Where there is hope, there is a way!

Never are all doors closed. We live in an increasingly dipolar planet between two extreme ends, which provide us opportunities to overcome difficulties. Some schools needed teachers who would be willing to visit a well-off student at their home to save them the 3 hours it would take to get to class for a 90-minute lesson, or for a late-afternoon Saturday class. Native speakers generally did not want to take on those classes because they were not profitable or they simply preferred to have a beer with a pal on a Saturday rather than teach English. For me, it was simply not a time to be choosy. Gratefully, I took on these left-over classes to launch me in teaching, even temporarily. I was confident that once I proved my ability, more work would follow.

Days of job inquiries had continued unceasingly until that fateful day when my eyes caught an ad about an American-based, highly-prestigious international language school that offered not only English, but other foreign languages as well. There I was, standing in my friend’s ‘genkan’, barely a meter long space inside the front door and next to the elongated kitchen; the phone and the phone number right in front of me. I was wavering between the thoughts of calling and getting rejected again, and wondering if there could remotely be a position for a Persian instructor. With almost no hope that this time it would prove to be any different, I decided against the odds and called. There was no job for a Persian instructor. No surprise. However, something far better than what I expected was waiting for me.

The American head teacher, a professional linguist, specialized in teacher-training and curriculum development of that school, had completely a different idea about learning English from a native speaker. He perceived (as it should be) language as an important communication tool and believed that English is a global language used around the world. He emphasized that learners needed to be exposed to different accents and pronunciations. I would immediately secure an appointment for an interview.

In our meeting, I found him friendly and very confident. I was tense after all that I had experienced up until then, but his pleasant personality put me at ease right away. Throughout the interview, he asked essential questions including relevant work experience, and seemed satisfied with what I had to offer. The interview was conducted in English, so I don’t believe he found anything absurd or peculiar in my accent that would presumably hinder communication. I was hired.

Enthusiastically, I took the two-week training course. The school was specialized in one-on-one and small group lessons. Students already had learned enough grammar and vocabulary in high school; they just wanted to be able to speak English with someone. The school also had exclusive materials that I found well developed for private lessons. In addition, they had a methodology for teaching those materials. The two-week training period helped me get a solid background and added to my teaching experience I already acquired in the Philippines and Iran.  

When the training was over, I was given weekly classes right away. Still living in Osaka, I was really thrilled, and a little boastful to be able to find a job in a country ranked second best economy in the world, walking alongside those haughty-looking businessmen, ‘sararimantachi’, on my way returning home in those miles-long crowded underground passages. I realized I still had a lot to learn but I was doing whatever I possibly could. After sometime, the Nagoya branch needed teachers. So, I was dispatched to Nagoya from time to time. Incredible! Although rejected by much smaller schools, I was sent on business trips by this one. It gave me a feeling of accomplishment that my contribution to society mattered!

Shinkansen-ride thrill

Riding the Shinkansen bullet train, then the fastest train in the world, was quite an event, reminding me of train rides taken during my childhood, but with everything in stark contrast. When I was a kid, my family used to take the train to my mother’s hometown in northern Iran, near the Caspian Sea. The trains, bought from Europe, were probably manufactured before World War I. They looked like antiques, the ones with compartments that now a days, we can see only in classic movies. It seemed to take forever to reach your destination. Of course, as a child, I loved the long rides. Sitting in the Shinkansen, enjoying coffee at the dining car while watching the scenic view and reminiscing the childhood memories was truly delightful. When approaching the terminal, slowly advancing with its projected snout, some passengers on the platform excitedly taking photos, the Shinkansen looked uniquely majestic, like a passing dignitary saluting soldiers.

Bar Hostess, Native speakers only!

   

It was just a few days later, still in search of a job for survival, and not yet completely absorbed the reality that skin colour in the business world matters here when I came across this quizzical ad: “Wanted: Bar hostess, native speakers only!”

Native speaker of what language, I wondered. We were in Japan, did they mean a native Japanese speaker? But I was, technically, a native speaker, but just of Persian, could they mean that? Or did the term ‘native speaker’ have another meaning here?

This ad was placed in the late 70’s. Japan was enjoying the result of the booming economy of the 60’s and 70’s paving the way for the bubble economy of the mid- 80’s. Everything, was about the three “Ps”: power, prestige, and profit. Only money talked and entertainment was the core of activities. Indeed the concept, like everywhere else in the developed world was like the movie “Wall Street”, in which Gekko in his speech addressed to the stock shareholders, reminds them that: “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right, greed works, greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of evolutionary spirit!”

At around the same time, the Zen Spirit, the projected image of Japan which had been highly praised in the international arena, was getting pushed aside by frenzy materialism. The meaningful sense of ‘wabi sabi’, or ‘the beauty in simplicity’ was hard to find. Edwin Reischauer calls this time of history in Japan as “a time of doubt”. “Even to the post-war generation, the products of the new age, Japan sometimes appeared spiritually empty”, he writes.

