Japanese cops are usually very nice and the National Police has been, for a great many years, one of the most respected and trusted institutions in this country. Despite this, among some segments of the gaijin community there is great animosity and disdain towards cops. There are quite a few urban legends about how police officers in Japan practically spend all their time scheming how to harass foreigners living here.
I had alluded to this issue indirectly in my previous post; in it I briefly mentioned how a friend had not really believed me, one night when were lost, that we could ask the police for assistance. My friend had not believed me because she had heard that Japanese cops usually mistreat foreigners. I told her that was neither my experience nor the experience of my close friends. I mentioned that I always look for a Kōban (交番 –police box) whenever I cannot find an address and that I cannot help but think there is a good reason children in this country are always taught to look for a cop if they need help. In fact, from the time they are kids Japanese are taught to address police officers affectionately as omawarisan (お巡りさん –Mr. Go Around).
To be sure, like any other place, Japan has its share of bad cops. But I am willing to say those are few and far between (in Costa Rica things are quite the opposite). Be that as it may, I explained to my friend that one of the distinguishing characteristics of the police force in this country is that most of its members are there as a matter of vocation and not because they had nothing else to do. I also mentioned that by far most of the complaints you hear about cops come from citizens of a particular western country. Although more often than not they are unaware of how their own country’s police and migratory authorities work, they whine profusely about what they consider an egregious abuse by the Japanese police; namely, occasionally asking a foreigner at random to furnish his alien registration card showing he is legally in this country.
In the time I have been in Japan I have been asked for my ID thrice. I have always been treated with great courtesy at time of the request and have always received an apology for the inconvenience after showing my document. I have plenty of friends who will tell you the same story. A couple of months ago, Murphy’s Law punished a Filipina friend who has been in Japan for more than ten years. She forgot to take her gaijin card and, needless to say, got asked for it for the first time since moving here. Not having that little document meant she had to accompany the police officers to the station, where she had to wait until a relative brought her alien registration. Once she had shown that everything was in order she apologized for the inconvenience brought on the cops; in turn, they thanked her for her cooperation and apologized for any trouble they might have caused.
The friend that I was talking to about the police was unconvinced and insisted that undoubtedly I was conveying exceptional cases; she had heard about stories of police aggression from several friends. I asked if those friends were from country “X”. She replied that all of them were. Not only was that what I had suspected, I also learned that most of those individuals who “knew” about alleged aggressions had never had problems with the police and never witnessed any of the stories they told.
I told my friend that within the Gaijin community there is one small but strident group made up of querulous whingers whose only hobby seems to be mewling at the legal authority of the police to request an identification document. I filled her in on how in most cases of alleged police harassment against the members of that group one usually ends up discovering that these individuals, when asked for their id card by a police officer, respond that they cannot be bothered because they are citizens of country X (their citizenship somehow gives them a disproportionate sense of entitlement and self-righteousness) and try to remain on their way while ignoring the cops.
In such cases it is common for the police to walk with the person while they continue to request the furnishing of some identification document. Almost inevitably, at some point the person refuses to comply in a bad way; this simply happens to be the best way to ensure the cops ask you to accompany them to the station or the kōban. Failing to heed the officer’s request will induce the cops (usually two) to stand by your side and grab your arm as they become sterner in their request to visit the station. This is where things can go wrong sometimes. The person often “breaks loose” from the officers’ hold and demands not to be touched. This is not bad in and of itself and the situation remains manageable. However, there is always some fool who, in addition to freeing themselves, shove the police. When this happens, the person brings about an entirely different game.
A couple of weeks ago some friends met in Roppongi (六本木 ) to bid farewell to another friend that was leaving Japan for good. After dinner, the women in the group wanted to go dancing. But it turned out to be their bad luck night for they were in the company of all the wrong men. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday night, some of the males were married guys who were mindful of their drinking as they were thinking of their duties the next day. The others were simply not interested in dancing or in not being talk due to noise. And all men were united in their unwillingness to cough up \7,000 to go into a club whose courtesy drink comes in a glass that is five centimeters tall and 3 millimeters wide. Since we were already in a place that was nice, good and cheap and the conversation was interesting, we decided to stay.
Eventually the time came to go catch the last train of the night. Everybody headed for whichever line suited them best. One friend and I had the same destination since we were both staying with a wonderful lady who had not accompanied us that evening since she is a devout person who would neither dare nor risk upsetting the Hindu gods.
Our trip was not long, but we had to transfer to a different line twice. When we reached Shinagawa Station (品川駅), we ran to catch the last train to Shinbanba (新馬場). We failed. Nevertheless, we were only about two kilometers away from our hostess’ home, so we decided to walk.
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As it always happens when you go for an unexpected stroll, you get to talk about anything and everything. We did so was we followed the railroad tracks. At some point, however, we realized that we had been walking for about two hours and there were no signs of Shinbanba Station.
