Interpretation of the Law 8: Social Media

8. Social Media

I laugh out loud.

“Of course you can,” I reply.

“What?”

She’s not asking what I said, but rather why I said it-what I meant by it.

I find it funny that a female cop would get my number off a police record. But my sense of humor is something I’d rather not explain.

“Nah, nada. It’s nothing,” I say, my tone now composed.

Before I can change the subject, the sergeant enters the room. He places a wrapped blue scarf on the table. I recognize it instantly-it belongs to my Japanese amiga. Wrapped inside is the multitool, the Leatherman, but to the police, it’s simply “the knife.” He gives me the rundown again on the rules for carrying it, then adds a bit of context to help me understand their caution.

The young cadet translates with a procedural tone. "As you know, there was a recent stabbing on the train."

“This week? Or the one from over a year ago?” I ask her to confirm.

“Yes, a year ago,” she replies. “So we take knives very seriously.”

I acknowledge their concerns and wonder if the assassination of Abe Shinzo has everyone on edge and dressed in SWAT team attire. Once it’s clear that I understand him, the remaining forms are placed in front of me.

“There are two documents for you to sign,” she says. “The first one acknowledges that you gave the officers permission to search your wallet.”

I divert my eyes to the ground, considering whether I should be confrontational. I rewind to when I was stopped and searched. I didn’t agree to any of it and clearly recall one of the officers taking my wallet and going through it to find my driver’s license.

Returning my attention to the cadet, I tell her, “But I didn’t give them permission to search my wallet.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” she says, surprised.

“No,” I affirm.

She relays this to the sergeant, whose expression is either defensively disagreeable or simply recalling the events differently.

“He says that you gave him permission to search your wallet,” she insists.

“He was on the phone. It was another officer who took my wallet without my permission,” I clarify.

She translates, and he responds with a thoughtful, “Naruhodo. Hmmm.”

We stare at each other in a moment of silence. I address him directly, letting the cadet translate.

“If I don’t sign this form, what will happen?” I ask.

She translates. He replies. She turns back to me, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “It can make things a bit difficult.”

I get the message.

“I just want to make things easy. If I sign these forms, am I okay to go?” I ask.

She relays my question.

He nods, and she echoes his agreement. I fill out the document and press my fingerprint onto the page.

“If you can now fill out the second form, please,” she says.

“Chotto matte,” the sergeant interrupts, taking the scarf-wrapped knife and stepping out.

He probably needs to remeasure it.

The young cadet lets out a deep sigh. It’s almost tomorrow, and her eyes look dead. If the table had a pillow, she’d probably lay her head down and fall asleep. Her shift was probably over when they called her in to help with the interrogation.

The sergeant returns and places the scarf-wrapped Leatherman in front of me. He fills out the second document and I stamp it with my signature fingerprint.

That should be it. But no-another question.

The young cadet translates, “Do you use social media?”

I think, what the fuck does that have to do with anything? My patience is thinning.

Out loud, I keep my tone polite. “Why is that important?”

They speak, and she tells me, “They just want to know if you use social media.”

Both my thoughts and body language say the same thing: The fuck do they want?!

“Yeah,” I say.

The sergeant then asks which social media platforms I use. I don’t need a translation for any of this, but I let the cadet speak on his behalf.

“On which social media platforms do you have an account?” she asks.

I give them the most apolitical reply I can think of: “YouTube.”

The lead detective presses further, wanting to know if I use other platforms.

“Do you have a Twitter account or use Facebook?” the young cadet translates.

“I use Facebook sometimes.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Just YouTube and Facebook,” I tell her.

She translates my obvious answer, but he still gets it wrong, replying in Japanese that I have a Twitter account.

“I don’t use Twitter,” I declare. Yet as soon as I say it, I regret it.

Perhaps the Arab Spring, or the waves of online political movements that has them so cautious about releasing me. But maybe it’s that very ambiguity that keeps them from asserting their authority.