Out of curiosity, I called the number on the ad.

“Excuse me”, I said, “Could you tell me: native speaker of what language are you looking for in your ad?”

“Um…Ahhh…”

That was the only response I got.

I told the man on the phone that even he was a native speaker...of Japanese! This conversation, like the last, ended up in disappointment. It was a learning moment that here ‘native speaker’ meant light skin, preferably blue eyes, and blonde hair. It seemed it was profitable for businesses to have fair skin; in bottom of my heart, still young and naïve, I should admit, I was envious of the successful applicants.  

In this new country it seemed I did not meet the requirements to teach a language I had studied and perfected for years, or to even pour sake (Japanese wine) in a customer’s wine glass. Do the students and customers want these things, or do businesses insist on this unspoken rule? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?  Either way, I thought, what a pity to miss out the rich variations and rewards of diversity!

Awakening to life's purpose

The job enquiry on that day in which skin colour became an essential factor for the job qualification made me think about how enigmatic the paradigm of human's mind-set is about appearances; how we build walls and alienate ourselves from one another for something God-given. Yet, we highly praise diverse colours in nature, write poems or paint to show the beauty of a rainbow or spring blossoms. Never would a gardener grow a garden entirely of one-colour flowers.

Eckhart Tolle, in his book “A New Earth, Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose”; wrote about why humans are fascinated by the beauty of nature. He talks of 114  million years ago when the first flowering plants appeared on planet, opening up to receive the rays of the sun. According to him “seeing beauty in a flower could awaken humans, however briefly, to the beauty that is an essential part of their own innermost being, their true nature.” In Japan, for instance, people love the ethereal beauty of cherry blossom or the majesty of divinely symmetrical Mount Fuji. Year upon year, in spring, they make sure not to miss out on viewing the cherry blossoms. Every time, the way they admire its beauty, it is as if they have seen it for the first time. Is this affinity merely to be expressed in the physical existence of those physical attributes in nature solely? Tolle believes, “once there is a certain degree of Presence, of still and alert attention in human beings’ perceptions, they can sense the divine life essence, the one indwelling consciousness or spirit in every creature, every life-form, recognize it as one with their own essence and so love it as themselves.”

How on earth, or at what point in history did we go wrong, ignoring our true spirit and befalling into this abysmal confusion, looking at our physical appearance so competitively? Under the misconception that words considered derogatory lie at the root of the problem, we try euphemism to cover up the ugliness. Among many, one is “people of colour”, truly defined as “any person who is not white”. Now, wait a minute! Is white not a colour? What is so special about white that is distinct from other colours? Why should skin colour matter so much to humans?

what is my skin colour?

What colour am I?

The young Japanese generation, presumably, may read the anecdote I share here in disbelieving surprise. It is what I experienced in the late 70’s, within a few months of my arrival in Japan. But before relating my story, a short note on how the geographical realities of Japan, compared to Iran, may be appropriate.

Being an island country, “shimaguni”, Japan claims to be homogenous, proud of being a nation of one race, one language (despite the fact that there are ethnic groups such as the Ainu and Okinawan). They also believe in their distinctiveness from the rest of the world which I believe affected international relationships.

In contrast, as one of the influential countries on the Silk Road, Iran has always been a great contributor to creating a bridge between East and West. Its location on the globe, and its role as a cradle of civilization since ancient times, enriched its culture with diversified ethnicities, and made it a melting pot with people of different features, languages, tribes, and religions; something in which Iranians take pride. The varied physical features of its people exist even within a family. For instance, in my own family, two of my siblings have light skin while two are darker.

In addition to this background, I was raised in an environment that from early childhood I was taught the beauty of unity in diversity.  Naturally, skin colour was not important to me until I came to Japan and experienced, with a heavy heart the existence of what I would call “silent” discrimination. From what I have experienced, I feel that the white race is associated with power and prestige here. I call it silent because it is unexposed and unchallenged. Some interpret it as ‘differentiation’ rather than ‘discrimination’ as if that places it into a different category from discrimination which sounds terrible. My experience says otherwise.

I was fumbling my way around every day, desperately looking for a job. Seemingly underrated and unappreciated for something that I felt was not even remotely essential for the job I hoped to work, my initial hope began to slowly disappear. At times, as necessary, I tried to hide my nationality in conversations. However, being a highly hierarchical society even in terms of a foreigner’s nationality, doing so was difficult. One of the first questions, if not at times THE first question, was about my nationality, even in halting English, such as, “Where is your from?” This linguistic mannerism exists to shape people’s interpersonal relationships in accordance with various levels of hierarchy.

This strictly hierarchical system of one’s social status in society extended to foreigners and their respective countries, too. Broadly-speaking, I have the impression that Japanese perceive the countries of world in terms of three categories: the first being the developed, mostly western countries. The second being the neighbouring countries with which Japan has some historical bonds. The remaining being the rest of the world; including third-world, poor, or not-so-popular countries. Most people do not care greatly about the third category, and unluckily, that is included in the country I am from.

