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328 pages, Paperback
First published November 30, 2003
The other day I was on a bus. A drunken Caucasian American got on. He immediately accused the driver of being a "Jap." The driver remained silent. Whereupon the other began on a tirade of vile abuse and curses and, without any provocation on the part of the driver, threatened to "knock him clear off his seat." "Well, you're a Jap, aren't you?" he shouted. "Nope." "What are you then?" "Korean." "Korean? You sure?" "Yep." "You sure?" "Yep." "Well, why'en't you say so in the first place?" "Makes no difference." "Would it make a difference if I'da knocked your block off?" Silence. I did not find out whether the driver was really a Korean or whether he was lying to avoid a brawl. It was only small consolation that the Caucasian-American was drunk. Perhaps liquor had only rubbed off restraint and had brought to the surface the true feeling of the American masses. And my answer to such abuse can only be a tightening of the muscles around the jaws.