that grow up in one culture amongst one ethnic group and still are capable of empathy, understanding and tolerance toward others. In the end though, I think each and every person carries around prejudices about something, even if not race, then perhaps religion or gender or disabilities or age, etc. What person hasn’t experienced discomfort around someone “different” than them at some point? And if not discomfort, some kind of misunderstanding or biases that influence their actions? Much of this occurs sub-consciously – a product of the experiences and interactions in our lives.

I feel like I’m starting to get a little soapbox-y here. lol… sorry about that. Anyway! Appreciate the discussion you are generating. This topic is endlessly fascinating to me.

Locohama 

hey Ashley, thanks for the shout.

Yep! That’s exactly what I’m saying. I could rationalize it just as you have, and no one would call me on it because people have come to expect this kind of thing of humans. I guess i hold myself to a ridiculously high standard.Maybe the Star Trek ideal is simply that: an ideal. But, aint it beautiful? When I saw Uhura and Kirk and Sulu and even Spock the alien, just Rodney King-ing it through space, sometimes i used to get all choked up.

I see the Trick Babies hands on everything you mentioned though. I don’t see any of it as human nature..But maybe that sounds like a conspiracy theory. does it?

WC

It seems to me that if you are trying to win a battle with mind power, then you’d expect your warriors to have good minds. Why then, would you try to convince them of illogical things? It seems like an uphill battle at best, and pointless at worst.

With that in mind, it doesn’t really surprise me that you never fell for it. Despite being surrounded and raised by racists, I never really did either. My issues have always been with individuals.

Locohama 

Hey WC, thanks for the shout as usual. Hmmm…soldiers and good minds? Sounds oxymoronic to me. Like Military Intelligence, or virtual reality The best soldiers are drones. People who accept propoganda as truth, digest it, embrace it, live for it, kill for it, die for it, and rarely question it. You know?

WC

You’re the one that said it.

“I was trained as if there were a war well underway, in the very streets outside my window, and I was to be a soldier in that war. Not a war fought with guns (we’d have no way of winning such a war…the destructive ability of our enemy was well documented) but a war with the greatest resource available to us: our minds.”

Locohama 

Hmmm…you’re right of course, I should clarify. soldiers need to be properly motivated and their energy directed and, aside for protection of ones family, one sure way to motivate and focus a soldier’s actions is with hate. (-;

Bored in Kanagawa

Wow, I can’t wait to hear more of this!

Locohama 

hey Bored! hold tight! Coming soon to a blog near you all part of the healing process 

*****

Well, that’s about it for part 4 of the lost chapters. Hope you enjoyed it! I’ll be doing another in the days to come. Look out for it (-; But, of course, you can (and should) pick up your own copy of Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist. It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Loco

I’ve included this post in the series mostly because of the comments it generated at the time. It was one of the more controversial posts of the series and provoked some very interesting feedback (which I’ve conveniently attached to this post, for your reading pleasure.)

So, have a read and brace yourselves!

This Chapter was actually Part 25 of the original (37 part) series.

Enjoy!

 *****

“They are not a moral people,” Patrick said. “At least not moral as we see it.”

“As we see it?” I asked, incredulously. I couldn’t imagine he and I saw anything similarly but I didn’t say so. I just wanted to know how he’d become the most notorious Charisma man in Tokyo…at least as far as Nova was concerned. His exploits were whispered far and wide. His “charismatic” accomplishments were legendary.

“They’re piss poor peasants, practically barbarians…closer to animals than they are to us,” he said.

I couldn’t believe my fucking ears.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked like he were accustomed to having his assertions challenged and thus came prepared to present proof that would satisfy even the most fierce opposition that Japanese people were sub-human.

“Ok, answer me this: what separates us humans from the animal kingdom?” He asked, and folded his arms across his chest.

I was speechless and wasn’t about to engage in this discussion…not seriously, anyway. I just looked at him, trying to decide if he were yanking my chain or not.

I’d seen Patrick several times with different Japanese girls in various locales, and all of them were clearly out of his league. Like this one time I’d run into him at a Starbuck’s in Shinjuku. He was with a straight up Japanese model. She stood out among other Japanese girls the way a Rakim song would stand out in a modern day mix-tape. The prototypical model, flawless in every way, by all appearances. He was sitting there confidently gaming away with his patchy, almost ring-wormy looking haircut, blotchy skin, wearing the suit he’d be wearing every time I saw him. He’d had her locked in a conversation and she clearly couldn’t understand what he was saying well or, I believe, she’d have fled the scene like she’d had an appointment for a Can Cam Magazine photo shoot crosstown 5 minutes from then. But, on the contrary, she was beaming and looked like she wanted to have his little haafu babies right then and there.

“Patrick!” I shouted.

With some effort they both yanked their eyes from one another and looked at me. He registered surprise and embarrassment, and all of the confidence he’d had just moments ago vanished, transforming before my eyes into the sniveling, nervous, twitchy shifty eyed Patrick that almost made me ashamed to share his race…the guy I’d see at the office from time to time.

“L-L-Loco!” was all he’d said.

I’d felt bad, responsible for the depletion of his confidence. Like a cock blocker. So, I decided to keep it moving and pretended to be in a rush. I figured I’d catch up with him another time to find out the details.

And that ‘another time’ happened to be this day, which found us working at the same satellite Nova location. We’d gone to McDonald’s together for lunch and over Big Mac sets I inquired as to his method. I’d wanted to know how this guy, who made even me feel debonair and irresistible by comparison, was able to over-achieve as he was infamously doing.

Only to be told that it had something to do with Japanese being akin to animals???

“Come on, man,” I said. “You don’t really believe that shit, do you? You? As a black man, you ought to know better than that. After all the shit blacks have gone through with white folks thinking like that about us…please tell me you’re kidding.”

He laughed.

“All I know, Loco, is what I’ve learned and what I see… ”

He paused and took a sip of his drink just as a couple of Office Ladies were passing by. One was about to take a seat at the empty table beside ours but the other, after taking a glance at us, called to her–with a little urgency– that there was another table across the room. The other couldn’t understand the urgency until she glanced our way and noticed us. Then she rose and hastily followed her companion to the free table across the room.

Patrick then turned back to me like he’d forgotten I was there.

“Look around us…” he said. “It’s the lunch rush, right? So, why do you think every table in here is occupied except for the two on either side of us?”

I actually hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.

“You probably think it’s cuz Japanese people are a bunch of racist bastards, right?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, it could be that. But, who knows?”

“I used to think like you…” he said, like a pompous mind-reading fuck. “I used to think that Japanese were racists, or xenophobic, or whatever you want to call it. But now I know better.”

“Okay…” I said, still wondering what this had to do with animals. “So, what’s the real reason, Patrick-sensei?”

“If you were to move away from someone the way they just did, so blatantly, what do you imagine would be going through your mind?”

“I wouldn’t do that…well, I should say, I wouldn’t do that unless there were special circumstances…someone I was trying to avoid on purpose and wanted them to know it, or maybe a homeless person stinking to high hell or something like that. But, I wouldn’t do it otherwise. Not without reason.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to do to someone…”

“Why?”

“Cuz I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to me. You know, that ‘Do unto others…’ thing.”

“Exactly!” he said, like I’d made his point. “You’d have to have a reason. You wouldn’t do it without one.”

“Okay…” I said. “I’m sure they had a reason, too.”

“Are you?” he asked. “Why? Cuz they’re shy? Cuz they’re afraid of people who look different than themselves? Cuz they’re afraid of the unknown?”

“That’s what everybody says…”

“Listen, Loco,” he said in an exasperated tone like he was trying to be patient with me. “I have a very high regard for human beings…and I think humans have a rather high-capacity for rational thinking….don’t you?”

“Some do…yeah.”

“I believe this is what separates humans from animals…”

“So, you think Japanese don’t have a high-capacity for rational?”

“What do you think?” he said like he was teaching a course.

“I think you’ve been here too long…” And, I laughed. But my heart wasn’t in it. And Patrick knew it. He smiled, took a sip of his coke, looking at me over the lid.

“Okay, big deal! They moved. That’s their prerogative, isn’t it?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sure they had a motive…it’s like fight or flight, right? They decided to fly instead of fight. Whatever feelings of discomfort they might have experienced have been neutralized by moving. The way I see it, that’s basic human instinct.”

“I agree and I disagree,” he said. “I think fight or flight is a basic animal instinct…and maybe children. But not complex enough for adult humans. I think human motives should by directed by morals. For me, I think, doing the right thing for the right reason pretty much sums it up. Assuming they are rational beings, if they had even considered what’s the right reason is, or even our dignity as humans for a second they could never have concluded that moving was the right thing to do. Any other motive is beneath contempt.”

“But that’s some western philosophy, dude,” I said. “You can’t apply those western values universally…can you?”

“I do,” he said. “I have to. It’s the only way to protect myself from the onslaught of offenses over here, in the US, hell, anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“You see,” he explained. “I only allow humans to offend me. Adult humans. And once offended, I respond appropriately, dependent on the offense. But, children and animals don’t offend me. Japanese people don’t behave like rational humans and they certainly have no more regard for my dignity than a child or animal would. So, I don’t see why I should recognize in them something they can’t recognize in me. To prove I’m the bigger man? At what price? And for what purpose?”

“So, basically you’re a predator and Japanese animals, particularly the female, are your prey…”

“Something like that,” he laughed.

“That’s really twisted,” I said. “If I understand you correctly, you’re punishing them for lacking the morals you value.”

“Right! So?”

“But, you’ve let this idea you have of them being animals transform you into an animal! By punishing them this way you’re compromising your own morals, aren’t you? Or did I miss something?”

He thought about it for a second. Then he said, “You missed something.”

“What?”

“That, if I don’t see them as human then the guilt you’re trying to play on doesn’t exist,” Patrick laughed. “I’m no more an animal than a cattle rancher is…Or a big game hunter. I’m just a Sportsman, Loco. Pure and simple.”

*****

And Now for the Comments!! 

G.R. 1

Wow, another great read in the series. Also, what a hodgepodge of mixed emotions in this comment section! I won’t talk about what others have said here, I just want to add a little something. This whole series has been a real eye opener for me and many others, from a unique perspective that never fails to entertain. Just the fact that your posts draw such a flurry of positive/negative comments shows that the subject of racism is STILL very much a grey area, and we are far from accepting each other as one and the same.

Call it xenophobia or racism or Iwakan… it’s still there and going strong. It’s sad that some Japanese believe that this is what makes them a cut above as a society, and that they are afraid other cultures will destroy their heritage and uniqueness. They don’t want to register the fact that everyone will be the same color someday, unless we destroy each other in the process.

We live in a very special time Loco- It’s a time where the people of world are just starting to accept each other due to technology and innovation, and we are caught in this sketchy middle ground between the sordid and the ideal. It’s people like you who raise these difficult subjects and speak from the heart who will truly change the future for the better. Keep it up! And stay in trouble lol

Rose  

Hey Loco – I’ve been reading all your posts (and this most recent series) voraciously.

F*ck the haters. You’re doing something important here. Sorry I don’t yet know how to put it all more eloquently, but I’m just so impressed with your writing.

William

Your post has me thinking about the exchange between you and Patrick. For some reason, my memory credits Akira Kurosawa (or was it Keeyes Beech?) with making an observation that, in Japanese culture, there is no concept of sin, much less an original one.

As a person who lives in Japan, your candid reflections are very much appreciated.

I look forward to continue reading your extraordinary blog.

Locohama 

Thanks for the shout William!

No concept of sin. No religiously conceived guilt. No Judeo-Christian ethics and values.

However, there are the Confucius ideas borrowed from the Chinese (among many other things) and he taught of reciprocity, righteousness and virtue. Not to mention social relationships.Confucianism is very evident here, esp when it comes to respect for elders and parents, etc..

Thanks again. and please feel free to comment anytime!

Bored in kanagawa 

Sometimes I wonder if people like MJG even live in Japan.

Locohama 

He lives here! And he has an incredible blog to prove it. He’s a haikyo photographer, and his shoots are off the charts…and he writes gripping fiction! see for yourself: http://www.michaeljohngrist.co…

I really dig his stuff! Non-linear thinking, opened mind and hearted.

I’m really shocked by his comment )-: But I guess I need to get even tougher skin.

Thanks for the shout Bored!

sola 

Wow loco I love this article its plain brilliant, I really enjoyed reading this!

-Sola

Bridget, International woman of mystery 

great writing. keep it up man!

Andy in Tokyo

Loco,

I just wanted to say that I thoroughly enjoy your “My Name’s Loco..” posts – please keep them coming. Yours is one of the few Japan-related blogs that I subscribe to these days: it’s fresh, raw and from the heart. If you’re ever in my part of Tokyo and fancy having a beer, let me know!

Andy

Locohama

Hey Andy! Thanks for the shout bruh! And for the love. And i will definitely let you know next time I’m in those parts…in the inimitable words of Arrested Development: …and I am still thirsty (-:

Same to you…if you’re ever in Yokohama, holler!

loco at locoinyokohama dot com

MJG

This is just so distasteful, Loco. This whole thread with you trying to reclaim to word `racist`. I get that you want attention, but still. Every time I see these updates in my twitter stream I think I really need to unfriend you, cos I just don`t want this stuff rearing its head in my life so frequently, especially when I feel we`ve been over this so many times.

People don`t sit next to you. I get it. It makes you feel uncomfortable. OK. How long can you keep milking that cow?

To say to Haku that it`s not a game seems disingenuous to me. You`re approaching the whole thing like it`s a game for your self-aggrandizement. Clearly your charisma man friend approached it the same way- keeping score of what humanity level people have.

Ugh. As to the unfriending, well, that`s obviously my prerogative. It`s clear you`re not going to change your views. I just wish you`d turn your turn your intellect to something more positive instead of this constant harping on about having empty seats either side of you. Why not be pro-active and DO something about i? Organize a positive event to counter-act it- you could call it SIT BY ME and hold flash mob events where you play musical chairs or something, and you set positive examples for the rest of Japan. You could get on the news doing it- as an agent for positive change. Wouldn`t that be better?

This constant airing of old complaints is wearing. I`ll agree that the old chestnut- `if you don`t like this country then leave` is hardly the answer. However- `if you don`t like this country then try to change it` makes perfect sense. What you`re doing now (calling yourself a racist, espousing the views of idiot simpleton `players`) is not going to bring any Japanese to your way of thinking. So get out there and organize some events with a positive message. Be the change you want to see, instead of just crying over how much you don`t see it… I`m sure your Japanese girlfriend will respect you much more for that than for just bitching her people out.

ELSN

MJG, I’m sure the above was an outburst, but seriously?

Why is it Loco’s responsibility to play Sit By Me games, and do you actually think that would change anything? Do you think racism is still around because non-white people just aren’t trying hard enough to change society?

Loco probably isn’t naive enough to believe he has any large influence on most Japanese people’s way of thinking, and thus decides to focus and refine his own first. On his personal blog.

Maybe you should think about why a long-winded self-conscious meditation on race and Japan bothers you SO MUCH that you ask someone NOT to write it. Or remove reminders that it’s being written.

I’m uncomfortable about some things in this series too, but I don’t dismiss them as “complaints.” My god, racism is uncomfortable and painful, that’s the whole point.

Rubi 

My goodness! Sit By Me? Like ELSN said, why is it responsibility of those who endure racism to end it? And why should those who endure racism be ever ready to make nice with people who deny them human dignity?

Locohama

Thanks for the shout ELSN! I really don’t know what to say… Actually I am a bit naïve, though. I do believe that the influence I’ve had on my students, teens and adults, is is going to have an impact. Outside of that like you said I’m just trying to keep my soul intact.

ELSN 

Oh Loco, my bad, I’m sure you have a deep influence on those around you, especially your students (from what I’ve read). You seem to have a growing influence on this corner of the internet too.

Locohama

Thanks for the shout MJG…Yeah it’s an ugly word and I get that you don’t want to see it or deal with it..most people don’t. Most white people don’t even have to, not even here.,.but it’s people who make remarks like yours, that totally discount and marginalize my experience here as “enough already” or reduce it to mere complaining about empty seats (proof positive that either you haven’t read or simply can’t comprehend what’s going on here) It’s almost as offensive as the Japanese foolishness i’ve absorbed into too deep a location to just play musical chairs in a public “Sit By Me” I’m human too PR event. (What silliness…I expected more from you MJG) Anyway. feel free to unfriend me or whatever cuz this is my adventure and if you’re not along for the ride, I understand…dealing with real shit aint for everyone. And if you think I’m going about the wrong way there is definitely a more respectful way to point it out than what you’ve done…At least I hope so. Peace!

Locohama

Actually, MJG, I am a little put off by your comment. I mean, sure, most of your comments here have been critical, but almost always respectfully and reflective of having read the post and absorbed it to some extent. You’ve understood my motive, my intent, and when clarification was needed, I could count on a comment from you saying so.

So to receive a comment like this from you, someone I considered an especially discerning reader, has given me pause. Considerable pause. I mean, if some commenter just popped in here, and hadn’t been around since damn near the beginning (like you have) I would not give their criticism as much weight.

Two years into this blog, I am, and the majority of it has been about kids and work and schools and Yokohama, and yes some of it deals with the elephant in the room. My posts on the foolishness I have to endure here can be a bit more intense, I admit, (and typically the only ones you leave your long thoughtful comments on) but to malign them as “constant airing of complaints”??? To throw this whole series under the bus as “self-aggrandizement” and my want for “attention”??? And to call me “disingenuous” when I tell a reader that I’m seriously dealing with racist feelings that I haven’t had to deal with for years (and he must have thought was some metaphor for unhappy or something)…Man, MJG, you’ve really fucked me up with that.

I’ve re-read your comment about 10 times now trying to decide whether it’s I who have gone off track and undertaken something too unwieldy for me, or have you just decided that you don’t like my approach to this issue, nor having to see the word “racist” claimed or reclaimed (not sure what the hell that meant) on your feed or wherever so you’ve decided to trash the whole thing?

Maybe it’s my ego that tells me if you read it thoroughly you could not possibly feel this way. I mean, I’ve attracted quite a few trolls (as you might imagine) but I wouldn’t say there has been any added attention. And I really don’t understand how describing ones life experience, the highs and lows, can be held up as aggrandizement. Of course I might be guilty of a bit of that (what writer isn’t?) but not to the point where I feel it’s a remarkable characteristic or a distraction from the point of my writing.

I really don’t know what else to say about your perplexing comment except to reiterate for u and other readers hopping on a train well underway: Loco is trying to figure out some things. Thinking aloud and in print. You’re welcome to read and comment and trash if you like. Just be respectful if you can.

Ken Gtwo 

People have their (mis)perceptions of Japan, and they simply hate to have them tampered with. I find some of the Japanophile/Japan Fetishers react even more negatively than Japanese people upon hearing the gory details of what really goes on “on the street” here.

It’s funny. You teach, work alongside, and interact with hundreds (or possibly thousands) of people here for years, but you’re still somehow not qualified to talk about what goes on around you on a daily basis. Like you must have mis-interpreted the same shit over and over and over again. It can’t possibly be real. It can’t possibly be true, so therefore there must be something wrong with you.

It’s real refreshing to hear someone boldly tell the truth about the unseen underbelly of Japan.

Thanks Dude!

MJG 

Was I disrespectful? I thought I was simply direct. Perhaps though seeing your cheerful ‘coming out’ as a racist so many times in my feeds annoyed me. Loco- I don’t like you calling yourself a racist. It’s true I haven’t read every article in this series, because the title always turned me off, like a celebration of hate. So I’ll focus in on that one word. Do you really think of yourself as a racist, or is it just an exaggerating headline to get attention?

If you really think that way- then it just saddens me you haven’t been able to find a better way to focus the hurt you’ve obviously felt from people refusing to sit or stand next to you. I mentioned a SIT BY ME event as the first thought in my head, but it’s not the only possibility. The answer is plainly not to call yourself a racist though. You’re not going to win over any hearts and minds with that attitude.

As to whether changing hearts and minds is your responsibility or not- well, you’re the one who gets hurt, while the Japanese who offend you presumably are unaware of the hurt they’re causing. You can hardly expect them to change behaviour they don’t know is wrong. You, or someone, has to educate them if it is to stop. At least you’d be doing something and wouldn’t feel so powerless, a feeling which I think has been leaking through these blog posts for 2 years now. Empower yourself and try to make the change or find a way to deal with it yourself. Anything else, I’ll confess, seems just like bitter and powerless complaining to me.

On the other hand If you don’t truly consider yourself a racist and are just using that term to get attention, then its quite distasteful.

NB- I’m not debating whether Loco has had these experiences or not, nor whether they are hurtful or not. He and I have settled that question before. I’m a white guy in Tokyo and haven’t shared his experience, but that’s subjective and only he knows what he felt. What I’m debating is the way he’s dealing with his experience, and his subsequent self-appellation of racist. There are better ways.

Locohama

MJG, maybe that’s the tone you always use so you can’t even hear yourself anymore, but yes what you call direct sounds distinctly like condescension. And since you haven’t read the series I won’t get into it because clearly you don’t GAF. But all your questions that incited your outburst are addressed in the series, in parts 1 & 2 a matter of fact. But anyway… To be respectful, All you had to say from the start was: “Loco…I haven’t read your series so i can’t speak to its content. All I can say is I don’t like the title because I find the use of the word “racist” distasteful.and it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t plan to read it based on that feeling. I respect you too much to stand on the sidelines in ignorance and spit at you, though, so i’m just gonna refrain from commenting at all”

Something like that, MJG, would’ve been fine with me!

MJG

You’re right, that’s what I should have said.

Rubi

I’m curious as to why you see his title as a cheerful coming out or celebration of hate. If the word “racist” were exchanged for “alcoholic”, would you -after repeatedly seeing the title in your feeds- have developed the same impression?

Also I want to push back against this idea that the only acceptable ways to react to experiences of racism/xenophobia/iwakan are those that make members of the majority feel comfortable. Especially since these posts are less an anti-racist campaign and more a deeply personal exploration of race and race in Japan.

Would I be correct to infer that the way Loco is dealing with his experiences for the past two years has prompted you to do the more effective things you allude to? Perhaps you could describe the things you’ve been doing to challenge the views and behaviours you’ve seen in some of your Japanese counterparts?

Chris Ballard 

Dear MJG

We are both white so I feel we have this natural connection. Can you feel it buddy? I got my “White” card, i know you got yours too.

Let’s be honest. There are 2 kinds of colored’s.( Blacks, negro’s or whatever they call themselves nowadays) The ones who have been arrested and convicted and the ones who never get caught for their crimes.

I understand your wanting to un-friend him and stuff. Who the fuck is he anyway? Expressing his own views on his own blog. Dude is batshit crazy! It must be all that reefer the colored’s smoke. They mix it with the baby’s milk and give it to their infants. That’s some nuts shit right there.

Anyway, we both know that his descriptions of racism in Japan are way overblown and his experiences might have never really happened . Yeah, I got your little zinger at him in the other post. Remember I’m white too. I see your points

The depiction of Japan as an overtly racist society can’t be proven. I ain’t buying it. The looks I get? The security guards that always follow me in shopping centers, the random police checks, The fathers who grab their daughters hands and bravely position themselves between me and their Princesses, the local clubs that refuse me entry because I’m not Japanese, the constant staring, the smiles and tatemae which disappears when I’m next in line, the empty seats next to me. The black trucks screaming for me to get out and my neighbors lack of unease about it. The possible next prime minister says stuff like

“It’s very admirable that people exercised their freedom of choice and free will in such a time of crisis,” he said. “I like Americans but they’re somewhat like single-celled organisms.”

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-08-25/japan-ruling-party-s-ozawa-says-americans-are-single-celled-organisms-.html

What I’m really trying to say is, you got your head way up in your ass son. Your all fucked up. If you ever made that final zinger re:girlfriend to my face I would put you down in one brass punch. I’d then smash your camera into fucking pieces. Or steal it? Who knows?

Locohama

Chris, youre illmatic! LMMFAO!!!

Hawaiibadboy

“Be the change you want to see, instead of just crying over how much you don`t see it… I`m sure your Japanese girlfriend will respect you much more for that than for just bitching her people out. ”

Crying??… would be what you’ll be doing if I ever got lucky enough to scratch your chin with my brass knuckles. Of course I would then pick-up your camera to snap shots of you picking up your own teeth.

How can you have your own head up your ass while sucking on Japanese dick at the same time?

“Every time I see these updates in my twitter stream I think I really need to unfriend you,”

No MJG!! Noooooooooo!!

Please give Loco another chance! PLEASE!!

He didn’t mean to talk about HIS feelings. (between just you and me…I think…you know…the coloreds…they smoke a lot of that weed and it messes with em”) Don’t tell Loco I said that please.

You gotta rethink this un-friend stuff.

What if Loco goes the other way?? Rejects your advice and keeps blogging on HIS blog about how HE feels?? WTF then?? What are we gonna do??

P.S.

I was not serious about the brass Knucks comment. I’d actually just smash the fucking thing on your hands while you were feeling around on the ground for your teeth.

Sorry for the confusion

Peace and love and ignorant bliss to you and yours.

XWH

I’m sorry if this is off-topic, but I honestly didn’t know you were white! This is the former WH btw, but vox got shut down.

Locohama

“what if Loco goes the other way?” WHOA, Horse! Loco only goes one way…the way of the afro-samurai! Ask my shorty! She’ll tell u! LMAO

Thanks for the love, bruh, as always!!!

Chris Ballard 

I did 2 posts by mistake I thought the 1st try hadn’t made it?

Anyway..

Clowning on MJG is as easy as…

Shooting fish in a barrel.

Actually, it’s as easy as just looking at fish in a barrel.

To be honest, clowning on MJG is as easy as

Being in a room somewhere near the barrel of fish..

It’s just….it’s just too fucking easy. This is what it must feel like to beat up a handicapped child.

Not cool. So, I’ll stop.

Again, sorry for the multi comments

blackchild

Good old white privilege. Thanks MJG for letting us all know that you are tired of hearing about things you don’t have to deal with.

じゃｎ – John – Gian

I can understand your point of view, or as Loco would say -”I feel you”.

But I think, that if you give him the time he needs, he will make his point.

Moreover, if you read carefully, you’ll find that Loco here is just reporting something others said, and what happened to him, dressing it with his emotions and point of view. I don’t think he’s a racist: he’s trying in anyway to get the dark thoughts out of his mind, yelling out, and writing it down.

That’s my IMHO, and I, as Odysseus said -”am nobody”.

Rose 

If it offends your delicate sensibilities so much, stop reading. It’s not that hard.

Loco is doing important work simply by having this series of posts be so open, honest and introspective. He’s not only calling out the racism he sees in Japan, but the racist tendencies he sees in himself. We readers should be doing nothing but encouraging him. And if you can’t do that, then kindly STFU.

Xamuel 2 comments collapsed Collapse Expand This series is amazing O_O Keep it up!! Not sure where I stand on the philosophy raised in the post, but one thing’s for sure, the salarymen certainly *work* themselves like animals When your creepy buddy isn’t exploiting the women, their own bosses are -_-

Ken Gtwo

“salarymen certainly *work* themselves like animals”

I’ve often thought Japanese people (particularly in crowded Tokyo) submit themselves to conditions, which from my point of view, seem less than human, and remind me very much of “modern” farm animal conditions. The trains, the cramped spaces, the lack of comfortable environmental controls indoors, etc.

There’s a transfer point in Shimo Kitazawa where you go from the Keio to the Odakyu line, Odawara direction. The Keio Inokashira line is always packed in the evening. The way down to the Odakyu line narrows and descends as you go. I call it “The Chute”. When I go that way in a crowd, I am reminded of an animal auction barn from my childhood, where animals were herded into the auction ring, or back out into narrow space. I often let out a MOO! or pig squeal when going through there at night with friends after a few drinks.

WC

His logical is scarily whole and self-supporting.

Will Loco find a flaw in this logic? Will he convince his friend that Japanese are humans? Find out next time on ‘Hi My Name Is Loco And I Am A Racist’.

Locohama blogger, writer, teacher, not necessarily in that order 1 comment collapsed Collapse Expand Thanks for the shout WC…Tune in Tomorrow (or Wednesday) indeed lol

XWH

Hey Loco, thank you for not being afraid of telling it like it is.

btw, the guy you linked to about the haafu (http://japanesecultureandlangu…, wtf? who does that guy think he is?

This is WH (workahostess), but I had to move to a new place because vox is getting shut down (sniff). Got you on my blogroll though!

Haikugirl

Oh my. I don’t really know how to comment except to say that I hope I never meet the guy you were talking to!! Also, nice to read a blog about a controversial topic. I can see you’re not afraid, and I like that.

Locohama 

Thanks Haikugirl…don’t be mistaken though. it’s scary out there!! very!

drop a line any time (-:

Loco

Ken Gtwo

That’s some heavy shit. I have heard similar talk from others, and in my darkest Japan hours have even entertained such notions.

The most rational explanation I can come up with is that GENERALLY Japanese people are trained from childhood to only care about their in-group (so they might even treat an out-group Japanese person similarly). And GENERALLY the highest that in-group concept can go is the “family” of Japanese people within the nation of Japan (i.e. not beyond Japan’s shores.)

I think humans basically share the same sense of moral obligation towards other humans, but they generally find it easier to exempt themselves of said moral responsibility towards those outside their in-group, and that seems particularly true of conservative/traditional/exclusive type groups of people (A lot of Japanese people, American Neo-con/Teabaggers, various religious fundamentalists, etc.). So in a sense these folks ARE looking at different others as non-human, or less than human, and therefore not worthy of moral consideration.

I think your colleague just sees that in Japanese and decided just to turn the thing back around on them. (Or at least that’s what I think about the times I’ve slipped into such thinking).

I haven’t read the whole series yet, so apologies if I’ve missed or repeated something from other posts/comments.

PS: How that relates to race is, race is a kind of in-group.

Locohama

Thanks G.R.!

I love the way you put that! Racial Deconstruction may indeed be the resolution of all the nonsense. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Produce Stand

He would be an awesome villain , trying to pull you into the dark side!

