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

I had no idea that there would be deaf people taking the course. There was only a week left until the information session. What should I do?

My company sells IT tools to businesses. One of our clients asked me to give a lecture on how to use the tools to their employees, who are the users. A workshop, or more like a practical session, I asked. I swallowed the words “please read the manual.”

In fact, we get requests like this all the time. And if they find it easy to use, we might even get additional orders. I accepted reflexively. “Yes! I’ll get ready!” I had no intention of getting ready. I just went through my usual routine.

So, I was completely off guard, and one day, less than a week before the event, I received an email from the other party. “Regarding next week’s information session, we have a hearing-impaired employee attending. We appreciate your consideration.” Why did they ask for such an important matter at this timing? There was no consideration for the vendors who came to the company.

I had never held an information session for people with hearing impairments. That is just a selfish assumption, and I’m sure there have been people who have had difficulty hearing before. I was so careless that I wanted to ruffle my hair, saying, “Ahhhh!”

I immediately called the other party. “Hi. This is Kusaka. Can I call you now?” “Oh, about the email? Sorry for sending it out of the blue. It’s true.” I didn’t understand what “it’s true” meant. “Before we prepare with our preconceived notions, I will appreciate it if you can first ask the person who will be taking the course what their needs are.” “Hmm. It’s already next week.” I know that, don’t you? It’s true. It’s already next week. That’s why I want you to hurry up and ask. My smile on the receiver was stiff, and I could feel the greasy sweat on my forehead.

“The degree of the disability varies from person to person, and there must be some tools that you normally use. Methods that are easy for each person vary widely.”
“In that case, it seems like They can’t hear at all. I’ll ask about other things if I can, but I’m not sure if I’ll get a reply
.” He had no intention of listening. He didn’t even try to hide that he’s bothered. If he didn’t get a reply, it’s not a matter of time, but the person in charge’s problem. It made me feel depressed to think that he is working in such an ignorant environment. Should I put a bug in your company’s tool?

In the end, all I could find out was that the student was deaf and his name was Mr. K. It couldn’t be helped. I prepared as much as I could, and then on the day, all I had to do was match it up with Mr. K. I preferred a motivated person to an unmotivated person. This is how people get used to being alone.

I immediately started preparing. There were three requirements that had to be met:
1. Mr. K had to be able to receive my explanation.
2. Mr. K had to be able to ask questions.
3. Mr. K had to be able to interact with the group members during the workshop. In short, I must not let Mr. K lose interest.

The first thing I thought of was a sign language interpreter. The briefing takes 2 hours and 30 minutes, so two interpreters would be necessary. But there was no budget. I had never requested one. Even if there was one, how would K feel if it was just for him? I wanted to avoid anything ostentatious. Even being casual was a consideration.

So I decided to use the web conferencing system “Zoom”. I would use its subtitle function or transcription function.
From the beginning, I had planned to use a computer to project the PowerPoint presentation. If I connect to K’s computer with Zoom, I should be able to add subtitles to what I say. If there were any questions, there was also a chat function.

However, after doing a little research, I found that Zoom might not be available or may have limited functionality depending on the company’s security settings. Tsk. I
have no idea what is going on with my business partners. They won’t tell me about their employees, so there’s no way they’d tell me about Zoom settings.

I decided to bring a computer from my company. If K’s computer can use Zoom, that’s fine. If not, I can rest assured that I have the computer I brought with me.
This cleared the two conditions: “1. Mr.K can receive my explanation” and “Mr.2. K can ask questions.” I’m starting to feel like it’s okay.

Oh. No way. It’s not okay at all. There weren’t enough computers.
The workshop was for three people per group. If all the members of K’s group couldn’t use Zoom, it might hinder the communication. Not just maybe. It would. And what’s
more, I forgot to mention that it’s meaningless if it doesn’t connect to the Internet. What’s the point of bringing in just three iron boxes? We also need a pocket Wi-Fi as a set.

I talked to the general affairs department and asked them to gather up some spare computers and pocket Wi-Fi. I borrowed the rest from a colleague who was taking a substitute holiday. Security, compliance, and licenses are three outs. But this meant I had the number of computers they needed.

By the way. Zoom can pick up surrounding sounds. Furthermore, when using pocket Wi-Fi devices in close proximity, the signal could become unstable. Or rather, it did. I connected all devices at the same time, and after determining the interval at which the behavior stabilized, I filled up the battery for the day. One business day has passed so far.

