Anna Matsushita

  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...

September, 1988. Mornings in London were beginning to darken, and the air carried that crispness hinting at the onset of autumn. I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, the faint aroma of toast and tea in the air. My father looked up from the table, his face a curious blend of seriousness and routine. “You’ve got to register at the police station within a week of your 16th birthday,” he said, setting his mug down. “It’s for the Alien Registration. Best to tell your teacher—you’ll have to miss a class since they only process applications during the day.” Alien Registration. The word lingered in the air. Alien. It wasn’t a word I was entirely unfamiliar with. It carried two meanings, after all. One, a visitor from another planet; the other, a foreigner. The latter always seemed to sting a little, as though the law had to remind you that you didn’t quite belong. Among the older students at school, the term sparked no end of irritation. “Alien—honestly, what kind of language is that?” I’d...

  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...

  About 40 years ago in Japan, School teachers were considered as highly respectable people, with high moral, someone to be admired. Children were expected to comply to teacher’s instruction, and had almost no doubt that they will not be misled by teachers.   Probably clever children might have come up with a different opinion, that teachers are human being after all, and they do make mistake and they do have moral problem.   As an average Japanese child grew up in 70’s and 80’s, I vaguely thought that school teachers are trustworthy.   Then came an encounter with an American teacher, who has changed my point of view.   I was at an international school in London, and on a first day of English literature class for EFL students, I was harassed by the American teacher and thrown out of the class room because my handwriting in English was not satisfactory.   The teacher also threw out another Japanese student, who previously attended the EFL...