Anna Matsushita

   **** CAUTION : Strong racist language is used *********** Around forty years ago in the late 80's, in the heart of London, I, then a teenager, was standing with my family, waiting for the traffic lights to change. It was in this moment that a white woman, standing beside me, suddenly erupted into a loud exclamation, as if she had witnessed something deeply unsettling. "Chinaman has got a kid!!!!" she cried, her voice brimming with a strange sense of astonishment. Her companion, the white man, responded nonchalantly, "Apparently, yes," as if to acknowledge the statement, albeit with a sense of resignation. Yet the woman, seemingly struck by some unseen force, continued to voice her disbelief.   “But… a Chinaman! They are animals! They can’t have a family, can’t they ？ ”   The man whispered something to her. However, she did not stop yelling.   “But it’s impossible! They get married and have a kid? Oh, yes, they don’t have freedom to get marri...

  Permit me to indulge in a bit of nostalgic musing, a reminiscence from nearly forty years ago. At the time, my family had relocated to London due to my father’s work. As a result, I found myself attending an international school in the city, and, after a spell, transferring to another one. London, even then, was a vibrant mosaic of cultures, a veritable melting pot of peoples. Yet, these two schools, both ostensibly “international,” had strikingly different demographics. The first school I attended had only a sprinkling of British students. The rest of the cohort hailed predominantly from the Middle East, Asia, and Africa, with a significant number adhering to the Islamic faith. This was, of course, decades ago, and one imagines the mix has shifted since. At that time, however, it was clear: the school’s corridors echoed with a rich blend of accents and languages from these regions. What struck me most was how forthcoming everyone was about their origins. It was as if announcing ...

  “Look, Mummy, a Chinaman!” “And a child.” “I didn’t know that a Chinaman has a child.” “I’m going to write an essay about it.” These words were spoken by a young white girl about my father. It was the most overtly racist remark I had encountered at that point in my life. Our family had moved to the outskirts of London from Japan, due to my father’s work transfer. It was the late 1980s, and I must have been around 16 years old. One day, while waiting with my father at a tube station, a white British mother and her daughter were nearby. Suddenly, the young girl began calling my father a "Chinaman." Her mother looked on with pride, as if her daughter had made some insightful observation, beaming at her with a face full of approval. I immediately approached the mother. “My father isn’t Chinese,” I said. “And it’s perfectly normal for any human being to have children. If your daughter can make such blatantly racist remarks, it’s your duty as her parent to correct her. Instead, y...

This is a fiction based on my personal experience at a university in Tokyo, back in early 1990's   ------------------------------------------------------   I first noticed her in October 1987, during the admissions interview at Zophia University in Tokyo.   The English department, my dream destination, had a rigorous selection process—both a written test and an interview. Having cleared the written test, I received the much-anticipated interview invitation.   I’d spent five years in the northwest of England during my secondary school years. This background gave me an advantage, but my motivations ran deeper than just fluency. I wanted to study linguistics, to truly understand the English language from every angle. My aspirations spanned teaching, translation, or even interpreting. I had a lot riding on this.   The interview was to last just ten minutes—a brief window to define my future. How it would go, I couldn’t predict, but I’d prepared myself as best I coul...