Asano and the Arab Spring

Asano-Sensei, my Japanese Mum, charts the progress of the Arab Spring across her laminated map of the world with post-it notes. And in this country where it is sometimes a little too easy to over generalize how internationally ignorant the Japanese can be, my Japanese Mum does a better job of understanding this revolution than me. I try to put into words how it makes me feel as she explains the kanji on the post-its: that this one on Tunisia says that here is where it all started; that this one on Egypt says that here is where the people achieved their independence; that these ones on Syria and Libya say that the people are still fighting. I tell her that I’m proud of her, but that doesn’t quite manage to capture the half of it. I should be telling her that I feel guilty that, even in all my news watching, I haven’t been anywhere near as geographically diligent as she has. I should be telling her that she has likely paid closer attention to all of this than a whole pile of foreigners out there who fancy themselves internationally-minded.

I mean, sure, Asano-Sensei is more globally-conversant than most: She’s lived in Canada, and she’s travelled to more countries than I have (likely twice as many). She’s the Queen Bee of the International Association in my town, and she seems to attract foreign pen-pals and friends and families wherever she goes.

On paper, there is nothing remarkable about someone like Asano paying close attention to the Arab Spring. However, there is still something arresting in the act of it for me: to look at those simple post-it notes and to ask myself what I’ve really done to keep on top of the events—what I’ve really done to warrant my subconscious and previously infallible air of informed superiority.