Therefore, I believed I needed to come up with something to overcome this hurdle. On one of those frustrating days, as I was calling schools, I toyed with an idea. This time, I would use a slight twist of tongue to the repeated query on nationality and say: “I am from I-ran”, as in “I ran in the marathon yesterday!” After all, isn’t that how some native speakers of English pronounce Iran, instead of the more correct pronunciation of “Iran”. Perhaps it would pass for a remote town in the United States or Canada and I would be given a chance, at least, to have an interview which, up until now, I had been denied. A woman who I assumed was a secretary answered the phone and put me through to the manager. I cleared my throat, being careful not to reveal the Filipino accent I had picked up during my university days in the Philippines blended with my native Persian accent I learned as a child. It felt funny and I was nervous as I tried to sound as much like a native speaker as I possibly could. Alas, it did not go my way, and I was completely taken aback with what followed. In a tone of voice as if annoyed by interviewing several applicants and not finding the ideal one, the person abruptly blurted, “What is your skin colour?” The question was loud, and its intent as clear as crystal. The inquirer sounded quite earnest and wanted a truthful answer. I did not know how to respond right away, thinking he might be asking in jest. When I did not hear him laughing after an uncomfortably long pause, I realized he was not.

I became totally puzzled by such a seemingly inappropriate question. For starters, did he literary mean it? If so, what was the relation between skin colour and one’s teaching, I wondered? When I heard that students wanted to learn from a native speaker, I thought it was because they wanted to hear pronunciation accurately, and learn about western culture first-hand. I actually thought of it as not a bad notion. But here, did it really matter whether I was white or black American? Or white, but not North American?

What is more, at that moment, I did not know what exactly my skin colour was. I certainly am neither white nor black; but I am not brown, yellow, or green for that matter either. Did this guy not know about the complexity of human colour; that it is not just a question of black or white? When one speaks a second language, it is sometimes difficult to grasp fully the connotation, or indeed the indecency, of the spoken word. At this moment, I didn’t know if he had this kind of confusion, or if he simply did not care.

Later on, I talked about this amusingly bemusing job enquiry with a friend. He suggested that my skin colour is best described as ‘olive’. I imagined an olive but could not make out the resemblance in any way. Never mind, I thought. At this point I knew that if my answer was not “white”, the choice of any other colour would not really matter. Even now, I cannot recall what my response was to that bluntly crass question. Later on, different ideas came to my mind that I thought I should have replied to him at that moment, such as, “Do you mean my skin colour before or after makeup?” Because the before and after answers are quite different. However, I remember our conversation ended in pitiful silence on my part because he did exactly what he was not supposed to do, namely judging a book by its cover. And possibly with a slight shrug of a shoulder. 

Nationality Discrimination

Job possibilities

I was totally on my own, and needed a job quite badly. By profession, I am a social worker but working in that field was out of question. I remember once I volunteered to help at a senior citizens’ home. I could not speak Japanese well, and was not familiar with Japanese society nor the system at work. Thus, I could feel how my presence on that day was a nuisance, jamamono, to the staff. However, they did not turn me down out of sheer courtesy. They gave me a rag to clean the windows that actually were so clean that did not need any more cleaning! I also recall to having to spoon feed an elderly person, in silence, but with a smile on my face to at least make the meal a little more palatable. There was another obstacle as well since there was no shortage of social workers. One requirement for getting a work visa was to be able to do a job that could not be done by a Japanese national.

What could I do that a Japanese could not? The only other possibility that occurred to me was to teach a foreign language, English or possibly Persian. There was next to no chance for the latter, but a high demand for the English. However, I quickly came to learn that in those days Japanese students wanted to learn English only from the so called “native speakers”. It came as a shocking surprise to see how the people of a country who suffered greatly during the Pacific War were so overly-fascinated by western culture, especially with the United States of America. I was not deemed a qualified English teacher because I was not “native speaker of English”! From this point on, it was necessary to face the unexpected ugly truth.

I had nowhere else to go, Japan was all I had. I could not let despair take over, I would be lost. I needed to find a job at any cost. I was reading classified ads, then calling up English language schools, fervently, to find some job. Any school I called, routinely asked the same three questions, which were: “What is your nationality?”, “Have you studied in the United States?” and “Have you lived in the United States?” As soon as the answers from my lips were “Iran”, and “No, I haven’t”, there were no further questions, just a word of apology. My work experience in teaching or language-related work did not matter at all. One time when I mentioned my nationality, the guy, in a mocking tone said, “Sorry, we don’t even hire British, we only need Americans.”

