This morning, I listened to one of my favorite podcasts — an episode recorded about half a year ago, but it still felt current. The hosts were two mid-level London comedians — not particularly funny, but good talkers. Their guest was a former football hooligan, half-Irish, half-English. He grew up in a tough working-class neighborhood where fighting wasn’t just entertainment — it was survival.
He spoke about violence and identity — how, from the outside, people like him were just thugs. But within that chaos, there was pride, loyalty, and a strange sense of belonging. That was once part of England’s social fabric. But now, the symbol of “violence” has changed shape. What used to be football hooligans has been replaced by jihadists — a new kind of threat, born from a different kind of alienation.
What’s ironic is how perception has flipped. The once-despised white working-class men — the so-called violent ones — are now seen by some as defenders of the homeland, almost like modern-day crusaders. It’s absurd, but strangely real. Violence just changed its costume — not its essence.
Having lived in England for ten years, I felt this shift not as an observer but as someone who lived inside it. England is truly a kind country — almost too kind. It welcomes immigrants, offers housing, jobs, and endless support. It’s the complete opposite of Japan. But over time, that kindness turned blind. Even jihadists are shielded by human-rights laws, while those who merely criticize them risk being arrested. That’s when I realized: kindness can go mad too.
Of course, not all immigrants are bad — far from it. Many are kind, hardworking, and deeply respectful people. I’ve met wonderful Muslim friends myself. The real problem is the small radical minority. But when society becomes too afraid to speak about them, silence becomes the new danger. That’s when “kindness” turns into paralysis.
Japan, too, is changing. With an aging population and labor shortages, we’re importing more foreign workers than ever. A country that once closed its doors is now opening them wide. It’s inevitable — but risky. When you open the gate, both good and bad will enter. Even jihadists might find a new “heaven” here. Japan stands at that fragile threshold right now.
And now, standing against this global current is Prime Minister Takaichi — Japan’s first female leader. It’s ironic, isn’t it? A historic breakthrough for women, yet she represents the far-right wing of politics. Her message is clear: “Protect Japan with Japanese hands.” She wants to tighten the borders again, to shut the gate that has only just begun to open. But the irony is obvious — the very people who keep Japan’s economy running are the foreign workers she wants to keep out. Close the gate, and the machine stops. Still, she clings to the ideal of “purity,” a vision that feels both nostalgic and dangerously outdated. She herself has become a mirror of Japan’s contradictions.
I’m not afraid of change. If anything, I find chaos fascinating. Every transformation brings both light and darkness — and that’s fine. Stagnation is worse. Chaos means life. So I’ll keep watching Japan quietly, embracing both the beauty and the mess.
And let me be clear — I’m not trying to preach or fix the world. I just want to reflect. To think out loud. No conclusions, no answers. Just reflection itself — because thinking is how I stay alive.
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