It was a quarter of a century ago on an autumn day in 1982 that I decided to engage in a small act of civil disobedience by refusing to give my fingerprint. Little did I realize I was stepping into a decades-long controversy that would be both an education and a circus.
The Japanese government already had nine copies of my left index fingerprint on file from three previous registrations, more than enough to adequately identify me. The Alien Registration Law's requirement that fingerprints be submitted every three years — in triplicate — seemed like overkill and a violation of the rights of long-term foreign residents under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which Japan had signed in 1979.
But my refusal was really born of a simple sentiment: When would enough be enough? Married to a Japanese citizen, Japan and I had a lifelong relationship ahead. If I kept on regularly providing prints, I would still be doing it when I was an "obasan."