The Man I Didn't Punch

Japan finally decided to make possession of child pornography a crime.

Read that again.

Until a few weeks ago, it was okay to own images of naked children, and/or children forced to take part in sexual acts.  I say "forced" because children don't have the capacity to consent.

I've not posted anything here for the past several weeks because I've been angry.  Usually this wouldn't keep me quiet, but I found my latest anger difficult to articulate without sounding like I was screaming.  Not one who is shy about expressing my opinion, my decision to remain silent has been an emotional drain.  Which is why when a man took a photo of my breasts yesterday I almost punched him.

How women are treated here in Japan has long been a problem for me.  I'm largely exempt from the blatant and less obvious forms of discrimination based on sex as:  a). I'm American, and b). I'm Caucasian.  My personality also plays into part.  I don't come across as someone easily intimidated.  Nor am I someone seemingly okay with sexism.  Men usually think twice before picking a fight or pushing my buttons.  As an American I'm given leeway women from other countries, especially those from Asia are not.  As a "white woman" I'm seen as strong and opinionated.  These attributes and assumptions usually make me less of a target, and thus I'm free to do my thing.

The old man yesterday evidently didn't get the memo.  A man in glasses, a hat, and carrying a camera in his hand walked towards me yesterday in Ikebukuro.  I saw the fingers press down on the button, and I saw the shutter close quickly several times as he passed me.  The lens was pointed at my chest.  He took photos of my breasts.

I am not someone who displays cleavage.  Nor do I wear skin tight clothing.  I don't wear outfits shaped like a potato sack, but I am deliberate in my dress.  I am careful.  Which is why this man shooting my breasts in broad daylight, on the sidewalk in downtown Tokyo sent me reeling.

It's amazing what information our mind processes.  I stopped, turned around, and made the decision not to confront.  He would deny it.  I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't yank the camera out of his hands or punch him.  He would yell.  Police would arrive, and it would be his word against mine.  Here, I would lose.  I'm the one who actually assaulted him.  There would be witnesses.  I would be arrested.  All this went through my brain in seconds.

So, I just stared at his back as he walked away.

And then he turned around.  I glared at him and we locked eyes.  I forced myself to walk away, knowing my anger was at a dangerous level.  I kept walking, trying not to cry and forcing myself to breathe.

What was he thinking?  Next thing I know he walks past me.  The same man who snuck a photo of my breasts has turned around and is passing me.  Dear sweet man.  That was a mistake.

I follow him.  I'm headed to a university to give a speech and he's going in the same direction I'm walking--my next appointment.  That this man who suffers from pent up sexual angst, the one whose camera contains several photos of my breasts is walking in front of me?  I can't help that.  I'm also early, so I have time to walk.  I follow him.  I continue to follow him for some distance.  He does not turn around.  I have no idea if he knows I'm behind him.  After many blocks I must turn the corner.  He's walking away from my university.  I leave.  With deep and intense regret, I leave.

At the university I talk about women in Japan.  I share with the students the fact Japan ranks 105 out of 136 countries on the gender equality index published by the World Economic Forum.  I tell them Japan treats its women more like North Koreans treat their women (North Korea is ranked 111) and tell them the following statistics:

the Philippines is ranked 5th; Nicaragua 10th; Cuba 15th; USA 23rd; Sri Lanka 55th; Thailand 65th; Bangladesh 75th; Botswana 85th; Indonesia 95th; India 101st.

These are countries where there is general consensus women are treated poorly.  These are not countries (except for the USA possibly and India, especially after recent gang rapes of women) speak openly and publicly, show anger, and demand justice and equality.  Japan ranks behind all.

I look up into the crowd of students and my eyes land on one woman.  A lone tear runs down her cheek and somehow that tear is profound.  I've clearly upset her.  Good.  Maybe she'll work towards finding ways women are treated better in Japan for her generation and her children's generation.

My anger over the mistreatment of children in Japan as seen in the fact it's 2014 when the government sees fit to pass a law criminalizing possession of crimes against children, and the general and pervasive antiquated ideas about the role of women has reached its limit.  The man yesterday brought it all to the surface.  I'm sorry I didn't punch that man.  And, I'm also not sorry.  Had I allowed my anger to boil over I wouldn't have been able to speak to the students, instead spending the hot afternoon at the police station fighting my accuser and explaining the injustice of my arrest to unsympathetic detectives.

But, oh how good it would have felt to smash that camera.