Nothing brings out the anal in an anal country than when it’s hosting a big international event. All eyes are on Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan, but you’d think the G8 meeting was happening right here in Tokyo. This week and for several weeks beforehand, the number of security guards and police monitoring the subway stations, busy streets and public areas in Tokyo is alarming. You’d think you were living in a police state if you didn’t know better. But Burma this ain’t (or even Singapore).

While the police presence manages to intimidate even the law-abiding, it’s got to scare the hell out of the darkies who roam town. Since my skin in only cafe au lait and not black no cream, I’m fairly safe. I say fairly because I was stopped once in front of Meguro station last year. And after leaving my yoga class too. I swear that fucking plain-clothes cop really fucked up my qi. I went from happy place to scared shit place in two seconds.

I’ve heard from an Indian friend, and from other people who know Indians living in Japan, that the police are stopping them to ask for their identification cards or passports even more than usual. I’m guessing the local police can’t distinguish a Hindu man from a Muslim man. I’m no expert, and I know the lines aren’t that cut and dry, but I think living in New York and Chicago has provided me with a basic education on who is who and what is what. Who? A Sheik. What? A tranny. Who? Over there. What? Don’t look now until “she” passes.