My Japanese Protestby Joel HansonShibuya: a trendy shopping area of Tokyo. March 22. I've just steppedoff the subway into a cement square with my six-foot, seven-inchCanadian friend Laurier and his Japanese girlfriend. We're surroundedby giant office buildings and shopping malls and massive televisionsets that feed our short attention spans with a steady diet of musicvideos and fashion models. The streets are packed with straight-facedshoppers and weary businessmen and women on their way home afteranother ten-hour workday. There is a noticeable autumnal chill in theair. The women walk beneath a garish, Vegas-like kaleidoscope of neonlights as though they're on their own private, fashion-show runway,showing off their expensive leather shoulder bags and tightly lacedboots. And in the middle of this consumerist mecca, a drum circle ofwar protesters and sign carriers gather to voice their opposition toBush's illegal and unilateral three-day-old invasion of Iraq. Laurier and I grab yellow signs from a group called World Action toStop The War and head to a fourth-floor shopping mall restroom towrite our own personal anti-war messages on the back. I choose "DisarmBush, Too!" and Laurier opts for something harsh and profane. Half an hour later, we join a few thousand fellow sign-carriers in asmall park for a pre-march rally. The park's leafless oak trees lookalmost black in the twilight air. For almost an hour, surrounded by acircle of police and camera-toting onlookers, we listen to a series ofhalf English/half Japanese speeches while we hone our anti-war chantsof "Iraqi senso tomero!" (Stop the war in Iraq!) and "Senso hontai!"(No war!) and trade stories with activists from all over the world.The news of 1,400 arrests in San Francisco the day before warms thecrowd like an elixir. A man from Portugal tells me that he's happy tosee Americans protesting the war because the television news makes itlook like everyone in the US unanimously supports Bush. Inspired by the atmosphere, I walk over to a nearby table ofvolunteers and write down my favorite anti-war slogan from an anti-warprotest in LA ten days earlier: "War Is So Last Century!" I attachthis sign to my old one and flip them back and forth during the rally.People are drawn to Laurier's height and many stop in front of us totake pictures and read our signs. Then, we take to the streets. As we descend from the park on a wide staircase, I see a small army ofpolice in riot gear: clubs, masks, and imposing shields on the streetbelow. But their services will not be necessary tonight. This isJapan: a culture obsessed with politeness and decorum. Our anti-warprotest is noisy and eye-catching, but too orderly, too docile. Wemove through the streets of Shibuya like a giant human snake, dividedinto groups of 500 in order to not disrupt the flow of traffic. But Iwant to block traffic, to sit down in intersections, anything to drawmore attention and/or force a confrontation. The marching is empowering anyway: my first satisfying release ofanger at the American government I didn't vote for. And there aremoments of triumph: frequent honks from passing motorists, smiles andpeace signs from the crowd of onlookers gathered across the streetlike it's watching a parade, a few pedestrians pick up signs and jointhe march. After the post-march rally is over, the three of us head to abasement-level Indian restaurant. The place is packed with protestersfresh from the march, gathered around tables, discussing politics andanti-war strategies. The restaurant employees give us the thumbs upsign as we enter and I feel a sense of solidarity with everyone in theplace. We realize our efforts are not enough stop the war in Iraq, butthe kind of widespread international anti-war support I witnessed thatnight makes me realize that, if we persist in our efforts and ournumbers continue to grow, we might be able to stop the bullying,self-serving Bush administration from starting another one. Joel Hanson is a former Washington resident now teaching in Japan.
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