Pre-judgment

I kept calling schools, and from these encounters, I realize how pre-judging I had been about Japan before coming here, just like Mark Twain says “travel is fatal to prejudice.” Among the qualities and virtues I read about Japan before coming was that 100% of Japanese population was literate as far back as a 100 years ago, a stark contrast with Iran. Biased thoughts and ignorance in societies that leads to social problems emanates from inadequate education. I arrived here with a heart full of passion. As soon as I got off the airplane I wanted to embrace every Japanese and tell them ‘thank you for making the world a better place to live’. Sometimes, when you realize that you were wrong in your judgment, it hurts even more. It was hard for me to comprehend the reason that made Japanese so biased about appearance or that only native speakers could teach English.

destiny away from homeland

In pursue of destiny away from your homeland

October 1978 - The unusual, scorching heat and humidity of August let up a little. The chirping sound of cicadas in the breezy evening air carried the promise of crisp, cool days ahead. I was finally convinced that Japan is not indeed in a tropical zone. But for me, there was no time to try to enjoy these pleasant signs of the advent of autumn. By now I knew for sure that I could not go back home; the honeymoon was over and I needed to come up with plans to tackle the rough road that lay ahead.

Visa and work, seemingly, the lifeline for those who cannot live in their homeland for reasons beyond their control became the two most essential aspects of my life, like water and electricity for city dwellers. Depending on where one is born and where one ends up living, these lifelines of visa and work can grow into a source for anxiety, insecurity, and ,at times, unhappiness.

This is the true story at a stage in my life when I could use my potential, energy, and opportunities to pursue a career and possibly enjoy life. If destiny takes you to a foreign land to spend the rest of your life, you would need permission to work and for that you must prove your skill is needed to obtain the permit, a daunting task, not unlike Mission Impossible. I did not expect much. I just needed social security, something I don’t have up to this moment despite the fact that I have passed retiring age but cannot think of quitting work. I don’t have a pension I can depend on. My monthly pension from the government is not enough to survive on for a week, even if I live frugally. Throughout my working age, I worked as hard, if not harder, than my husband. Nonetheless, he has a pension that he can depend on in his old age but I don’t. I have no other choice but to depend on him financially. This kind of antiquated system still exists in the 21st century where women should look upon the mercy of her husband for livelihood. If I don’t want to depend on my ‘dannasan’, literally meaning my master, I will need to work until the last breath if, God willing, I can stay healthy. This is partly because of Japan’s social security system and partly due to the conditions I was compelled to work within.

October 1978 - Changing visa status

First, I needed to change my visa status. I was told at this point getting a working visa was impossible. Among various types of visa offered by the government, there was one for foreigners who were interested in Japanese culture, also known as a “cultural visa”. It was good for two years, to be renewed every six month. I opted for this, not that I had any other options! I went to Korea to change the status of my visa, quite surprisingly, without any trouble.

Among the requirements, one was to have a Japanese sponsor. A kind Japanese man offered to be my sponsor. I had not yet even met him; he extended his offer through a friend. He was a prominent journalist, working for a prestigious newspaper company. In fact, at the embassy the officer in charge told me I had a solid sponsorship and enquired how we were related. I explained that we believed in the same religious Faith. I am sure my credible sponsor was an important factor in the visa procedure. To be eligible, of course, I had to enroll at a cultural school in two areas. One reason I was attracted to Japan was the unique art of flower arrangement, called Ikebana. I thought this as good opportunity and gladly picked out Ikebana. The other was pottery, for which I had no experience nor interest. I just had to take it to qualify for the said visa. I was also aware I needed to learn Japanese even if I was going to stay short while.

Foreigners with this kind of visa are allowed to work a few hours a week. Although I desperately needed work, I did not apply for the permit thinking I would leave soon. Nevertheless, I started looking for a job and , at about the same time, started to learn about the hurdles life throws at you.

The Honeymoon

The first few weeks of my stay in the Land of Rising Sun was like a honeymoon. Every day was filled with excitement, and at times, as it is true with any relationship, with shocking discoveries too. It started from the very first night that I was stranded at the airport due to lack of communication causing me to miss my connecting flight to Osaka. It ended when I realized that I had to extend my stay here for the foreseeable future.

I was fascinated by new revelations every time I took a tour of the city. People, as most tourists would agree, were kind and polite. The politeness, that had no limits, was revealed not only in behavior but even more so in language. For example, the prefix‘o’ or ‘go’ that needs to be added to some words in reverence to the person you are talking to show respect. This, in fact, is one of the most difficult parts of learning  Japanese because if you don’t use it correctly, you will end up being overly-polite to yourself. That does not demonstrate modesty and humbleness required in relationships and it is quite embarrassing.

"Sumimasen, enpitsu made", once I was asked by a man at the public phone who needed a pen to write down something. This might simply be translated as, “Excuse me, could I use your pencil for a second”. However, there is a deeper meaning in those three words that lies at the heart of the speaker’s intent that to this day it is still an enigma to me. ‘Sumimasen’, can be used as an expression for apology, like ‘I am sorry’ or ‘Excuse me’. But, the cultural connotation is phenomenal. It means gratitude for receiving something I don’t deserve, and a sense of guilt for causing you the inconvenience that never stops. Is this kind of attitude- one of the most important social values in Japan- necessary for a harmonious relationship, ? Sometimes even more essential than justice or the truth. Little I knew about Japanese language at that time, I was delighted to understand the subtlety of this expression because I had just learned it in my Japanese class a few days earlier. What the man was actually communicating was: “I am sorry to inconvenience you to the point that I need to ask you to lend me your pencil for a second”, so much in just three words, huh! I lent him my pencil with an admiring smile.

