はじめまして。
私はロンです。
よろしくお願いします。
Ohayō from Ohio, your majesty.
I want to begin with my utmost respect for your self, the people of Japan, and the culture you represent. I do not write this letter lightly, nor with the intention of disrespect, only with urgency and honesty, and in the spirit of directness that your culture so often discourages from within.
If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already told off the Pope and all of Europe this week.
I write as an outside admirer of your land, but I’m not going to pretend we’ve always been the best of friends. There’s a lot of history between our nations, some of it stained in blood, and for my country’s sins against yours, I offer a deep and humble apology, one I know my own government is too proud to give. The horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the internment of Japanese Americans, the arrogance of an empire that called itself a beacon of freedom while crushing those it deemed lesser, it was wrong. Unforgivably so. I say this not to dwell on the past, but to show that I understand the weight of history when asking what I’m about to ask.
Because I am asking something of you, Japan. I’m calling in a favor.
Once upon a time, back in the ‘40s, your country had a problem. A guy in a fancy hat decided to take you all on a grand imperial adventure, and things, well, they got out of hand. My country, in our typical ham-fisted way, came along and helped bring that to an end, though not without committing our own atrocities in the process. After that, we stuck around. Helped rebuild. Poured industry into your veins until you became a global powerhouse. And in return, you gave us anime, PlayStations, and sushi bars on every corner. Not a bad trade, all things considered.
But here’s the thing: We’ve got a problem now. A big one. A former reality TV star, turned wannabe dictator, is knocking on the door of power again, and he’s dragging an army of fascists behind him. The same kind of fascists you and I both know all too well. He doesn’t wear a fancy hat, but he waves a lot of flags, and his people sure do love a good rally. Last time, he barely got into power before we kicked him out. But this time? There’s a very real chance he’s coming back. And if that happens, it won’t just be bad for America, it’ll be bad for everyone. Including you.
For decades, Japan has played the part of the peaceful nation, bound by a constitution that forbids you from taking up arms. You’ve stood by, watching as America stomped around the world, sometimes as a friend, sometimes as an occupying force, sometimes as something much uglier. But while you’ve remained neutral, the world around you has changed. China is rising. Russia is emboldened. And my country? Well, I used to say we were one bad election away from becoming a rogue state, but I may need to revise that statement given recent poll results.
Do you really think, if America falls to fascism, that it will stop at our borders? That a nation built on military dominance, with an economy that runs on war, won’t turn its gaze outward? Do you think a leader who built his brand on betrayal and broken alliances will keep honoring your protection?
How long before you’re left alone, defenseless by design, staring down a world that sees your islands as ripe for the taking?
I’m not asking you to raise an army. I’m not asking for war. I’m asking you to speak.
Your people, perhaps more than any other, understand the power of silence. The honor in it. The safety of it. But silence, too, can be a weapon, and in the wrong hands, it is the deadliest weapon of all.
You, Emperor, still command a respect that no elected official in your country ever will. Your words carry weight beyond politics. Beyond economics. When you speak, your people listen. So speak.
Speak out against the tide of fascism that is rising again, not just in America, but across the world. Call it by its name. Warn your people, warn our people, warn all people of the cost of staying silent. Let go of the traditions that say an emperor must not interfere, because those traditions belong to a world that no longer exists. A world that burned.
It’s said the nail that sticks out gets hammered down, but a carpenter once taught me too often, if we don’t address why the nail sticks out, you only wind up with a pile of bent nails. Sometimes you find a knot in a board, and you either adapt and have to work around it, or replace the board. Ignoring problems like this when you’re building furniture or a house, just trudging ahead doing as you’ve always done before, makes your foundation less stable; If we don’t address the reality of the situation, admit our mistakes, and change our blueprints to accommodate the materials we’re working with, everything we build will be more prone to breaking when you put weight on it later.
Here’s something learned from your people: Non-attachment, the Zen masters teach, means knowing when to let go. To release the desires that cause suffering, to relinquish the past so we can move forward. But we cannot let go of the past if we are still bound by its ghosts. We cannot honor tradition if it means letting the world die for the sake of ceremony.
You have the power to remind your people, and mine, that the future is not decided by those who have already left it. That history is not a cycle, unless we choose to make it one. That peace is not maintained by keeping quiet in the face of evil, but by standing against it before it takes root.
I don’t expect my words to change the world. I am, after all, just a humble gaijin, shouting into the wind. But if nothing else, I ask you this:
Will you answer the voices of the dead, who ask only to be remembered?
Or will you answer the voices of the living, who ask only to survive?
さようなら
R.L. Lawrence
P.S. If this all goes sideways and they come after me for speaking out, what’s your position on asylum for political refugees? Any chance I can crash on your couch? I’ll bring pizza.