Locohama

Thanks PS! If he were a hollywood villain they’d probably screw it up and have him played by Jamie Foxx,

C87

Great read as always.

Locohama

Thanks, as always (-;

Jim Haku

That is some Klan-type bullshit thinking. This dude sounds like just a misogynist who has found a race-based ego-saving justification for it, which is bizarre given his own race. You play to his self-flattery a bit by saying he’s “punishing” the girls. If we’re talking consensual acts between adults among whom non-committal sex and birth control aren’t moral issues, then HE is just someone exotic to have sex with. It’s really an equal transaction but he’s gotta make it some bigger thing where he is the dominator. Maybe people don’t sit next to him in diners because he gives off a creepy predator vibe because he IS a creepy predator. (In his own mind, which he thinks of as positive.) This guy is a wreck if he’s not a sociopath.

Locohama

Well, I don’t know how the Klan think so i can’t comment on that. Care to expand on that? He does have some misogynistic ideas. And though I couldn’t get with him then (6 years ago) on his philosophy I can definitely empathize with some of his thoughts and feelings now (for some reason) ..But I am a racist so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised

thanks for the shout haku

Jim Haku

You said it yourself…blacks were treated as sub-human. If he were straight-up raping girls, he would using the lyncher’s justification. It might even be sub-Klan thinking if you buy their lines about only being against the mixing of races. If you really think this way you’re kinda being an asshole by continuing to live there. Are you really gonna be like, “maybe the Klan has a point”? You can’t give into that bullshit. I don’t think you are a racist or I wouldn’t bother. All people are animals, not every action is logical. Japan has a different intellectual history and a different way of dealing with feelings. This guy’s theories are easily tested by trying his game on some Japanese-Americans, see how far that gets.

Jeff

Nah, I don’t think he has racist thinking, at least from what i’ve read in this series (notice that I use the word “series”, Loco? i make sure not to miss an episode ). Patrick just sounds like hes playin’ the game, and his thinking servers as a confidence booster to ultimately help him win bigger, IMO. I’ve never been a player in my life; I get so nervous that my voice turns into a pre-pubescent teenage squeak just trying to ask a girl on a date or something. I can only assume that it takes a hell of a lot of confidence to go after many girls, one after the other. I’m sure its a big rush for those who enjoy it too. I would assume that if Patrick were a minority in some other country, he would divine up some other logic to help strategize his situation and modify his thinking to boost his confidence. I’ve known a couple players (known, not friend-ed) who think of the silliest things just to boost their confidence in bagging woman.

Anyways, thats my take. I’ll be waiting for the next installment. Same Loco channel, same Loco time.

Locohama blogger, writer, teacher, not necessarily in that order 3 comments collapsed Collapse Expand Sorry to disappoint you haku. Maybe you thought this was some kind of game show. this is the real world. I’ve been trying to explain that and I think you’re finally getting it (a little) cuz you called me an asshole. Not that leaving here would be a solution. I’d still be a racists…only in another country…Nope I think japan is actually the best place to deal with this if it is to be dealt with. Can’t run. No I’m not a shitkicker like klans people (my girl and some of my best friends are japanese) god i feel funny saying that, I’m a poser as I mentioned several times throughout this series (you’ve been following closely?) and the purpose of it is to hopefully uncover something useful in resolving my issue…if not, maybe I’ll help some reader work out theirs…if not, at least it”ll be entertaining or engaging. You seem to think that intelligent people can’t be racist posers. YOU ARE WRONG! That’s like saying the same thing about alcoholics or drug addicts or AIDS patients. Intelligence is irrelevant. If you don’t want to be bothered anymore I”ll understand. Hell nobody likes a racist. Even if he’s just a relatively “harmless” poser like me. Believe me I know how you feel. I used to HATE the motherfuckers until I looked in the mirror one day and saw one looking back at me…Now I gotta deal with this shit…or else!

Peace

jason 

Back in one of my sociology classes in university, the general conclusion was that EVERYONE is racist, at least after that stage of early childhood when kids will play with anyone and everyone equally and have no issue with what they look like. It’s programmed into every culture in the world to trust the ‘we’ and distrust the ‘they’ and easy to define things like pigmentation are one of the easiest ways to categorize people in that way.

That isn’t to defend racism as having value (In the modern information age, I don’t think it benefits anyone in any way) but it is something we’re all socialized into to a greater or lesser extent from the outset. Of course, walking the multicultural walk is a lot harder than talking the talk. My (japanese) wife and I are both good at intellectually recognizing when something is a cultural difference, but we aren’t always so good at suppressing our instinctive reaction to cultural values being challenged long enough to discuss something or find a compromise.

The reaction thing is a perfect example. Moving away from something we find frightening or even simply out of place is not an uncommon behavior pattern. If I notice a large unattended bag or the like on a train, I get the hell away from it, it’s out of place and I want none of that. The problem is accepting that the majority of the population of a nation of reasonably intelligent human beings can be ignorant of how those responses could feel…

But it IS true. Most Japanese have never stopped to think of something from another perspective. It simply hasn’t been necessary for long enough that it’s a basic part of who they are. Growing up in a country that is as multicultural as the USA, coming to someplace that’s 97% comprised of one ethnic group is surreal. Dealing with their reactions to things can be traumatic simply because of things we are equipped to deal with that they aren’t.

Enough of them have grown up in international school, lived overseas for a while, or simply gotten to know a few foreigners well enough to NOT react the way that the others do, and those exceptions serve to highlight the rule. Even though they are the majority, the people who react badly to us stand out even more in light of the fact that some of them treat us like we expect to be treated.

Before I left the states, I worked as a volunteer teacher in an exchange program for Japanese students to study English at my university. During one of my classes, two of the girls in the class came up to the main teacher and I and asked a question that kind of floored me at the time, “Why do you have racism in America? We don’t have anything like that in Japan…” Now, I was a student of Japanese history, and knew enough bits of culture to KNOW they were a mile off base… Burakumin neighbourhoods, third generation Japanese residents of Korean descent who will probably never be granted the rights of citizenship, exclusion from arranged marriages for even the slightest hint of non-wa Japanese descent, etc. etc. etc… That’s without even touching on their reactions to foreigners on their own soil today…

What they were really asking about was hate crimes, which you do see decidedly less of here, at least making it into the news… But nevertheless, that degree of ignorance of their own history and culture is pretty normal here. I think it is easier to recognize racist behavior in others than in yourself, and I suspect that’s one of the things going on within Loco’s current series of posts. I think he’s describing the process that led to that realization.

This has turned into a major ramble, but I guess my main point is that everyone is racist, the only question is how aware of it we are, and whether we deem the behavior unacceptable enough to warrant fighting against that tendency or not.

Locohama 

Well Said Jason! Thanks for such a well thought out and respectful, considerate response. I would agree with most of what you’ve said esp: “The problem is accepting that the majority of the population of a nation of reasonably intelligent human beings can be ignorant of how those responses could feel…” and ”

Enough of them have grown up in international school, lived overseas for a while, or simply gotten to know a few foreigners well enough to NOT react the way that the others do, and those exceptions serve to highlight the rule. Even though they are the majority, the people who react badly to us stand out even more in light of the fact that some of them treat us like we expect to be treated.”

Statements like those let me know I’m not alone (cuz damn I feel isolated sometimes…like I’m ona of a precious few who can see this elephant in the room and think it shouldn’t be ignored)

It’s enough to make you feel paranoid, I swear…thanks for telling me it aint just in my head (-:

*****

Well, that’s about it for part 3 of the lost chapters. Hope you enjoyed it! I’ll be doing another in the days to come. Look out for it (-;

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Here we have the continuation from Part 1: Orenthal. Click here for part 1 of the Lost Chapters

As I said before, while I am in the process of editing the second book, I will be, from time to time, re-posting some of these lost chapters, the comments as well as some from posts that made it, in edited and expanded versions, into the book.

So, brace yourselves.

This second Lost Chapter was actually Part 28 of the original (37 part) series.

 Enjoy!

*****

As my former boss confirmed in my comments section (thanks Meg (-: ), our company was a house divided, becoming more and more so as the OJ trial progressed.

Impacted, as our business was, by the viral nature of this story, we had a lot more down time than any of us cared for. Down time meaning down bonuses. And, with our work areas equipped with televisions, this meant we could watch more of the coverage than the average person could, or even should. The office was saturated with OJ. We had OJ for breakfast, had lunch with OJ, and OJ waved us goodbye in the evenings. We watched as OJ made careers for some reporters while teaching some old dogs new tricks. Reporters who were nobodies before the case now had hourly broadcast on various aspects of the case. Greta Van Susteren’s career was catapulted by her legal background thanks to OJ. Dan Abrams’, too.

Even the guy I respected most on Network news, one of the only reporters of integrity, the last man standing, Ted Koppel, and the greatest program that ever happened to Network news, Nightline, got in on the act. Granted, he did try to find the hard news within the tabloid news and ask the tough questions like: is it possible for OJ to receive a fair trial amid this madness? Should a criminal trial be a form of mass entertainment?

We watched as mainstream media and tabloid media became indistinguishable, merging into a two-headed monster feeding on this story in a frenzy. We watched as pure speculation transformed into news, talking heads became experts, cameras marched (with Judge Ito’s blessing) right into the courtroom and zoomed in.

It was a dark time in American media (not to suggest that the light shining bright beforehand or has returned since). When the National Enquirer and The New York Times, FOX and Frontline, Hard Copy and Nightline all cover the same story, have practically the same headlines at the same time, that is the very definition of a dark time. A true media truth and integrity-blackout.

Many of us in the office became authorities on the trial ourselves. Personally, I could have passed the NY State Bar exam by the time the trial ended. There wasn’t a legal maneuver by either side to delay or speed up, to overtly distract or over-emphasize, to persuade or dissuade, to suppress or enter into evidence, to racially-charge (as if it weren’t fully charged already) or racially neutralize (as if that were even possible) able to escape our notice.

I should point out that though our house was divided, it was not divided equally. Nor was it divided along the lines of OJ’s innocence or guilt. Not even along the lines of his “presumed innocence until proven guilty” or “guilty” to be honest. The tenets of American Justice were cast aside.

This was a Slam-Dunk, not a Hail Mary.

And, as far as race was concerned…well…

It had gotten to a point where it would have been rhetorical to ask any of my white co-workers what they thought about the case. Most of them had become very vocal about their positions. Their disgust was blatant. Where as race had always been a topic to tiptoe around in the era of Political Correctness we were living in, this OJ thing had gone and allowed white people to plod around clumsily saying inflammatory things about a “suspect” who just happened to be black without concern about it being associated with his skin color. It gave my co-workers, it seemed, the daring to trample upon areas they used to avoid even approaching.

There was a sense of desperate righteousness to their aspersions. This OJ thing had provoked something cruel, something primeval, out of them. OJ was an assault on all the things they’d come to believe were good about America. That we had a justice system that would protect them from the likes of him.

And, they almost dared me to take an opposing position. This was something all human beings with any intellect, any sense of morality, of common decency, should agree on, seemed to be their position. Disagreement suggested you were something less than an intelligent life-form, than decent, than moral, than human, than American.

I can’t say for certain that dissent, on my part, wouldn’t have been tolerated. But, it certainly would’ve been unexpected and shocking. In their eyes, I was not the kind of guy who would support a wife-beating animal like OJ Simpson.

Maybe Jamel in Shipping, with his Public Enemy T-shirts, or that messenger with the dreadlocks, Reggie, or that part time editor, Whatshisname? Keith…the one who never takes off his headphones — whether you’re talking to him or not– they might. But, not loco…no way. He’s practically one of us. He’s educated, he’s intelligent, he’s upwardly mobile, he’s one of our top salespeople, he’s a credit to his race…not like OJ, and not like those other guys, or the idiots we see on TV praying for OJ’s success and saying all those God-awful ungrateful things about America.

I was in a very lonely place. Feeling isolated by my politics and the unintentional (I hoped) hostility of my colleagues all around me.

One day, I was chatting with one of my co-workers. It was drawing close to the end of the trial. He turned to me with a look on his face I can hardly describe. It was like he just knew how I really felt about this case, despite my never having said it aloud. He just knew I was an undercover brother, a spy in the enemy’s camp. And, that my position was so beyond him that he could not bear to even suspect I was harboring thoughts of OJ’s innocence in my head.

Of course, I wasn’t. I was harboring thoughts much more consequential than that. But, he kind of disgusted me with this display, this suggestion that my humanity was in question if I even remotely doubted Simpson’s guilt.

Who the fuck did he think he was???

So, when he asked, with finality, if I believed, in my heart of hearts, that he was innocent I, pretending to play the devil’s advocate as I was apt to do, said, “Of course he is…come on. Think about it! Who kills with a knife these days? What is this? West Side Story? Maybe some street kids in some under-developed nation…maybe. But, premeditated murder with a knife? He went to Bundy with a knife to kill his ex-wife? Come on…A millionaire? He could afford a gun with a silencer, you know? I mean, you think he’s some ex-Marine or something? He’s a goddamn ex-jock. He’s a B- actor. Then…he disposes of the murder weapon but conveniently leaves his bloody gloves laying around for a dirty cop who hates blacks with money and who marry white women to find…? Come on…”

My co-worker was gutting me with his eyes.

“Relax, I’m just fucking with you…” I said, and laughed. It felt good. “Who knows? I mean, he’s a celebrity. Morally, most of them are about a rung above child molesters.”

Then, one afternoon in October, my boss called the whole sales department into the window-less conference room, where a TV was set up. Management had noticed the tension, so we were all going to watch the verdict together; me, the only black guy in the room, as I recall. Everyone sitting around the conference table looking very anxious. Myself included. I told myself, if he loses, big deal. If he wins, big deal. Ain’t shit gonna change. I realized later I was just trying to manage this anxiety by eliminating expectations.

Then…

I can’t remember everything exactly, the reaction of the others in the room at the moment “not guilty” came from the bailiff’s lips. I think I had one of those experiences that people describe as “out of body.” What I do vaguely remember is jumping up out of my seat and sounding a loud guttural shameless barbaric yawp, which might have sounded like a “Yeah!!!” (but may have had some expletive attached to it) and pumping my fist in the air. Then, after a moment or two (during which I might have danced a jig or something) I realized that I was alone in my celebration. UTTERLY alone…5 or 20 sets of stunned eyes upon me! Friends and co-workers, my boss and his boss…everyone stupefied at my display.

And, as self-consciousness returned, a little embarassment set in – just a bit – and I sat back down. Some people were crying, others were in varying degrees of shock and rage. I was trying to contain my spasmodic rapture, dying to get to a phone, or to run to the shipping department and hug up Jamel, Raheem and, whatshisname, Keith, to escape from that office and from the scrutiny of my humiliated colleagues, to get with someone I could share this inexplicable ecstasy with…someone who could appreciate it fully.

Someone conscientious.

Someone empathetic.

Someone black.

…to be continued

*****

 And NOW for the Comments!!

Areasontowrite

Hey Loco – I am way behind on reading and started catching up today. You do a marvelous job weaving this story and thanks for sharing it. Your tone has become so conversational and really fantastic. I worked in a support role with federal agents at the time of the trial and it was fascinating to watch and hear the different perspectives. As you told your story, I remembered my reactions (and those in the office). We too gathered together to watch the verdict announced. And the room went silent when OJ was acquitted but I am not sure it was stunned silence. Johnny Cochran was brilliant – it would be hard to argue that. And it was more a victory for Johnny Cochran than OJ. I would have loved to have interviewed him – wouldn’t that be great? What did he think about OJ? Was he able to turn it into just another job?

These two posts are written so well and it is so interesting to hear your perceptions of what was happening. I am still trying to digest it all. You know me – gotta chop it up first. But it does make me sad that if I white person thought he was guilty that it was perceived that it was because OJ is black and a black person would not feel comfortable saying they felt OJ was guilty. I hope one day we will get to the point where an opinion is just an opinion formed because of the information available and is not rooted in racism or pride – or as seen as being rooted in racism or pride just because someone of another race is digesting it.

Anyway, I am looking forward to catching up on more of your blog.

Locohama

Hey reason2 (-: Thanks for the props on my tone…as a writer you know how tricky tone is, and I have had many a headache trying to edit myself. MAN I need a professional editor! But, LIY has been my place to find and hone my voice and I feel like it’s getting closer to where I want to be.Thanks for noticing. (-:

I don’t think I mentioned or suggested that white people thought OJ was guilty because he was black. I think they (and most discerning people) did because the evidence against him was compelling. If it weren’t for Furman’s racism and the glove debacle he surely would have been convicted and fried. I think everyone can agree on that. No amount of brilliant lawyering would have saved his butt.

And the ironic thing is his team fiought hard to make the glove inadmissable, there by making the need for Furman’s testimony non existent, which would have cost them the case.

You just never know until you know.

I would agree that some blacks supported OJ because he was black. Personally I wasn’t so much pro- OJ as I was anti-American Just-ice system. It just happened to be the perfect storm, this trial, throwing gasoline on hot emotions about the lack of equity in the US courts.

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the rest of the series

Rose 21 

Loco – thanks for continuing this introspective and very well written series. These subjects are difficult to discuss and rare is the opportunity to look at them. Thank goodness for the internet.

I’ve been trying to figure out how exactly to express my thoughts without coming across all wrong. Here goes:

I’d like to think that my generation – I was a teen when the OJ trial happened – is, for the most part, progressive, liberal and post-racial. We’re the Daily Show generation. We see previous generations’ mistakes and don’t want to repeat them. My parents weren’t perfect, but the greatest thing they ever did for me is what they didn’t do – they never taught me to hate. Growing up in middle class New England, I had black friends, Chinese friends, Jewish friends, gay friends, whatever. I was never taught that it was wrong to befriend people who were different than myself.

In re: the O.J. trial verdict, I didn’t see it as a black man beating the system, I saw it as a victory for wealth, celebrity and the influence of the best defense team money could buy. Just because O.J. is black doesn’t mean he’s guilty. But just because he’s black doesn’t mean it’s all about race.

If it was about race (and if the cops really were conspiring against him) why didn’t they throw him in jail after the several times Nicole called 911 after O.J. beat her up? The cops didn’t arrest him then because he was wealthy and influential. Where was this supposed “white privilege”? It certainly didn’t save her from an increasingly stalkerish ex-husband.

All this to say, I’m just not understanding how this trial became a race issue.

And its not like white men are given a free pass in the court of public opinion. Look at Jordan van der Sloot. Or Phil Spector. Or Bernie Madoff. Or Rod Bloagojevich. Or Roman Polanski.

The Angry Old White Man party is just that – old. Republicans (and their demented younger counsins, the Tea Partiers, who protest government involvement in Medicare while collecting unemployment) are a dying breed. I have great hope that as my generation rises through the ranks America will become more and more progressive on all fronts. Obama getting elected is a testament to that.

Rubi

I want to push back a little against what I see as the idea that her white privilege should have negated OJ’s wealth and power when it came to their abusive relationship, and the fact that it didn’t means that it was all about wealth as opposed to all about race.

Firstly, it should be noted that Mark Fuhrman -the officer who found the bloody glove- had a fondness for racial epithets and had been caught boasting about fabricating evidence. (Perhaps if he’d been sent over to investigate the domestic disturbances OJ would have found himself in lock-up a lot sooner.)

Second, it should be noted that it doesn’t follow that because white celebrities also get vilified we should be skeptical of, or deny the existence, racial over/undertones to spectacles involving people of colour.

There isn’t a dichotomy between race, and other things. On the contrary OJ’s wealth, celebrity, and defense team compounded the racial issues because many people, given their experiences with the system, believed that without the wealth to hire Cochran and Shapiro OJ would have gone down. OJ’s acquittal symbolised a victory over an institutionally racist justice system.

In short, the trial “became” a race issue because in the US race is intertwined with pretty much everything. The country enshrined anti-black in the constitution, and lost two percent of its population in a war over the institution of slavery. Then when that was over the people, with the connivance of their government, worked to make sure blacks continued to live in conditions of de facto slavery. Spectacles like the OJ Simpson trial, tend to lift the lid on these divides.

Chris Ballard

“Then when that was over the people, with the connivance of their government, worked to make sure blacks continued to live in conditions of de facto slavery.”

>Lotta black people doing quite fine. I’ll bet that’s because they took those mental chains off or their parents told them they didn’t even have any. The world is their oyster. And their bellies are full.

Rubi

Yes, Chris, lots of black people are doing great. However I found this response rather facile. Do you really mean to imply that the black people who are not doing well just didn’t have the will power to throw off mental chains?

Things like red-lining, predatory lending, and poor teachers are not mental chains, but real structural issues that while not impossible for individuals to overcome make it harder than it should be for people and communities of colour to develop.

Your argument makes you appear to be glibly sweeping aside the legacy of centuries of oppression, and dovetails with the kind of poor-shaming that often forms the premise of the racist view that racial disparities are the fault of blacks themselves.

Chris Ballard

(Do you really mean to imply that the black people who are not doing well just didn’t have the will power to throw off mental chains?)

Yes Rubi. I’m saying exactly that.

I have no emotional allowance for anyone who claims outside forces as the cause of their misery. That’s a fucking cop-out. You show me a person who can’t get out from under a rock and history will show you countless who have gotten out from under bigger ones. A thing that is seen as an obstacle by one may be barely noticed by another because of their mentality.

(that while not impossible for individuals to overcome make it harder than it should be)

Harder than it should be? How hard should it be Rubi? You mentioned obstacles that ALL people in poor neglected communities face. It is a product of a Capitalist society. You can go live in a Socialist society if you require an even playing field because the American model doesn’t have one. It never will. If you are poor and of any color you are gonna have a harder (but clearly not “impossible”) climb.

I know a kid in Hawaii who came from China in 1991. His name is John Chu. He worked in a slaughter house in blood up to his ankles everyday and washed hotel carpets at night. He lived in “shared” house with a communal kitchen/bath with me and a couple other people. Nobody hooked him up or helped him out. He worked his ass off everyday. There are poor Filipino’s still living on that street (across from Waipahu H.S. behind Farrington Hwy.) who were poor when he and I came and poor when we left and they are still poor because their mind is not right. John has his own carpet cleaning business with 3 crews around Oahu and he no doubt still works harder than anyone who works for him. that’s why he’s the boss.

Dude had NOTHING. Now he has everything he wants. He loves America.He thinks it’s the greatest country in the world he could not shut up about how great he thought the system was (effort = results).. because if you bust your ass you can do whatever you want. Watchin him helped motivate me. I am an American, I CAN do anything I want.

(Your argument makes you appear to be glibly )

Glib?

I’m not a 16 year old boy using Mom’s P.C. I’m not spoutin off some theory of mine. I got everything I want because I work hard. Most of my friends are the same type. Black,Chinese,Hawaiian,Samoan, Tongan and Filipino. They and I ALL have members of our community who for whatever reason would rather have shit delivered to them instead of them working for it. I got NO sympathy,patience or understanding for them.

Aloha Rubi

Rubi

Hi Chris,

Yes, I said glib not because I think you are typing from mummy’s P.C. but because I find your claim: “I am an American, I CAN do anything I want” to be nothing more than a cheap phrase that helps bolster faith in basic tenets of American society. I call it cheap because it does not do justice to the history of your country. Of the last 400 years of U.S history black people have been “free” for about 50 of those years. To reduce the question of inequality to one of mere willpower is a failure to really grapple with that history. It’s a bit like the Tea Party people who claim the Civil Rights Act of ’64 was an unfair government intrusion into the rights of private business owners.

I believe there was one 2006 study which found that only about a fifth of people born to parents in the bottom quintile of income distribution made it to the middle quintile, while 42% stayed in the bottom quintile with their parents. I can only imagine that figure has risen because of the recent economic turmoil. Those people still struggling just didn’t work hard enough?

Perhaps the explanation is much more complex. Hard work and one’s abilities certainly count, I never denied that; however luck, race, parent’s wealth, and gender are additional, and significant, factors. To illustrate, one way that parents help with social mobility is to assist their children with making important connections to build their social network.That’s much harder to do in depressed and/or historically segregated communities. Asian Americans and Asian immigrants -often touted as the embodiment of hard work and good values that are all it takes to make it in the US- are more vulnerable in times of economic stress. This is because they tend to rely on networks that do not often extend far beyond their specific ethnic group. That’s a structural issue.

I also take issue with your position because by blaming personal failings you elide real inequalities that should in my view be our main concern. You wrote:

“You mentioned obstacles that ALL people in poor neglected communities face. It is a product of a Capitalist society. You can go live in a Socialist society if you require an even playing field because the American model doesn’t have one. It never will. If you are poor and of any color you are gonna have a harder (but clearly not “impossible”) climb.”

Chris, red-lining and predatory lending are not natural developments of capitalism. Red-lining was a specifically racist effort to perpetuate segregation and destroy black wealth, and predatory lending is a complete betrayal of the role a bank should have in a community. Minorities were (hell, probably still are) disproportionately targeted for such loans.

When I see people who are struggling worse than I am, I try to withhold judgement because I think to myself “that could be me”. I got sick during my final year of sixth-form, was out for a whole month right before my exams for university. I worked my arse off to catch up, but did not do as well as had been predicted, and missed the required scores for all the unis I’d applied to. I was lucky that my deputy head teacher was an alumna of my first choice uni. She went to bat for me and they accepted me. My life would be completely different now without that acceptance.

During my MA a friend let me crash on her couch. I had absolutely no money to pay market rate rents, and due to visa restrictions couldn’t take any old job to cover costs.Without her and her husband’s help I would never have been able to stay in the US long enough to get a gig, which was more experience for the CV. In addition I made friends through my MA programme who helped me assess my cover letters and CVs and connected me to people. And you know what, my first few attempts at networking were terrible. I had help learning to speak the lingo, talking about myself and my goals in ways that fit with American networking culture. A lot of that help was unearned through hard work in the traditional sense of the word.

But you know what none of that is worth talking about without acknowledging the fact I was raised with the expectation that education would improve my lot in life. And I’ve gotta tell you that lately, I’ve had a hard time keeping the faith. I only recently got lucky, after only 9-months of hunting and decimating my savings I hopefully have a great full-time opportunity awaiting me in India. However I’m going to be in a financially fragile position for the next couple years at least. and to say I wouldn’t be in this position if I’d only worked harder, or threw off mental chains or what have you fails utterly as a sufficient explanation for my current circumstances.

So why should I be satisfied that it adequately explains the circumstances of other people?

Rose

I’m not saying there isn’t racist undertones in many things in America, and I’m not denying the fact that Mark Fuhrman is a racist prick or that the justice system isn’t totally screwed up. And I’m not trying to say it was all or nothing (all about wealth and not about race.) I’m saying that he was guilty because he did it. (He was found guilty in the civil trial, and basically admitted to killing Nicole and Ron in a book titled “If I Did It.”) And my point is it shouldn’t matter what color your skin is – pink, purple, polka dot – if you kill people, you shouldn’t be able to pay your way out of trouble.

Meg

I think it is 100% impossible to say that the trial wasn’t about race despite OJ’s innocence or guilt. Much like you, I thought because I wasn’t a racist that the trial wasn’t about race. Well, you and I have really have no idea what it is like to be black, especially a black man, in this country where just being in the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time, means that you “look” guilty. At the very least, I think you would have to agree that the media would not have given the trial so much attention had it not been a black man who allegedly killed a blond, white woman. This is the ultimate fear of racist America: that black men will mate with and/or kill our white women. His acquittal was the price our country paid for the Rodney King trial, where violent out of control officers were acquitted, and for the all of the other billions of injustices that people of color have endured. Just because it doesn’t happen in our line of vision, doesn’t mean it doesn’t still happen. You cite many famous court cases involving white defendants but none of those cases received the amount of attention that the OJ trial did, and take one look at the color of our prison population, and you might have to revisit your theory. Oh, and the reason OJ wasn’t arrested when Nicole called the police was because she would have had to press charges which she was no doubt afraid to do. In was’t until post-OJ trial that changes in took place in many cities allowing the state to prosecute without a complainant.

Rose

Meg – I agree with you on all points. I guess I’m not making myself very clear (since I’m not getting “liked”.

And I think you hit the nail on the head: “His acquittal was the price our country paid for the Rodney King trial(…)” and this is what’s bothering me – that our justice system is so unbalanced that one criminal goes free to make amends for the fuck up of an unrelated trial.

And the media is partly to blame for the circus-like atmosphere of the entire trial. Ito was an idiot to let camera crews into the courtroom. But the media (especially the likes of Fox News nowadays) thrives on controversy and fear-mongering.

“…and take one look at the color of our prison population, and you might have to revisit your theory.”

What theory? Of course black men comprise a disproportionate percentage of prison inmates. I’m not arguing that point.

What I’m trying to say is, yes, the justice system is unbalanced and unfair to minorities. I hope that one day people will be tried truly fairly, and have to do time for their crimes, no matter what race they are.

Chris Ballard

“and take one look at the color of our prison population, and you might have to revisit your theory.”

I’d be interested in why you think..your “theory” about why that is? More black men are killed by other black men because? I saw the inside of 2 different jails for a period of time and the blacks were a group not the predominant members. Now compare the % of the population in general (11-14%)? to the % of the population in prison and then you see the dissproportion. I submit that maybe you need to look deeper than you are at the reasons that exist now that would cause that? It seems YOUR “theory” is expired. I watch black athletes. (blacks making more than you and me combined x100 still pulling guns at Vegas clubs, shooting each other) The music industry is filled with young black males gettin paid and they still going to jail doin time and it’s like some badge. Shyne (who now is washed up) just got a Def Jam deal because he’s an ex con who didn’t snitch.A great Denver Bronco got killed in a drive by by….you guessed it..another black man. They don’t tell the cops because they don’t trust em’ so the cycle…it continues.

