You open the door to the small, abandoned library.
A plank of wood slams onto the floor. No guards were near and there was no active surveillance.
You walk by ripped spines, shredded pages, tossed paint, glass shards, split wood, disemboweled electronics, cracked screens, dissected chairs, limp tables, and smashed lights. You walk by the remains of the stacks. Books lay to the side, open, or standing.
You flick the switch, but nothing happens. The sun provides the only light through the furry leaves of a few overgrown sweetgums. They press against the dusty, large panes like crouching giants.
There are slogans on the wall: “White Power”; “Vengeance”; “New World Order.” Art books are torn into strips in front of you. Chairs are lined in front of each other. Chains, bullets, and straps are on the ground. This is where they punished students, professors, administrators, civil society advocates, policemen, and military personnel. In short, anyone who did not adhere to their dogma of white supremacist anti-government authoritarianism. They relished their role in the takeover and like the brutality of it all. They wanted it more than lukewarm pro-democracy folks and even the pro-stability corporations. They were fewer, but better organized. Those willing to put everything on the line were a concentrated catalyst: high risk, all the reward.
Those willing to appease the authorities and live under their dictates resided in the few, gated communities and homeowner associations that continued many of the traditions of old: parties, youth sports, concerts, small businesses and the like. Admittance depended on a reference based on the previous class structure. Undesired people lived in rooms in highly monitored, high-rise apartment buildings as you do.
The librarian pointed this place out because there were some writings of a reformer, Fukuzawa Yukichi, not incinerated here. His name was on the list, but in their frenzy, they didn’t care so much. Unlike the works of the old Presidents, these thugs would think this guy in samurai clothing was one of them. You climb the squat, tall stairs and find a beige-covered hardback with his gaunt face on the front page.
The book was in Japanese, and the later sections had commentaries in your language. You spent half an hour clearing a space respectable for your study. Soseki saw the dangers and resigned to fatalism. Fukuzawa showed a way forward. Was there one still available to us now?