Sometimes, I want to pat myself on the shoulder for surviving without undue hardship all these meticulous and strict traditional practices expressed in spoken language. Only, heaven knows, how frequently and how many people I have hurt with my language gaffes. Here I would like to say to all those people “Sumimasen!”

I was truly overwhelmed with helpfulness of people. "What is the way to the post office", I had enquire once. Even in this small daily life routine the Japanese demonstrated their national trait, the spirit of helping each other in time of need, volunteerism or the importance of consultation. Another passer-by stopped by and tried to help. And soon it was turning into a small crowd to guide this foreigner who seemed to have been lost. The helpful crowd had consulted each other as for the best way possible to the post office saying to each other ‘Desuyou ne’, right? When they realized I don’t understand any of their words and wild gestures, it was decided that one of them accompany me all the way to the post office.

When I was talking about this with another foreigner, she related this story. She was home-staying with a Japanese family, and just like me, she was truly touched by the heart-felt affection the family was constantly rendering to make her stay in Japan as comfortable and pleasant as they could. She wanted to show her gratitude to the family in some ways. She was still trying to figure out how to show it but to no avail. Then one day, she accidentally caused fire in her room on the tatami mat (Japanese room-flooring) which is easily burnable. The frantic host mother rushed into the room to see what had happened. My friend, still in disbelief, continued saying, even then, the host mother, struggling between whether calling the fire department before it was too late, or trying to contain the fire by herself, had a smile on her face. Fortunately, the fire was put out in time damaging only the tatami mat. That smile, she went on to say, was the heaviest smile she had ever felt in her heart. the smile made her even more ashamed; she said it would have felt better if the mother slapped her on the face at that moment. Iranians are also very kind to visitors and guests. In fact there is a saying that a guest is God’s friend. Sometimes comically Iranians are told they kill you with their kindness. I thought it is not so comical; this is how one can kill you with kindness.

I never tire strolling down the shopping avenues looking at the brightly-lit stores with orderly-arranged showcases. The sales clerks seemed to never tire of smiling at customers. The exquisite services made shopping such a pleasant activity it makes you want to shop even more (which is actually the purpose of the service). The best of all was elevator attendants who take the term ‘taking your job seriously’ to a new level. First you enter the elevator, the attendant who closely resembles a 747 uniformed flight attendant, greets you so cheerfully that you cannot help but smile back. With extreme professional courtesy, she announces all the stops she will be on her one directional ascend, while professionally gesturing at the floor guide also giving the necessary warning of what to do in the event of emergency.

The visit to Shinsaibashi Shopping Arcade was everything the bazaar of my hometown lacked. It did not have the exotic architectural design of a bazaar, but the orderliness and the Japan-like oriental beauty was quite impressive. Ironically, I was missing the hustle and bustle of the street merchants, the vitality with the shouts of shopkeepers inviting customers to come in. One thing, in downtown Osaka that I found conspicuously different from Tehran’s streets, was how easily accessible were the nightclubs, drinking bars, and the shops where they were selling what were called adult toys.

The visits to the cultural city of Kyoto and the historical city of Nara reminded me of Esfahan and Shiraz in Iran. Interestingly, even the Japanese spoken in Kyoto sounded similar to Persian spoken in Esfahan in its sweet, charming accent.

Each temple in those cities had its own historical or cultural story. The tranquility of the gardens would give you peace of mind and make you ponder upon divinity, the spiritual world, and the philosophy of man and his relation with nature. With all of these spiritual beliefs, interwoven to daily life, so deeply that it becomes part of culture and tradition, it made me wonder why people think that they don’t believe in God or a religion.

One of the things that surprised me in those temples was to find the stone statues considered to be deities. There were many; for children, pregnant women, business, and so on. The one for women who cannot get pregnant was particularly interesting. Every object you could see in the temple was the shape of a male’s genital organ. At the end of the tour of this unique temple, when we thought we had seen everything there was to see, we decided to sit down for an after-tour of Japanese tea and cake called ‘omanju’. A friend went to pick up a box of cake from the souvenir shop. When he returned and opened the box, when we saw the shape of the cakes, we realized that we need to look around some more. Some statues in another temple were wearing caps and bibs. I asked about it and was told the cap was for keeping the stones warm so as not catch cold, and the bib was for drooling!