How can a famous man get shot in Vegas, on the strip, on a Heavyweight fight night, with bodygaurds in a tailing car, get shot infront of witnesses and no one can I’d anyone? Chris wallace same thing. Because the don’t snitch thing has begun to deliver a net negative affect. Jam master Jay was probably wacked by the same crew that hit 2pac at Quad (Henchmen,Tut) and it turns out Jimmy “Henchman” Rosemond (manager of the “Game”) has been dropping dime for the feds since he had his trial severed from 2pacs in 94/5and got off clean. While Pac did time. He started the stop snitching campaign?? The fuck?

2pac killed by a black man. Biggies hit ordered by a black man executed by a mexican american police officer. Jam master J and countless other talents and athletes killed at the hands of fellow black men. Is this a result of a sytematic attempt by the white man or someone to keep a brother down? You really think the disproportion of the prison population is a symptom of a white problem and NOT a black one. I submit it’s both but now in 2010 I’m thinking the problem is mostly with one’s thinking. as apposed to another’s historical action.

Meg

Hey Chris, there are two great books about violence in the black community and gang violence, in and out of prison. If you haven’t read them, pick them up. Makes Me Wanna Holler, by Nathan McCall and Monster: The Autobiography of a LA Gang Member by Sanyika Shakur and Monster Kody Scott. I like the way you ended your post with the thought that maybe we all have to try to escape our own thinking, and one way to do it is through straight up conversations like this. It’s a shame that we overwhelmingly tend to avoid these topics face to face. Christ, we can talk about sex, politics and religion, but when it comes to race we just don’t do it.

But I think we diverge from the essence of Loco’s post…which I think was about race in relation to the US Justice system and the media. To distill my reaction to the trial, media coverage and the tension in our office, I will simply say this: BEFORE the trial I didn’t think the trial or the media coverage was about race other than the fact that Cochran was trying to make it about race, until I saw and heard the reactions of our office the DAY of the verdict. Reactions to the verdict were 1.) Divided by Race 2.) Polar opposite, with one side jubilant and one side incensed. Loco, wasn’t the only person to the cheer. There were cries of elation and victory throughout the office. When I heard and saw these polar opposite reactions, I realized that I was naive, clueless about race in America.

Makes Me Wanna Holler, by Nathan McCall and Monster: The Autobiography of a LA Gang Member by Sanyika Shakur and Monster Kody Scott.

Chris Ballard 

(Monster: The Autobiography of a LA Gang Member by Sanyika Shakur and Monster Kody Scott.)

Awesome read! I don’t know the other one but I’ll be sure to grab it. Thanks for taking a moment to help educate another imperfect human. It seems like too many just go into freak-out mode instead of trying.

I do that myself sometimes and I appreciate you reminding me of the better way.

Locohama

Thanks Rose! Yeah, I agree on some counts. I also think Gen X (my gen) was progressive and Liberal. I think we run into a problem when we start throwing terms like “post-racial” around because we have a black prez, multi racial friends and enjoy privaleges previous generations couldn’t. I mean, I have multi racial friends, as you can see, and I am progressive and liberal, as you well know, and I would wager my generation did as much to put Obama in office as any other generation and probably more. (And I love the Daily Show)…geez I have more to say but I’m at work…

more to follow

Rose

Another thing: I’m having a hard time finding the right words to explain how I feel, since it really is more of a feeling or intuition. I think people are people, not just labels or stereotypes, and should be praised or condemned based on what’s on the inside, not by any preconceived notions. I apologize if I’ve offended anyone – it was not my intention.

Rose

Thanks Loco! I didn’t mean to offend with the use of “post-racial” and by no means do I think that my generation is solely responsible for putting Obama in the Oval Office. I didn’t intend to downplay Gen X. Sorry if it came off that way. :-/ What I mean is I think we’re headed toward a society that looks past race. I don’t know how else to say it, really.

Locohama

Hey Rose, don’t worry i’m not offended. I’m dealing with a feeling now too that’s hard to interpret. Part of me doesn’t want to say anything cynical or negative because it values your idealism and optimism. It’s a beautiful thing.

Anyway, where was I…yeah, I love Jon Stewart (a Gen X’er btw) who I think did as much for Obama with the Daily Show as some of Obama’s speeches did. I mean, to me, he is the epitome of GenX progressive liberalism.

back to Post race, I hope we get there too Rose. Are we headed in the right direction? I’m not sure, it’s a long and wonding road and sometimes what appears to be right direction is actually a bend in the road. I dont think “looking past” race is the answer though. I mean a world we’re race is not an issue requires a great deal of integration, cross cultural communication, recognition of past inequalities…I mean, America owes a considerable debt to African American, one that it has never even attempted to acknowledge or repay. Obama is NOT repayment for 400+ years of slavery and de facto slavery. I know reparations are a farfetched idea and will probably never come to pass, but without it, I seriously don’t see the inequalities of this generation balancing out to the point where African Americans are playing on an even playing field with the majority of whites. And i’m not talking about a check to every black person. I’m talking about education, schools, healthcare, mental and otherwise, the real war on poverty that has yet to take place.we’re so busy spending money on unnecesary wars, etc… Dan I gotta go teach a class again. I’ll be back..

Rose

Ah, I feel like I stepped in it.

No, of course Obama isn’t repayment enough for the hundreds of years and countless injustices that America has done to African Americans. White people have done serious damage to many people all over the world, and I’m certainly not about to defend any of it. In fact I feel awful about it. (The first time I was in Japan I felt like I had to apologize to every older person I saw for WWII… But that’s another story.) And I agree that real reparations are needed – like propaganda-free education – to begin to rebalance America’s playing field. Of course racism still exists in America, the fans flamed by Faux News (and Tea Partiers who think “socialism” means having a black man in charge) but thanks to efforts made by Gen X-ers, I really do think we are headed towards something better.

I’ll shut up before I put my foot in my mouth again.

Locohama

No no no, don’t you dare shut up! Your opinions and thoughts or as valuable and valid as anyone elses here, and I’d like to think you came here to hear the thoughts of others. I’m (we’re) blessed at Loco in Yokohama to attract some really smart people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed cuz you’ve been down for a while. So don’t go getting intimidated by anything anyone says. Some people respond a liitle harsher than others, but don’t let that dissuade you. We all gotta take our lumps or we don’t learn and grow…I got permanent lumps, scar tissue on my soul LOL. And i still won’t shut up, stick my foot in it constantly (as I’m sure you’ve noticed) But I get it right sometimes, more often than not I hope, and that floats my boat!

One other thing, about your apolegetic stance with the Japanese. I felt the same way when I came here. Then, you go up to a Japanese person and be like I’m sorry, and they’d be like “why?” and I’d be like “cuz my country nuked yours twice and that was an unthinkable act of evil, and I want to apologize on their behalf and tell you how sorry I am to…” and they’ll interrupt you with some variation of “We got NUKED? Really? By the US??” or “Ok…let’s go to karaoke. Can you sang ‘Joe’ songs?” or look at you like you must be mad. I exxagerate but I kid you not…most people here no concern for histroy beyond what happened in their elementary school. But I’m sure you know that by now.

(-:

Rose 

Ok. I just feel like I’m having a hard time expressing myself eloquently since these things are never really discussed (unless it’s with a heavy dose of sarcasm, a la The Daily Show.) I’m still trying to figure all this out.

And re: WWII – I think the most shocking conversation I had was with a cabby in Tokyo. (They all love to talk to me once they figure out I speak Japanese.) This one guy, after I told him I was American, said “You know what? I’m glad Japan lost the war. It would’ve been bad if we’d won.”

!!!

But yes, I find for the most part people have moved on (while also ignoring Japan’s own war crimes, but that’s something else entirely.)

Chris Ballard

(I’ll shut up before I put my foot in my mouth again. )

Oh, please don’t!. Intelligent debate carried by intelligent and uniquely flawed individuals..(every one of us), is so nice and too rare . Don’t ever take me wrong. I always think I’m right but I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong.

Chris Ballard

(In re: the O.J. trial verdict, I didn’t see it as a black man beating the system, I saw it as a victory for wealth, celebrity and the influence of the best defense team money could buy. Just because O.J. is black doesn’t mean he’s guilty. But just because he’s black doesn’t mean it’s all about race.)

I saw O.J. in Hawaii and his handlers were whites. I never thought O.J. identified himself as “Black” until he saw the nerve get touched and it’s result. I am a huge football fan and Jim Brown who identifies himself by his race with clear pride never much like O.J. and alluded to the fact that he considered him a sellout who was confused with his identity. (I think J.Brown was a little jealous of O.J.’s post football success but their is a nugget of truth there and this was waaaaay before the trial.

It seemed somewhat disingenuous for O.J. to become a symbol of black oppression in anyway.He was as unopressed a person as you can get. We can all hope to be so victimized and limited as O.J. was before his trial

blackchildinkorea

I love it when white people tell me that racism exist only in the imagination of Black people and how if we would stop talking about it would go away. Among their other helpful hints about success.

Locohama

Can’t help but love it lol

Chris Ballard 

When I was 14 I was sent to Brockton MA. D.Y.S (Department of Youth Services). i was supposed to do 8 months. I was mostly convicted based on the testimony of the son of the towns Fire chief. A 2nd degree charge which mighta got probation was bumped up when they claim i kicked his head while he was down and that i had bit him. They bumped it up to 1st degree and his dad’s juice got me a max for a 14 year old.

I never kicked him when he was down. He hit me 1st at the counter of a Pizza shop (his friends shop) and then i knocked him down and ran. I never woulda got my face close enough to bite him and I was busy running with my feet not kicking.

It was all bullshit and I had my freedom taken away at 14. I’m white. They were white. There was no racism. just power and connections. I never believed in the system after that experience.

I was at University while this trial was going on and I was miserable. It was turned into a freak show. Letting the camera’s in was the worst thing that coulda ever happened.

I never identified myself by my skin color. I was watching my entire country divide itself along color lines almost completely.

I believed that he was guilty before he tried to flee/kill himself. I might do my lady the exact same way under the same circumstances. It seemed like a jealous rage kill and it was planned on the fly. The Limo driver and the dissapearing duffle bag woulda never been issues if he really was putting thought into this. He got heated and seeing a guy who was returning glasses …supposedly ….made any chances of turning back impossible. she had to go and he had wounds like he was trying to protect someone but the rage that almost decapitated her turned him into an unexpected victim (I thought).

I never gave thought to the race issue. I never had problems getting along with smart people who showed and in return or at first ,received my respect. Being in Brockton with mostly black kids doing 1yr for crack related offenses (it was hitting hard then )gave me a window into a epidemic I realized was like a Cancer for poor mostly black families in that area. I knew what damage even being where i was did to my family and everyone of us was destroying our families for different reasons.

***** My juvenile records were supposed to be sealed actually destroyed according to them but in 1992 a Japanese girls parents payed a private investigator to research me and he found every single thing I had ever done. It was a very long list of assaults and that was the end of that. After having my supposedly destroyed past thrown at me I was then asked not to say anything to anyone because the investigator had told her parents he could get in trouble for sharing that info. They were waving goodbye and asking me not to tell on the person who had violated my constitutional rights. Fucking bizzare.******

I watched white people with no clue about the facts other than soundbites screamin for his head. I saw black people doing the same thing from the opposite side. it was like a freakshow. I really couldn’t believe that these were the smart people. The civic leaders, news personalities, legal analysts, politicians. Some blacks were implying the Watts riots would look like a peace rally compared to what would happen if O.J. was convicted? Some whites were saying that the legal system had been tilted against the blacks for so long maybe it was time it tipped the other way. What? What the fuck? 2 dead people and were talking about a possible aquital, may be a good thing never mind the facts? This was really being said, with straight faces. Have people with money been getting off easy because of money and power since the beggining ? Yes. Had blacks been fucked over, disrespected, and socially and economicaly marginized in American society? Yes. Was the suffering totally a result of external forces? No.

I said before that the greatest orator I have ever heard was the honorable Louis Farrakhan. I watched a show every saturday called “Farrakhan speaks” on Hawaii public television. He said the Jews had almost been wiped out several times like a plague but they always stuck together. That’s why they “escaped’ to America and that they now controlled aspects of American society including policy towards the middle east, mass media and banks. Why hadn’t blacks gotten their piece? He pointed at the black audience and said you are the reason why we haven’t gotten our piece. You scream against oppression until it’s lifted off of you then you scurry along happy with yourself. Where are you brothers? Why don’t you put that 20mill contract in a black bank like a Jew would? Why don’t you bankroll a black politician like a jew would? Why don’t you take what is yours by using their rules and beating them with it? Why do you say the game is unfair when it will never change? Why don’t you stop killing yourselves for street corners you will never own ? What happened to you? When did you stop taking and start waiting? Who told you this was the way? Why do Koreans own most of the liquor stores in L.A? Why are there more pawn shops than clinics? Nobody did this to you. You did it to yourselves by fighting each other over dope. When are you going to stop waiting for something that will never come? You enslave yourselves with your addictions and violence. Who is killing the black people? YOU are killing yourselves and your families and you keep saying it’s “The man”. The man left you to yourselves a long time ago and look what you’ve done all by yourselves.

(I’m paraphrasing but anyone who watched a lot of Farrakhan knows this speech. He puts it in most times when he does “men only” speeches)

He kicked around white people and jews a lot but I could see the forrest through the trees. He was just saying what everyone knew was true. You gotta unite. Nobody owes you anything. Invest black money into black banks and businesses. Support black canidates with the profit. The well used gameplan was not being used by the black community. Why? There was no secret conspiracy to keep the black man down not then in 1992. Farrakhan made people uncomfortable and besides his speech about Malcolm I always thought he was talkin straight whether is was for the black man or against the white man. I didn’t care. It was nice to listen to an articulate man with brass balls and a pulpit to preach from.

Please watch all of this one…

I watched the O.J. trial as a “it’s our turn” to catch a break. “We are owed”. It seemed to me that the Black community was lowering itself to the lowest common denomination. The thing that you had been a victim of (un-blind justice) you now wanted a piece of. I remembered Farrakhan speakin about basketball players getting millions and then packing up and moving into rich white neighborhoods. Sell out’s he said. I thought he was right. I have no identity besides being me and being American. I’m glad not to be weighed down by my skin color. I take what I want and work for what I need. I wouldn’t have wanted to be black on that day. You all (the ones who cheered without realizing what they were doing ) looked white to me. I couldn’t see the difference.

(I wish i could embed those vids into the comment itself. It aint about religion it’s about pride )

Now I live in a country where I am denied entrance to places because of my skin. Where are the places your barred from in America? You don’t go some places because you don’t WANT to but you can go. Japan is a place where you WILL be barred because of your race. I am stared at like an animal and followed in Malls because I might..?… I am treated more like an animal right now than a Black had been treated in America since at least the 70′s. I hate in a racist way now that i have never known before but I am barred from places and judged on my skin color.ME, not my community or my father or my grandfather I get paid and choose to stay but I know what racism is. Being white doesn’t get me into the place down the road it is what bars me from entering.

Awesome writing Loco

fast forward the 1st vid to the 3:30 mark

blackchildinkorea

You are better than me I would have jumped and screamed like Chappelle “ooooh it burns, that’s justice nigga” “in yo face’ or some such thing. I was in a mostly Black community college so we mainly did the Kid-n-Play kick step.

Locohama LMMFAO!!!

Yungmoby

I think your reaction to the verdict was pretty crappy. I understand that you were hoping a corrupt justice system would be exposed, but it does not remove the fact that two people were murdered. Sometimes the simplest way to see things is the best way.

Locohama

Two people were murdered by whom? We still don’t know for absolute sure. And yes humans are crappy some times. Thanks for the shout!

*****

Well, that’s about it for part 2 of the lost chapters. I’ll be doing another in the days to come. Look out for it (-;

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

They should have waited for the Sakura and did it beneath a blossoming cherry blossom tree.
Now that would have been perfect.

Loco

What I do is, I punish myself for not doing what my mind and body knows it ought to do, which is quit smoking.

How do I do it you wanna know? What is this sick, twisted S&M thing I do to myself?

No whips, no chains, or gadgets of any kind. It’s simple: I stopped buying my tobacco by the carton (meaning 10 boxes at a time, in this case).

This wouldn’t be a big deal back in NY where every 24-7 bodega in the Creator’s concrete jungle has my brand. But here, in Yokohama, that number is reduced to a grand total of 3 (that I know of): Two shops in Kannai (a block away from each other,) and 1 shop in Hiyoshi.

Pretty slim pickings, right?

But thank God for those! Otherwise I’d be importing them from the States. Gotta Love Yokohama!

I’ve been smoking since I was 13, when I used to pinch my mother’s Newport butts, go to the bathroom, seal the crack under the door with a towel, open the window, spark up, and pretend I was cool. By 15, I was buying my own Newports if I had the loot, bumming them off of people, or pilfering my mom’s, brother’s or sister’s when loosies weren’t in the budget. I grew up surrounded by smokers, in and out of my house. No wonder I took to it like Japanese kids take to Mickey Mouse.

What this S&M self-punitive action achieves is it forces me to go the extra mile in order to get that monkey off my back, thus forcing me to stand toe to toe with my Jones on a regular basis. Look it right in its ugly mug, capitulate and declare, “though you have a face only a junkie could love, I won’t let you down!”

Today was one of those days.

I woke up this morning and, after tearing my room apart for 15 minutes, realized that I had no smokes. I knew I had had one in a box in one of my pockets and that one was to hold me until I could get to Kannai. As long as I have one around, the jones pings me but he doesn’t get all pimpish on me and start acting out. He keeps himself secluded away somewhere in the plush accommodations of my psyche and waits, assured that I will cater to his whim…

…OR ELSE!

But, this morning’s search was fruitless. It must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere. And I didn’t have time for a more thorough search. I had a bus to catch.

At the bus stop, where I would usually have my first nicotine blast of the day, my jones groaned, audibly. A guttural discharge heard by even my fellow commuters, who were probably wondering why I had broken with the routine they’d gotten used to of standing a few yards away from the waiting area and getting my morning fix (which serves the dual purpose of putting their confounding malaise at ease while not secondary smoking them into early graves…yes, I am considerate.)

My fellow commuters collectively flinched at the growl.

At school, after the morning meeting, it was time for my would-be second blast over my first cup of coffee. Caffeine and nicotine work as a team to jar me into full consciousness. Until that blast occurs, however, I’m usually useless. But, I had a glimmer of hope. A glimmer that had carried me from my home to the school without incident. The jones’ edge can have a very detrimental effect on my disposition, I’ve learned. The everyday irksome can escalate to intolerable in a heartbeat. But the edge was held in check by this glimmer.

And, what was this glimmer, this shining beacon of hope?

In the shed out back where my fellow smokers and I congregate to satisfy our respective joneses reside the tools of our addiction: Ashtrays, lighters, and boxes of cigarettes of varying brands. Among them a box of Black & Mild I keep there for convenience and for just such emergencies. Only, due to my self-sadomasochism, I often have to tap the emergency stash I keep in that box.

The jones makes tobacco accounting a second nature. I can’t even use a calculator except for basic computations…but I, hell, all smokers always know how many smokes they have left, especially if the next pack is a thirty-minute train ride away.

But, the glimmer…the glimmer I held on to was that my jones had made a rare accounting mistake, and that within that box was not the “zero” my internal Jones’ balance sheet read, but “one”, or at least a portion of one.

A Black & Mild is a hybrid between a cigarette and a cigar and it cannot be finished in the roughly two minutes a cigarette can, so I often have to extinguish it several times over the course of a day. Sometimes I can smoke a single one the whole day at work.

So, the glimmer of hope I was clinging to desperately was that I would find a clip, even a damn roach of a Black & Mild, in my spare box in the smoking closet at school. The grimness of this reliance on a glimmer had me thinking about quitting again. To be this dependent on anything is less healthy than smoking itself.

After the morning meeting, I grabbed a cup of coffee and, along with several of my smoking co-workers, retired to the smoker’s closet, where their Mild Seven, Seven Star, Hi-lite, Caster, Hope, Peace, Marlboro and Kool cigarettes awaited them. But, my jones suffers from brand loyalty. If I tried to substitute a cigarette (and, ironically, I detest cigarettes) or even another brand of cigar, my jones would identify the alien immediately and…some of that “or else” ing would occur.

And my jones’ “or else,” well, let’s just say it aint nothing fuck with!

That monkey on my back starts to feel like a HumVee. And there’s no telling what kind of foolishness I might get into. One time I left work early without a word. Just up and left. Another time I took a cab from my house to Kannai (About a $40 ride) because the Humvee was too heavy to lug around.

I spied my Black & Mild box surrounded by a posse of Japanese brands looking stalwart as always…slowly I reached out for it…please God, please, have mercy on me, get this monkey off my back. I grasped the box…it felt so perfect in my hand, maybe the way a piano feels to Stevie Wonder’s fingers, counted to three in my head and shook the box and…

Sweet Jesus, there was a clip rattling around in there!

I let out an ecstatic roar of gratitude scaring the shit out of my co-workers.

Then they saw my face, and laughed. They understood for they all could identify.

“ろこ先生中毒者だね” (you’re a junkie) one teacher said.

“そうだね,” (Aint that the ugly truth) I laughed, as I kissed the clip’s ashy filter, lit it…and silenced the jones.

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

When I changed banners and my web address back in 201o, I had all the old links forwarded to the new self-hosted blog. After that, I realized that I could no longer see the old manifestation of LIY. Somehow, though, this single page is still floating around out there. Not sure how or why, but I took at a snap shot of it…

懐かしい… (translation, fond memory, nostalgic, reminiscent…)

We’re now on the third incarnation of LIY. First Black, then Brown and now Grey.

Let’s reminisce for a spell, if you got a sec…

How many of you remember this first incarnation of Loco in Yokohama?

What are your fondest memories?

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

***Special Request and by Popular Demand***

Direct from the Hunterfly Road Publishing editing room floor (edited for length, not quality, of course) I bring you the first of several long (not really) lost chapters of  “Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist”

As readers well know, portions of the book were originally part of a series I did on racism three years ago (wow). One of the most poignant and popular series to ever grace this blog (or the Japan blogosphere, let some tell it, but you didn’t hear it from me).

A good friend of mine, Chris, of the kick-ass blog “Confessions of a Bad Boy in Japan” has jumped on me a number of times about the unavailability of this series on my blog, not only for the posts but for its comments, as well. I’ve blown him off til now for my own reasons.

So, as a special favor to him, for he has been an avid supporter of LIY for years, I’ve decided to pull a George Lucas (minus any exchange of money) and re-release some of them!

Therefore, while I am in the process of editing the second book, I will be, from time to time, re-posting some of these lost chapters as well as some of the comments from those and from posts that made it, in edited and expanded versions, into the book.

Readers, supporters and fans of the book who weren’t around for the original posts ought to get a kick out of this, and for long term followers of LIY consider it a blast from the past. (-:

*****

This first post was actually Part 27 of the original (37 part) series, and if it had made the book it would have been simply entitled: Orenthal

Enjoy!

*****

A couple of years earlier Los Angeles, a hotbed of events related to race, was the scene of the above event. An event as divisive as the whole OJ thing.

An event which eventually lead to this:

African-Americans were still reeling from that disgraceful blow to our collective humanity when this OJ thing got underway. There had been riots in cities across the country that dark day, but LA’s had got the most attention because it lasted the longest. I mean, New York is a powder keg. Always has been and probably always will be. But, when the verdict had come down the violence was kept to a minimum for some reason. Maybe we were busy watching the folks in LA go ape-shit.

I know I was.

While it didn’t snap my mind, as it had done to many blacks, that verdict had broken my heart. And I’d allowed it to re-confirm all the things I’d been raised to believe about America and about white people. That they were, for the most part, evil, and had so much power that they could turn a cut-and-dried videotaped desecration of the laws they’ve instituted into a parlor game.

I was enraged that day!Utterly humiliated. I mean, there I was thinking that finally there would be a reckoning, that people across the country, around the world, having seen with their own eyes the hate and lawlessness practiced by those tasked to enforce the laws that black folks have been enduring on a regular basis in ghettos across the US their entire lives…Finally, finally, people would see! See us, see them, maybe even see themselves…

Yeah…I dream big, don’t I?

Instead, the Press Release the acquittal of those officers sent out to the nation and to the world would read: “don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten that niggers are niggers, and we know how to treat niggers!”

NWA had it right, didn’t they?

So did PE:

I remember when I first heard what NWA was spitting over there on the West Coast. Part of me LOVED it: the anger, the profanity, the recklessness, the rawness, the fuckyouitiveness, the audacity! The audacity to say what many of us felt, in the language we used amongst ourselves. I was proud of them! It was inspired, and I was inspired.

The other part of me…the part that loved Hip Hop and what the artist of the day had done with it, actually thought NWA was a bit over the top, designed to draw fire. It was uncouth, lacked the refinement, the subtlety necessary to get the point across, to engage society in positive constructive debate…I knew, they knew, everybody knew, that the media would focus on the manner more than the message.

I thought (while bopping my head to Dr. Dre’s slamming ass beats): now, come on fellas, this is no way to go about affecting change…nothing will improve as a result of your lyrical assault…nothing at all…all you’re doing is making them happy by making yourselves an easy target for a media lynching, making things worse for the artists out here trying to get things done. Look at all the achievements Martin Luther King was able to accomplish through non-violent speech and non-violent protest. MLK would never say Fuck the Police, now would he? He didn’t have to say it. His actions spoke for him, and loudly. Police would tell him if he marches in their city they’d teach him a lesson. He didn’t say fuck you! He just fucked them! He didn’t get all inflammatory with his remarks. He just went ahead and marched anyway. And the whole country got to see on the news what animalsshitkickers can be, with their clubs and dogs and hoses. He sacrificed himself, and inspired thousands in the doing, black and white, to do the same. Who do you think you’re gonna inspire with that rabble rousing bombastic complaining you’re doing?

Yada yada yada…but they had it right!

Then, OJ comes along.

I was never a big OJ fan. I wasn’t into football then and so he was just this guy with a famous name pimping rental cars…and embarrassing himself in films like Naked Gun.

But they had it in for him…a rich nigger. A famous nigger. Not a Mandingo, nor an Iceberg Slim, but sporting himself a fine ass white woman nonetheless, who turns up gruesomely murdered along with the guy she was seeing.

Yeah. They wanted him bad! At least I felt so.

And, they just knew they had him. That low-speed chase in the Bronco- his suicide run- pretty much served as a confession as far as they were concerned.

But, the more they wanted him, the more I wanted him to walk! I had no faith in the blindness of American justice. At least not as it’s been administered against blacks.

And when I saw OJ all I saw was a strong black man, with the means (meaning loot) to hire himself the best legal representation money can buy, and put his cut-and-dried, guilty as the day is long, black face right in the face of the same corrupt, biased system that 2 years earlier had spat and laughed in the face of Black America and set those racist bastards in uniform free.

Did Simpson say,” please don’t hang me massah…I’se be a good nigger”? No, not quite. Did he say, “Fuck you, yo’ Annah! And yo’ justice, too! After you sentence this nigger and throw away the key, you can kiss my black ass”? Nope, he didn’t go that route, either.

I think he said something like, “I beg your pardon, America, but it’s your corrupt police force, with redneck racist in its upper echelon calling the shots, so un-balanced by their hate and so accustomed to screwing people with no legal recourse that they can’t even conduct an investigation without unnecessarily fouling it up with their institutionalized railroading techniques that’s the real villain here, if you don’t mind me saying. Not me, your honor. I’m as innocent as a Kennedy would be in my position.”

America watched as true American-style justice was served. A justice system where blacks have found themselves constantly under-represented in the court rooms and over-represented in the penitentiary. A penal system that would be more representative of the general population if it weren’t for the white privilege and economic inequality resulting from centuries of slavery, Jim Crow, and racist policies designed to keep blacks under-privileged and at just such a disadvantage. Most inmates are there simply because they couldn’t afford a lawyer like Johnnie Cochran, a professional at raising reasonable doubt, uncovering mishandling of evidence in laboratories, exposing circumstantial evidence for what it is; who could stand tall and respected before a jury and spit lyrics like, “if it doesn’t fit you must acquit” and make that shit stick!

The travesty that is the criminal justice system had worked disproportionately in favor of the affluent (which means almost exclusively white) so long that it was shocked, rocked to its very foundation, when an affluent black man (accused of savagely killing not one but two white people) actually made it work for him. It was as thick a glob of unscrupulous mucus in the face as the verdict that sparked the LA riots was.

Nicole who? Ronald who? Honestly, I didn’t invest much emotion in what happened to the victims. Sheeeeet! That kinda shit happens constantly in the hood! Innocent people, randomly, meet their maker at the hands of cold blooded killers on a regular basis. One of my mother’s best friends was found chopped up in pieces in a bathtub in her home, Scarface-style. It barely made the papers in New York. No ones raises a clamor over these things because the victims were poor and black and probably so were the killers.

But, this case stunk of race and class and privilege and corruption, and put all of that on trial for all Americans to see, on TV, every day and night for damn near a year.

This was impossible not to get emotionally vested in. They called it the trial of the century. I don’t know about that. But it was certainly a wake-up call, an Espresso enema up the ass of America.

My job, at the time, was at a company where what happened in the media directly impacted our ability to conduct business. Big news stories like this one bumped PR stories which were our bread and butter. In our work areas we had lots of televisions and thus every day we were all over the news, praying this OJ thing would just go away, knowing it wouldn’t, and digesting every bit of it.

I had to sit at my desk and listen to my mostly white co-workers talk about how this monster (meaning OJ, not the American justice system) needs to be lynched. I kept my honest opinion on this matter to myself. At least in the office I did. I knew it was too controversial to discuss with anyone white. Even my best buddy- a white guy- I held my tongue with, for the most part. It was bad enough everyone was looking to me to affirm that how they felt about OJ had nothing to do with race but the simple fact that all the evidence pointed to him, “…and he looks like a killer, doesn’t he?”

“Who? OJ?”

“Yeah, don’t you think so?” This was from an Italian girl who sat near me for years.

“Well, of course you’re innocent until proven guilty, but….”

“But, come on, Loco! You know that man killed that poor woman! My god! Just look at him!”