As it also tends to happen with unexpected strolls, we were lost. My friend wanted to turn back, but I convinced that was not a good idea since we would only be heading back to Shinagawa; we needed to know where we were relative to Shinbanba. She did not want to knowingly wander aimlessly, but I insisted once more that we needed to keep walking while being on the lookout for an area map or a police station.
***
After a few more minutes of wearing out our shoe soles and hopefully burning some calories, we saw a train station. Since we were on one side of it, we began to search for a sign that would tell us the name of the station. Then, above some street I saw a sign that read Ōsaki City (大崎市). At that point it became clear we needed to find a police station, which I knew could not be far from the station.
My friend was not very keen on the idea of going to talk to the police; she was somehow concerned about having some trouble. I told her that, as far as I knew, in Japan it was not illegal to be lost. She replied that in many countries of the former Warsaw Pact people remain weary of law and order institutions.
Just as we were about to enter the police box, I realized that the policeman (an older man) sitting at the desk near the entrance was giving some young guy a talking-to. As I watched the young man nod and bow incessantly I felt the police officer’s body language indicated he did not want us to interrupt, so I told my friend we should wait outside. Almost immediately, another cop came out. He asked how he could be of service to us. I explained that we were lost and needed to get to Shinbanba.
Police box in Ōsaki
“Shinbanba? That place is kind of far from here. My suggestion is that you better find a coffee shop nearby and wait for the first morning train. By the way, where did you come from?” The good officer could not restrain his laughter when we said we had come from Shinagawa. He recommended, yet again, that we seriously consider going to some coffee shop.
However, we insisted we would rather walk, so the cop told the youngest officer at the station (who had come out by then) to go to fetch the area’s maps. While we waited, the middle-aged officer asked about which country we came from. After hearing our answers, he began to speak Russian to my friend, assuming she belonged to those generations of Soviet Bloc citizens that were required to learn it in school. He only addressed me in English, but he was aware that Costa Rica is a neutral country (the propaganda machine back home ought to be proud) that has no army.
***
When the younger policeman came back with the maps the older officer began to talk to him in English, asking him to use it when explaining to us how to reach our destination. The younger officer, embarrassed and red-faced, told his senior that doing so would be too difficult for him. The older cop gave him a little shove and a tap on the head, telling him to get his act together because promotions could come by a little faster if he became proficient in at least another language.
Needless to say, I asked the senior policeman if they were required to learn other languages. He told me that for some time now that National Police Agency has been asking its officers to “voluntarily” learn another language and a little bit about the geography and history of the countries where that language is spoken. The objective is to improve the security of the Japanese people as well as the services the police provides to the foreign community in Japan. According to him, they are usually advised to learn English, Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Russian, Farsi and Tagalo.
We engaged in some additional chitchat about what my friend and I thought about Japan, Japanese people and how difficult local the language is –especially with respect to politeness and formality. After a short while, I told omawarisan (お巡りさん –a term of endearment use by the public to address police officers) we did not want to take any more of his time and that we would be grateful if he were kind enough to tell us how to reach our destination.
The officer made one last and futile effort to dissuade us from walking. According to him, not only was the walk long, it had a lot of twists and turns as well. Then he asked whether we could “allow” him to explain our rout in Japanese. After the third time we had gone over the details of our second stroll of the evening, omawarisan made sure we had memorized our rout. The younger cop, however, dashed into the police box and brought us a pen and a piece of paper so we could take some notes.
I thanked both cops for their kindness and time once they finished giving us directions. I asked about their names. The younger officer gave his right away. The older omawarisan, grinning playfully, said his name was just “Night Sergeant” (サルジェントナイト –sarujento naito). I conveyed my surprise that he was working the night shift. He shot back energetically and enthusiastically that he loved his shift because the most interesting characters and situations come about at night. There are various kinds of foreigners; those like ourselves, lost and in need of basic assistance; but there are also those that need to learn their lives in Japan do not have to be circumscribed to working jobs in the domains of the night and the groin. In addition, there are youths who must be reminded that they cannot afford even one little derailment in their lives, for that always leads to a free fall.
My friend and I bid our goodbye to the two omawarisan and got on our way. As we walked, she commented that although initially she had not believed me when I said we should turn to the police for help, she had been delighted by kindness and friendliness of the cops with whom we spoke that night. The experience had been the complete opposite of what she had heard about the Japanese police.
Our serendipitous excursion finally came to an end when we got “home” sometime after 4am (the trains start running at 5 am…). A few hours later, as we recounted our fortuitous adventure to our host, my strolling companion mentioned she even dreamt about the omawarisan. While clearly intrigued, my Indian friend did not ask about the dream; the sparkle in the eyes of our eurofriend and her mischievous smile spoke volumes about Sarujento Naito.