At another visit to a temple, I noticed a car with all the four doors open.  A Buddhist priest was holding a stick with shredded papers attached to the tip, like a duster; he was swaying it over the car and saying something, a prayer or magic words maybe! Baffled with this unfamiliar scene, curiously, I enquired as to the meaning of this. The explanation was that he was blessing the car and driving the evil of accidents away. Apparently, for some, the civil insurance was not enough and they wanted to have God’s insurance as well in order not to have any accidents in the first place.

This kind of superstitious belief surprised me very much; I found it paradoxical in a country so advanced in science and technology. After all, I realized that Japan, similar to Iran, is an oriental country, and unlike its western counterparts, these kinds of beliefs still exist.

I was enjoying my days like this then suddenly I realized the holiday was over.

Iran's situation in 1978

1978 - Iran’s situation

When I was preparing to leave Iran, there was political turmoil and social unrest that had already begun years before, reaching a climax in 1977 on different fronts, slowly pulling the nation toward revolution.

Just a week before my departure, on the 19th of August 1978, there was a horrifying terror attack in the southern city of Abadan. A movie theatre, the Cinema Rex was set on fire. All the doors were mysteriously locked making it impossible for anyone to escape. Nearly 500 innocent civilians were trapped, burnt alive. The carnage happened in the hottest month, in one of the hottest cities. According to the chief-of-police’s account, the scene would remind you of the gas chambers of Hitler. The opposition groups and the ruling government were pointing fingers at one another, accusing the other of the heinous attack. The brutalities that the Shah’s secret police, SAVAK, were inflicting on people in those days to suppress the uprising that was gaining momentum day by day, like a rolling snowball, made it hard for people to dismiss these accusations by the opposition groups. Later, it was considered to be a pivotal event that triggered the revolution. And, in my view, the events that occurred following the revolution cleared the air for many as to who was the real culprit on that fateful day.

Despite all this, nobody, myself included, could have imagined it would be living through days leading up to the impending moment of a sudden and drastic change of regime. I did not say farewell nor resign my job. Instead, I began a two-month summer break and planned to come to Japan for a short visit.

Occasionally, whenever I think back to that summer, I can’t help but wonder if, on that day of departure while hugging my mother good-bye, I knew somehow that this would be the last time ever to hug her, that I would never see her again, or even be able to go to her funeral. Indeed, if I had known what was to come would I have acted differently?

Within a short period of my arrival in Japan, the political events taking a turn for worse in Iran, made me realize, bitterly, it was becoming impossible for me to return home, at least, for a while.  The only road ahead was to stay on in Japan and see how the situation in the Middle East would develop. I was unprepared for these sudden changes, and for the unfolding events that followed. In truth, I felt this new country was not ready for me, either.

Tehran School of School Work

The founder-director was a princess, on her father’s side, from the Qajar dynasty (the dynasty toppled down by the Reza Shah of Pahlavi dynasty). She studied social work in the U.S., and was amazed by their social system and values that she found greatly different from Iran. She believed in opportunities for all and the rights of minorities. Upon returning home, she was resolute in implementing some of those the ideas in Iranian society when she decided to open the School of Social Work.

Iran was facing many social problems in the 50’s and 60’s, with poverty on the top of the list; a problem that emanated from ignorance because of high rates of illiteracy, more than 50%, politically-motivated religious ideologies, fanatical beliefs that were basically institutional doctrines rather than spiritually-orientated, and corruption in the system. She was determined to tackle these problems by helping the needy.

When selecting personnel for the school, she promoted minority rights and diversity. Being a Baha’i, and having graduated in the Philippines, I was hired on the first interview. I think she believed that with my background, I could contribute something constructive to school. Because of that, I tried not to fail her expectations during my two year-work. I also wanted to make a contribution to the development of my country.

The school was located in the posh area in northern part of Tehran. The view from my office window, with plantain trees that had turned really magnificent as they aged, lining each side of the street, were comparable to the renowned Champs-Elysees of Paris. I will never forget the not-so-large but beautiful campus, with the fresh-green willow leaves moving gently to the breeze of the warm days of the spring, ornamented with the sweet fragrance of roses in their bed, the shade of pines and cypresses in hot days of the summer, and the serenity that snowflakes bring to the air in the winter.

I joined the workforce at a time when the government was involved in the shake-up of its resources to make Iran more like European countries. The wife of the late Shah, the then-Empress Shahbanoo Farah, was strongly involved in cultural and social affairs as the economy was moving astronomically at a breakneck speed. So along with economic progress, they were trying to see to it that as many people as possible had a share in this progress. As a result, social work and social welfare institutions were quite busy.