Rockingham

And, I’d look at Orenthal James Simpson on the TV on our desk. This ex-athlete, ex-husband and father, endorsement machine, movie star, hero in many circles of the black community, living the American dream, strutting around the courtroom, trying to look meek, confident that one day he’ll breathe air free of this accusation…and I’d watch the TV station’s incessant insertions of footage of his estate (known as Rockingham for chrissakes, which far as I was concerned, for its pretentiousness and British-feel, meant “guilty” as sin) with his driveways, swimming pool and tennis court…you know, just in case we didn’t get that this case was about class as well as race.

Of course, he was guilty.

“I’m going to reserve judgment until the verdict is in…” I said, though. “I mean, he was rich enough to hire professionals if he wanted her killed, don’t you think?”

“That psychopath!!! He might be rich but he’s just a bum. A two-bit…” and she bit back the rest of her statement. I knew where it was going though.

There was a lot of that going around in the office.

A nigger is a nigger is a nigger. What’s a nigger with money? A rich nigger. He might live in an opulent estate in Brentwood, his ex-wife driving around in a Ferrari, Limos waiting in one of his driveways to take him to the airport, to fly off first class to make more money endorsing American corporations… but he was still capable of doing the same savage, stupid shit that niggers do in the poorest parts of L.A.: Burning down their own communities, looting local businesses, killing their own people. Making the world a more dangerous place for the Nicoles and Ronalds.

“I don’t care…he’s guilty!” she said eventually.

“Who knows?” I said like I suffered from non-committal-itis.

I’d go home to my people, and that subway ride could’ve been through a wormhole for the difference between what was being said at the office and what was being asserted in my neighborhood among my peeps. Such as:

“Of course that mother fucker did it. But, I sure do admire his gangsta.”

“Damn, that nigga living like that off of Naked Gun movies and rental car ads???”

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with him? Why didn’t he just hire somebody to do that bitch? I mean, any nigga know, once you get large you don’t need to get hands-on anymore. That motherfucker musta took too many hits to the dome piece in the NFL…”

“That mother fucker gonna walk! If I ever get in trouble over some bullshit, best believe I’m uh have me uh Shapiro and a Cochran to keep my black ass outta the pen, too.”

“See, that’s what he get for marrying a white bitch! Nigga deserve to do time just for that!”

“I don’t give a fuck if he did it or not…fuck I care? Ain’t putting no money in my pockets…”

“If he was Joe Namath or Franco Harris and Nicole and Ronald were black, I wonder how this shit would be playing out…can you imagine? Probably not. You seem like one of them guys who think white people could never do no shit like that!”

“Man, if Nicole and Ron were black, the headline woulda been “OJ is a suspect in the killing of some hoe and her pimp.”“Oops sorry, correction: that was his ex-wife, Shaquanna…and her new sugar daddy. Couldn’t make a positive ID cuz of that busted-ass wig!”

to be continued…

AND NOW FOR THE COMMENTS!!

Brace Yourselves

Showing 27 of 27 comments

• 
  Meg

  Loco, I was there with you in the office all those many years ago and thought it might interest you to know what was running through my head (for readers knowledge, I am white) during the OJ Simpson trial, especially the day that OJ was acquitted. During the trial, I was doing a lot of volunteer work with victims of domestic violence, black and white, rich and poor. What I saw was a woman who was not protected by the police, who had to beg for police to come to her house when she was threatened and who ultimately lost her life, most probably at the hands of a jealous ex-husband. Why? Not because of his color, but because if a woman is murdered, it is almost always at the hands of someone that she is, or was, in a relationship with. As far I was concerned OJ was probably guilty as was the LA police, as was many others in our lack of knowledge and understanding about domestic violence. Men have traditionally gotten away with violence towards women, because of attitudes that go back much further than Jim Crow, American slavery, and before.The day OJ was acquitted, and we all watched it live, I saw our office noticeably and (to me) shockingly divided by color. I finally realized that the trial was really about race after-all and how very little I knew about the African-American perception of US law enforcement. I was/am a very well-read, open minded, very left of center person but I was none-the-less ignorant about race-related issues which is probably no less a crime than being racist in the end. Since that time, I would add one more very obvious observation, that the rich (black or white) do have incredible privilege in this country and given enough $$, you can get away all kinds of crimes. So in the end it is best to be a rich white man and the worst to be a poor black woman.

   

   
• Locohama

Meg! Wow! Thank you for blessing my blog with your thoughts!
!) I didn’t know that you worked with victims of domestic violence! That’s impressive…really does give you some perspective. Of course my mother, and I’m sure many mothers, have suffered through it and managed to survive, but many dont, as you’ve said so well.
You’ve gone and taken my blog to another level of reality (For my readers, Meg was senior management at my company), and you’ve also given my readers a preview of pt.28 cuz you know I was about to go there. (-:
Relieved to know that I wasn’t suffering from paranoia and wasn’t the only one feeling this division…
Thank you so much, and feel free to drop a line anytime (-;
Loco

• 
  Blackchild 3 comments collapsed Collapse Expand

  lol that was perfect and I feel the same way. White privilege is so ubiquitous that they don’t even understand any other way of being. Sort of like the white guy who told you to change topics because he was tired of what was coming through his feed .

   
• 
  Locohama, blogger, writer, teacher, not necessarily in that order 2 comments collapsed Collapse Expand

  Wow, thanks yo! Perfect? From you, the master of weaving a tale, that is high praise indeed. Yeah, that guy also reminded me to be careful with this subject so I aint mad at him!
  thanks blackchild

   
• 
  blackchildinkorea 1 comment collapsed Collapse Expand

  got a new tale for you stop by sometime

• 
  Chris Ballard
  (Eazy-E)
  Yeah, high rollin’, big money, Im foldin;
  Bitch on my tip, for the dick, Im holdin.
  Strong strawberry, jockin’ me so early;
  Hoe, ya wanna hit? Ya gotta get your knees dirty.
  Well that’s my life, that’s how it’s cut;
  “Hey Dopeman!” Bitch shut the fuck up!
  Gotta make a run, it’s a big money deal;
  Gankers got the fake, but you can get the real,
  From the…Chorus:
  Dopeman! Dopeman!
  Yeah, that’s me!
  Dopeman! Dopeman!
  Yo, can I get a G?
  Dopeman! Dopeman!
  Clock as much as he can.
  Fuck this shit, who am I?
  THE DOPEMANYo, there was a bitch named her out and shot her
  Straight to the Muthafuckin’ trigger and said “I got her!”
  But I had better plans to give her the blues
  Like dumpin’ her in the river with sea net shoes
  I knew my money was commin’ up sho’
  And the thought that the stupid bitch thought she’d never get cought
  Came home early and straight bust her ass
  On the couch with the other nigga countin’ my cash
  I should’ve known she was like the motha ho’s
  I told the 2 Muthafuckaz to take off their clothes
  Butt naked nothin’ left but the shoes
  I had up a 9 so they could’nt refuse
  I shot the nigga he was outa there
  And tied the bitch to the Muthafuckin’ chair
  Now there’s one less bitch I gotta worry about
  Everybody out, that’s how it turns out*****************
  actually thought NWA was a bit over the top, designed to draw fire. It was uncouth, lacked the refinement, the subtlety necessary to get the point across, to engage society in positive constructive debate…I knew, they knew, everybody knew, that the media would focus on the manner more than the message.
  *****************They drew attention to the anger on the street they scared white folks. Shit they scare everybody a bit. But…don’t shoot the messenger because he doesn’t deliver it in the way YOU think best fits. Gotta see the forest through the trees. (not talkin too you).Were their explicit narratives fantasy? Did that kinda shit NOT happen? Of course it DID. People being uncomfortable with the truth is always a symbol of our own united ignorance. I remember where I was exactly when I 1st heard N.W.A which was in a well equipped car thankfully. It changed my life. I don’t go anywhere or buy a ride without throwing 2 15″ subs in it right away so can bang ruthless at will.
  N.W.A deserves more mad love than 2pac and Biggie get. I LOVE 2pac but he walked through an artistic door that was kicked open by N.W.A. Lighter versions of the same experience.O.J. “money can’t buy me a faithful wife but it can help me beat a murder rap” Simpson.This is like a dynamic physco test. Can you seperate yourself from the group and stick to facts?
  Can you drain yourself of personal emotions and just look at it in a cold uncaring manner?
  Do cops saying nigger in L.A. really shock you? Why? Eazy E can say it because he’s black but a cop cannot because he’s not? And that means he mighta been in on a department wide conspiracy ? And do you believe J. Cochran himself even believed that? A defense lawyer’s job seems to elude even some very intelligent people. He turned people away from science and common sense and flicked on their emotion…pure genius.Would this all have been different if the “cast” had different skin colors? Do you even have to ask that? Yes…you do. Watching blacks cheering caused me to get into a fistfight with a black classmate in H.P.U it happened instantly. I walked into the Hawaii Pacific Universities Kailua campus’s student lounge as it was being read. (I knew it was coming but the black students leap of joy caused a rage so deep I can’t trace it’s roots with confidence. Before my Mother received her inheritance we were poor as poor. I was eating captain crunch for dinner and had 2 pairs of geranimals blue (hippo) and yellow (giraffe). I knew hungry. I knew some of my friends were not allowed to hang around me because of my address (at that time) and the rage I displayed even as an Elementary kid. I was angry. After my mom got the cash we moved. And people were nicer to me?? I got MORE ANGRY to see the pathetic shallowness of people. I was THE SAME FUCKING PERSON that went to bed hungry. Now I’m O.K. because I live in a different area? You simple fucks! I will roll you, steal from you sell drugs to your kids and beat them with viciousness when they make me angry the rich little fucking chronics.And I did..I beat that black kid because he was being ignorant in a SCHOOL. A University. A place of higher learning.
  I had just been listening to Snoops “Murder was the case” on my way to school and I was feelin good with a sliver of dread. I don’t wanna see the cheering either way. I wanna hear a discussion. “Please don’t disappoint me I thought” and then BAM! While I was punching him I was thinking…”Being black gives you the right to be stupid? Do you think you got the corner on suffering? Did you ever go without dinner and eat other peoples school lunch because that’s all there is? Have you ever suffered or do you think you skin color gives you the rights to claim upon the suffering of your forefathers? Who the fuck are you? I’m paying for this course..are you? Are you a rich black kid who thinks he’s got an auto-geto-pass? I mighta sold to you you fuck. You are the problem. You want your 4 acres and a mule? huh? I got a fist for you.He was me but black and dumber. I doubt he ever really suffered in a personal way. I can’t believe he woulda ignored my presence and celebrated the aquital of a possible double murderer with such vigor. He was a fool. I ended up paying 2,500 dollars to him and was assigned my 1st anger management course. I was allowed to continue my classes after 2 weeks because the unique circumstances caused the School to just want this to go away.My reasons for the attack are deep but simple too. If a man berates his wife or smacks his kids at home it is not my thing if I’m not aware. If a man berates or smakes his kid at McDonalds while I’m trying to enjoy my meal then HE is disrespecting me or ignoring my ability to stop him. They are always wrong.
  If that kid was happy he had that basic human right. But he ignored my willingness to respond and it cost him facial damage. 2,500 dollars worth. He cost me 2 days profit. Big deal. It was worth every penny.***************************************************Never surrender, it’s all about the faith you’ve got
  Don’t ever stop, just push it til you hit the top
  And if you drop, at least you know you gave your all
  Be true to you, and that way you can never fall
  But beware, these backstabbers ain’t no joke
  Just like a rope, they hang on you until you’re broke
  And when you’re broke, they move onto the next dope
  And there you are, can’t even pay your car, nope
  And when you reminisce, thinkin how you got dissed
  remember how it felt, and then remember this
  Be true to you, believe that there’s no one bigger
  Cause they can all suck dick – it’s strictly for my niggaz
  ********************************
  N.W.A played to my hate and deep rage.
  2pac formed into a deeper more thoughtful version. I would listen to Strictly 4 my niggaz and feel like he was talking to ME.. He was smart but let his heart bother his mind (me too) He was raised by his mother mostly and loved and hated her for deep reasons (me too) He slept on a mattress on the floor with 2 pairs of jeans (acording to Jada Pinkett) me too pretty much. His big mouth and attitude caused people to miss his message (me too) We met by absolute destiny because I tried to sell the pizza to another driver because bouncers tipped like shit but no one wanted to be late (last delivery of the night) so I had to take it and met him even though I had hated his image before that moment. He was cool,funny,human, and judging from his lyrics pretty fuckin smart.

  But N.W.A…Oh N.W.A… they showed me I had a voice and I didn’t need to be black to understand exactly what they were talkin about.

  I’m just typing as I think so forgive me if it comes across as…

  added the RARE track I was slammin as I rolled into the school parking lot. It was released on the cassette version but not CD version? Dunoh why?
  This song reminds me of that “O.J. day”
  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v…

   

  

    
• 
  Locohama, blogger, writer, teacher, not necessarily in that order 3 comments collapsed Collapse Expand

  Thanksforthe shout yo!
  “They drew attention to the anger on the street they scared white folks. Shit they scare everybody a bit. But…don’t shoot the messenger because he doesn’t deliver it in the way YOU think best fits. Gotta see the forest through the trees. (not talkin too you)”
  Let me expand uponthat a bit. MLK said fuckthe police in his way. A more palatable way for the people he was trying to galvanize. NWA said it directly which also galvanized people…and by making themselves targets for lynching they actually made sacrifices that helped expose the hypocrisy of thosewho pretend to sefend the constitution as far as censorship is concerned.
  Think I’ll write a piece about that one of these days.
  “Do cops saying nigger in L.A. really shock you? Why? Eazy E can say it because he’s black but a cop cannot because he’s not? And that means he mighta been in on a department wide conspiracy ? And do you believe J. Cochran himself even believed that? A defense lawyer’s job seems to elude even some very intelligent people. He turned people away from science and common sense and flicked on their emotion…pure genius.”
  The use of nigger by white people is…um…Well, lets see ifI can step back from it. I guess it depends on how its being used. I touched on that when I talked about my experience in the army. I don’t think the LA cops use it the same way Frick did. I think it was being used disparingly. You dont agree?
  And if it was, then that would indicate to me that, at minimum, there is a general disrespect of blacks. Doesthat on its own constitute conspiracy? no. But who can “serve and protect” citizens they dont even respect?

   
• 
  Chris Ballard 1 comment collapsed Collapse Expand

  #1 Great topic. Back into the “thought provoking’ stuff. It’s your best form of writing by far loco.

  (.and by making themselves targets for lynching they actually made sacrifices that helped expose the hypocrisy of thosewho pretend to sefend the constitution as far as censorship is concerned. )

  Agreed. they also kicked open a creative door for every Hip hop studio gangster that followed on top of shining the spotlight on the real south central and alotta other places experience.

  (The use of nigger by white people is…um…Well, lets see ifI can step back from it. I guess it depends on how its being used)

  Lotta black leaders have come forward including Farrakahn and pointed out the damage screaming nigger this hoe that on an album can do so it’s been slightly toned down. That self reflection came by seeing the clear inconsistency in calling each other niggers, printing it, selling it, (big record companies) then claiming it was not right for a non-blacks to utter it. Smart people saw the foolishness in that. Which is it? O.K. or not O.K.? That fucking gray area double standard is what was the cause of some serious pain in the first place.

  Your on my Facebook. Another Friend named Seneca is a BIG black brother with an even bigger heart and big fists. He once told me to “go easy with that nigger shit”.
  I was singin a song. Not talkin to him and he still went there. i said i could say whatever the fuck i wanted since I wasn’t aiming it at him. I almost got a ass whoopin but I didn’t and it wasn’t from backin down. I said if you don’t like it then ask me not to. Don’t be TELLING me what the fuck to do and assume Ima comply. You show me respect and I’ll show you yours. The only reason it has never come up with us is because i don’t see the need for the word itself. But I’m not avoiding it outta some auto-respect.
  Most white cops in L.A. at that time were racists towards Blacks,Mexicans because they saw the worst of what people can do to each other. It must be like living in a bubble to see kids getting wetted because of the color of their shirt. I don’t judge them. They were unofficial combat forces. I really cannot judge. I told you in a previous comment that i have a bullet in my right knee still. I was in west Covina for single day and a bullet found my body in 91′. That’s a pretty fucked up situation back then. I gotta big mouth and woulda normaly got into a fight but in Cali it was guns. he aimed at the ground, hit a man hole and it went into my knee but it coulda been my head.
  http://tinypic.com/r/53r0go/7

  (But who can “serve and protect” citizens they dont even respect? )
  I was beaten by Hawaiian cops on Halloween in 2003 infront of stunned tourists. near 7-11 on Ena rd. They told me they would kill me next time. They broke into my apartment, they put me in a cell with a lifer who killed his girlfriend in a meth induced paranoid rage and all i did was give him my coffee and he was cool and my ass and life were spared but It coulda been bad. Cops did that to me so I ain’t about defending them. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near South central at that time as a young black male or a cop.

   

• 
  blackchildinkorea 1 comment collapsed Collapse Expand

  the reason the word is problematic is because it doesn’t exist in an ahistorical vacuum. traditionally when the word is spoken by whites it is as a precursor for derision and ridicule at best and violence at worst. the word doesn’t have that kind of automatic association when spoken by a Black person to a Black person. And make no mistake it is still wielded as a club ask Michael Richards, Johnathan Rhys Myers etc.

   
• 
  blackchildinkorea

   

  that was probably the most ignorant thing I have ever read. I guess white vigilantism is another form of white privilege. I mean how dare that nigger hold an opinion that was different than yours. He obviously didn’t know his place good thing Boss Ballard was around to show he was wrong.

   
• 
  Chris Ballard

  Ignorant? as in intentionally ignoring reality? Doesn’t really fit..you see that right? You were lookin’ for another word maybe?

  (I guess white vigilantism is another form of white privilege)

  Oh sure, and black on black crime is a black “privilege”? Maybe you outta pull your head out of your ass and stop pretending like your any better than me. I hate people pretty much. I beat them with a regularity that is sadly decreasing. Mostly Japanese victims lately.

  You seem to have a hatred to white people? Why not go beat on some? The person I mentioned was black. That’s what happened. You think your better because you don’t use physical violence?

  I think your a coward that is afraid to express yourself unless safely behind a keyboard or other safe situations.

  (that was probably the most ignorant thing I have ever read)
  Really? THE…MOST? whenever I read shit like that I think the person needs to at least read some literature, learn world history, theology, maybe some psychology and definitely “live” some more.

  You sound dumber than me and you don’t even relize it. How does it feel to be intellectual inferior to an asshole with fast hands? That’s gotta suck.

  I would strike a man on the side of his head for violating my space of disrespecting me with the same velocity and without any consideration to the color of skin.

  I know me. I’m all fucked up but I got rules. You don’t even know yourself. Your words betray you. 2 mini responses about white people. Just go hit some for fucks sake. It’ll feel so good. Embrace the iner animal. You are fighting with your own heart.

  White privilege? ……I wish that or they or whatever the fuck your talkin about put food in my stomach when I was little. I wish they helped santa put some presents under MY Christmas tree. I wish they didn’t make me sleep on the beach for 2 weeks till i got a lucky break (from a Hawaiian) that changed my life.. White privilege? where they at? I coulda used their help way back.

  Ignorant is a good word to describe some people.

   
• 
  blackchildinkorea

  lol ok Chris you are a tough guy. You seem to have low self esteem did someone touch you as a young boy because you seem to have an inordinate amount of rage.Somebody must have pulled down your underoos at some point . You call me an internet tough guy when you are the one telling unverifiable stories of ignorant violence. One day you’ll be a man and grow up or maybe someone will put you out of your misery. Either way you did a good thing by moving to one of the meekest places on Earth. People from my community who fly off the handle and get violent about disrespect are usually the ones who have never done anything in their lives to be respected for. As for beating white people with my hands that is what is expected of a Black man. I would rather beat them with my mind and achievements. In your story you wrote about how you was treated as an other due to your lack of finances and your address but when your situation changed you immediately received different treatment. Now imagine a situation in which it didn’t matter what you did, achieved , or had you would more often than not receive second class treatment. In your situation the second class treatment was economic and temporary. In my situation the second class(if I’m lucky) is systemic and perpetual. Yet you are the one that is angry?

   
• 
  Chris Ballard

  I asked you questions about white privilege. What is it? And for pointing out your own racism I am suddenly a victim of sexual violence? C’mon.

  My real dad smacked me around when he was drunk. Parents divorced and he’d always say he was gonna pick me up on this day at that time and he would end up at a bar somewhere while i refused to even go to the toiled because I thought I’d miss him. I blamed my Mom. She was protecting me but I refused to see that.I accused her of making him run away because she wasn’t good enough for him.I wanted to believe that more than the thought that he rejected me although I think that’s what lay underneath when in truth he was just too young and weak to be a father I saw my father in everyman I have ever attacked and people making me wait makes me go off the fucking handle.

  That’s it (the rage) pretty much. People always stopped bothering me after I hit them. Violence is a tool. It gets superficial respect which I prefer over any form of disrespect. My complexes have their own complexes. I’m a mess.

  (One day you’ll be a man and grow up)

  I’m a man that makes more money per week than any teacher I’ve ever met because I’m also the owner. I bought a car in cash and an apartment in Hawaii with cash that is now more than doubled in value. You cannot mean superficial symbols of growing up obviously. Are you your own boss? Does ANYONE tell you what the fuck to do? What is your net worth oh educated one? Nobody tells me what the fuck to do. NOBODY. If that’s related to my complexes than lucky me.

  (As for beating white people with my hands that is what is expected of a Black man.)

  Who expects that? The mass media? Who expects that and why do you let it play you?
  You do “A” because “B” expects you to do_____? Your a slave to your own parafuckin’noia.

  You really believe your way is better than mine. Working for someone else….showing people with your brain and not your fists. Gee, I bet your really changing the world. You need to admit your clear anger and how it moves you before you can have a real discussion.

  Verify?

  I’m the boss…………Your another persons tool

  I own an 800,000 dollar condo (cash, paid 325,000 10 years ago) I can charge 1,700 per month rent but choose to leave it empty in case I need it suddenly..

  My cars stereo system cost more than your car. If you even drive one? (paid cash for that too).

  The money game is a joke to me because I can practically print the shit. (I have (9) privates that pay 8,000 for an hour at their place, at my school privates pay 4,000 (6) and adult groupers are 1,500 (19) and kids pay 1,000 (45) that’s ….assuming a full attendance..72,000+24,000+28,000+45,000 PER WEEK.

  How much money is that spineless….Ima educate with my mind and not my fists” turning out?
  You think it’s an either or kinda thing ? You can’t knock people out AND get paid. I gotta student who went from ABC’s to trying for Harvard in 5 years. Not only am I a teacher, I’m the best fucking teacher you’ve never met.

  I can debate with Loco because his best writing is self reflecting on his own weaknesses, complexes and other self perceptions. I KNOW I’m all fucked up but you think I can run a School for 6 years teaching kids and adults without some self control? I learned to choose when and on whom I lose control. You imply i should be killed (put out of my misery) was the victim of sex abuse and other insults while thinking at the same time your in some way better? You don’t articulate it very well

  Your skin is black but your just a little dickhead with no balls underneath.
• 
  Locohama,

   

  @chris @blackchildinkorea Maybe I wasn’t clear before…cease and desist! Stick to the issues….please.

   
• 
  Lovfro 6 comments collapsed Collapse Expand

  I have to jump in here, but you should then be consistent in asking Chris not to write about, and tacitly and sometimes openly approve, of his violence as expression in every other post. If you allow that, you’ll have to allow people commenting on his foul anecdotes. I did once on the old version of this blog, without insults or profanity, and was met with the same hostility Chris displays towards everyone who does not immediately back slap or high-five him or in other ways stroke his ego.

  @Chris: Hiding behind an admission of knowingly ‘being fucked up’ is either a cop-out or an admission of weakness. You go on and on about how you are a self made man, how you can do basically anything you set your mind to, yada yada yada. So either you do not believe that your way of acting is fucked up, and only parrot societies opinion of your actions in describing yourself as many with APD learns to do, or you are too weak to change this aspect of yourself, and instead of admitting to failure, you play it up and make your violent tendencies a badge of honour. Personally I’m rolling with explanation one. You have tried to cover your actions as ‘teaching someone a lesson’ in the past, but but what you write here about getting “superficial respect which I prefer over any form of disrespect” rings so much more true.

  Can you show selfcontrol? Of course you can, you are a brute with antisocial personality disorder (aka sociopathy), but not stupid. You have learned the hard way where the limits are, and as most APDs you learn not to shit where you eat. This does not change that you should not teach kids, as you as an educator becomes a role model and them emulating your behaviour is a real danger.

   
• 
  Locohama,

  Well…i give Chris carte blanche to pretty much say what he likes because he has been down with Loco and supported me when I needed it. On a number of occassions he has been the kick in the ass, or the jump start, or the cheerleader I needed. Sure, he’s prone to get at people. And anyone is free to get back at him, as blackchildinkorea and yourself have done. If you’re suggesting I edit or bar him from my blog that aint gonna happen.Sure, he’s not PC and it aint pretty sometimes but his writing comes from the heart i believe and it inspires me to come from my heart and bring it rugged and raw, and what more can a writer ask for than that kind of readership, the kind that inspires? Some people only comment when they have something nice to say. That’s ok. Some poeple only speak up with they want to criticize something i’ve said…not so cool, but i let those through too, as long as its not off the wall…Chris brings both! And to me that’s mad cool. (case and point) He just tore ME a new asshole the other day, but you know what: I didn’t sit there and pick it apart…or start hating on him cuz he didn’t let me down gently or use KY or anything. Cuz I knew where it was coming from cuz i’m feeling him! He set a fire under my ass and the result is pt 26 and pt 27 (both of which I’m very satisfied with) and pt 28 is underway. In other words Chris, THANK YOU, if you’re reading this, (and I know you are) know that my support aint fucking tacit at all, it’s full on son! And stay on me!

   
• 
  Chris Ballard

   

  (Chris, THANK YOU, if you’re reading this, (and I know you are) )

  I got the “Ghostery” plugin for Firefox I’m seein 6 trackers. I KNOW you see me!
  I’m out for the night lookin forward to the next installment. You the man bro’ I’m just a fucking bystandard watching some seriously ill writing going down. people are gonna be hitting and commenting on your shit for years. As long as your doing all the S.E.O good stuff for the search engine spiders your content is gonna be copied and published by some college student doing a thesis someday if not already. I have typed more on my comments than on my own blogs posts.
  That’d be good or bad depending on where your standing

  Aloha!

   
• 
  Lovfro

  I’m not saying you should ban or censor him, I was just commenting that if you censor others for taking offence, and voicing it, with Chris’ violence braggadocio, which are most of the time tangential to the story, you would be a hypocrite. I respect you Loco, and I can follow you on where you stand with Chris. He is indeed an intelligent bloke and I always reads his comments, because there are nuggets of gold hidden in all the shit he writes. I just do not get your approval of his violence, I thought you were better than that.

   
• 
  Locohama,

   

  I’m not sure what you mean by “better than that” but I don’t believe I’ve censored anyone (except the occasional troll). And, I think, what you call violence i call Chris’ style…if anyone feels physically threatened by anything said by Chris’ personally I think they just don’t get him. This is a comment section on a blog, fr’crhissakes. Maybe it’s just that he reminds me of many heads I grew up with that I have nothing but love for in spite of their violent tendencies. Maybe it’s cause he speaks with the kind of verve and says some of the things I’d love to have the courage to say. Sure, some of it aint kosher, but, shit, like my girl Jill Scott sang, my “background aint squeeky clean…shit..sometimes we all gotta swim upstream. I aint no saint we all are sinners!” Youknowhutumsaying lovfro? and, if that makes me a hypocrite, so be it. Loco ain’t nearly perfect, but I “put my good foot down and make my soul a winner”

   

   
• 
  Chris Ballard

   

  @Chris: Hiding behind an admission of knowingly ‘being fucked up’ is either a cop-out or an admission of weakness. You go on and on about how you are a self made man, how you can do basically anything you set your mind to, yada yada yada.)I find that admitting my weakness helps me. I get strength from it. We are all weak in bigger or smaller, obvious or less obvious ways. Knowing my own weak points helps me to sometimes get around a thing that might have blocked my progress.

  (or you are too weak to change this aspect of yourself, and instead of admitting to failure, you play it up and make your violent tendencies a badge of honour)

  Can you allow for me to be different? I see violence as a tool that can be used for many things. Some people need a beating. You don’t think that way. O.K.

  Let me give you an example. Please humor me and just read and respond.
  Your friend says that he thinks someone is trying to pick-up or is sleeping with his girlfriend. I use this because it is not a shockingly rare event and it has happened that 3x in my life a friend has eluded to me such a thing.

  What would you say if this were disclosed to you? Would you advise he confront her? Would you advise that he confront him? Would you advise him to walk away?

  This might be where you and me begin to differ. I wouldn’t and didn’t advise anything. I think that I am being told this with an expectation to do something. So I did twice and was stopped the 3rd time.

  1st time (Mark) I went into the Hyatt Regency lobby in Waikiki and dragged the guy into the men’s room and I tried to shove his head into the urinal but couldn’t so I just kept kneeing him and asked him if he liked fucking around with other men’s girls.
  (The friend was the leader of the Harley club and now runs the franchise. He married the girl and has 3 little kids. He told me he couldn’t contact with me anymore)
  **friendship finished**

  2nd time (Brian) Brian brought the guy to my apartment as planned. Brian apparently didn’t really think I would do what i said I’d do. I did. The guy admitted under duress what he had done.I also told Brian that his girl had been quite kind to me as well(nothing happened with me of course)
  (Brian’s now wife’s lover got a restraining order against me and Brian stayed with that girl and last i heard they were going to get married)
  **friendship finished**

  3rd time (Anonymous who is on my short Facebook friends list) He I’D'd the guy and I was going to “Knee cap” him outside a club near Iwakuni Base. The night of the plan my friend disclosed that he had also been unfaithful and begged me to just drop it. I did. He is still my friend and loves me like a brother because I would have done it with pleasure.

