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...

  Allow me, as an old-timer, to share a small anecdote from nearly 40 years ago. Back then, I was a student at an international school in London. This institution was known as the American International School, and its curriculum offered two distinct paths: the SAT qualification for middle schoolers, and later, the choice between the International Baccalaureate (IB) and the American ACT for high school students. Students in the ACT track—primarily Americans—had little to no interaction with the rest of us. Our classes didn’t overlap, and our paths rarely crossed. One winter day, a new American student joined our school. Among the lively group of American students, one of them decided to introduce me to the newcomer, likely as part of the routine pleasantries. “This is my Japanese friend,” she said. The newcomer’s reaction caught me off guard. With a grimace, he blurted, “Japanese? No way. I have nothing to do with them. They are animals” Taken aback, I initially planned to let it s...

  “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...

  The morning sky was heavy with grey clouds, the kind that pressed low over the city and whispered of snow yet to fall. It was one of those bitter January days when the air seemed to nip at your skin even through the thickest coat. As I drew back the curtains, the faintest blush of sunrise struggled to light the horizon, promising little comfort. It was 1986, the heart of the Showa era back in Japan, but here in London, the year had dawned with the same bleak winter mornings the city was known for. I forced myself out of my warm bed, the comfort of the covers reluctantly traded for the routine of getting ready. Breakfast was quick, a silent ritual shared with my mother before I gathered my essentials: a pencil case, a small notebook, my wallet, and the lunch my mother had lovingly packed. "Off I go," I called as I slipped on my thick, black coat, its padding a small defence against the cold. "Take care," my mother replied. I nodded, stepping out into the frosty air...

  Permit me to share with you a reflection—an old woman’s monologue, if you like.   Long time ago, I was a student at an international school in London. It was a salad bowl of languages and cultures, an environment that left an indelible mark on my younger self.   Among my classmates was someone who often reached out to those struggling with English. Notably, all these students were Japanese. I recall thinking to myself at the time, "What a considerate and generous person he must be."   Then came a moment of discord that has lingered in my memory. Perhaps due to my own faltering grasp of English, I misinterpreted his words, believing him to be speaking ill of others. Hurt and indignant, I cut ties abruptly.   The following day, as I descended the staircase from the first floor to the ground floor, I overheard a conversation—one that has stayed with me ever since.   “You should stay us! If you stay with Japanese, your eyes will be slanted...

  One day, about 40 years ago, I was on the way from school to the underground station .   At that time, few people started call Japanese “Slanted eyes” at the school.  The person making racial remark was using typical London way - to wisper into your ear a racist remark, to make sure you hear it but no one else.  It was almost everyday thing that adults in suites wisper into my ear with horrible racist remarks. Beware, it was almost 40 years ago and things might be different now. Few girls, who have faced racial abuse for the first time, were either in deep shock or panic.  As I consoled them and give them emotional support, I was beginning to think I can not take this burden any more. Everyday, someone was crying, and they somehow call me and asked me to listen to  what they have to say.   One of the girls reported the racial remarks to a teacher who was responsible for the school affairs.   The process was slow, and I was almost t...