My job included being an assistant to a professor who was teaching sociology in relation to the rapid economic development of Iran which was shifting from an agricultural base to a manufacturing industry. The attractive job opportunities, and urban conveniences of city life, especially in Tehran, drew many villagers to relocate to big cities, abandoning their farms. The professor, in his lectures, as I recall, warned about the risks of the economy that heavily depended on its oil revenue, which had soared with the oil shock of 1973, and imported many basic necessities, such as food. To ensure students understood these issues, for example, the professor explained: “Suppose foreign countries decide to stop selling us cheese; should this happen, then what should we put on our bread?” (Cheese and bread together with delicious grapes of all kinds are the three basic staple foods in Iran that everyone could afford). In Japan, this would be like eating onigiri, rice-balls, with nothing in it, or in Italy, pizza with no cheese on it. Still a novice, to help prepare me to teach classes on my own, my superior arranged for me to give a lecture on social welfare topics one day. All I remember of the day is how nervous I was.

Another part of my job was to supervise third- and fourth-year students who needed to intern in the field to complete their undergraduate program. These first few months, I accompanied another supervisor before beginning to supervise my own students. These students were involved in a variety of welfare activities, including case work and community work which were decided based on research work the students conducted prior to implementing programs to meet identified community needs. For example, they were engaged in activities such as creating recreation centres for the large youth population from low-income families who had nothing to do during the long, hot summer vacation other than hanging out with friends or playing soccer in back allies. In addition, literacy programs, job-training sessions, and family planning to young mothers were offered.

Both summers on faculty, I took part in a 3-day training camps to prepare students for field work in which they visited rural areas to assist needy groups within these communities where the government could not or did not get involved.

Although not part of my duty, I was engaged in the translation work of foreign articles from social work and other related magazines. Social work was a relatively new field in Iran so there was a severe lack of reference materials or professional literature.

Typically, Iranian students are enthusiastic learners at institutions of higher education. They are demanding of their professors and expect them to be knowledgeable. I had just returned from abroad and was not very familiar with the work environment in Iran, where little consideration is given to someone who is inexperienced and needs to gain skills as they begin working in the field. This made my job difficult, but I am not someone who gives up easily. I tried to look as authoritative as I could to students, but in a friendly manner.

Then, during my second year, which was a promising one by all accounts, I decided to come to Japan for a visit!

On a never-return-home journey

1978 summer, arriving in Japan

Life turned around 180 degrees once I boarded that plane on its way to Japan. I will never forget that hot, muggy day in August when the airplane landed in Tokyo. The humidity was unbelievable, the exact opposite of Tehran, when there is not a drop of rain for months, not even a patch of cloud. I was too excited to be bothered by this humidity, the long flight, or the crowded airport packed with people, evidently, coming back from the summer holiday they could afford to spend aboard. I wanted to see, in close contact, this country with its centuries-old traditions, hand in hand with the state-of-the-art technology on a fast track which had perplexed the world, and its formidable economic presence influencing most part of the world, despite the devastations it suffered during the Pacific war.
Passionately, I followed the line to the arrival desk, and got permission to stay for three months. I still had no idea how long I would stay, but three months was plenty, so I thought. Never had I imagined that I just had set foot to my second home, and that I would never be able to return to Iran. A year earlier, even visiting Japan was still a dream.

What was life like before coming to Japan?

I will continue to write about my life from the day I set foot in Japan. But first, a few words should be said here to give a background of my life situation before coming to Japan.
I was born and raised in Iran, in a middle-class family. My mother, a homemaker, and my father, like most workers, was a public servant. In the 50’s and 60’s most organizations were run by the government under the control of the Shah - the king.
I had an uneventful childhood. One thing, though, that made me different from other children was that I came from a Baha'i family. In those days, as a young child, to be a Baha’i was, and still is, a huge difference. The Baha’i Faith continues to be a minority religion, not recognised by the government. There is a lot of hostility and prejudice towards the believers. It intensified after the Iran’s revolution in 1979; although the principles and teachings are about world peace, unity, and service to humanity.
As a Baha’i child, I attended dars-e-aghlagh (literally meaning lessons of character/morals) every Friday morning, similar to a Christian Sunday School. What does it mean to be a Baha’i? It was taught to us as: “one endowed with all the perfections of man in activity”. This was the first lesson I learned as a child. Although I am far from this perfection, I can still aspire to that goal.
I learned the taste of being different from early age; it was not particularly pleasant. I always tried to hide  my identity as a Baha'i in school as much as possible, especially when I was alone without my Baha'i friends around me. But most children in the neighbourhood  knew, and some were told by parents not to play with the Baha’is. My playmates were mostly Baha’i children on the block; luckily there were more than enough of them.
After high school, at eighteen, I went to Philippines. At university, I attended to all the learning activities and could have the excitements of a university life that students enjoy. The Filipinos are easy going, cheerful, and friendly. There were beautiful beaches within a short distance. I can honestly say I spent the most joyful days of my life in the Philippines.
After finishing an undergraduate program, I decided to go on to graduate school. Up until then I was fully supported by my parents because, as a foreign student, I could not earn money. After that, however, I was told by my parents that they were no longer able to support me financially. I had no other choice but to return home, where I worked as a social worker for a year to save money and returned to the Philippines to finish graduate school.
While doing my graduate studies, an excellent job opportunity came up. I started working as a language instructor, teaching Persian to Filipino doctors, nurses, and technicians in different fields who were going to Iran to work. Iran had a severe shortage of skilled workers. The Shah, following the footsteps of his father, Reza Shah, was leading the country toward modernization and he was in hurry. Those were the glorious days in Iran. Today, the situation is entirely different. The unemployment rate is over 20%. It is sad to see those same unemployed young people who come to countries, like Japan, for work and then get involved in illegal activities.
After graduate school, I returned home, and easily found a full-time position at Tehran School of Social Work as an assistant professor. I was 26, rather young for such a position, especially for someone with no experience teaching at higher education. The job was quite challenging but I was a fighter and enthusiastic to learn.