  If you were ever in a tough spot Lovfro, I would be the person you would want next to you. Especially if I considered you a friend. I would stay for the rough stuff and cover you. How you acted later would depend on you. I have lost friends by extending myself beyond their imagination. I still don’t quite get it? I was told for a reason. My behavior is known. The 2 times I have done what i said I’d do i have been left behind. I went after the “other guy” the person who had brought trauma to my friend and i did what I thought real friends do. I didn’t fly off the handle. I explained how I would “teach’ that person. By disrespecting a friend they had disrespected me. They will know me now and remember me forever.

  If i say i will do something I will do it. I never talk about____ if I know I can’t do_____. I just don’t say anything. My stress has partly derived from realizing that most people are full of shit most of the time. They lie without thought. They talk about other people in ways that they wouldn’t say too that person. They have no rules that they put on themselves. They wear the yolk of societies rules and sometimes can’t even do that. What happened to everyone? When did it become O.K. to get your cock sucked in the W.H. and then point an accusing finger at the public and lie? Is that the best we can expect? I don’t care about his sex life but don’t fucking lie to me and your wife for 6 months. The leader of our tax system forgot to pay his own fucking taxes?

  You think I’m the headcase but I think most of you all are the headcases. I am predictable. I have rules. I follow those rules. It has been my damage but I cannot change. I can’t accept that this is the way it is.i have a stability that comes from mechanical consistency. I always say what I mean and think without thought towards others because that would be a filter and if “me” is hard for others to accept then it’s best everyone knows as soon as possible.

  (This does not change that you should not teach kids, as you as an educator becomes a role model and them emulating your behaviour is a real danger.)

  How many teachers do you know that put in the time and effort to do what I do? I have people waiting to get in. I am a strict teacher but I am performance oriented.My students get results. They are the ones with the guts to talk to their ALT’s because I teach them to be opinionated,inquisitive and respectful. The “Education Mom’s” love me. I am their English wet dream. I teach kids to have pride in what they do. I share the culture behind the language through parties and events. I had a meeting with all the parents after 2006 and the blog was discussed and many voiced concerns so they (kids) and all adults were not pictured. I only follow a couple classes who’s parents are my original members and that’s about it.
  I am judged by a clear system of results. Conversation oriented with enough Eiken/TOEIC focus to keep them from jumping to a juku as it relates to English. You think i shouldn’t be around kids? You know how many graduate students there were in Harvard last year from Japan? 1. I am close to taking a member of my first class and sending him there. Taking the SAT’s in English. You think that would be possible If i fucked around at all, ever, in any way? I don’t know if he’ll get in but he’s trying and he is already qualified to enter Todai. Harvard is a reasonable goal by his own teachers estimations. That’s what 5 years of my influence has done. I have mostly girl students and 2 have already gone to Waseda’s English litt program and another went to Washington state’s ESL course. I have helped shape lives in a positive way. i am proud of them and really proud of myself.

  @blackchildinkorea, I can disagree with someone and move right along. Hope you can do the same.
  @Loco. Love you man. You let me be me and you never pass judgement.. You have helped me in ways you will never know. I think your kids are lucky as fuck to have such an intelligent open minded teacher like yourself. Your a 1%’r You got the deepest most thought provoking blog I have ever read. i count myself lucky to have even landed here. I’m sorry for bothering any of your readers.
   

• 
  Chris Ballard

   

  (@blackchildinkorea @chris
  Man, you two!
  See, this is the reason I got into this series in the first place
  I respect both of you a great deal and I hope we can stick to the issues.)

  I love this shit. But claiming sex trauma,you should die is a little over the top from a person who seems to think they’re smart.

  (it is not emotional for me in any way ,his intellectual stance and his entire way of being is inferior)

  Um,…..O.K. your superior. You get the cookie. Congrats.

  *******End of off topic flaming for me********..

   
• 
  Locohama, blogger, writer, teacher, not necessarily in that order 2 comments collapsed Collapse Expand

  @blackchildinkorea @chris
  Man, you two!
  See, this is the reason I got into this series in the first place.
  I know this is an issue where emotions run high, thus most people avoid it like leprosy.
  I respect both of you a great deal and I hope we can stick to the issues. And avoid lettingthis devolve into some bullshit.
  Please continue to bless this blog with your considrable intelligence.
  And to my other readers, jump in, the waters warm and no sharks (or trolls) allowed
  Loco

   
• 
  blackchildinkorea

   

  it is not emotional for me in any way ,his intellectual stance and his entire way of being is inferior and all I did was point that out. His story was he was driving to a university hoping to have an intellectual discussion about the outcome of the decision and when that didn’t happen he decided to pummel some Black man. That story is deranged on so many levels.

   
• 
  Lovfro

  If you are interested in reading more on police misconduct, go to http://www.injusticeeverywhere…

  Libertarian commenter Radley Balko also covers a lot on his blog http://http://www.theagitator.com/ if you like me don’t share his political views, just don’t click the links on that. Or like me do, for another kind of agitation =P

  I won’t by no means discount that blacks and hispanics get the short end of the stick. The national inmate statistics speak of this loud and clear and the way crack is treated with many times harder sentences as regular “white guys” powder cocaine is just one of many examples. Being a white guy in Scandinavia, I of course have no clue as to the black experience in USA and won’t try to pretend I understand.

  It seems that police and federal agencies in the US are getting less concerned with whether you are black or white. The ruling dichotomy these days is drifting more towards whether you are blue or not. They also seem to have taken on a fetish for shooting dogs and using SWAT teams to serve warrants.

  Back to Rodney King, I’d like to share something quite peculiar, and now when I remember hearing it, quite fucked up. I remember sometime in ’93 I heard a radio feature about a white teen, 17-18ish I believe, who bought a one way ticket to LA when the riots were going on to go there and take part. Some sort of misplaced revolutionary romanticism must have made him want to drop out. So he went and for half a year after that he lived as homeless in LA. Of course, him being the subject of a radio feature means that he made it back home to his safe, crime free middle class existence in a country only a little less homogeneous than Japan. Back in the early 90′s about 95% were ethnic Danes. Today it’s 90.1% and unfortunately with the rise in middle eastern and Africans in our little duck pond, racism has become more prevalent. But that is a tangent to what I was trying to say. This blokes experience tells a lot about how privileged and clueless we are to go partake in a race riot and live as a homeless as an adventure for shit and giggles.

   
• 
  Locohama,

   

  Hey Lovfro, thanks for the shout
  yeah, some people get it, some don’t but may some day…most don’t and never will. As long as it doesn’t permeate your reality why should u get it? Why does everyone need to be on the same page? I came to Japan partially for a Shit and Giggles adventure…japan is not a race riot, of course (never them) but it’s very real…more real than I thought it was for a long time
  Anyway I digree.
  (-:

   

• 
  Lovfro

   

  Ambivalent typo at the end there Loco, Digress? Disagree? What is it? =P

  I think I want to clarify that I’m all for doing stuff for shit and giggles. I’m always all for trying to understand other peoples point of view and experience. But I think that there is a lot of things you can’t, nt for wont of trying, if not having lived it. I also think that there is a marked difference between going to Japan on a lark and going to a curfewed and martial lawed LA to participate in race riots, then live half a year as a homeless, without your family and friends knowing where you went to, tthen after half a year go to the Danish consulate to get them to contact mommy and daddy so they can buy you a ticket home, one notch on the adventure belt richer. It was also pretty goddamn stupid. The guy was on the side of the blacks, but could easily have encountered a severe beating like that truck driver did in the mass insanity that gripped people those days.

   
• 
  Locohama,

   

  Hey Lovefro, it was “digress” not disagree lol
  True, Japan is nothing like LA in the middle of a riot. (feel funny even having to clarifty that)
  And yes he could have gotten hurt in a riot (feel funny saying that too) where as the only danger I face here in Japan is mental, emotional and psychological…physically Im safe as hindu cows lol
  Thanks again

   

  *****

   

  Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this little walk down Loco in Yokohama’s memory lane.

   

  If you’re wondering why I pasted the comments inside this post, it’s because they’re from a comment system called “Disqus” which I don’t use anymore, mainly because I had so much trouble transferring my comments to and from Disqus. Now most of the comments from 2010 are in Disqus limbo and can’t be accessed unless I turn on Disqus again… )-;

   

  And, to the Bad Boy: Sorry for the delay, bruh! But you know how it go, business before pleasure (-;

   

   

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Now, this:

SMH

I like the fact that she finds it problematic to assume racism whenever the empty seat is encountered. People who have read my book and blog know that I concur.

However, I don’t think pulling a number like 99% out of the air (unless she did some kind of extensive research and surveying I’m not aware of) is serving her argument at all. That kind of hyperbole pretty much null and voids everything she says after that. But, unfortunately for her, and her supporters, this number is at the crux of her position, her belief system revolves around this arbitrary number, otherwise I don’t think she would have stated it at the beginning of her case, like it’s something the viewer should carry in their mind as they absorb all the conclusions she drew and apologist’ positions she holds based on this mysterious 99%.

And what does this fictitious number say about that bit of compassion and sympathy she began with? You know, the “My condolences to people who actually have truly experienced racism on the transportation system…” If you subtract her 99% from 100% of all visible minorities in Japan then you’re left with 1%, right? And THAT’S the only real number here.

Her condolences go out to 1% of the people who experience this because the other 99% are, as she says, self-paranoid, etc.

I have a feeling most of the people who thumbed her opinion up (and it is an opinion) probably accepted her “data” without even blinking. Which is pretty spooky. So, since she nullified her own argument by fabricating a number and presenting it like it were a hard number, I’m gonna move on to the next apologist video.

Summation: “Embrace the Gaijin Seat, Don’t get offended.”

I bet this guy would have told Rosa Parks: “Now why the hell would you want to sit next to people who clearly don’t want to sit next to you? Hell, go sit with your own people…you’ll be more comfortable, trust me, and so will they. Everybody’s happy!”

Mild exaggeration, but then again, as he says, he’s not African-American, so who knows how he’d approach full-on segregation and discrimination. Based on this video, I really have no idea. There certainly were some African-Americans in favor of this approach (read: Booker T. Washington) and quite a few who were in favor of full separation of the races (Louis Farrakhan, Elijah Muhammad, Marcus Garvey, etc…)

Also, he supplied, as most people coping with this foolishness do, the ultimate coping mechanism for the empty seat: “You really shouldn’t concern yourself with this. You should really embrace the fact that you’re getting a little elbow room on a crowded train.”

I like that he, too, finds it problematic to assume that racism is a factor. On that, he is totally correct! It may or may not be a factor, impossible to know for sure.

I don’t like that he feels essentially EVERY other reason for doing so, no matter what, is acceptable, including ignorant presumptions about your tendencies.

And he encourages foreigners to blame themselves for this!

OUCH!

You’re Fat, you’re Sweaty, you look Sleepy, you look angry, you look unhappy, etc…

He also suggested that if you “look like you’re gonna rob them” no one will sit next you…but I think he was joking…or at least trying to diffuse an issue he’s had to deal with by using humor.

But, I give him credit, for at least he had a sense of humor about it…and humor can certainly make the intolerable tolerable.

Anyway, if you’ve read my book, or my blog for that matter, you know my stance, but I thought I’d share with you guys what a couple of my fellow foreigners here think about it.

And now for some intentionally silly stuff (-;

Funny right? (-;

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

They’d established that despite any overemphasized cosmetic differences, any cultural or racial but ultimately superficial obstacles, they had a common foe, and a common cause.

This foe wasn’t necessarily white power, but it most often had a white face. This common foe went by a number of names: injustice, inequality, discrimination, exploitation, segregation, unemployment, greed, tyranny, genocide, etc…

And the common cause also had many names: education, justice, equality, freedom, peace, jobs, health care, integration, world salvation, respect, etc…

Yes, once upon a time…

“…for it is the doom of men that they forget.” Merlin, from Excalibur

Cue Stevie:

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

But I ♥ Brooklyn…

I spent the better part of my life there, and learned a great deal about who I am in that amazing community.

…and more importantly, I loved ME in Brooklyn!

After thirty years of being a Brooklynite, I was finally learning where my true passion rested and was putting it to work…when this happened:

And, Brooklyn, New York, the US, hell, most of the so-called free world was never the same.

In the chaos that followed, I misplaced my passion and couldn’t remember where I’d set it down.

My hometown had been posterized by (Insert Villain of choice here i.e. Bush, Osama, Hussein, whoever). I felt helpless, hopeless, demoralized, vulnerable…I was possibly even traumatized.

I needed a change of scenery for a spell, I self-prescribed.

And, Japan was just what an unlicensed quack (like me) would order…

A country still, in many ways, reeling from and traumatized by its own 9/11 style attack, in the form of two nuclear bombs…ironically delivered by my country.

Nevertheless, I found myself amid distractions galore in this cultural theme park! All the diversions any man could ask for. The void my missing passion left was filled with the challenge of a new language, fascination with new customs, an infatuation with exotic women…and eventually even love!

I thought I had found nirvana…

But, then I suffered a blow even more severe than 9/11 and lost my closest friend and lover.

I was reeling…center ring…almost asking for the next blow to be swift and deadly…

But the Creator wasn’t done with me just yet.

Instead of showing me an early exit, the Creator sent me a new love, and as complicated a relationship as I’ve ever had…even more complicated than the relationship I had with Brooklyn.

And that’s saying a lot!

For I did and do love Brooklyn.

But I also hate Brooklyn. It’s true. I romance the stone a lot on this blog, but the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Brooklyn left much to be desired. Both, what it had once been, the Brooklyn I grew up in, and what it has steadily become since long before I made my exodus.

From a neglected disaster of a ghetto replete with drugs, homicides, disease, illiteracy, gangs, anger and despair; a community that took much more than it gave, to a rapidly gentrifying dislocation disaster area with dissolving character and distinctiveness, replete with cafes, bistros and sushi bars, and a plethora of upwardly mobile folk and predators dead set on exploiting, gutting and defacing her, while maintaining her precious brownstone housing stock…and this, all in my lifetime!

But, socio-politics aside, I never really felt entirely safe in Brooklyn. Some might say that’s a good thing, myself included at a time (and maybe that’s one of the impacts Japan has had on me) but the result of this insecurity is I never even considered raising a family there. My dream was to get rich and get out. And now that she has begun to rise from the debris, thanks almost entirely to people I know personally who never gave up on her even in her darkest hours, I feel torn between embracing the changes and mourning the losses. Ironically, I’d have to almost be rich before I could even afford to move back to Brooklyn.

SMH

Yes, a very complicated relationship.

So, what does the Creator do? He enthralled me with yet another complicated relationship…with a town called Yokohama.

Almost immediately, I was hooked.

From the restaurants of Chinatown…

to the rice fields of Tana…

It’s LOVE, I tell you! Head over heels!

It suited me…and maybe that was by design.

Yokohama actually has several things in common with Brooklyn. For one, Yokohama is to Tokyo as Brooklyn is to Manhattan, which gives it a similar energy, I think. Saitama, my previous home, was more like Central Jersey. (-;

That, and other facets, enabled Yokohama to win my heart…

But, as readers of Loco in Yokohama well know, and as the Creator in his infinite wisdom knew when He guided someone with my experience (talents) and disposition here, the challenge for me was loving a place while holding many of the people who populate the place in contempt.

Again, similar to my situation in Brooklyn. I could do without a good number of the people there, as well.

As Chris Rock, another Brooklynite, once said (and I, grudgingly, concur):

What many readers fail to realize, as evidenced by some of the comments I’ve received over the years, is this: I’ve become what could easily be classified as a Yokohamaphile – in the best sense of the word, of course.

The love I have for Yokohama is partially as a result of what she has done for me. Call it love derived from loyalty. Yokohama slapped me upside the head and woke my ass up and showed me exactly where my passion was hiding itself. She helped me tap into that well of creativity inside of me, and restored my sense of purpose and direction, at a time when I was in dire need.

And for that I’ll be eternally grateful, and motivated to return the favor!

Think of LIY as a much needed slap upside Yokohama’s head, with the intention of waking her up to her fullest potential. I think anyone who offers their love without these intentions is simply patronizing her.

And I hate that!

My expectations for Japan were very low before coming here to Yokohama. But there’s something about the energy generated by this city, and yes some of the Japanese people I know here as well, and that has helped me keep my chin up when the going’s tough. I try to capture that energy in my writing and in my photographs, but I still feel I haven’t quite got it right.

But I continue to strive, to give my best, and to expect the best, for Yokohama, and I, (and my ex, Brooklyn, for that matter) deserve nothing less!

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Being cognizant of this propensity can aid you in avoiding an impromptu stalking episode.

Case and point, last night about 9:30, I was transferring trains at Hiyoshi station in Yokohama, from the Toyoko line to the Green Line. As I approached the escalator, I noticed a woman approaching from the opposite direction, busy thumbing her cellphone, sending a text to someone apparently. She looked up as she reached the escalator, saw me doing the same. She stumbled in shock, lost her balance and almost fell down the escalator.

So, anyway, I wound up riding down behind her. She looked back once, then again. I whipped out my cellphone to try to ease her concerns. Perhaps if she thought my attention was elsewhere she’d relax. That sometimes works with the less shy Japanese. But after two more glances I knew this was going to be one of those Japanese imagined stalking episodes, my first for the day. After you’ve been in Japan for a while, you get to know the telltale signs of someone who would sooner treat you like a potential threat than a fellow human being for whatever reason.

So, since we were both on the left side of the escalator, I took to the right and started to pass her, you know, to relieve her discomfort at having me in her blind spot. I’d feel guilty if she hurt her neck with all of that craning she was doing. But, we apparently had the same bright idea at the same time. And by the time I would have passed her by, we wound up awkwardly walking side by side. So, I stopped so she could keep going and again, our great minds were thinking alike, for she stopped, as well.

Great.

But now I was in the passing lane, the right side of the escalator, and was causing a minor traffic jam, so resumed my descent. When I reached the landing I glanced back up at her. She had that lost in space look on her face the people here often get, staring at you, while at the same time staring into the abyss.

There’s a gate to exit the Toyoko and then another gate to enter the Green Line, but as I exited, the LED on the turnstile informed me that I didn’t have enough funds on my commuter card to enter the next set of turnstiles. Conveniently located between the gates, in anticipation of such an eventuality, there are a couple of Pasmo commuter card charging machines. So I headed for them.

A salaryman that had exited just ahead of me, and apparently had the same plan, noticed that I had turned to follow him. He noticed because he, too, was being extraordinarily careful this evening like the woman on the escalator  I wondered if maybe there had been a rash of robberies in the vicinity recently, but, then again, this kind of thing happens every day, everywhere, so I brushed that apologist thought aside and stopped my forward movement, a solid twenty feet from the machines. Which allowed him to go ahead and do his business without my being beside him or, worse, behind him.

He kept a wary eye out the side of his head on me as he pulled out his wallet to feed the machine a ¥10000 note; conspicuously so, like he wanted me to know that he was leery of me. Once he had completed his transaction and headed for the Green Line turnstile, that’s when I made my way toward the machines. I peeked over at him as he passed through the gate. He was still watching me. I looked above his head at the departure time for the next train. Shit! I had 1 minute! I put ¥1000 yen on my card and took off towards the gate.

The train departure tune was playing as I bounded down the stairs, and boarded just before the doors began to slide shut, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

There were several seats available, and no one standing. But all the free seats were between people. A number of eyes were looking in my direction, the anomaly that I am, and some people squirmed in their seats in anticipation of my taking the one beside theirs. I decided to forego the drama and stand by the door. I was only going a couple of stops anyway. I whipped out my iPad and continued reading a very funny book I was half way through.

When the train pulled into my stop, the majority of the people queued to get off, all at another door. even the people who had been sitting closer to the door where I was standing. From the door I stood before I exited alone. From the other two doors, everyone else exited.

(Sometimes I feel really strange describing the crazy shit Japanese people routinely do. I wonder if people who don’t live here read something like this and say, “you gotta be kidding!” All I can say is I wish I were.)

But, anyway, we all bottle-necked at the escalator, of course. I rode up behind a couple cooing and preening one another lovingly. The female of the two, amid their amorous whispering, with love in her glazed eyes, happened to notice me over her beau’s shoulder.

Tender moment gone.

She stiffened, whispered something in his ear vicinity that I didn’t have to be a genius to know wouldn’t fall under the heading of sweet nothings. I could see him straighten up as well. Then he tried to surreptitiously sneak a peek at me, an effort that would have failed even if I hadn’t been aware of everything that was transpiring. I turned away just as he laid his eyes upon me. I hate to see such looks. They make me feel…dirty. Suddenly they started climbing the escalator. I stayed where I was, feeling both relieved and disgusted at the same time.

By the time I reached the top of the escalator the couple had reached the gate, both of them looking back in my direction. I just kept coming, at a slightly slower rate than my normal walking speed, hoping they’d have time to go about their business without playing a round of the stalking game with me.

When I saw them head for the escalator, I headed for the elevator. There were two people, a man and a woman, standing side by side before the elevator doors, waiting for it. I pulled up behind the man…though they tend to be less likely to adopt the role of stalkee and criminal prey than the women, the difference, again, is negligible.

Others arrived, hesitantly, at the elevators, maybe about 7 or 8 people…only one brave soul queued behind me, the others behind the woman. I never looked back. But I didn’t have to. I could see this, all the line switching and indecision involved, very well in the reflection from the elevator shaft’s glass enclosing.

It’s really some silly shit to watch. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad and pathetic.

Once the elevator arrived, though, the people who had lined up behind the woman probably realized the absurdity of what they’d done and kind of just filed in…the elevator had doors on either side of the car, but the ones closest to me faced the opposite way from the door that would open, as announced by the elevator’s PA system.

The woman who had been in front of the other line saw something strange in the reflection from the elevator door and suddenly spun her head around urgently. She almost had me fooled, her alarm was so intense. I almost looked around, too. Others certainly did. And those who hadn’t known that there was something appalling among them, riding the elevator like that was the most natural thing, now knew, as well, that I was there.

30 tortuous seconds of this later we arrived at the ground floor and the doors slid open. The elevator empties onto a poorly lit plaza area, and from it, there were only two or three directions you could go. I stepped to the side and let several people exit before me, so they could make their way with haste to their homes without my seeming to follow. Then I made my way towards my friend’s apartment, thankfully with no one ahead of me.

Just as I arrived at the building a woman emerged from the adjoining convenience store and turned into the entrance way to the building to which I was headed. I stopped. If I were to continue into that lobby, she was sure to overreact and do something provocative. Thank god they don’t have guns in Japan. I’d have probably been shot so many times by now, with these paranoid fucks, that even Antonio Montana would say, “DAMN!!

So, as I stood there giving her time to safely enter the building without being aware of my presence , another woman exits the store, her eyes embedded in her cell phone. And she too was about to turn and go into the building I was waiting to enter. But as she turned, she must’ve noticed someone in her peripherals or sensed my presence somehow, took a glimpse at me and froze like I’d ordered her to. I smiled, feeling awkward, just standing there without any clear purpose, seeing the world through her eyes, and not liking what I saw one bit.

So, I headed to the building and left her frozen, cryo-brained, in front of the building. The woman who had entered the building moments earlier was still fucking there, though.

Great. GEEEZUS I don’t have time for this shit…

She had a handful of mail she’d pulled from her box apparently and was flipping through it while she waited for the elevator. She was already safely inside the glass entrance door, though. She hadn’t looked up yet so I pressed my friend’s apartment number on the intercom system and was buzzed in just as she boarded the elevator. She looked up and saw me just as the doors poised to close. She had ample time to press the button if she wanted to, you know, do the courteous thing.

Her finger jabbed a button alright…more than once, and the doors slid closed. I could see her eyes watching me through the elevator’s little panel window. They were not cold, not relieved, not even afraid.

Just black…and blank.

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

It’s one of the few things I look forward to every day in Japan.

I tend to shoot the everyday things I see, so my photographs seem, at a glance, to be repetitive.

But, unlike people, to me, each photograph is, indeed, a unique and special snowflake.

*****

I focus mainly on people in transit and on transit itself, for I see myself, and life itself, as a series of moveable moments.

We are all in transit, in one way or another.

The people I meet while in motion are also on the move, and I find that a bit stressful sometimes.

You see, ideally, I’d like to be still, be quiet, and rest my restless awareness.

An awareness that is both blessing and curse.

It’s like an OCD, positively reinforced with an endorphin rush.

Creativity acts as a harness on this energy.

Writing is its primary outlet.

But, photography…

…in particular street photography, allows me to capture these movable moments, these flashes of life, mold them and render them harmless, trap and frame them.

Some semblance of sway, an illusion of order, a measure of control…

…if only temporary, you know?

For a few moments every day, I am a God Governing Time.

The streets are my inspiration.

And the gallery of the mind holds a daily exhibition.

Today’s exhibition, I tell myself, is: 

Stills from the Age of Loco

And the theme:

Japanese Women & Cellphones

Hope you enjoyed it. You can expect more in the future…

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

I gave it a once over, during which my insides clenched up, looked her in the eye to see if she were straight spooky and whether I could safely have a drink there or should I be on high alert and wary of ruffies, or just the Japanese version of such, which amounts to oblivious (she was the latter) and then back at the flyer.

My eyes zoomed in on Hand and Job and I unleashed a smile involuntarily. I figured an English speaker had little to do with the making of this flyer. Then, of course, my eyes landed on the dark american saga of Jim Crow evoking Black People Only and I knew if there were an English speaker behind this chances are he wasn’t American.

Then I glanced around the room at the black faces in attendance to see if anyone else was holding a flyer with a perplexed expression on their face, but no one was.

I caught the eye of the event planner, who had apparently been watching me ever since the flyer was handed to me. He’d caught my brief smile apparently and gave me a look a little difficult to read, somewhere between “my name is Paul and that shit’s between y’all” and “WTF, right?” He seemed to know the chick and had been standing there when we introduced ourselves (she’d run up on me like I was the guest of honor), and so I assumed he must not have found the distribution of this flyer at his event problematic.

Which didn’t so much relax me as prompt me to resolve that this flyer was just the victim of poorly chosen wording and flawed thinking by ignorant people, but, minus any ill-intent, was fairly harmless, which is pretty much an accurate description of Japan itself. You come across so much of this type foolishness here that if you were to get hot and bothered over it all you’d be in a perpetual state of hot and bothered.

I extended this benefit of the doubt because I trusted the event planner.

His being black and sharp and a lifer here and all…

My insides were still clenched, though, picturing that brother on the flyer in a shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, grinning and lounging, looking like he’s sitting on top of the world after a job well done. That image fucked with me. Didn’t seem to fit with what the flier was promoting. It’s not a Job. It’s 2 hours of Guinea Pigging.

I promptly folded the paper and put it in my pocket. I felt guilty doing so. Not even sure why. I mean, I wasn’t planning to cash in on it, was I? Just take this large Japanese power company’s money and let them conduct their tests on me? No, I wasn’t.

Pretty soon, though, I forgot all about it, for the networkers in attendance (all of whom I’d never met before but were clearly movers and shakers, and lifers, here in Japan) were some pretty interesting men and women. It was the most black people I’d been around at one time in Japan without a DJ, a bar, and a hundred enticingly clad Hiphop loving Japanese chicks around, in 9 years. That was a refreshing change.

Two days later I got a tweet from someone about this flyer, which reminded me of mine, sitting on my desk in a state of neglect. I must’ve been planning to use it for something but had no idea what. The tweet said:

I’m not crazy about being thought of as the Race guy or random people sending me tweets and emails about racism in Japan, but I guess I kinda opened that door by blogging and publishing so extensively about it, so I guess I’m reaping what I’ve sown.

I picked up the flier off my desk and looked at it again…

Still nothing came to me (which is pretty telling in itself).

So, another few days passed and I got a Facebook message from the Japanese woman who had originally given me the flier! She was following up…she clearly had a strong interest in finding black people to do this thing. I figure she gets a commission for each head she brings them.

It read:

So, 30 more people means 270 black people in Japan have signed on for this?!!

If you’re reading this, you 270+ black people, Loco, and perhaps some of his readers, are curious to know a few things, if you care to share…

I’d like to know how was the experience, what happened exactly (tell me as much as you can, from arrival to departure), what did you expect to happen, how were you treated, what did you think of the ad that got you there, etc…

You can remain anonymous if you prefer. If you’re shy, just send me an email at: loco (at) locoinyokohama (dot) com

I’ll be discreet.

I don’t wanna say more just yet. I’m looking into what exactly Hand Recognition is, how it can/will be used, and how race /ethnicity may or may not play a part in this application. I’ve read one paper published on this technology but it was clearly written for someone with a brain more scientifically leaning than mine.

If any of my readers can shed some light on this, in layman terms, or know someone who can, let us know. I’d like to think all the participants in this sampling are not completely in the dark about what they’ve gotten themselves into, but you never know. 8000 yen is enough to get some people to shrug their shoulders and say what have I got to lose?

I know I have in my tenure here.

Thanks in advance,

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

A while back, in an effort to maintain sanity amidst absurdity, I’d taken to avoiding looking at Japanese people by walking through the streets of Yokohama with my head down.

Sounds ridiculous, I know, but I’m dead-ass serious! I still do it, sometimes.

Enter, or sometimes even approach, a space occupied by Japanese and the atmosphere palpably changes. The Japanese body language of uneasiness ensues everywhere you look.

If I enter a confined space like a train car or an elevator, at best, the atmosphere becomes something akin to the atmosphere of a room where everyone is catching everyone else up on the latest bit of nasty gossip…about me. I enter and the people around me transform into stiff and self-conscious caricatures of themselves. Faces turn from joyous or relaxed to grim or perturbed, or freeze into a plasticity that is painful to watch. And, that’s on a very good day. Typically, though, the space becomes a classroom and I’m a notoriously strict teacher who has been known to randomly decapitate Japanese students in his immediate vicinity with no provocation; a mortified hush comes over the trembling student body as they silently pray to exit the classroom in the same condition they entered: with their heads intact.

