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Articles
Remembrance From Afar
by Jason Kelly
09/11/2002
Today was a hard day to live in Japan. The news here
began much the way I'm sure it began in America. Photos,
reruns, questions of how the world has changed since this
day last year. My office
in Sano was stacked with world opinion from The New York
Times and The Daily Yomiuri.
I set aside time to read the articles. Most of what I read
discussed how badly our War On Terror has gone, and I remembered
that I, too, have written that opinion.
World leaders shouted that America is acting unilaterally and
generally complained about everything the world's only superpower
is doing. President Bush should have changed U.S. energy policy.
He should have made more of his political capital after the
speech from Ground Zero and
State of the Union Address. The CIA and FBI haven't changed
since a year ago and if we think 9-11 was bad, just wait
until the Big One sneaks through.
And so on.
By the time I left at the end of the day, I wished I was back
in America. I walked down the steps from my office to the
quiet streets of Sano. I made my way toward the train station.
As I crossed the fountain courtyard I heard familiar words
being sung:
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
A Japanese man stood with his hands clasped behind his back
singing a cappella. His guitar leaned against the concrete wall
behind him, where he had also attached a small American flag
on a stick.
His voice was not very good and his accent thick on the
words. Never have I been so moved by the sound of
my national anthem. I was alone far from home. The world
seemed to hate my country. There was nobody with whom I could
remember the feelings I had one year ago.
From that unlikely setting, this man sang to America as best
he could. That it wasn't very good made it all the more
touching. And what were the odds that the only person who would happen
along at that moment would be me, an American who badly needed
to hear something good about America?
Where I had stopped there was little light. He couldn't see
me in the shadows when he concluded the words. It caught him off
guard when my hoarse "domo arigato gozaimasu" came from the
otherwise empty fountain area.
He ran to me and grasped my
hand in both of his. "You're welcome," he said. He asked me a
few questions, which I answered in Japanese out of habit, and
then switched to English in honor of the reason we were talking.
"Were you there?" he wanted to know.
"Not in New York, but I was in Los Angeles. I remember driving
on the freeway and hearing the reports that a plane had flown
into the World Trade Center and thinking that it was a morning
comedy routine, and in poor taste. I tried switching radio
stations but found the same comedy routine everywhere. That's
when I noticed everybody else switching lanes to the freeway exits to return
home, punching buttons on their car radios the same way I was.
The whole commute reversed direction. I've never seen that happen any
other time."
I don't think he understood it all. I said it quickly as
it came to me, like I would tell a friend in a coffee shop
back home. The street singer nodded and said, "I like
America very much. I like American culture."
I thanked him again and we bowed to each other. I
looked out the train windows all the way home instead of
reading something from my briefcase.
I walked in the front door, took off my tie, and
called my mother and some friends back home. We spoke English so
quickly and we understood everything each other said. I told
them about the singer and said that not everybody in the world
hates America. But mostly I just wanted to let them know
how happy I was to be able to pick up the phone and call
them and have them answer. Some 3,000 of my countrymen
can't do that today.
I'm proud to be American, wherever I may be.
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