The Other Side of the Fence

I made a conscious decision two weeks ago not to expose myself to any war coverage. I haven't bought a paper, I change channels whenever the news comes on (quite easy considering most of it is in Japanese) and I deliberately don't read any internet news. When it comes to sensational reportage and an incessant front-page body count, I don't need it.

Just before the war broke out I had a teaching assignment out at the airport for two weeks. The director showed me to the training room on the first day, gave me the security code for the floor, handed me a class list and left me to it. I never heard from him again. It was bliss.

This past week I had an assignment at the same client, but for a different department. Every day, I was formally met in the lobby by this department's director, escorted to the training room, escorted from the training room at the end of class and then lead right to the front gate. I thought it a little strange at first, but decided it was probably just his manner.

Imagine my surprise (considering my naive ambivalence about world news) when one of the girls at my office informed me on Wednesday that they had become "very strict with foreigners because of Iraq". Now, this client is located in an important airport building - if it goes up, then domestic airport traffic is, ahem, fairly fucked. I can therefore appreciate the increased need for security in the building. But when I am riding in the elevator with a bunch of external Japanese contractors who are not under microscopic escort, then I take exception.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't Koizumi-chan (fairly publicly) endorsed Japan's involvement in this so-called "foreigner's" war? I'm not about to get all political about this, only to make the point that my perceived "risk" to this client is squiffy logic in the extreme.

Yesterday was my last day there, and I met the director's director at the elevator. He said to me; "Oh, you are Miss Kinki from Australia!" I replied in the affirmative, before he begins a diatribe about how he can tell the difference between an American, an Australian and a Canadian just by looking at them (huh?). You must understand, by this stage I was kinda pitching for a fight, so when he asked me if I could tell the difference between a Japanese and other Asians (a lot of Japanese hate being confused with Koreans in particular because of the whole North-Korean kidnapping thing) I told him the truth. Bluntly.

"No. I always get Koreans and Japanese mixed up. Sometimes its impossible to tell."

I left him looking bemused at the elevator whilst the doors closed on my personal escort and I for the last time...