The overall effect is it leaves one feeling like such a ruiner; the rain on the Japanese parade, the wind wreaking havoc during a cherry blossom viewing party, tearing those pretty little precious petals from their branches; that dark cloud threatening to dampen an otherwise picture-perfect summer evening’s fireworks festival.

It’s a disheartening feeling because you’d like to ideally have just the opposite effect or, after you’ve lived here a while and adjusted your expectations a bit, just to be disregarded. It’s also a sickening feeling because you know it really has nothing to do with you personally. It’s spawned from an ignorance you have very little hope of addressing and there’s little or no recourse. It’s an unavoidable aspect of life in Japan. One of those ugly quirks most foreigners here refrain from acknowledging (for various reasons). One that requires tolerance and/or nescience to the Nth degree.

That’s why I resorted to keeping my head down as often as I could. And, you know what? It actually helped a lot!

Back in NY, people who walk with their heads down or avoid looking at people are flagged as shady, dodgy, hiding something, potential evil-doers, or suffering from some kind of mental derailment. But, here I’ve found that keeping my head down was not only acceptable but served two purposes:

For one, it positively impacts the behavior of Japanese people significantly. A good number of them, it seems, feel better if they believe that they are flying below or above my radar, invisible as ostriches with their heads in the sand. The difference between those whose presence I acknowledge with even the merest glance and those I go out of my way to avoid acknowledging is measurable. They can bypass me with a reduced concern for their well-being. The behavior I mentioned above is reduced by at least half.

And, two, walking around looking like a mental patient (from my perspective) prevents my paying them too much attention. If I really try hard, it is unlikely I’ll see the actions they are almost certain to take to indicate their discomfort with both being seen by me and being in my vicinity and, consequently, I feel a lot less like a pariah and killjoy on a daily basis.

Yep, it works like a charm…usually!

However, walking around like this did not come natural to me at all. I mean, I’m not a confrontational person, per se, but I don’t shy away from it, either. It’s my belief that the best stories are derived from conflict (at least that’s what my writing teachers used to say) so why in the hell would I avoid conflict when I’m endeavoring to be a solid writer?

As I walked around, looking like I’d lost my winning lottery ticket somewhere, I’d ask myself ultimately rhetorical questions like if they’re ignorant and xenophobic then why should I care what they think and do? I’d have mock trials in my head. Part of me defending them, echoing the excuses they always spew in my ear like: We are homogeneous and we are shy and we can’t speak English and… blah blah blah, etc, etc. And another part of me would argue on behalf of my creative self, reducing  the behavior of many people here, by virtue of overwhelming evidence, to simple statements like: If it slithers and hisses and sheds its skin like a snake, then it’s a fucking snake.

But, whenever the blame game is in the off-season or I take a recess from the courtroom drama playing out in my head, I’d think seriously, and rather selfishly, about my life here and the impact it was having on my character. I’m a fairly proud person and a really observant one. So, I had to make a decision: shall I keep my head held high and endure, or keep my head hung low and turn a blind eye on my surroundings?

The idea of keeping my head down, thereby denying myself the visual stimulation that spurs my creativity, in order to appease ignorant people, was not only stupid, I’d concluded, but worse: counterproductive and counter-creative. Like a paparazzi photographer scared to take pictures of people without their consent. So, little by little, I started lifting my head again, and every time I did I told myself, “you can handle this. This is nothing. Grandma went through worse. Take it like a man!”

The bombardment of offenses would still disturb me, somewhat, but the knowledge that I was going to use them creatively soothed me. Yes, it took a bit of soul-searching but eventually I decided that I would not ignore nor reward bad behavior, nor would I let it mold me into a bitter, cynical person. I decided I would face it head-on.

They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (god, I love clichés) so I started working out, so to speak.

It was at this time that I stumbled upon my game idea…something that made keeping my dignity less of a crucible.

One day, I was walking through Yokohama Station on my way to work, with my head held purposely up, exposing my chin, hoping it was not made of glass, when I caught the eyes of a man coming towards me. I could see the desire to evade seize him, accustomed as I am to seeing it. On his current path we wouldn’t walk into each other but he would pass dangerously close (from his mindset) to making physical contact with me (our arms might brush one another’s) and this was apparently too close for his comfort.

He suddenly stopped, looked around as if to non-verbally say ‘now, how the hell did I get here?’ Like he’d been beamed to his current location without his knowledge. Then, just as suddenly, he displayed the body language of ‘oh, I know where I am now! I need to go that way!’ That way was out of my path…he darted that direction. I see this behavior at least 5-10 times a day or more so, though it vexes me, it hardly surprises me. However, his frantic maneuver ran him smack into a woman, dislodging her purse from her arm and almost knocking her over. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. This was something that happened occasionally but I never used to find much humor in it. That day however I found it hilarious. It felt like instant karma.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqP3wT5lpa4

He apologized to her and kept moving. I tracked him visually, watched him make a another sharp turn back onto the path he’d detoured from a few feet past me. The woman had continued on her way, too.

That got me to wondering: Hmmmm…if I shifted directions at just the right time could I make the person trying to avoid coming near me crash into another person? Could I actually cause a collision? Certain conditions had to be met for it to be possible, of course. First of all, it would have to be a crowded space. Secondly, the person had to be headed towards me at a fairly rapid clip. Thirdly, the person had to be of a mind to avoid me, as opposed to one of over a dozen other ways Japanese display their discomfort at the potential impending graze against me.

All three of those conditions are ubiquitous in Yokohama.

Also, and here’s the rub, there had to be a third person…so the timing had to be impeccable.

I decided to give it a shot. The next day, as expected, I caught the eyes of an approaching salaryman just as he realized one of these groups just doesn’t belong here…

…but he turned before I could find a third person. He only detoured slightly, and not very abruptly, like if he were merely avoiding a puddle.

A couple of days later a woman was coming my way. Fear. She stopped, and spun around slowly, timing her spin perfectly with my passing so that our eyes would never meet again yet she could confirm I had passed at the tail end of her spin, and that she was once again safe to go about her business in the gaijin-free world that existed only in her mind. It’s a pretty drastic dance I unfortunately know the steps to all too well. Only this time I did the unexpected. Just as I was passing her I stopped. When her eyes came around to confirm that I had passed, and notice with a jolt that I hadn’t, she spun around. And there I was a couple of feet behind her. She liked to have jumped out of her skin! I was looking off to the left as if I had stopped to see something. I didn’t even acknowledge her alarm. Then I continued walking.

This was going to be harder than I had anticipated.

It was a week of practice and failures before I was able to get to the next level in this game I had created. If you can’t handle failure, or detach yourself from the humiliating acts that made this game possible, stick to Nintendo.

This is NinGendo! (ningen means human) and it’s not for the squeamish.

Play at your own risk!

The next day, a man was coming my way. Our eyes met in passing, at least mine passed. His locked. He becomes a mask of utter disgust. I looked for a crash dummy. Another man was approaching from his left…I veered right abruptly placing myself on a line that would take me to a kiosk and would make our passing that much closer but still unlikely we’d touch unless he were blind. The disgusted man veered left suddenly and bumped squarely into the third man!

I even think their foreheads collided!

Yatta ze! (I’d done it!)

I’d become a human joystick in a not-so virtual reality game!

Though I find it ironic and sometimes amusing when iwakan/xenophobia/racism/WhatHaveYou gets turned against the perpetrators, I didn’t like the idea of involving  innocent people. Hard to feel any remorse when people hurt themselves escaping from their own ill-conceived notions when all you’re doing is minding your business. But should they injure someone else just minding their business, I suspected I’d feel somehow slightly culpable. So, I updated the game replacing bystanders with inorganic obstacles like walls, columns, sign post, puddles, gutters, etc… Top scores are achieved if a trip or fall occurs.

I don’t play too often cuz actually the game is still a bit glitchy.

One of these glitches is:  if you’re like me and unfortunately (at least here in these parts) feel compelled to keep your head up and eyes wide open when you’re out and about, you’ll notice that the game just starts of its own volition sometimes, and you can’t turn it off! Unless of course you lower your head or close your eyes. Otherwise, all you can do is watch it play with itself; random people all around you dipping and diving, dodging and ducking, twisting and turning, evading and eluding, avoiding  and averting, all the livelong day. And, yes, regularly, they smash into each other, walk into walls, stumble over each other and take some nasty spills…

…And without any animus on my part. 

Like I said, it’s a bit glitchy.

I can’t help but get a sick kick out of this glitch, though.

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

*Remastered Repost

But I ain’t…

I will just reiterate what I told my peeps on Twitter/Facebook as it was happening:

From Twitter:

“Just learned that I have once again been the target of Japanese teacher treachery, grinning in my grill piece while sticking the knife in my back slowly.”

“It’s enough to make you wanna spew chunks all over the office and personnel then make for the exit and never look back. I feel disgusted.”

“I feel so demoralized. I just want to leave. The. Building. Now. This is fuel for hate.”

“I forget how vulnerable I am emotionally to the BS until these moments. I put up a tough front, but this kind of shit kills me…”

The stuff from FB was a bit more graphic and in-depth so I’ll reserve that for personal friends. But I wanted to thank all my Twitter buddies for the encouraging words. Helped keep me from saying or doing something  in that office I probably would have regretted, on the real.

I would give more details but I think I need a little distance from it to do it justice and not be too effing vicious. I mean, it’s a doozy but at the same time probably unfortunately something that most NJ living here have experienced at one time or another to one extent or another for it seems this is part of the national effing character.

…at least that’s how it was explained to me today by a representative of  “We”.

It has been a solid three years since I’ve experienced this feeling of being gored in its full glory, though. After that first episode –which long time readers may remember for I blogged about it some time back – I had kept my guards up. Not sure why I dropped them, to tell you the truth. Distracted by all this book hoopla, I bet. Or focusing too much on the editing of the second, and what not, and forgot that I’m still primarily (at least income-wise) a teacher working for a Japanese company. 

I guess you can say it’s my bad. But, you can bet your bottom dollar it won’t happen again.

That’s assuming I ever recover from this wound. I really don’t know how to do it, nor how I might respond next time one of them comes a-grinning in my grill piece.

All day I kept thinking about Malcolm X  who once described the conditions for blacks in America this way: ”If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there’s no progress. If you pull it out all the way, that’s not progress. Progress is healing the wound that the blow made. And they haven’t even begun to pull the knife out, much less heal the wound. They won’t even admit the knife is there!”

A friend of mine on Facebook said something along the same lines (which is why she is a friend, for she gets it more than most.)

She said: Backstabbing does happen everywhere, but it feels different in Japan for a variety of reasons. One is that it’s often done with a smile and takes you by surprise. Another is that you’re expected to pretend that it’s no problem at all even as the knife is twisted. In the U.S., no one expects you to smile while they mess with you, and most people don’t pretend it’s not happening (at least on some level).

As Forrest Gump used to say: 

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

I remembered that one day I was at my desk in Midtown Manhattan, looking around at the people I spent day after day for 7 years looking at, and suddenly I realized I didn’t really know any of them. I remember feeling that I existed but I wasn’t really alive, just going through the motions of being alive, like a spectator watching my life through my eyes, experiencing it vicariously through some stranger who had inhabited me for some purpose, neither good nor evil, light nor dark…in fact, it seemed quite natural. Like this was the way it was supposed to be. And everyone around me was in on it or were similarly strangers with front row seats to their own lives, unwilling or unable to affect change.

Sounds paranoid, I know, but it scared the shit outta me, it did!

I wanted nothing more than to live again.

I would put in my 2-weeks notice the next day.

That night, while I was typing  up my notice, trying to find just the right way to kiss off a job while I was on top of my game (I was one of the top salespeople, definitely being groomed for management), I panicked. I had procrastinated about making such a move for the past couple of years. A five-figure bonus for an outstanding year was due the following week. I’d saved up a nest egg in anticipation of finding the huevos to do it. And if that weren’t enough of an incentive, I’d even written a novel and found an agent of some notoriety with an outstanding track record. By all appearances I was not making a mistake, I was not about to undertake something I would spend years regretting. I was making a change the way wise people make changes: with forethought and preparation.

But, apparently, my heart hadn’t gotten the memo because it was racing like I’d just pulled an Antonio Montana and hoovered up a mound of cocaine, reminding me of how stable I was, how comfortable I had become with a steady income, toys at my disposal, a circle of support filled with friends and family nearby, a girl or two poised to make a commitment to accompany me on my path to greatness.

I snapped, aloud, “What the fuck am I doing???” fell to my knees and prayed.

My christian roots tend to find their way to the surface when I have a crisis, though I’ve rarely found my way to a church.

I kneeled before my queen-sized cherry sleigh bed with the posture-pedic mattress, fingers clasped, head bowed, mind and soul open to answers from the powers that be, from the Creator I wholeheartedly believe was looking out for me, and waited.

He (or She) didn’t answer.

Someone once told me that coincidence is the The Creator’s way of remaining incognito, so I waited for a coincidence.

There was silence in my bedroom. Nothing but the buzz of the fluorescent light above and groans of the century old Brownstone I lived in, and the thumping in my chest. I broke the silence:

“If I’m doing the right thing, Lord, don’t say anything. ”

The Creator, in his consummate wisdom, said nothing. No coincidences occurred, either. I didn’t suddenly receive an email or text message. The phone didn’t ring with some caller bearing an ominous message vaguely connected to my plight. The door bell didn’t ring prompted by a visitor with a message of ye or nay, little to his or her knowledge. Not even a bird budged outside the window, or called out in that avian language of theirs that I seem to understand at moments like these. It was the kind of silence that only the Creator could produce, I told myself as I rose, sat at my computer and completed the notice.

Flash forward to today.

I woke up this morning feeling…lonely.

What’s left of my friends and family are far away, literally, emotionally, physically…I hardly know them anymore. It’s a phase, I know. I’ve been here before. It’s not homesickness, though. I hold no more illusions about where and what home is. The cliché is true. Home is where your heart is.

The problem is, my heart is on furlough, on an excusion to points unknown.

It’s not in NY. It’s not in Yokohama. And, it’s not inside of me where it ought to be. It’s on a walkabout leaving me to my own devices for a spell. It does this from time to time. A little heart appreciation period. And during these periods I am quite inconsolable. Unreachable. I survive on heart memory. I go through the motions of having a heart, which is unfortunately enough for most of the people I know here in Japan. They don’t know me. Maybe some of the more perceptive of them can see through the amiability and passivity I display during these heart-free periods. They go through the motions of admiring and adoring me and I perform as I’m expected to, mostly because a paycheck hinges on this performance.

But, they don’t know me. None of them do, really. And that’s OK.

Who really knows anybody anyway?

My heart has been MIA for a few weeks now. I really don’t mind him taking off like this. Only, when he does, the major drawback is: Writing becomes a chore because I write from my heart. When I can’t write I feel useless. It’s hard to forgive my heart (and myself) for putting me through this.

So, I spend my days alone going through the motions with my Japanese friends and colleagues; watching them. Everything appears to be on the surface. Often, there’s an artlessness about them that I’ve only experienced with real friends and yet these are people I don’t really even know. There’s an openness and a vulnerability that I feel totally undeserving of. I had never really experienced such un-sophistocation before coming here except maybe with children.

Sometimes I’m even tempted to reciprocate.  But, when my heart is MIA I simply can’t. I have very little to share with them. I only have platitudes and the verbal equivalent of flatulence.

It’s enough to make you afraid. Sometimes, if you let it, if you’re weak or vulnerable or predisposed, it’s enough to make you hate.

It was enough to make me think about those co-workers I deserted years ago back in NY. And the feelings that prompted my flight to Asia.

Someone once sang, “You can’t run from yourself. Everywhere you go, there you are.”

No one ever told me my heart could depart.

*****

While my hearts away, I spend my time occupying my mind with mind-numbing stuff…reading novels, watching TV, overeating, over-drinking, over-smoking and over-analyzing everything to the point where the point of the analysis becomes moot or exaggerated beyond recognition. Colds feel like cancer. Hangovers feel like Leukemia. The city feels like a Jungle. Home feels like a cave, sanctuary or a monastery.

Nothing I think or feel is worthy of being recorded in any way, especially in writing.

Not while I’m going through the motions of being a real person.

But, I’ve been down this road before, and I know when my heart will be back. It’s waiting for my call. It comes when I really need it or rather when I demand its return through action. Its obedience is absolute. Its allegiance is unquestionable. It only leaves because I secretly, sometimes unconsciously, command it to go. When I need time away from it; time to see the world without feeling the world. Time to collect myself, my thoughts, my energy.

Time to appreciate time, to remind myself of the gift each day is…

For I know one morning, I’ll be walking down the street, and an idea will pop into my head…not necessarily a brilliant idea, just an idea; one with promise. And, I won’t lay it to the side to be addressed later, and promptly forgotten. I’ll stop wherever I might be and whip out my handy pen & pad, or rush into the nearest café to grab a seat, a cup of caffeine, and jot it down.

Or, like today, upon reaching my office, I’ll head directly for the computer and begin writing a text message (in the form of this post) to my heart telling it that it’s time it came home…

 
…with utter certainty that, like Spring, it will soon be here.

 Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Student: how are you?
Me: I’m ok. My back hurts a little, though. How are you?
Student:I have ummm 肩こり.
Me: A shoulder ache?
Student: Yes. Japanese get this kind of pain often. Do Americans get 肩こり too?
Me: … (waiting for a sign she is pulling my leg…none was forthcoming)
Student: you know, a pain in this area… (she shows me her shoulder blades)
Me: Are you serious?
Student: Eeeee?
Me: sorry…日本人論 (nihonjinron) still catches me off guard sometimes. Ummm, yes Americans get shoulder aches, too.
Student: 日本人論？
Me: yeah…The idea that Japanese are unique humans.
Student: ah!
Me: Yeah, (I point to the glass of water on the table) imagine if I said Americans like ice water. Do Japanese like ice water, too? What would you think?
Student:…
Me: Exactly!

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Instead of explaining what happened, I’ll let him do it himself.

First he made this video:

Then, once the backlash got waaaaaaaay outta hand, he made this follow-up video about censorship:

First off, let me once again say Well Done, Medama Sensei, on both videos, for having the courage to take a very unpopular stance here in Japan, and share your ideas on human equality publicly, under the law and otherwise, with both NJ and Japanese, as well as the fortitude to stand by these ideas and resist Japanese terrorists’ efforts to force you to take it down. Kudos, bruh!

*****

Before the second video came out, however, I wasn’t planning to say much of anything about this. Not because I believed that there was going to be a severe backlash (though I did, and I suspect he did, as well) but because the video focused primarily on Japanese racism and/or discrimination against other Asians like Koreans and Okinawans as well as against segments of their own people and (purposely I suspect) steered clear of mentioning specifically racism and/or discrimination against Westerners, black people, in particular.

I wasn’t disappointed by that though because I’m of the mind that once you get people talking about intolerance of racism and/or, or discrimination and human rights, against any group, be it women, LGBT, elderly, obese, physically disabled or even the mentally challenged, for any reason, and get people thinking critically about these issues, then you’re definitely barking up the RIGHT tree…anywhere on this planet.

So, I thought I’d sit this one out, simply share the video with friends and followers, allow myself to be sucked into a couple of the inevitable discussions that would be thrust upon me, while trying to stay focused on the projects I have underway, and leave it at that.

But, then, I was forwarded a Washington Post article where Medama Sensei, an American of Japanese descent, was describing the severe backlash including threats to his livelihood and ill wishes for his rapid departure from life, that had resulted from his airing some of Japan’s historical and/or current dirty laundry on his YouTube channel. And I felt compelled to say something.

Unlike most videos I’ve seen done on the topic of Racism in Japan, and there have been quite a few, this one stands out among them, because:

1-It was done intelligently by someone who understood the difference between racism and discrimination,

2- It was done bilingually, in English and Japanese, thus it couldn’t be dismissed as mere whining by a handicapped (by a language barrier) foreigner, for the man had clearly been moved to action, (something whiners are not known for) having taken measures to express to and impress upon the people here his beliefs, in their language,

3- It was done by a man who is of Japanese descent, addressing Asian-on-Asian Hate Crimes, ironically using a White on White love fest as an example of a possible strategy in which Asians could address this hate. (I’d like to think he did this because he surmised that an effective strategy for crossing the blood-brain barrier here in Japan would be the use of cute little white children, or that Japanese would likely respond well to a simple statement on why a sense of superiority as it pertains to people who share your race but not your national or cultural identity is problematic — a brilliant turn — but maybe this didn’t enter into his thinking),

4- The video did not make overt (to the point of enervating the marrow of his monologue) efforts to sit on the fence between whether a problem with these issues exists in Japan or not, you know, that “everyone’s experience will be different” nonsense, which is of course true but utterly besides the point,

5- The production value was appealing and organized,

6- He did very little to no excusing, forgiving, apologizing, or rationalizing of those attitudes and behaviors being addressed in either video, (taking care to be clear to viewers that he wasn’t talking about all Japanese People, of course).

7- He didn’t spoil his argument (in the view of some) by bringing up any personal experience of racism or discrimination in Japan, only the fact that it existed in the past and to some extent still exists.

Yes, it was an exercise in moderation without sacrificing message and intent.

Well done, indeed.

While Loco in Yokohama has come to be one of the first names that pops into the minds of many NJ here in Japan whenever racism is discussed, readers of my blog (and book) know that I refrain from labeling all Japanese as racists or Japan as a racist country. That’s waaaaaay too problematic a stigma.

Instead I illustrate the scenario as objectively as possible, keeping the focus on the behaviors I encounter (taking great pains not to label them as racist, leaving any conjecture and conclusion drawing up to the reader despite my being on the irksome and painful business end of these transgressions) and my response — mentally, physically, emotionally and psychologically– to these behaviors. For, as I’ve said many times before, I think that how foreigners respond to these behaviors is as significant an issue here as the behaviors themselves.

I’ve been here (on Earth, not Japan) long enough to know that while I have been blessed with a high level of intuition, curiosity, sensitivity, critical thinking, skills at observation, and a maturing talent at relating these scenarios, mind reading is not among my gifts. And any claims on my part to know what each individual person here is thinking when they commit these acts that can be easily interpreted as racist/xenophobic/bigoted/ discriminatory/elitist/ insensitive/condescending /criminalizing /ostracizing / patronizing /otherizing/ ignorant/ The “M” Word (microaggressive)/ iwakan etc., are going to be (and should be) met with skepticism, criticism and questions as to my state of mind.

And the response to my approach has been tempered for the most part. I rarely draw the ire of the Japanese…(though occasionally I do draw fire, and trolls, from the foreign Apologists, Japanophiles, Enablers and Protectionists.) Some may think the reason is I don’t (can’t) blog or publish in Japanese, and that might be true in some cases, but my experience here leads me to different conclusions.

Some of which Medame Sensei explained as the Japanese approach to such issues, in the second video.

So as I listened to Medama Sensei describe the nightmare his life has become since speaking out on the ugliness that went and continues to go down here, I tried to imagine the reason the response was so over the top, and I concluded it was because of the conspicuous difference between him and most of the other vloggers who have spoken out on racism in Japan: he is of Japanese descent.

I was reminded of certain events in Black History where a black leader had the audacity to speak out against the wrongheadedness of other black people to a white audience.

Like Malcolm X, when he denigrated MLK for promoting passiveness and un-intelligence by instructing people subject to assault by dogs and water hoses NOT to retaliate. And, more dangerously, when Malcolm called out the Honorable Elijah Muhammad as a womanizer and a deadbeat dad of several children (which many believe ultimately lead to his assassination, especially once they, Farrakhan and others, labeled him a Judas, worthy of death).

I also thought about Marcus Garvey, who went as far as to meet with the Ku Klux Klan and came away from that meeting claiming to respect them more than those professional prevaricating Whites who were playing black folks for fools. I thought too of the venom and viciousness that W.E.B. Du Bois, one of Black History’s greatest intellectuals, responded to Garvey with, calling Garvey “…without doubt, the most dangerous enemy of the Negro race in America and in the world. He is either a lunatic or a traitor.” Garvey even blamed Du Bois for sabotaging the ships he planned to bring blacks back to Africa upon!

And, occasionally, of course, it still occurs:

SMH…

So, a sense of betrayal could very well be the driving force behind these threats. I suspect those Japanese individuals and groups that have come after Medama Sensei, feel not only that he has betrayed them but that this Americanized Nihonjin has the audacity to tell us how WE should live?! And to exacerbate the insult by force feeding some little white kids from a racist country as role models on our youths?!

After all, Japanese are humans…

They really are.

For the Japanese loving people of the world, who would dismiss virtually all Non-Japanese (including in some cases, even Korean and Chinese) claims of racism or discrimination in Japan as either gaijin paranoia, deserved, exaggerated, or misunderstandings, would (may) be hard-pressed to dismiss the claim when it comes from a fluent nihongo-speaking Japanese source, even one that was raised and schooled in the West.

And these Japanese individuals/groups angered by this video quite possibly know this…or rather believe this.

I mean, it begs the question — assuming I’m correct about his video being seen as racial treachery– why would Medama Sensei’s words be given more heed than any other foreigner’s words, regardless of fluency? He’s just another Japanese speaking gaijin, isn’t he?

Yeah, I think y’all know the answer to that…and so does Medama Sensei, clearly.

But you didn’t hear it from…

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

I’ve heard almost all of these during my time here.

Great job Medama Sensei! I think he could have gotten a cuter girl, though (-;

For instance, some of these girls would have been better choices, (though not nearly as funny).

Just a few of the pics I’ve taken of late. Follow me on Instagram @locohama

You can check out some of Medama Sensei’s other great videos here: MedamaSensei Youtube Channel

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Book Two is kicking my ass right about now, but I’m happy to inform you guys that it’s coming together nicely! Maybe by April I might start running a few excerpts, but don’t hold me to that. I’d like to start some advance readings as well, you know, to get that all important buzz a-buzzing, so you can look out for that as well. Probably in early April if I can swing it.

Funny thing though, during December and January I was cruising right along, but towards the end of January I ran smack into something unexpected. A little thing I like to call: The Creature from the block Lagoon.  

Yep, I’m talking about Writer’s Block.

It was unexpected because since I’ve been in Japan it has rarely happened to me, which is (for the record: for all you folks who’ve read posts of mine, or even my book, and concluded that the simplest and most obvious solution is to remove myself from the equation and leave Japan) one of the things I love about this country: there’s always something I consider to be worthy of my time to write about, something I feel strongly enough about to write extensively about. Living here has made me damn near prolific! And in doing so I was able to find my voice and refine my craft and all that writer’s crap you hear about. It’s all true. Well, most of it is, anyway. And if the price of becoming a better writer is the annoyances and humiliations one has to tolerate here in kawaiiland, it seems to me a relatively small price to pay.

Hell is the trail to writing well!

Ask any most writers, they’ll tell you some variation of the same.

And, besides, as Kurt Vonnegut once said when speaking on writing, “Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.”

And, here in Japan, I believe I have done just that.

So this writer’s block nonsense took me completely by surprise.

I stressed over it for a few days wondering, first, if it were a sign that it was time to take my leave of Kawaiiland. That living here had taken its toll on me and left my resources depleted. But, a simple inventory informed me that that was not the case. I still got juice!

The second dark thought was that it was a sign that I had committed the worst sins I imagined I could ever commit in respect to Japan and writing about the challenges of living here –challenges posed by both natives and NJ alike — and they are the sins of acquiescence and capitulation. But, I soon shook that one off as well. Every time I leave my door that thought is tested by damn near the first person I see. And I get enough fan mail and kudos for my book, really thoughtful and heartfelt messages of support and encouragement from intuitive and intelligent readers, that any notion that I was ready to throw in the towel held no water. (mixing metaphors, I know)

The last possible cause for this so-called blockage was the scariest and most potent, however. It rocked my world for a spell. And it was this: Have I truly succumbed to hate and, subconsciously, would rather not write than write hate speak?

Oh yes, that thought was rocket fuel injected and kept me up several nights, damn near in despair.

I mean, I could feel this hate growing, twisting my insides. Like when I’d read or see anything positive done by foreigners living here about life  in Japan, or God forbid, anything dismissive about the situation on the ground here, I’d feel literally sick to my stomach. I despise these enablers, more than I despise those they enable. There’s either an ignorance to what they’re saying I feel needs to be eradicated with extreme prejudice, or a contempt in their actions that I take personally, a direct assault.

And who wants to write with such thoughts muscling positive, constructive thoughts out of the way for release into this world?

Not I!

Especially with the editing and revising of Book Two in full swing. Last thing I needed was these kinds of thoughts inserting themselves into an otherwise scintillating and lighthearted (mild exaggeration) collection of humorous and thoughtful anecdotes and essays on the lighter side of living in Japan. 

So, I put the project on pause.

However, from experience, I knew I could NOT put writing on pause. That’s a no-no. Procrastination and hesitation are death to a writer. I’d sooner write badly than not write at all.

Instead, I decided to treat this obstruction like an anti-coagulate does a blood clot, or Liquid Plumber does your pipes. The aim was to surgically remove the obstruction between my ideas and my fingers, whatever gook might be in there. I say surgically because if this is done clumsily or haphazardly I’ve learned it can actually exacerbate the problem. By over acknowledging its existence you’re inadvertently feeding it. And being that, at that point, I was operating on the premise that a seething and growing hate was the obstruction, I certainly didn’t want to give that anything to sink its teeth into.

You know?

I hope y’all are able to follow me. I suspect the creative folk among you can fully get me for I’m sure such considerations must rise to prominence in their thinking from time to time as well.

This surgical procedure would require certain equipment:

1- Books: Reading is more than fundamental, it’s therapeutic. Think of reading as sterilizing your hands before the surgical procedure begins. Me? I soaped up my hands with a book called “Up in Mahaica” by G. Modele Clarke. The book is so damn good I couldn’t even finish it before the clot began un-clotting.

