* This essay column is written by a longtime foreign resident of Japan.

I'm facing a very difficult three months. Everything that legitimizes my existence in Japan and perhaps more important my ability to leave, and return, is about to expire. So I expect to spend a large part of the next few months doing what I hate most -- untangling myself from red tape just so that I can lock horns with bureaucracy.

I admit that I've had no more trouble with bureaucrats here than in England, but as a species they are genetically modified to be inflexible and the language barrier does make a difference, even if it's only perceived. I don't know if there is a Japanese equivalent for "more than my job's worth," but if there is, I'm sure I've heard it many times at central government bureaus and local government offices in Tokyo. Unfortunately, a smile and a sumimasen only get you so far. But I have no choice, my life here is unraveling.

The first thread tying me to Japan to go was my re-entry permit. I am a permanent resident, at least that is what my visa says, and despite what the latest self-proclaimed, straight-off-the-boat expert on immigration procedures wrote recently in The Japan Times, I and the vast majority of foreigners living in Japan do need permission from the Justice Ministry to re-enter the country.

Bureaucrats work at their own pace, everything in its own sweet time, and that can be a long time. This is particularly true since the powers that be decided to close down all the immigration branch offices in Tokyo and dump everyone in one boat somewhere in Tokyo Bay. Of course the boat will come in handy when the reclaimed land upon which the Tokyo Regional Immigration Bureau sits liquefies when the big earthquake strikes and the bureau slips into the bay.

So what once took less than half a day is now a day trip. But patience is a virtue and I've seen so little of Tokyo's waterfront.

Next to go will be my Certificate of Alien Registration. I've never really understood why I need one. I mean it's pretty obvious that I'm an alien, one of them, not one of us -- depending on your perspective -- so I'm not sure why it needs certifying officially. But I suppose if the Japanese have to register their dogs, I shouldn't complain. If I stray too far I'm sure my wife would be happy to know that I'd been rounded up and impounded somewhere.

Alien registration used to be fun because we (foreigners) had to be fingerprinted, and I'd never been fingerprinted before I came to Japan. Of course I'd seen it done, it always happened after some guy called Danno had booked someone.

I remember when I first arrived reading all the angry letters in the English-language newspapers (there were four then) from bleeding-heart human rights "experts" -- yes, it appears that you can learn everything there is to know about human rights in Japan as well as everything you need to know about immigration on the trip in from Narita airport -- protesting the practice because "only criminals are fingerprinted." It's strange how quiet they've all gone now that the United States is photographing and fingerprinting visitors to its shores.

Now all we have to do is provide a photograph, which can be far more emotionally painful than fingerprinting -- is my hair all right, do I need a shave, does it look like a police mug shot? Once again this process cannot be rushed. Renewing a Certificate of Alien Registration takes two trips to the local ward office, 10 or 14 days apart, but at least it's free.

Ironically, my most important lifeline -- my passport, which expires in January after 10 years -- can be simply renewed by mail through the British Embassy. Unfortunately, after I get a new one I have to once again set sail for the immigration office in the bay to have all my visas transferred into it.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Nov. 6, 2004
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