Do not take it for granted

1968, summer

Japan seemed such a far land in the 50’s and 60’s. Iran’s foreign relations, similar to Japan, were mostly with the west, particularly, England, France, and most importantly, the United States. I don’t recall any history lesson about Japan if there was any, or maybe I was not interested.  It was not until after high school, in 1968 that I heard about a country called ‘Japan’

I could not pass the arduous entrance exam of the national University of Tehran. That belonged to elites or the top students. There were very few universities at the time. Although considered an energy superpower and rich in many natural resources, it makes you wonder why there were not more educational institutions for the young and talented population to attend. I believe, it was because a big chunk of the nation’s revenue used to go into the pockets of the powerful western countries through unfair trade deals, and the rest was taken by the corrupt high ranking officials, leaving little for building universities. In addition, it was thought by many that it would be better for people, especially women, not to become “too highly educated”. Once I heard in a political debate, on social media that the British, knowing the Iranians’ love for poetry, believed that it would be better for Iran to remain the land of “flower and nightingale”, two inspiring objects in Persian poetry.

I was one notch above average in grades, and coming from an ordinary family, would leave me very little chance to attend a university. The Philippines could offer me what my own country could not, so I decided to go to the Philippines for higher education. Unlike Iran, the Philippines had a good number of universities, many built during the Spanish occupation, and the medium of instruction was English, without an entrance exam for foreign students.

It was in one of those hot summer days that I was waiting for the admission letter to a university in the Philippines. I was home alone, listening to the radio. It was 15 minutes before the chanting of Azan, the call for the noon prayer - the sun at its zenith - broadcasted on the radio every day for as long as I remember. “Let’s enjoy a piece of music from the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan”, the radio announced. I am not sure why such time was chosen. Maybe the calm melody, it was thought, to be a good way for meditation. In Persian, the Land of Rising Sun is translated as sarzamin-e-aftab-e-taban. It does not quite evoke the image of Japan, a country blessed with plenty of rain. Actually, this name refers to Japan’s eastern position, as the first land that the sun rises. When I heard ‘Japan’, instantly, I thought of it as a dream land in the legendary tales. That shows how far I was to Japan then, not knowing only a decade later, I would be traveling to this land, and what is more, it would become my permanent home. Never take anything for granted. Never fixate your thoughts on one thing. Life can change in a moment with one step. At times, I would think, now that Japan is my permanent home, my bones would be buried here. Then I think of that first day when I listened to the radio playing Japanese music and continue walking along the road.

2016 - Autumn

The season giving so much joy through its matured characteristics. I am sitting in a coffee shop, looking out the window. Those rich-coloured leaves, dancing in the cold wind of yesterday, are now quietly resting on the wet ground from the drizzle, withered by the relentless time. Indeed, the story of man and his life is the story of wind and leaves, I think to myself. Far off, the crows caw on treetops, but they do not sound annoying anymore; rather, I hear some kind of sadness. The sound of rain takes me back to 40 years ago, reminding me of my first autumn in Japan. Alone, going through major changes in life, happening all at the same time, and I was not sure what to do. Perhaps it’s the drizzle and melancholy air that has finally made me start writing, things which had been feeling heavy in my chest for a long time. The story of my journey in Japan is a letter to my son. When he came into my world, I was initiated into the role of a parent. As a mother, this made Japan to me a gift of God.

In this age of the Internet, overflowing with information, supposedly bringing us closer, a critical issue, still facing us, is lack of knowledge and the attitude toward “others” we create in our minds. We tend to fill what we do not know with our stereotypes causing “fear of others”, a euphemism for prejudice. These biased thoughts have consequences. Inclusions and exclusions cause opportunities to be denied, contributions to be overlooked, yet privileges, unjustly provided to others. Becoming aware of this bitter reality is a starting step to dealing with the problem of societal integration.

As I write this, I am a mother, a wife and teaching at two top level universities. I am also an interpreter/translator in the legal system.  And Oh! The Japanese government finally succumbed to my twenty plus years of applying, pleading, and granted me Japanese citizenship, a rare occurrence.  These might sound like a very ordinary path of life for a Japanese, but for me to get where I am now, there were experiences / stumbles –struggles and at times happy moments I would like to share with you in the hope that through this story, to introduce my country and the challenges of integration for a non-westerner like me.