The hotel was in fact a jail. A prison, a detention facility, a dungeon. The police just told me I could make a call from here, I said in Japanese. A guard told me flat out in Japanese: You have no rights here.
A sign, in English, Japanese, and other languages, lists phone numbers for United Nations organisations dedicated to helping victims of state brutality.
It says right here that I can call these numbers.
No you cant.
They led me into a locked off area with at least two sleeping cells. The room was cold, with no windows. Lying under thin blankets, using my parka (down jacket) as a pillow, I stared at the ceiling and walls.
Later that night, I was ordered into the common room. A man, probably in his 50s, was waiting to see me. His tie said immigration. He was warm and compassionate. He tried his best in English and Japanese to explain what was happening. He said, to my surprise, that the other officers were idiots. He said they had no business putting foreignerstourists or expatsin jail like this. It is a shame for Japan, he said. Embarrassing.
After talking to me, he went out for a few minutes and came back to give me more documents to sign. One was titled Waiving the Right to Appeal, meaning, We are kicking you out of the country. The other was an appeal form. It said I had three days to appeal to the Minister of Justice. This at least gave me hope that someone would recognise their mistake, and let me go home
After he left, the guards granted me a privilegethe right to take a shower. My show of respect, and polite language toward them, was reciprocated. They let me make a phone call. They gave me a form to fill outthis is Japan, after alllisting the nationality, name, phone number and relation of that person.
I tried to milk it. While pretending to check my phone messages (technically not a phone call), I sent messages on Facebook. I wrote short, and sent quickly, in case they caught me: (In jail now
Narita
No rights
Innocent
Help me.)
I went back to my cell dejected. I lay under blankets in my winter clothes, tormented. I chased away dark thoughtssuicide, protest, escapefrom my mind. I cried for myself, and for the tortured souls of the previous tenants.
* * *
I was so exhausted from the ordeal that I did fall asleep, shortly after they turned off the lights at 11pm. When I woke up at 10 am on Saturday morning, December 24, my cell was unlocked. [From] the jails common room, I was allowed to call my partner. Dont worry, I said, Theyre going to let me go home soon. Its all been a big mistake.
The guards now let me make a second call, to my embassy representative. Though helpful and genuinely concerned, she said, only Japan has authority. Theres nothing we can do. She said my worried family and friends, who saw my messages on Facebook, had been calling her to offer assistance. She also had faxed a list of lawyers and legal assistance agencies in Japan to the immigration officers.
It was a smart move, because it showed them that powerful people in Canadathe department of foreign affairs, the Canadian embassy, media peoplewere indeed watching what they were doing with me, a human, with a name, family and supportive friends. It was a way to humanise me. [But] the papers were useless. How could I contact a legal website, if I wasnt allowed internet? How could I call a lawyer, if I wasnt allowed phone calls?
