Musuta Kusaka's Everyday Journey with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion in Japan

“After all, it’s called the Rainbow Parade, so isn’t it inevitable that it will rain?”
“Yeah. It won’t come out until it clears up after the rain, so hurry up with the rainbow. And it’s not a parade, it’s a rainbow ‘pride’.”
“If I’m really looking forward to it, it’s definitely going to rain.”
“You’re such a nuisance to be an unlucky rain man. If the people in the parade catch a cold, it’s your fault.”

April 24, 2022. I went to Tokyo Rainbow Pride, which was held in Shibuya? Yoyogi? in Tokyo. With my family. My daughter and my wife, who is a homebody, were there for a change.
On a Sunday. It was raining, though.

That’s because.A few weeks ago, my daughter was humming “Pink because she’s a girl. Blue because she’s a boy” while coloring in her book. At that moment, I couldn’t help but look at my wife. My wife was looking my way too. Our eyes met. I’m sure she felt the same way. 

How outrageous! Pink because she’s a girl? Blue because he’s a boy? Who decided that? Don’t borrow someone else’s assumptions. The only thing you should borrow from others is money. Although I say it myself, my family is pretty generous. I laugh off things like “Your dad stinks” as if it were a compliment (apparently I smell like a stray dog. We don’t have any stray dogs). But. I can’t stand to hear this.

It’s not just gender. Nationality, religion, maybe even physical limitations and mental things. All of these are things you have to decide for yourself. But even those things may change over time and through encounters.
So there’s bound to be a lot going on in your life.

I grew up in what I call a complicated family. I lived with my mother and her boyfriend for years. What’s more, that boyfriend had a female body. He was repulsed by his own body. Living with my mother’s boyfriend, and all that, is a pretty big deal for a teenager born in the Showa era, but there’s another layer of labyrinthiness on top of that.

So, in my own way, I wanted my daughter to have a formative experience of knowing that there are all kinds of people out there and that you never know when they’ll become friends or family. If anything, it might be more fun to live with all kinds of people.

So I wanted her to improve her resolution from now on. How she sees society. How she sees others and herself. Everyone is a minority in some way. It’s natural that there are all kinds of things. So, my daughter, go and discover all those different things for yourself.

I did a little research and found out. Rainbow Pride is coming up. The parade is going to be back. I have to go and support it. I convinced my daughter, who didn’t know what it was, that it was the Shibuya version of the Electrical Parade .

So. It was raining in Shibuya. On the day, I waited for the parade to come along the road. I had my daughter on my shoulders. It seemed that my research of the time and route paid off, because I was able to meet the leading group just in front of PARCO. They came slowly from the top of the hill, with the background music playing.

Honestly, I was surprised. It’s more natural than I thought.
When I was in my 20s, I lived in Shinjuku 1-chome. I had a regular spot in 2-chome and G-gai, so I went there to go there. I guess it’s past the statute of limitations now, but I
don’t think many people are reading this.

I’ve been away for a long time, but I wonder how it is now. At that time, the 2-chome culture was still strong. There were no hesitations in calling people “fat lovers,” “bald lovers,” “old lovers,” and “sending-off lovers.” It was a rough story when I think about it now. I was even scouted by a shop as a “lumberjack lover.” People who specialize in lumberjacks… I never stood on the other side of the lodge as a lumberjack, but I would look at the people who worked at the shop seriously protesting against the social trend and turning down people who had different opinions .

I also had my own respect for the pride of drag queens. I still have a strong image of Ni-chome back then as a flashy, yet friendly place. Since it was a parade, I imagined a performance that was full of dazzling self-assertion and theatricality, with an “I, I act, therefore I am” feel.

I say this in a good way. It was normal. Most people were wearing everyday clothes. Not many people were dressed up (although when there were some, I would shout out, “Hey! We’ve been waiting for this!”).

Maybe there’s no need for over-the-top performances to be proud of yourself anymore. There were people of all genders, nationalities, and people with disabilities. There were also couples and parents and children participating.
I think everyone had their own reasons for participating in the parade, more or less.

But there was nothing carefree about them. There was no tension either. They walked through the town with smiles on their faces. Everyone waved to my daughter, who was on her shoulders. Of course, we waved back at them, more than twice as much.