2- Exercise:  Think of exercise as the anesthesia before you begin the procedure.  Actual physical exertion does wonders. I was on some “once a week” shit until this blockage occurred. That’s when I upped my dosage to daily. Hate, and most other dark thoughts and feelings, don’t know what to do when endorphins kick in. And sweat is a rogation for the soul! But you can’t afford to ignore your inner Exercising your body is hardly enough, though. You also have to exercise your wit and talent in a safe and creative space. So, I crawled out of my cave and joined a writer’s group. The Tokyo Writer’s Salon meets several times over the course of a month in Nogizaka Tokyo and is coordinated by a brilliant woman I’ve spoken about before on LIY named Lauren Shannon. It is well attended by a goodly mix of amateur and professional writers. It’s just what the doctor ordered, a circle of uncompetitive creativity. I’m hooked now!

3- Subject: Choose wisely. Like Vonnegut said, find something you really care about and go for it. Thank of subject as your scalpel. You want your incision to be incisive, to cut right through to the heart of the ailment. It only took me a heartbeat to find mine. You see, G. Modele Clarke was a teacher of mine when I was a kid attending that school many of you would know already for you’ve read my first book. A school whose primary purpose was raising the self-esteem and the political, cultural and historical awareness of black children by exposing them to what they wouldn’t be exposed to (or are underexposed to) with a public school education. That being, the significant and unrepresented contribution to people of african descent to world history overall and in particular to American history.

4- Love: I know, I know, all warm and fuzzy, and worse, obvious. Sorry. But, just in case you didn’t know, love is as strong as hate, and with a bit of this anti-coagulate on your side, you can unclog just about anything, from veins and arteries, to major organs and entire biological systems. For me, love teamed up with those endorphins pumping through my blood stream, and I was seated before a computer screen ready to write before I knew where I was, with a subject and a plan.

A plan that didn’t include Japan for a change.

I went to work on my other blog you guys may or may not know about, called Loco’s Patronus.

The plan: Black History Month (February) was coming and I decided to write a post a day (28 days, 28 posts) about a historical figure in black history. But, I knew if I did what so many other writers have already done and focused on the typical fare, the MLKs and Barack Obamas of black history, I would get bored before a week. I’d probably finish it just to say to myself that I kept writing, but it wouldn’t be done with the love this procedure calls for. I had to keep my eyes on the prize. So I put a spin on this plan: Each post had to be a story about how this particular historical figure affected my life on a personal level! A task I couldn’t possibly carry out without incorporating what existed in my heart aside from the burgeoning hate I suspected was there; namely love.

 That’s all I needed. Think of love as a spiritual coronary angioplasty, widening those passages in your soul narrowed by flirting with and entertaining hateful thoughts.

As for the results of this surgical procedure? Well, they were KICK-ASS of course (if I must say so myself, though a few others would agree.) The readership over there is nowhere near LIY’s but that’s cool. It’s not the quantity it’s the quality, (or so they say…)

And, by the way, once I was inside there, performing this procedure, I realized what was causing the clog. It wasn’t hate at all. My fears were unfounded. It was coagulation caused by a recent romantic rupture, which had apparently damaged me much more than I was aware of. How I managed to overlook that possibility when I was assessing the cause of this blockage is open to conjecture, but I suspect it’s part of what lead to the rupture in the first place.

Live and learn, right? Trust me, surgically removing blockage this way might uncover all kinds of collateral paraphenalia. (Think of this stuff as shit left behind by incompetent surgeons…”Oh shit, we’re missing a sponge, people! Should we go back in?”) (-;

Anyway, just wanted to share that with you guys…hope it helps some of you Writer’s Block sufferers.

And if you want to read the astonishing result of this procedure, what unblocked arteries look like in story form, please check out my Black History Month Profiles 1-28 on Loco’s Patronus, as well as the poetry that assisted in this blockage removal. (Think of poetry as the balloon used during an angioplasty).

Some of my faves from this series?

#2: No More Water, The Fire Next Time!
#5: That Nigga in the Alley!
#7: Uncle Tom, Uncle Ruckus and Musical Alchemy
#9: See That Black Boy Over There Running Scared?
#12: That One-Eyed Negro Jew
#17: Filling the Black Hole in the Space Program
#19: Peckerwoods and Black Tits in Hollywood
#20: The Warrior Princess and The Reluctant Warrior
#22: A Panther, a Pimp, and a Prisoner
#28 Series Finale: March 2, 1941 – One Sunday in Savannah

But, honestly, they’re ALL pretty damn good!

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Translation
================================

BEWARE OF THEFTS BY FOREIGN GROUPS TARGETING PEOPLE RETURNING HOME FROM BANKS AND POST OFFICES!

– Overview of the incident –
When the victim was walking back to his/her office after withdrawing cash from a bank teller, he/she was called out to by a group of three foreigners, who stopped him/her with a “You’ve got something stuck to the back of your coat.” When the victim stopped on the spot to check his/her back, that foreigner group snatched his/her bag that he/she had placed at his/her feet.

About the perps…

They are aiming for people who have withdrawn large amounts of cash from a financial institution.
They are shooting for times when the victim is distracted, using means such as “dropping small change all around”, “staining clothes with paint”, “saying you’ve got a puncture [to your bike tyre]“
Report these incidents to the police by dialing 110…

When you see someone in a store with no clear business who is hanging around there for a long time.
When you see a suspicious-looking car stopped around a store area.
If you are carrying a large amount of cash…
There are incidents of theft involving foreign groups.
Beware of being targeted for theft when heading back from your financial institution.

et cetera. Please contact us. OSAKA PREFECTURAL POLICE

================================

Should have called this post: Beware of Japanese police racially profiling foreigners, in particular, according to the artwork, humongous smiling black men dressed in “urban” clothing and making inquiries.
At least you need to be black and wear a hood in the states…RIP Trayvon…1 year since you were struck down by this kind of fear-mongering.

Geez, I don’t even have anything else to say…right now.

SMFH

Thanks for sharing this, Debito! (for more on this issue, check out: www.debito.org )

Student: What are you working on?

Me: Huh! oh man, didn’t even see you…how are you?

Student: I’m fine. You look so busy… Is that the ummm black history thing?

Me: Yeah, how’d you know?

Student: You were working on it last week too, deshou?

Me: Oh that’s right… Yeah I’m working on a post about how slavery has been covered in Hollywood.

Student: What is slavery?

Me: Ummm…when you are forced to work and receive no compensation…no money!

Student: No money? Eeeee…

Me: And you have no rights, no freedom.

Student: Eeee…?? nani sore??

(I whip out my iPad and open up the Japanese dictionary app, and show her the Japanese word for slavery…)

Student: Ohhhh! I understand. Black people are slaves.

Me:  Were slaves, and yeah, in America in history most were slaves. So, this post was about how Hollywood portrayed slavery…I focus on two movies mostly, one was actually a television mini series called Roots…do you know it?

Student: Roots? No…

Me: Well, it was a pretty big event in my childhood…I think it is still one of the biggest events in American television history.

Students: I see…Roots, ne? Oh wait! Kunta? KUNTA, right??

Me: Yeah, that’s right! Kunta Kinte! Wow you know it?

Student: Oh yes! All Japanese know it…(She gestures at all the people of her generation sitting in the cafe). I remember when I was a kid everybody watched it. 1977 I think.

Me: That’s right! Wow! This is unbelievable…

(I google Roots and Japan and learn that it was shown here in October 1977, 10 months after it aired in America, dubbed in Japanese, over the course of 8 days just like in the states…with ratings through the roof for a program on Japanese TV. I sat there dumbfounded for a moment, digesting this intel…)

Student: It was about apartheid in America, right?

Me: Huh? Apartheid?

Student: Yes, apartheid…am I saying it right? (She whips out her dictionary and looks it up) oh wait…this is in South Africa, not the US.

 Me: Uhhhh…yeah, South Africa. But, there are some similarities so it’s an easy mistake to make.

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Check it out:

It was pretty hot topic on Redditt yesterday as well, so I wound up getting into a conversation with someone, that went a little something like this:

Testdex: America thinks it’s the shit because it elected a guy who is half-white, and half a member of a race that makes up 12.6% of the population. Yet they’re so excited by the vague decline in racism that led to this that they can ignore the actual hatred directed toward that same man, and how often it is unmistakably couched in terms of race.
They are so busy smelling their own farts they think that their hate-fueled racism that leads to actual interpersonal violence and murders is no big deal, and that in Asia where people assume that you speak English because you’re white — those are the real racists.
Racism has been defined now to exclude the actually virulent stuff that involves ideas of superiority and hatred.
(edit: to be clear, I think there is indeed plenty of “racism” here, but it’s more “lack of understanding” than hatred. I think America is a terrible example of healthy race relations.) (2nd edit: — and healthy gender relations for that matter. gimme dem downvotes. downvotes make me strong.)

Me: Racism isn’t simply limited to hatred, it is also race based fear which results in a good amount of the behaviors one encounters here in japan. I’ve lived here for 8 years and am constantly being avoided, evaded, eluded, fled from…all normal behavior for people here. What prompts this fear response in every individual of course I cannot say but it is consistent and predictable. As a foreigner here you simply have to accept it like taxes as a cost of living…but it’s a daily challenge.

Testdex: Loco? Hey, I read your book and I liked it — though didn’t agree with a lot of the sentiment.
I’m absolutely sure you face a lot more racially-rooted fear than I do. I am a (devilishly handsome) white dude of average height, on the skinny side of the fence. My being a blond-haired white dude definitely factors, but I’m not convinced that it’s the only factor. I think a similarly unassuming, similarly blandly dressed, similarly average-sized-for-Japan black man would face more empty train seat than I do. But a big, tatted-up, US-Marine-Corps-lookin white dude would face a lot more than the testdex-sized black dude. The right look on a Japanese person would all but guarantee empty seats.
I think the racism manifests in the threshhold at which a foreigner becomes scary – white dude can get pretty scary (4/10) before he’s scary; black dude is scary faster (2/10); Japanese dude is scary slow (6/10). It’s definitely racism, and it’s definitely unfair.
But it feels sensationalist to use exactly the same word and speak in the same tone of condemning inhumanity for Japanese people’s literal “fear/mistrust of the unknown” as for a white friend of mine in Tokyo who uses the word “nigger” casually, or the frats at my college back home that would subtly refuse to admit blacks (or of course, racial supremacists/separatists). Given the genetic breakdown of Japan’s population, it seems a given that people of significantly different race are “the unknown”.
(though the frat example isn’t great because of the more pernicious and less common Debito-”japanese only”-sign sort of exclusionary racism.)
(edit: grammar, sp etc and this: the “threshold of scary” isn’t that different from the “threshold of hot”, where people are attracted to one race more than another (for deep-rooted, personally inexplicable reasons)

Me: Thanks for picking up my book, and glad you enjoyed it! It wasn’t written to be agreed with, just to raise important questions and to get readers thinking about some of the things I think about…clearly you have (-; Ummm…as for racism being a sensationalist term for someone Fearing/mistrusting someone based on skin color, this may be that disagreed upon thought you alluded to. I think it’s not an overstatement or hyperbole at all, for I think we can agree that most racial hate is fear and/or ignorance based. In fact, hate is generally the ultimate destination of many fears. I fear cockroaches, and that fear evolved into hate. Often express their fears in terms of hate. And as for ignorance, well, let’s take my often ill-compared and derided US for example, where much of the racial hate that existed in her history was due to white people’s ignorance about black people, thinking they were another species…or they were afraid, ignorantly so, that blacks would come and steal their livelihoods from them by taking jobs, or were genetically disposed to crime, sloth, and sexual crimes (which is insane but was upheld and bolstered by propaganda in the media, etc, and thus embraced as unquestionable truths) and so on. Personally I think anyone who still maintains these ideas ANYWHERE in the world, does so willingly and almost derisively, for there are abundant examples of not only blacks disinclined toward such things but of other racial groups inclined towards such things, which should dispel any ideas about these traits being racially exclusive…but still i manage to cut people here, for example, some slack because they have been victimized by their own institutions into such thought patterns when it comes to foreigners of any race. Fearing people who don’t share your nationality or racial designation is not a natural reaction, it is a learned one…perhaps we have a difference of opinion on that point as well, but I’m a firm believer in that, and there is far too much evidence I think to even make it debatable.

Testdex: I can agree with that… mostly.
I’m sure you’ve spent a few minutes almost every day since your book came out talking to someone like me, so I’m not gonna rant and rail against you on those spots where I disagree.
Just want to say: 1) I don’t think ignorance is “the” root cause of racism, though it’s certainly an important one. 2) You say the Japanese have been victimized by their own institutions, but certainly external institutions (like the US entertainment media) have factored strongly in how the average Japanese person understands black people.
I think people inevitably have a lot of trouble tearing “culture” away from “race”. The two are so bound together in Japan, that people in and outside the term “Japanese” often treat culture and race as completely interchangeable (too often). But binding race and culture together in the US is very dangerous territory — to suggest that there is anything “culturally typical” of race X that is not specifically “traditional to the regions/ nations of origin” of race X is to my knowledge generally understood as racist.
I’m not sure either approach is really reasonable, and I’m not certain it’s fair/logical to criticize one approach from the standpoint of the other.
(edited for clarity and to add: Japan, and other low immigration countries seem to have a good reason to strongly link race and culture; America and other high-immigration/ low social-cohesion cultures seem to have a good reason to lean the other way. I don’t think either side has a lock on the truth, especially a truth applicable to all circumstances)

Me: Actually I don’t get into these type convos on the regular…at least not compelling ones where I feel the other person is not so immersed in their own opinions and an affinity for Japanese culture/people that I feel like there is simply not much use in my expending too much energy on the matter. I don’t feel that way at the moment. (-; I agree, ignorance is not a solo act, fear is often its faithful companion, and together the likeliness of hate resulting are increased. I agree that American media transmits some very dubious images for the rest of the world to digest, but I think HOW that information is processed is essential and that comes from the institutions on the ground in the areas where those images are seen. Here, for example, it has been my experience that people are not taught to think critically, or to question stereotypes. In fact the opposite is being positively reinforced in many cases. If you inserted a simple premise like “stereotyping is bad/Problematic/potentially offensive/lazy/limiting your own options/etc.,” into the thinking here, or merely inform the populace that asserting presumptions is rude/bad/microaggressive/problematic, etc../ then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And this is at the root of most of the problems I’ve encounters here and is not entirely the result of The American media…I mean, my mother told me the TV was an idiot box. (-: I want to avoid getting into a sociology issue with you because I base most of my beliefs off of observation (which im aware has as much or more a likeliness of being flawed as study.)

I have a feeling this convo may continue

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

However, when the two lovers who handed me this valentine’s gift first boarded the train a couple of stops after I had, I was simply thinking ‘such a cute couple.” And they were. Really couldn’t say for sure who was cuter. They stood by the door looking completely enamored with one another: he, fashionably adorned in clothes looking fresh off the rack of some high-end guy’s shop in Harajuku, a bag of the goodies she’d probably bought him (Valentine’s being a one-way street, girl to guy, in these parts) in hand, and she, dolled up like she were going to some fancy to-do, here coiffed, dress short and legs that went on forever teetering in 3 inch pumps; the two of them constantly finding reasons to touch one another, picking lint off each others clothing and fixing loose strands in each others hair, perfecting the picture they were painting of the perfect couple, giggling at some secret wonderful thought they shared, eyes shining all the while…

Ah! Young love…

They stood because there were no seats…but at the next station the two seats beside mine opened. The beau spotted them first and headed that way as if they were lovers playing eye-spy, or racing to the altar. I expected him to take the seat beside me, as guys here generally go out of their way to place themselves in-between perceived danger, in this case me, and their women; just standard Japanese-style chivalry.

But he surprised me –a rarity in these type situations– and took a seat on the far side leaving the space between he and I for his lady-love.

She stood there, glanced at the empty seat, then at me, then at her beau, a smile glued to her face…and it looked genuine, unforced. Then she shook her head at him as if to say, “Men, hrmph! Can’t take them anywhere…”

But she didn’t sit down.

I was gonna ignore this…I really was. Cut them slack cuz they were a really cute couple. I didn’t want to be responsible for any tension developing between them on this evening they clearly had set aside for expressing their love for one another…but after another 15 seconds of her just standing there in front of me I felt compelled to look.

I mean, they were still cute, but they were starting to look cute the way a poodle dyed pink, wearing mickey mouse booties and blue canine contact lenses looks cute…a sick cute.

I glanced at him as he sat there looking dashing up to his moussed hair, with his arms folded, faux obstinate, a dare in his eyes. Then I looked at her and she met my look with an expression that expressed her embarassment…But not with any comprehension of how I might be perceiving her behavior, or rather that I might be interpreting her behavior in any negative way. It was more like she was begging me with her eyes, ‘please forgive my boyfriend…just give him another moment or two. He’s gonna do the proper and gentlemanly protective thing and slide next to you any second now. He was raised better than this, trust me. I know his family. They’re good people! It’s just…he’s such a practical joker and a little childish sometimes…yeaaaaa, any second now….’

But he didn’t budge.

Thirty seconds….forty-five seconds…on final approach to a minute.

She, pouting her lips and filling her cheeks with air, pantomiming ‘keep this up and you might not get no ass tonight!’ He, full of mirth, just loving having put her in a spot, something he clearly gets a kick out of, like those Japanese porno movies where the guys make the girls go shopping at real convenience stores stark naked or give them fellatio on subway cars while presumably shocked passengers pretend not to see.

Realizing he was not going to do what her actions had insisted he do she, begrudgingly, after giving me a little curtsy bow, eased herself into the seat beside me. As she sat I heard him whisper, “。。。好きなみんな.” I wasn’t sure how to translate it or what it was in reference to, but he had a nice laugh after saying it.

Maybe they weren’t as lovey-dovey as I thought, I figured. I mean, that was particularly cruel of him, wasn’t it? Making her take the gaijin seat, the societal equivalent, by all appearances, of making her sleep in the wet spot.

But, then she playfully hits him, and he smiles and pecks her on the cheek. And her smile returns like the eye of a storm, followed by giggling and soon after by laughter.

And all was well in their world. Lover’s quarrels are swift to heal.

Ah…young love!

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Enjoy

RACISM, JAPAN AND SELF-PUBLISHING: 10 Q&As WITH @LOCOHAMA

Our Man is delighted to host a Q&A with Baye McNeil, aka Loco in Yokohama. He’s even more delighted to say he’s written a damn good book — it’s honest and compelling. But don’t listen to Our Man, listen to The Man of the moment:

1. Tell Our Man about your book. What’s it about? In a sentence, It’s about how my bitter responses to the behavior of people here in Japan (whether it is due to their racism, xenophobia, or any other fear-based feeling my presence inspires) informed me in no uncertain terms that I was a racist, and that if I wanted to be rid of this dark social virus — that I believe many of us are afflicted with whether we’re aware of it or not — then I had better locate its source and confront it head on!

4. Anything great or terrible about the experience so far? Yes. One great thing is I’ve made what I believe to be at least one excellent, borderline brilliant decision as far as the production of this book is concerned. I don’t know if you’ve ever visited the blog, “Spooning with a Schoolboy” created by a lovely young writer and model named Caroline Josephine. But, before redesigning her blog, she used to have a banner with a scene from a subway car in Japan, and the first time I saw it I knew I wanted whoever did that banner to do my book cover. From CJ, I learned his name is JJ McCullough. He is a professional cartoonist and showcases his work over at filibustercartoons.com. I got in contact with him, told him what I had in mind and you’ve seen the results! I couldn’t be more thrilled with them! And he’s great to work with as well. Big shout to CJ and JJ!!
As for the terrible, shit, aside from the writing, MOST of the rest of it is terrible. I mean, it could be worse, but I’d surely love to be in a position where I could leave the rest to people more qualified to do it. I’m talking of course about editing, proofreading, promotion, marketing, advertising, publicity, etc… In all of these areas I’ve had to be the front guy. The guy with a dozen hats, the man on the phone, the guy putting in 15-hour days, social networking my ass off, trying to develop a strategy to get my book some press and some of that all important word-of-mouth. Luckily for me, the book is pretty good so the word of mouth has been sweet so far, but that could have easily gone another way. And I’m pretty sure I could be making more of this ongoing buzz if I had a machine behind me. I’m learning as I go, though, and I’m a quick study at times.
I have a couple of friends on the ground helping out, and the Japan blogosphere has responded tremendously, including people like yourself. So maybe it’s not so terrible after all… I mean, it’s only been two weeks and I have a feeling the number of people that know something about this book has to be a solid percentage of the people who could potentially know about my work at this point if I had gone the traditional route.

Me:… (staring at this bento wondering how could anyone be expected to eat this shit)
Co-worker: What?
Me: (in japanese) This lunch box is the worst I’ve had in almost 9 years in this country! I mean, really Disgusting!
Co-worker: Americans can’t eat Japanese bento ne.
Me:…(smh)

Student: I still haven’t heard back for that (big) Chinese company I interviewed with two weeks ago…I don’t think I passed the interview.

Me: Sorry to hear that.

Student: It’s OK. I spoke with my brother in law. He lives in China, in Shanghai, and he emailed me about the company.

Me: He works for the company??

Student: No, he works for a (big) Japanese company’s office in China.

Me: Is he Chinese?

Student: Who? My brother-in-law?? No, he’s Japanese.

Me: I see…so what did he say about the company you interviewed with?

Student: He said…well…he said that he disagreed with the company.

Me: Disagreed with what? The Company’s policies?

Student: No…just in general.

Me: In general?

Student: Well, he is living in China and though he works for a Japanese company he deals with different Chinese companies.

Me: Ah, I see…so he has had dealings with the company you interviewed with.

Student: Well, no…with other Chinese companies.

Me: Huh? So what exactly does he disagree with, then?

Student: Huh?

Me: Well…does he find Chinese companies disagreeable, or maybe Chinese business people disagreeable?

Student:…

Me: Maybe he means he simply disapproves of your working for a Chinese company… In general…

Student: Disapproves?

(I show him the meaning in the dictionary)

Student: hmmm… Well he says, in general, that chinese companies are growing very fast and are doing well now but…ummm…they have shady practices and poor management skills and so in the long run they will not succeed…in general.

Me: And did you find that information useful?

Student: Eeee?

Me: Well, you ask the man for some advice about a company and he gives you his feelings on the entire Chinese business landscape and culture without any specifics on the company you inquired about. So I wanted to know if you found any of his feedback useful at all…or as truly useless as it sounds to me.

Student: But…well, he lives in China and…

Me: …and I live in Japan. I left my family and friends in the US to come and work for a a very big Japanese company, a franchise English school. I did so dutifully for three years, and then suddenly the company folded due to…wait for it…shady practices and poor management.

Student: Nova, right?

Me: That’s right! Now, just yesterday…a guy, reader of my blog, new in town from England…over a bowl of oishii ramen he asked me about finding work here teaching English. If I were your brother-in-law, I might say something vague and in general like, “you can’t trust Japanese companies any further than you can throw them. Here today gone tomorrow…” and then share my actual experience, which would make me more qualified to paint all Japanese companies with that same ill-informed and biased brush than your brother-in-law was warning you off of Chinese companies. You follow me?

Student: You are right…

Me: I mean, if you want to start disqualifying big companies worldwide for shady dealings…in other words, greed…and questionable management, you are really limiting the playing field…I mean, America is in the economic shape it’s in now for just those reasons…and, truth be told, so is Japan…so I think it’s safe to say the Chinese have not cornered the market on those corporate attributes.

Student: Sou da ne…

Me: And I think it’s also safe to say your brother-in-law just finds the Chinese disagreeable…in general…

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, and don’t know who the ice cream guy is, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Ummm…how should I put this?

If you’ve come here with the expectation that this headline is even within the realm of possibility, your ignorance is downright scary. Put down the remote or the manga, step away from the bong, pull yourself together and READ. A. BOOK. OR. NEWSPAPER. Ideally one with no pictures.

If you’ve come here with hopes that it might be true, you REALLY need to be shot. Please off yourself and make the world a better place for the rest of us. I’d be happy to oblige you (cuz you know how we black folk get down…we love smoking fools!) but I’ve given up McDonald’s, Japanese Chu-Hi, and smoking fools…my new years resolutions.

If you’ve come here because you live here in Japan and mistrust / distrust / never trusted the Japanese and think anything is possible with these homogenous xenophobes, even the arbitrary expulsion of a single race, well, it’s official, you’re paranoid and you ought to Seek. Professional. Help.

If you came here because you simply couldn’t believe your ears and wanted to learn why Loco would make a post with such a ludicrous headline, then welcome to Loco in Yokohama and read on.

Be warned: Absurdity ahead.

*****

So, yesterday I received the following message on my Loco in Yokohama Facebook page:

I knew what it was with one read, I could even sense its mildly sinister nature, it’s potential to cause just what it has caused, but I blew it off. The link looked intriguing so I followed it to find that this “black person” had actually started a petition on the White House petition page.

Of course if you go through the White House petition archives you would come across petitions that would make this guy’s seem quite rational and feasible by comparison.

Anyway, after seeing the petition I had a good laugh…and thought my readers might be tickled at the stupidity of some of the Haters here in Japan as well, so I posted it on my blog.

However, the responses were disturbing. Many of which I’ve addressed with the remarks I made at the start of this post.

However, as ludicrous as it sounds…it is possible for there to be implemented some unsung race-based policy against blacks (meaning not only Americans but people from African countries and blacks from the African diaspora worldwide) of not renewing visas or denying applications for citizenship, etc… But you can bet your ass, it would definitely remain unsung. Japanese might be xenophobic and exclusive but, in general, they have better manners than to openly state such a thing…in mixed company, anyway. Besides I’d like to think that if such a thing were sung aloud the whole world would team up, as we did (most of us anyway) on South Africa to put an end to Apartheid.

But I could be wrong.

In the remarks I’ve read on twitter and Facebook to the petition, I felt an undercurrent of “he makes some valid if not interesting points” and “Perhaps our experience in Japan would be better if it weren’t for the people who scare Japanese and those people are usually black!” Though nobody said this directly (except for a couple of assholes) it was clear to me that some people had actually entertained this notion for longer than such a notion should ever be entertained. It made my bile rise, I gotta tell you, and reminded me of my initial impetus for writing my book: kHi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist:

No, not Japanese racism, as most people like to presume (mostly without having read the book) but the racism among the foreigners living here…including but not limited to my own.

And I’m pretty damn sure that petitioner lives here, or did. And his clever ass is reading this and having a nice chuckle now at the discord he has sown. I want to ask him, like Brad Pitt asked John Doe in Seven, “When a person is a genius, as you clearly are, do you know that you’re genius? When you’re just sitting around, reading a manga version of “”The Art of War” and Crayon Shinchan, masturbating in your own feces, do you just stop and go, “Wow! It is amazing how fucking genius I really am!”?

And he damn sure isn’t black!

The self hate had me going for a second (a lonnnng ass second) but even black people don’t hates themselves as much as you made out. That was your flaw in case you’re wondering (though I wonder why that wasn’t clear to others, as well. Is that the general consensus, that black people walk around hating themselves beyond all recognition?) Anyway, your self hate was over the top.

Anyway, I’m going to now return to my previous position of ignoring trolls and leaving engaging them to people with more time on their hands.

Peace,

PS. When I first visited the petition page there was one signatory. Now there are 2. Jesus Wept!

That is all!

Today I’m thrilled to introduce to you Baye McNeil, also known as “Loco,” of the popular blog, Loco in Yokohama. A glance at his site and you’ll quickly notice that not only does his content set him apart from other bloggers, but his stellar writing stands out as well. He has a knack for mingling words in a way that engages and entertains you, but also makes you think. And he goes straight to reality – what actually happens in Japan every day, at work, out and about, interactions with Japanese folks and foreigners alike. He doesn’t complain or whine about life, but paints realistic scenes and then turns inward to examine his own response to various situations.

Baye is a good guy and has been kind and encouraging to me since I joined the Japan blogosphere. I’m so excited for him that he’s just published his first book, and believe me when I say, it’s good. I’m a tough critic. I don’t give praise for these types of things lightly, but I believe Baye’s book is worth it.

Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist, a perhaps seemingly controversial book title, takes a look at his life journey from New York City to Japan, and the many events in between, and examines how racism and culture have played out in his life in each place. Although rather than complain or criticize those around him, he turns the tables towards himself. He’s honest about the mistakes and choices he’s made. It’s raw. This guy has really lived life.

As he goes through the scenes of his life, it might make you feel uncomfortable at times. But that, I think, is what makes this book worth reading. Change doesn’t occur when we’re comfortable, and I think Baye is on to something with that.

No, it’s not really just about living in Japan, although parts of the book are about Baye’s life here. But the topic is a good one and I certainly thought it was worth my very limited time to read. You might not agree with everything he says, and I don’t think that’s the point, but at least his book starts a greater discussion for humanity moving forward.

Baye McNeil, aka “Loco”

Ashley: First of all, what brought you to Japan, how long have you been here, and what do you do?

Baye: I came to Japan for a number of reasons, but I think primarily it was to escape from New York. Like many Americans, and in particular us New Yorkers, I think I was traumatized by the events of 9/11. I watched it unfold from a rather close distance and could see the collapse of the towers from my rooftop, as well as the fighter jets shooting by overhead. But, not only that, it was all of that post- 9/11 foolishness. The practical police/military state NYC had become. Armed soldiers on the streets, on the bridges and tunnels and bus stations and subways. It was creepy.

So when a good friend of mine invited me to come stay with him for a couple of weeks here in Japan, I jumped all over it and had such a great time without this literal cloud over me (the actual fumes and smoke from the twin towers lingered for a long time…walking around inhaling the cremated remains of people and god knows what other chemicals went into the construction of the towers and whatnot) was like arriving in St. Lucia on a direct flight from Antarctica. Naturally, I became enchanted. If he lived in Malaysia I’d probably be Loco in Kuala Lumpur instead of Loco in Yokohama. Any place was better than NY. I needed to get away!

Eight years later, I’m still away, still here…and still not particularly eager to go back. I’m an English teacher at a couple of junior high schools in Yokohama. I like it; I like the kids and co-workers, but basically it pays the bills while I try to get my writing career up and running.

