Makoto Fujimura’s ‘A Letter to the Occupy Wall Street Movement’

I haven’t made up my mind how I feel about the ‘Occupy’ movement sweeping the globe, partly because it’s become so massive and populous that characteristics and objectives must surely differ significantly between locations and, especially, between people, but most because I just haven’t looked very far into it. My dear Bradford has but a single white tent with a few picket signs outside of the town hall, and sometimes even a few people who aren’t just passing determinedly through Centenary Square, so I certainly haven’t felt to be on the forefront of the action, though I could easily go see what’s going on in Trafalgar Square down in London, and even more easily train over to Leeds for what they’ve got going on there (this reminds me, I meant to go see the Tokyo demonstrations while I’m back in Japan for Christmas).

Therefore I’ll pipe down with my own uninformed opinions and let far greater artists speak; specifically, Makoto Fujimura, an artist I hugely admire and have had the privilege to hear speak. Visiting his website today, I came upon a letter he wrote to the Occupy movement as a whole – which begs the question, who read it feeling it was addressed to them specifically, but perhaps you yourself can be the answer to that. I suppose I could copy the whole of it and paste it in here, but rather I’ll just post a link to the letter, that way you can enjoy it in its wonderful original context as well as the greater website in all its informative glory. Read.

Trip to England

[As much as I hate the word ‘blog’, that’s what this is going to resemble, since I hear you all (some) want to hear about what’s going on with me over here in the UK. So I will oblige. It’s quite exciting, although what is exciting to me may sound horribly mundane to you, but you don’t get to see firsthand the huge stone architecture framing it. Never fear, though, I am dutifully taking pictures.]

My journey began on the morning of the 14th, September 2010. I left early for the airport and went by train. Fortunately my dad had a meeting at a place near the airport so he could go nearly all the way with me and help with my carefully packed but incredibly burdensome luggage.

I had packed and repacked, because a few days before my departure I was shocked to find out that I was only allowed one free check-in. Apparently it’s only Americans that pack a lot and need two. However, for moving your life across continents, I don’t think 46 kilograms is too much to ask. But I finally managed to fit everything into one exactly 23-kilogram check-in suitcase, an overweight 15-kilogram carry-on, and my computer satchel. I was worried about the carry-on most of the way, it being overweight and oversized, but I didn’t get a single comment at any of the customs. It also had a broken wheel, meaning that I could only roll it in front of me, and only on the right side, making pulling things out of my right pocket difficult. So it was nice to have some help at least on the front end.

The trip to Bradford, England was final confirmation that this was God’s will, for I believe it was my first truly error-less international flight. Something always goes wrong. But this time it didn’t.

There even a super-cute check-in counter person, and yes, I got her counter. She probably wondered why I looked so eager to move up and, after I’d answered several of her English questions with Japanese and she asked if Japanese was alright, I practically interrupted her saying “大丈夫です!”. Unfortunately, well, fortunately, there were no hitches in the process and my bag was not overweight so I had no problems but also no excuse to diverge from the rote conversation pattern.

To my pleasant surprise, the same group of employees were working the boarding counter, but alas, I did not interact with her again. Actually that was probably a good thing, because I think she was taking aside the people whose carry-ons were too large and would have to be checked, which obviously mine was. However I slipped by; she was conveniently occupied with the traveler in front of me. Which was the story of my whole trip – hitch-less.

(That’s me extremely excited to be through check-in, customs, and immigration, with only boarding separating me from where I feel truly at home. Oh, and the fact that the cute check-in counter person is also at the boarding counter.)

I presume she was Japan’s last-ditch effort to keep me there, and a valiant effort indeed. I will miss you, Japan, but I must go.

[Do I hear an ice cream truck outside? Growing up in Japan, I never had the ice cream truck experience; maybe I will finally get that here. If I’m in the right place at the right time – I’m not quite young enough to go running out the door in search of it. Especially with these delectable dates at my side.]

(Had them for the first time in Israel and could not resist when I saw them here.)

I watched four movies on the plane, which probably wasn’t so healthy but it certainly did make the time pass quickly. I did not stand up for more than eleven hours. Somehow, I think I have the ability to make my body shut off or at least downshift its operations; no guarantees on how I’ll feel on the other end however.

(Prince of Persia was good for a video game movie, The A-Team was fairly boring, From Paris With Love was alright and had some interesting philosophy behind the too-high body count, and She’s Out Of My League was funny – the elderly gentleman sitting next to me glanced at me several times.)

I was drained in Amsterdam. I wanted to make some huge revelations about my first foot set in Europe, followed by my other, but honestly, it was an airport. Not too different from any other international airport in the world, except for the abundance of tall blonde people. And they were in couples, too. In Japan you might see one every once in a while, and if he or she is in a couple, it’s with a Japanese. So when I saw that in Amsterdam, I, like a Japanese, thought, “Wow, two of a kind!”.

(That’s me still extremely excited but also incredibly drained from the near-12 hour flight from Narita to Amsterdam. Or was it the four movies and however many TV shows?)

The real first-time observations came when I arrived in Bradford around 9:30 p.m. and exited the baggage claim. Fortunately there were students there waiting for me, so all I really had to do was throw my baggage in the van and ride along with a Romanian guy who’d also arrived that day. And I began seeing all the lovely stone architecture you find in pictures (mine, if you’re so inclined), juxtaposed next to bars and clubs on the first floors- er, the ground floors.

(I had my fingers crossed, but in the end there were people at the airport waiting to pick me up, as well as another guy who’d come in that day.)

Because I’d arrived outside of the accommodation reception hours the Romanian and I had to stay in ’emergency accommodation’ for the night. I got my first look at the university but was whisked away to some apartments down the road. I also got my first feel of Bradford weather – it is chilly here. But I suppose it’s easier to be fashionable in cooler climates. Not that that has anything to do with me, ha. Even though I found out later that they’d left a key for me to move into my real room that night, it was better that I didn’t get it because I wouldn’t have had any bedding. Everything worked out perfectly, see?

(My ’emergency accommodation’ because I came in too late to get situated in my dorm. Good thing, too, as I wouldn’t have had any bedding.)

I had a wonderful night, as I’d been up almost 24 hours, and that was my first evening in Europe, for your reading pleasure.

[I’ve only given it a cursory scan for mistakes like grammar; yes, I realize I’m falling prey to the trend of blogs being low-quality writing; feel free to point out anything, anything at all. I know it would bother me.

Oh, the fire alarm just went off. Guess that means it’s time to finish this up and go meet people.]