Trying to have an objective discussion about discrimination in today’s polarized society is risky business. On one extreme are conservative-minded types who dismiss the very notion of prejudice; on the other are so-called bleeding-heart liberals who find bigotry at every turn. People brave enough to bring up the issue of social bias can find themselves the target of right-wingers who leap to discredit any seemingly critical assertion (“it isn’t discriminatory to point out differences between people”) and then resort to name calling—“lefty,” “anti-Japanese”—and taunts of “Love Japan or leave it” to intimidate their opponents and stifle dialogue.

We must accept that prejudice exists in every society, though, and strive to overcome it openly and honestly. People need to be able to pull back the curtain on inequality without being attacked for “Japan bashing.” Unfortunately, many Japanese find it easier to skirt the issue. They seek to “keep the lid on the stinky pot,” to borrow the Japanese saying, even resorting to cloying perfumes to mask the stench when it inevitably seeps out. I cannot agree with this approach. If something smells foul, tackling the rot where it is happening is the only way to improve things.

I understand that Japanese society is neither wholly benevolent nor a seething hotbed of bigotry. Here, just as in my native Taiwan, I have witnessed heartwarming acts of kindness and have been angered to tears by barefaced prejudice. Rather than seeing the issue through a single, static lens, though, I let my experiences temper my views in the hope of fostering an honest and open-minded discussion of discrimination in Japan. 

An Adopted Homeland

I came to Japan—fled may be a better word—in my early twenties. Due to the way I lived my life, I was the target of violence in Taiwan from the time I was a teenager. Remembering the long, lonely nights I spent because my lifestyle did not agree with the views of some self-righteous bully still brings me to tears. Moving to Japan saved me. I found freedom here and immersed myself in the language and culture. The country responded to my needs in kind, and now feels as much home to me as my native land.

I arrived on a university exchange program shortly after the devastating Great East Japan Earthquake in 2011. Although the disaster had disrupted the clockwork flow of Tokyo, the city offered me sanctuary from my own troubles in Taiwan. I felt a twinge of loneliness, as is normal when moving to any new location, but this paled in comparison to the blissful feeling of being a completely unknown in a foreign land. I am not naturally a loner, but after enduring so much personal strife I needed time to myself. Fortunately, the denizens of Tokyo are normally reserved when interacting with new people and are careful not to pry into private matters, attributes that I found wonderfully refreshing.   

Once my confidence returned, I inched my way back into society. By the time my year-long stay had finished I had joined club activities at my school and started attending networking events, including those hosted by Peer Friends for Girls, a now defunct lesbian social group that regularly hosted get-togethers in Tokyo.

Shortly before I returned to Taiwan, some friends I had met through Peer Friends threw me a farewell party in Shinjuku that included dinner at a restaurant on the west side of the station and a trip to the observation deck of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building to check out the nightscape of the capital. We stayed out late and headed our respective ways home just before the trains stopped running for the night.

I had headed to the subway and was standing on the platform when I received a cellphone call from K——, a friend who had been part of the evening’s festivities. I answered, a little uncertain what she wanted. Mumbling, her husky voice sounding low in my ear, K—— asked, “Um, you on the train?” “No,” I said, curious where she was going with her question. After a brief pause she continued. “Sorry to ask all of a sudden, but you want to pull an all-nighter?”

K—— was famous for acting on a whim, but I admit I was pleasantly surprised by her unexpected invitation. She was dating another group member, but their relationship had started to cool recently. She had come to me several times for advice and I thought she might want to have one more talk before I left for Taiwan. Although I had known K—— for only a few brief months, I found her confidence in me warming, making me forget momentarily about the cold February chill.

I was exhausted from the day’s event and also had plans to meet a friend for lunch the next afternoon, but I pushed these to the back of my mind and took K—— up on her offer. We regrouped with the others at a nearby meeting spot and spent the night chatting at a café in 2-chōme, Shinjuku’s gay district. I remember only bits and pieces of that evening—fleeting images of playing with the candle on our table and struggling to keep the sandman at bay—but I can still vividly recall my emotions as we stood in the hazy sunlight the next morning saying our farewells, my eyes welling up with tears as I realized that I might not see my friends again for a long time, if ever.

As I was about to head for the station for a second time, one of the group turned to me and exclaimed “I can’t wait for you to come back so I can say ‘welcome home.’” In that instant I realized that I was no longer a stranger here; Japan had become a second homeland where I had friends who cared about me. Riding the train, my last thought before dozing off was of returning. When my eyes opened again, after several loops around Tokyo’s central Yamanote Line, I knew I would be back to my second home, and wiping the sleep from eyes I strode out of Shibuya Station to meet my friend for lunch.