Ashley: Going straight to the title of your book – You’re a racist? What’s that all about?

Baye: It’s about my thoughts, feelings and behavior towards Japanese people; particularly the ones I don’t know. The Japanese people I do know, like people anywhere, range from fairly tolerable to the salt-of-the-earth. But, unfortunately, as is the case everywhere, the majority of the people I encounter on a daily basis I don’t know, and will never know. And for these people, as a result of a rather high number of incidents, both great and small, of a nature that has made me feel on too many occasions dehumanized, ostracized, criminalized, demoralized (and a number of other “izes”), I have developed an unhealthy degree of animosity, disgust, distrust and borderline hatred for these anonymous people.

These feelings have not come about as a result of my ignorance of Japanese people and culture — as is often the case with many racists — but as a result of offenses (whether intentional or not) I’ve experienced directly. And although these instances continue on a daily basis and are committed by a relatively miniscule amount of the populace of this fine country, I nonetheless retain these feelings. This book is about how I acquired them, manage them, do battle with them, and remain hopeful of overcoming them.

Ashley: This reminds me of something I learned in a Psychology class in college — we all (myself included) have biases, whether they are towards race, age, gender, weight, religion, etc. We’re either not aware of them or we just never talk about it. We (my academic peers and I) had the chance to take an Implicit Association Test to see if any of the tests uncovered any hidden beliefs we had in one of those areas (despite a few flaws as to be expected with most tests, I recommend anyone reading to take one or more and see what happens).

Do you think this goes along with your line of thinking — that we’re either “shit kickers,” “posers,” or “oblivious,” as you describe in your book? Do you believe your definitions of racists also apply (or can apply) to other discrimination types?

Baye: I’m not sure… Most of the psychological tests I’ve encountered and taken have been biased themselves, or begin with questions with dubious orientation and premises. For example, asking someone who has lived any number of years in most places on this planet whether they prefer whites or blacks, with the amount of Europeanization (and black dehumanization) we’ve all suffered for generations upon generations, is like asking male prisoners locked away in penitentiaries for upwards of twenty years whether they’d prefer prison guards to be male or female (mild exaggeration, very mild…)

Ashley: What do you feel are the main differences and/or similarities within the context of “racism” between the US and Japan, at least, from the locations you have spent time in?

Baye: Difficult question. As I mentioned, I’m from New York City and I really think of NY as a little country unto itself. There’s a culture in NY that is unique. Not to say that there isn’t racism, racial intolerance or racial discrimination in NY. There most certainly is. But, at least over the course of my life time, I’ve seen New York sort of evolve into a place where attitudes of the kind you encounter here in Japan, for instance, are becoming intolerable.

I can’t say this is true for the rest of the US. There are places in the US as “homogenous” and isolated as Japan imagines it is. A Chinese person in Idaho, an Indian in Indiana, a Japanese person in Alabama…they all might experience life much differently than they would in NY, where Chinese, Indians and Japanese do not stand out, and the ignorance of the respect, tolerance and acceptance level that ALL people, regardless of skin color or background, are entitled to is less of a factor in their lives. So, I have difficulty answering that question…sorry.

I will say this, though. I think that a great deal of the racist attitudes one might encounter in the US would be from people who actually think of the old days as the “good ole days.” In other words, it’s about power. Maybe there is a human need to class off, or to “look up to” and “look down on” other people, for a number of reasons, race, gender, sexual orientation, weight, age, etc… and maybe “different” is inherently a threat… but until we get to the point, as a species, where we can evolve beyond the incessant need to do such things, we’ll always be looking over the cliff into the abyss.

Ashley: Do you believe that racism (or any other type of discrimination) is something individuals can overcome through time, understanding, or other means?

Baye: I sincerely hope so. As the greatest writer I know, James Baldwin, once said, when asked a very similar question, “I cannot be a pessimist because I’m alive. To be a pessimist means you’ve agreed that human life is an academic matter. So I am forced to be an optimist; I’m forced to believe we can survive!” (No pun intended.)

To me, to believe that racism will persist as long as humans do is to be pessimistic. I mean, this whole idea of race, especially in the US and Europe, was basically created to rationalize and justify crimes against black humanity, like the European slave trade. So, if it was manmade, I don’t see why we can’t un-make it, or make something new that makes it obsolete, the way the automobile made the horse and buggy obsolete. And I believe we’re on that path.

This book, I hope, will just help people of all nations move a little closer to where we need to be and a little further from where we have regrettably gone. So, I guess my answer is, in the words of another great thinker, “Yes We Can.”

Ashley: Most foreigners living in Japan deal with racism and the “being different” factor to some degree, although we all experience it in different ways, positive or negative, light to extreme. How has racism played out in your life specifically and affected you, as an African-American man, living here in Japan?

Baye: Not much…or I should say, I’m not positively sure how much it has.

One of the conclusions I’ve come to living here in Japan is one that may seem a bit obvious but yet still took me a while to accept. That is, I don’t know what the hell people are thinking here or anywhere. Why the table beside me in that café remains empty, or that seat beside me on the train. Why that woman clutched her handbag and turned away, or the man who ran away to the next car after taking a look at me, or why the happy group of revelers about to board an elevator I’m already aboard suddenly become subdued and decline to board…

These people? I have no idea what’s going through their individual minds… I just hate the behavior resulting from these thoughts. I hate the way it makes me feel about them, and about myself. This book is not about Japanese racism. It’s about my own! Because if I can learn to love people who behave this way, then I believe I can do anything I set my mind and heart to, and thus I have undertaken this task.

Ashley: What advice do you have for foreigners living in Japan who might be experiencing similar discrimination to what you have encountered?

Baye: I have not been the victim of racial discrimination here in Japan. I think I should make that clear. The name of this book is not: “Hi! My name is Loco and the Japanese are racists.” In fact, I’ve only been discriminated against ONCE in my eight years here. By this I mean blatant Jim Crow-style discrimination of the sort my parents endured: refused service or entry or employment or housing, etc…only ONCE! (Which you can read about in the book.)

Of course, others may have a great deal more to say in this area than I do. I’m kind of a hermit. I spend a lot of time writing so I don’t go out very much. Maybe if I did I would have experienced more of this discrimination that I hear about. I’m kind of glad I haven’t. Sometimes when I hear the phrase racial discrimination tossed around, it’s being used in a way that’s not so much wrong as it is a way I wouldn’t use it. For example, if some Japanese person tells me, “sorry, no speak English,” when I’m speaking Japanese to them, that is not what I would call discrimination. But I’ve heard it labeled as such. However, based on the behavior I’ve seen from our hosts, and extended conversations I’ve had with friends and students over the years, I find it entirely plausible that a there’s a lot of discrimination going on and some of it is likely racially related.

But, actually, the form of racism I’ve seen in Japan that I find even more disturbing is the brand being dispensed by the foreigners living here. They prompted me to check myself and write this book as much as the Japanese have! I’m talking about the people who willfully go out of their way to protect, defend, and justify the ignorance encountered here. I won’t elaborate on these people here, but I do so in the book. So, my advice to people living in Japan, for what it’s worth, is this: before you call Japanese people out on what you might interpret as their racist ways, check yourself first! Ask yourself these tough questions about race that I’m attempting to address in this interview and in my book. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone… or something like that. I’m not a Christian, but the Bible is full of truths.

Ashley: What’s next for Loco? Another book? Staying in Japan or any plans to eventually return to the States?

Baye: Yep, another book, and then another, and another… Staying in Japan? Nah! Think I’ve gotten about as much out of the experience as I can (take). (-;

But, that’s not to say I won’t keep a place here if I’m ever rich enough to do so. I really love this country. And it has been very, very good to me in many ways.

Ashley: Finally, what are your best “living in Japan” tips for SiJ readers?

Baye: Hmmmm…

a) Learn enough Japanese to get by. If you can, for example, arrange a shipment of packages to your house over the phone (like I did the other day when I received my books) then you can probably survive without being dependent on your Japanese friends too much.

b) Work on your smile. It opens a lot of doors here. But I guess that’s true everywhere…

c) Get a Mamachari. I bought a mountain bike last year and now I miss my basket and not worrying about anyone stealing it so much.

d) Get point cards. Most businesses offer them and they can save you BUNDLES! And also snatch up magazines like Hot Pepper and such. They contain deals galore!

e) Don’t believe everything people living here tell you will definitely apply to you as well. Experiences here vary like mileage on cars.

Baye: Ashley, thank you so much for having me! You, my dear, rock! I appreciate you asking tough questions. The better for your readers to get to know what I’m about and also shows the kind of person you are. You know? I mean, you could have Jay Leno’d me but instead you Charlie Rose’d me LOL! It’s been a real pleasure.

Ashley: Aw, thank you! And thanks so much for taking the time to give us such thought-provoking answers. We wish you the very best success with your book and your writing career!

If you’re not familiar with Surviving in Japan, go check her out! Her site is filled with remarkably useful tips for getting the most out of the experience of living in Japan! I highly recommend it.

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, and don’t know who the ice cream guy is, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Me: …so, no one ever said he was white and in my school ALL the heroes in American history were black. There were no white ones.

Friend: Really? That’s funny!

(I stood there thinking about how this could have happened)

Me: Now that I think about it, no one ever really uses a racial designation unless it’s pertinent, or they believe for some reason for it to be pertinent information.

Friend: Huh?

Me: For example, if I tell you I want to introduce you to my friend, his name is John, you’re not gonna wonder about his skin color are you?

Friend: it’s not important, right?

Me: Exactly. But would you assume he was black?

Friend: Ummm…yeah, I guess so.

Me: Now, if I think that the fact that he’s white is something you need to know, for some reason, and I have no idea what that reason would be, I might mention it.

Friend: Oh, I see…

Me: And if you wanted to introduce me to one of your Japanese friends…Nah, that wouldn’t work. Cuz as soon as you say “his name is Loco,” they would know I wasn’t Japanese.

Friend: LOL. True.

Me: But they would probably think I was white, right?

Friend: Huh?

Me: if you said that my friend is gaijin, they would assume I was white, and if they met me they’d be surprised as hell if I were black. no?

Friend: I don’t think so…but you are my friend so I don’t think like that…anymore.

Me: Huh? So, before you met me, if you wanted to introduce a gaijin friend to your Japanese friends, and if your friend happened to be black, would you say your gaijin friend or your kokujin (black) friend?

Friend: Hmmmm… probably I would say Black friend.

Me: But if you didn’t say black friend, would they be surprised if I were black? Or would you if it were the other way around?

Friend: Eeeee?

Me: Just curious…

Friend: I’d probably be surprised…

Me: Cuz Gaijin generally means white?

Friend: Yeah…I guess.

Me: As does Igirisu-jin (British), Canada-jin, Furansu jin (French), and Doitsu jin (German), I bet. All mean white…except maybe Amerika-Jin and Afurika-jin (African), right?

Friend: Hmmm…never thought about that.

Me: Why would you?

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Student: Japanese like to read about Gaijin thoughts and opinions of Japan and Japanese. It’s very interesting to us.

Me: I see. Well, I’m sure there’s a lot in the book that will hold their interest.

Student: Some things may be too… chotto…

Me: Really? Like what?

Student: Of course the writings about the empty seat are very powerful, and most people will be interested to read that.

Me: What about the stuff in the Gaijin bar?

Student: There you may need to edit…just a little modification.

Me: Why? If Japanese are interested in Gaijin thoughts and feelings, I fill that chapter with mine.

Student: Yes but many Japanese do not approve of that kind of thing. Of course some women go to Gaijin bars…

Me: To meet foreigners…

Student: Yes, to meet foreigners. But many women will never do that.

Me: Well, it’s an experience that many if not most foreigners here in Japan can identify with. Particularly the men. All I’ve done is tell the inside story. My take on what’s really going on in the hearts and minds of these people. You don’t think Japanese would appreciate that kind of insight?

Student: Chotto dake…just modify it a little …

Me: …So, you think  I will definitely have to hire a Japanese editor?

Student: Probably. There are several areas in the book that Japanese may not like.

Me: Well you’ve read it…right?

Student: It’s very difficult to read but I got as far as the ice cream guy.

Me: Ice cream guy? Oh yeah, you mean the guy who…oh Fuck Me! It’s  you!

Student: Huh?

Me: You’re the ice cream guy! You’re in my book! Do you remember that conversation?

Student:  Of course.

Me: We were sitting right over there!

Student: I remember it well…

Me: Wow… (shaking my head)

Student: What?

Me:  Sometimes I forget how real this shit is!

Student: LOL

American Ice cream

VERSUS

Japanese ice Cream

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, and don’t know who the ice cream guy is, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

What was astonishing, and admirable in a way, was the utter workaday expression on his face as he did so. Of course he’d been working at the school for years so he’d probably cleaned out that thing quite a few times so it was all rote to him.

But as I watched him pulling all kinds of shit out of this otherwise picturesque pond, a few thoughts went through my mind.

The first was: if this were NY…

I played with that one for a little while. Trying to first imagine a junior high school (back when I was student) with a maintained garden and pond, which I could hardly do. Then trying to imagine someone being paid enough to stick their hands in it. Then, imagine what he’d be dredging out of it: I envisioned condoms, crack vials, probably a few forties and perhaps even a body part.

The second thought was: this is a perfect metaphor for Japan, serene and immaculate, apparently, but once you get your hands and feet wet, and dredge beneath the surface a bit, you’ll find that this serenity is actually hiding a murky pollution, noxious, toxic and desperately in need of a good dredging.

Some people here seem to only see the surface. And for some reason can’t imagine that there is anything more to it than what they perceive. Or they’re aware but would much prefer to leave that silt, sludge, muck and shit removal to the guy with the thingamajig, and just enjoy the resulting beauty.

Well, I guess that’s where I come in, ne. I’m that guy who dredges ponds in school gardens…somebody’s gotta do it, ne.

The things that go through my mind…

Loco

PS: Little follow Up. Had the following convo with my boy on FB regarding this post:

I was still singing it as I entered the teacher’s office, where upon the following conversation took place:

Co-Worker: (In Japanese) What’s that you’re singing?

Me: (smiling) Oh nothing. Just a song I sing to get me through the rough patches.

Co-Worker: It sounds familiar…?

Me: It’s from a movie called “The Wedding Singer”. Have you seen it?

Co-Worker: never heard of it. Maybe it has a different title in Japanese.

Me: Probably.

CW: Who is the singer?

Me: Do you know Adam Sandler?

CW: Yes! He is a singer, too?

Me: Sometimes he sings funny songs.

CW: I see…what’s it called?

Me: Somebody Kill Me Please…

CW: (In English) Pardon???

(I start singing at a low volume but other teachers were tuning in…even the principal’s radar rises…)

Me: …somebody kill me please…I’m on my knees, pretty, pretty please kill me…I want to dieeeeeeee! Put a bullet in my head!

CW: Ehhhhh! What does it mean?

One of the Japanese English teachers starts giggling and explains the words…for the whole damn office!

Great.

Everybody has a laugh…the teacher who had asked originally pats me on the shoulder.

CW: Please teach me that song!

Me: Sure, no problem

Loco

PS: If you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Over a meal consisting of  a specialty of mine — a stew made of Black-Eyed Peas and other secret ingredients, a  concoction like Hoppin’ John – an international audience of 9, spanning the globe from Asia through eastern and western Europe and the Americas, were treated to two excerpts from what I hope will be a worthy follow-up to my critically acclaimed first book, ”Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist“.

Here’s a few snapshots from the evening…

I was really nervous. I’d never done anything like this before and I honestly didn’t know what to expect.

Not only was I hitting them with a dish that is eaten predominantly by people residing in or springing from the southern states of America – which I’ve chosen to call Pre-Natto 納豆 (fermented beans) for simplicity sake since none of the Japanese I know have ever heard of Black-Eyed Peas – but this group of Japanese, Half-Japanese (as they are known here – not my words) and European unabashed lovers of Japanese culture, language and people, were to be the first exposed to the raw, mid-edited works of a professed…let’s just say someone a bit less in love with the above.

I also shared some of the poetry I’ve written of late (though unrelated to Japan). This year, for reasons that shall remain between me and my Creator, I’ve been purging myself poetically and have found it really hits the spiritual spot. Can’t even recall why I gave it up in the first place (been writing poetry since I was a child) but I won’t make that mistake again if I can help it. Anyway, if you’re a poetry lover like me you can peep some of it along with some great stories, essays, reviews, photos, etc., at my other blog, surprisingly growing in popularity, Loco’s Patronus.

So…Pre-Natto, Preview and Poetry all went over very well. What a relief. A great time was had by all and, in particular, the book excerpts brought strong positive reactions. Couldn’t ask for more than that!

I’m currently editing the second book, working titled“Loco Wuz Here“ and you guys can expect updates as the process continues.  As far as when it will drop, all I can say with any certainty is it will be by summer of 2013 the latest. Just depends on how much time I have to work on it.

I’ve gotten so many questions about the next book from readers of the first, so I  just wanted to keep you guys abreast of my progress.

Stay tuned…

Loco

PS: I’ll be doing exclusive preview reading events in the near future for friends, supporters and significant others so hold tight.

PPS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Friend: I finished your book yesterday.
Me: Oh? what did you…
Friend: I dunno…I mean, I see what you see. I do. But it just doesn’t bother me.
Me: I see.
Friend: Well, now it probably will, but it didn’t before…
Me: Is that bad?
Friend: Fuck yeah it’s bad! I gotta live here. I got kids and shit. I ain’t going nowhere.
Me: Go??
Friend:You know what I mean…
Me: Actually, I don’t. Did the book make you wanna leave Japan??
Friend: Well, it certainly didn’t make me wanna buy that house me and Mrs been looking at, that’s for damn sure.
Me: Sorry about that…
Friendh: Nah, don’t be sorry. It ain’t your fault. You just called it like you see it, shit, like it is!
Me: I don’t see how it didn’t bother you before you read the book…
Friend: Yes you do. You said it in the book. It was in the first fucking chapter, wasn’t it?
Me: What was?
Friend: When you talked about how you tolerated life here initially. I was doing just what you said you used to do. I was looking down at these mofos. Fuck I care if they too ignorant, scared shitless and small-minded to respect me. It’s just like you said. They’re isolated on this little island, protected by their language and cultural barriers, so they’re relatively safe from outside influences like human equality and the other issues our boy MLK preached about and whatnot. These mofos hardly even know who he is. I told my co-worker that i usually take this day off back in the states and he was like, “why?” So I told him as much as I could about MLK and e civil rights movement and he was looking at me like everything i said was a foreign concept. Fuckers are clueless. So why should I let clueless mofos bother me?
Me: Ah.
Friend: You were dead on. I even look down on my wife. She’s just as Japanese as everybody else.
Me: LOL
Friend: That shit ain’t funny! Last thing I need is for my kids to get all fucked up too. Shit, I only see them a few minutes in the morning and a few at night. I’m at work all day…and they’re in Japan all day, everyday!
Me: I see what you mean…
Friend: That’s why I said “go.” You rocked my world yo, with your fucking book!
Me: My bad…
Friend: Nah, yo, kill that noize! I think if MLK read your shit, he’d know he’d made a difference. You feel me? In other words, Thank you.
Me: Don’t thank me…thank MLK! He, and our parents and shit, they did all the heavy lifting. All I did was tell my story.
Friend: But you keeping that dream alive…even here in Asia, and that’s admirable, bruh!
Me: Thanks yo.

Happy Birthday (belated) MLK! Thank you for all you sacrificed for the betterment of the present and for a brighter future for humanity!

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

And please, no licking the screen.

Now, without further ado:

Well, there you have it! Japan’s greatest contribution to world cuisine IMHO (or was this the Chinese, too?)   

Have you got a ramen porn stash? Feel free to post them or link to them in the comments. I would love to, ahem, flip through them.

(-;

Loco

 PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

It has been one hell of a ride so far.

I chose this day to publish my book because it was Martin Luther King’s birthday. (btw, Happy Birthday MLK! I’ll never forget that it was you and people of your generation that struggled and sacrificed so that people of mine would be able to star in reality shows about their 10 baby mamas…well, you know what I mean, I hope.) I believed this would be an auspicious day to do it, particularly since the book’s subject matter so directly related to the MLK lead fight for humanitarian reciprocity back in the 1960s.

I feel that my book continues a conversation that both MLK and Malcolm X began before their untimely passing. One that focused more than on the tribulations of people of African descent, that recognized how interconnected the struggle for human rights and equality is on a global scale, that racism and xenophobia were not only domestic issues but universal. It’s quite telling that they were both gunned down just as they were beginning to take action to address these concerns.

Anyway, not to overstate what I’ve accomplished, or to suggest that I deserve in any way to be mentioned alongside these two giants, but a call to action was my intention in writing and publishing this book.

The irony in this is that I wouldn’t have gone this route if I hadn’t come to Japan, spent time in an international environment, and experienced firsthand the level of fear, ignorance and sometimes even hate that persists not so much in pockets but widespread.

New York is such a place that one can lose sight of how close-minded and shut-off people can be and often are. It’s a warped view of the world presented as the real thing. New York is merely a city aspiring to the potential, an active effort to represent the ideal of humanity. But New York is not the world. New York is not even America.

I owe Japan a great deal of gratitude for revealing this to me in as painless a manner as she could do so. I mean, I’ve still got a few marbles rolling around my head and I don’t walk around with a chip the size of Okinawa on my shoulder…well, not all the time (-: Truth is, without Japan, perhaps the sleeper in me might never have awakened.

Thank you so much, Japanese people, for providing the impetus for me to initiate change in myself!

Also ironic is that without publishing this book I would have never learned that there were so many people out there that GET that this is the issue we, as a species, need to wrap our collective minds around before we can progress.

Anyway, I just wanted to acknowledge this day with a few words…I’m not gonna talk y’all ears off.

A big thanks to everyone who bought the book and took the time to get at me about it, or dropped reviews about it,or helped promote it in anyway, told friends and family about it, whatever you did.

So many people…

THANK YOU!! and I’ll always love you guys (though I have difficulty showing it, sometimes. Selfish and self-absorbed mofo that I can be.)

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

PPS: I’ve recently re-activated Loco’s Patronus, my other blog, and I’ll probably be spending as much time or more over there as I do over here, so check it out if you like (-;

Loco

PS: Happy New Year folks, and may your 2013 be a healthy, prosperous and safe one!

PPS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Thursday, January 3rd, 2013

I don’t support the troops, America, and neither do you. I am writing this as I have just learned of the suicides of two more of our active duty reservists who live here in the Traverse City, Michigan area. That brings the total number of soldier suicides (that I know of) in the past year, in this rural area, to four.

I am tired of the ruse we are playing on these brave citizens in our armed forces. And guess what — a lot of these soldiers and sailors and airmen and Marines see right through the bull**** of those words, “I support the troops!,” spoken by Americans with such false sincerity — false because our actions don’t match our words. These young men and women sign up to risk their very lives to protect us — and this is what they get in return:

1. They get sent off to wars that have NOTHING to do with defending America or saving our lives. They are used as pawns so that the military-industrial complex can make billions of dollars and the rich here can expand their empire. By “supporting the troops,” that means I’m supposed to shut up, don’t ask questions, do nothing to stop the madness, and sit by and watch thousands of them die? Well, I’ve done an awful lot to try and end this. But the only way you can honestly say you support the troops is to work night and day to get them out of these hell holes they’ve been sent to. And what have I done this week to bring the troops home? Nothing. So if I say “I support the troops,” don’t believe me — I clearly don’t support the troops because I’ve got more important things to do today, like return an iPhone that doesn’t work and take my car in for a tune up.

2. While the troops we claim to “support” are serving their country, bankers who say they too “support the troops” foreclose on the actual homes of these soldiers and evict their families while they are overseas! Have I gone and stood in front of the sheriff’s deputy as he is throwing a military family out of their home? No. And there’s your proof that I don’t “support the troops,” because if I did, I would organize mass sit-ins to block the doors of these homes. Instead, I’m having Chilean sea bass tonight.

3. How many of you who say you “support the troops” have visited a VA hospital to bring aid and comfort to the sick and wounded? I haven’t. How many of you have any clue what it’s like to deal with the VA? I don’t. Therefore, you would be safe to say that I don’t “support the troops,” and neither do you.

4. Who amongst you big enthusiastic “supporters of the troops” can tell me the approximate number of service women who have been raped while in the military? Answer: 19,000 (mostly) female troops are raped or sexually assaulted every year by fellow American troops. What have you or I done to bring these criminals to justice? What’s that you say — out of sight, out of mind? These women have suffered, and I’ve done nothing. So don’t ever let me get away with telling you I “support the troops” because, sadly, I don’t. And neither do you.

5. Help a homeless vet today? How ’bout yesterday? Last week? Last year? Ever? But I thought you “support the troops!”? The number of homeless veterans is staggering — on any given night, at least 60,000 veterans are sleeping on the streets of the country that proudly “supports the troops.” This is disgraceful and shameful, isn’t it? And it exposes all those “troop supporters” who always vote against social programs that would help these veterans. Tonight there are at least 12,700 Iraq/Afghanistan veterans homeless and sleeping on the street. I’ve never lent a helping hand to one of the many vets I’ve seen sleeping on the street. I can’t bear to look, and I walk past them very quickly. That’s called not “supporting the troops,” which, I guess, I don’t — and neither do you.

6. And you know, the beautiful thing about all this “support” you and I have been giving the troops — they feel this love and support so much, a record number of them are killing themselves every single week. In fact, there are now more soldiers killing themselves than soldiers being killed in combat (323 suicides in 2012 through November vs. about 210 combat deaths). Yes, you are more likely to die by your own hand in the United States military than by al Qaeda or the Taliban. And an estimated eighteen veterans kill themselves each day, or one in five of all U.S. suicides — though no one really knows because we don’t bother to keep track. Now, that’s what I call support! These troops are really feeling the love, people! Lemme hear you say it again: “I support the troops!” Louder! “I SUPPORT THE TROOPS!!” There, that’s better. I’m sure they heard us. Don’t forget to fly our flag, wear your flag lapel pin, and never, ever let a service member pass you by without saying, “Thank you for your service!” I’m sure that’s all they need to keep from putting a bullet in their heads. Do your best to keep your “support” up for the troops because, God knows, I certainly can’t any longer.

I don’t “support the troops” or any of those other hollow and hypocritical platitudes uttered by Republicans and frightened Democrats. Here’s what I do support: I support them coming home. I support them being treated well. I support peace, and I beg any young person reading this who’s thinking of joining the armed forces to please reconsider. Our war department has done little to show you they won’t recklessly put your young life in harm’s way for a cause that has nothing to do with what you signed up for. They will not help you once they’ve used you and spit you back into society. If you’re a woman, they will not protect you from rapists in their ranks. And because you have a conscience and you know right from wrong, you do not want yourself being used to kill civilians in other countries who never did anything to hurt us. We are currently involved in at least a half-dozen military actions around the world. Don’t become the next statistic so that General Electric can post another record profit — while paying no taxes — taxes that otherwise would be paying for the artificial leg that they’ve kept you waiting for months to receive.

I support you, and will try to do more to be there for you. And the best way you can support me — and the ideals our country says it believes in — is to get out of the military as soon as you can and never look back.

And please, next time some “supporter of the troops” says to you with that concerned look on their face, “I thank you for your service,” you have my permission to punch their lights out (figuratively speaking, of course).

(There is something I’ve done to support the troops — other than help lead the effort to stop these senseless wars. At the movie theater I run in Michigan, I became the first person in town to institute an affirmative action plan for hiring returning Iraq/Afghanistan vets. I am working to get more businesses in town to join with me in this effort to find jobs for these returning soldiers. I also let all service members in to the movies for free, every day.)

Yours,
Michael Moore
MMFlint@MichaelMoore.com
@MMFlint
MichaelMoore.com

PS: the truth hurts…let the healing begin! Thank you as always, Michael, for daring to use truth to instigate change.

Lats Night’s Hopping John

Two weeks of laundered clothes swung n the breeze on the line outside the window, four bags of garbage and a couple of bags of recyclables lined the wall waiting to be taken out, a vacuumed tatami reflected the sunlight, a dust and clutter free workstation drew my eyes to the gleaming chassis of an aging computer.

I felt lighter, righter, a born again writer.

My Black and Mild cigars sat on the desk calling to me, whispering words of defiance. ”Don’t even think about it! Resolutions are for wusses. When you’re ready to let me go, you’ll know. Til then, shut up and spark up!”

The coffee machine in the kitchen and the Starbucks beans in the freezer chorused their support of the cigars. “Yeah, and don’t you go forgetting we’re a team!”

My black-eyed peas, rinsed and sorted, sat soaking on the counter where they’d been for the past 24 hours.

Hopping John was on the menu. With celery, scallion, and some other green veggies crisping in the crisper.

Very superstitious writings on the wall…

And, now, as a partially Japanized ex-pat, add to that list of superstitions the obligatory trip to the shrine this afternoon (or sometime in the next couple of days…Japanese are pretty flexible with this) to perform another ritual I barely understand.

Yes, Stevie, I know: superstition ain’t the way…

But, still, I suffer them.

Loco’s New Year’s Superstitions:

#1: Clothes must be cleaned.

#2: Home must be thoroughly cleaned, like spring cleaning on steroids.

#3: Hopping John (or some concoction with black-eyed peas in it) must be made and eaten.

#3a: …And don’t forget the green vegetables that go along with it (money money money moooooney!!)

#4: Bad habits must be broken, or at least the topic of breaking them must be broached and acknowledged.

#5: Writing MUST be done (for whatever you’re doing at the start of the year you’ll be doing throughout the year).

Amendment: #6: Go toss money and give a kami a round of applause and a shout out at a shrine somewhere.

Anyone else out there suffer any New Year’s superstitious rituals?

Loco

PS: Happy New Year folks, and may your 2013 be a healthy, prosperous and safe one!

PPS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Love,

Loco

PS: And if you haven’t read Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist yet, what are you waiting for? A personal invitation? Check it out! It’s available in paperback and E-book version here.

Sincerely,

Loco