I didn’t think it was an era. It can’t be summed up in such simple words. Fighting, paving the way. Perhaps even in our short history, there were predecessors who gave way to the next generation. Following in their footsteps, this parade will proceed colorfully. I can predict that it’s not all about pretty words. They were waving so refreshingly that it made me want to think of pretty words.
The wind that the runners make is always refreshing.

My daughter reported to me as she got off her shoulders,

“Everyone waved at me.”

As if it were a given. I think that not only so-called sexual minorities, but all minorities in Japanese society today are still rainy. No, maybe it’s not even a story limited to Japan. 

But. No matter how much rain continues, there is a moment when sunshine appears. The sun shines in before the rain has completely stopped. At such times, rainbows appear. This parade made me feel that kind of sunshine. It may be from my daughter’s generation that it becomes commonplace.

Then we went up the hill in front of PARCO, passing the parade, and headed towards Yoyogi Park, with LINE CUBE and NHK on our left. That was the festival site. But. Unfortunately, it was raining. If anything, it was raining harder than before.

There were umbrellas everywhere.
The booths of various organizations, the delicious food trucks, the performances on stage, and the destination of the mysterious procession. Above all, the people who were participating were hidden by the umbrellas. In
fact, I wanted to immerse myself in the vibe that was born only at that place. To be honest, nothing made an impression on me. Because I couldn’t see the smiles of the people who were participating.

But. I was very impressed by one man.
He had bulging muscles like Apollo, and just the right amount of fat. An artist once described his body as like a giant rock wrapped in rubber, and that was exactly what he was.

And he was completely naked. Without an umbrella, in just his underwear. In the rain, in just his underwear. No, it seems like it would be more reasonable to wear just his underwear if you’re going to get wet in the rain.
But he was smiling as he posed for photos with various people. He looked like someone who had stepped out of the cover of SABU (as a former resident of the area, I mean that as a compliment). I was so happy to see him.

That’s right. That spirit of service, including the fact that he was in just his underwear.
Before hoping to be accepted, you have to show a welcoming attitude first. How courageous that is. But the story only begins from there. After becoming a member of society, I realized that courage is often squeezed out with a smile. It’s a rude and ostentatious way of saying it in a fun situation, but I wanted my daughter to see it with her own eyes.

However, my daughter, who was watching the festival from my shoulders, didn’t seem particularly surprised. It wasn’t unusual. She just said
“Hmm,”
“It’s crowded,” and
“I’m hungry “
In the end, he summed it up with a sharpness unbecoming of a 5-year-old, saying,
“We have a lot of different families, right? Let’s go home.” My wife and I were like, “That was a rough summary.”

Maybe that was the right answer, my wife and I thought, as we walked down Koen-dori and returned to Shibuya Station.
It’s very normal to have many different families. It’s so
natural that there’s no need to make a big fuss about it. As long as
she’s having fun and healthy, it’s a great success (I’m worried that she might have caught a cold in just her underwear. I’m not to blame for his cold, though).
I hope she feels that Yoyogi Park is an extension of her life.

But. There was something that bothered me.
“Why did you think there were many different families?”
I asked my daughter as we walked.
Today wasn’t a family-themed outing, I’m sure.
There were a lot of families at the festival venue, but we couldn’t see them because of the umbrellas.

Why did you feel there were many different families? I asked.
“Because there were many different moms and dads, and many different children, because you could see them from above. I see.”

I had been carrying my daughter on my shoulders all day that day. She could see the scenery that we couldn’t see because of the umbrellas.
I hope she won’t forget that scene. Perhaps the scenery that we have never been able to see before is already unfolding before these children.

Back at home.
“How was today?”
I asked my daughter while eating dinner.
“It was fun,”
she answered, not sounding like she was having any fun at all.
Right? Mickey wasn’t there, after all. Sorry.
“There was a man at the front of the parade who had no arms or legs, right? Do you remember?” my wife asked our daughter again. It was Ototake. He was also one of the people who waved to our daughter with a big smile.
“He was there.”
“What did you think?”

“He had no arms or legs.” 

“Was that a problem? “

My wife and I burst out laughing at our daughter’s response. We were so happy. He “had” no arms or legs. So what happened? Something happened. She said it as if she had intuitively sensed it. So we didn’t ask any more. It was uncouth. But I think it’s fun to look for it.

The next day,
my daughter’s coloring book had Disney princesses with seven different colors of hair.
Funky.

The end.