Now, I turned the table on its head. First of all, what if K didn’t use a computer? What if he said he prefers writing? Analog is often better than digital.

I took a break from my sales calls and rushed to the stationery store. I bought a large notepad, post-it notes, and Pentel pens. If I prepared these just for K’s group, he might feel intimidated. So I bought some for the other groups as well. They could use them as notes even if they didn’t write them down. If my explanation was boring, they could fold a paper airplane. Two business days have passed.

The day before the information session. I couldn’t help but feel like I had forgotten something important. I carefully simulated the flow of the day.
That’s right. Greetings. I had missed the very first thing.
I hadn’t even imagined the scene of “talking to Mr. K”. Unconscious bias. I would at least learn to sign a few simple words and my own name. No, I had to remember them. I pulled out a sign language picture book that I read with my daughter a long time ago from the closet.

Hold up the index fingers of both hands, point them towards each other, and bend them as if scratching, so that your fingers bow together. “Hello.”

Point to yourself with your index finger. “I”
Put all four fingers together with the thumb pointed up and show the back of your hand to the other person, tilted to the side, like a shadow puppet of a dog. For
“ku” , make a fist and show the palm side to the other person. For “sa”, form a right angle with your index finger and middle finger and point the pinky side towards the other person. For “ka” , place one fist on your nose, make a Tengu gesture, open your hand, and bow while pushing your tachi forward. “I look forward to working with you.” This was the best sign language I could memorize just before the orientation.

The morning of the day. Three PCs. Three pocket Wi-Fi. Twelve notepads. Twelve post-it notes. Thirty Pentel pens. Thirty copies of PowerPoint presentations. And a little sign language. The backpack and handbag I was carrying dug into both of my shoulders. I was practically peddling. I braced myself on my wobbly legs and headed to the client’s venue.

The venue was a dreary conference room with only chairs and tables. I sat quietly in the lecturer’s seat, like at a signing event where there was no line. Mr. K sat down in front of me, waiting for the participants. He was tall and slender. He was a bold young man with a side-shaved hairstyle that suited him well. He had a fresh, slightly sweet scent. He had a good sense of fragrance.

It wasn’t a hunch that I realized it was Mr. K. And it certainly wasn’t a smell. It was because I had asked the person in charge in advance, “Mr. K should be seated closest to me.” He thought that maybe my lips could be read, so he made sure to trim his beard and nose hairs so that he wouldn’t be lip-readers.

I approached him and greeted him with the sign language I had just learned. “Hello. I’m Kusaka. Nice to meet you.” I was probably so nervous that I looked expressionless. I wasn’t sure if I was moving my mouth widely. But in contrast to me, Mr. K returned the hello with a big smile. I could see the pierced ears in his ears.

From here on, we communicated by writing. It had been since my calligraphy class in middle school that I had last tried to write neatly. “How should we proceed today? I have a PC. I can use Zoom.” Mr. K took out his own computer and showed it to me. “Can I use Zoom? Can I write by hand?”
He made an OK sign with his finger and nodded. “What about a workshop?” He picked up a pen from the desk and wrote, “This.” After less than five minutes of communication, I was already feeling exhausted from having completed a job.

It’s good to practice. Even though I was a little tired, once I started the briefing, my mouth started moving on its own. I spoke more politely than usual to Mr. K and the computer connected to him via Zoom.

Every time I sent a slide, I looked around the venue to see the reaction of the participants. Mr. K was concentrating on the computer screen. He nodded slightly at key points. It seemed that there was no problem with the subtitle conversion.

Moving straight to the workshop, the writing conversation began smoothly. I was sure Mr. K used his favorite ballpoint pen, probably a Jetstream, smoothly writing. His andwriting was beautiful.

What was reassuring was that the other group members were also actively communicating with pen and paper. Notepads were being torn apart one after another, making a rustling sound. The quiet, lively conversation continued uninterrupted. It seemed that they were understanding my explanation. At this point, all tension had relaxed my whole body.

However. A surprise attack always targets an empty stomach.

“If you have any questions, please raise your hand and use the chat,”
I said, but the Q&A time was merely a formality. Most of the time, an awkward silence would flow, and the meeting would be closed to break it.
I thought that would be the case that day too.

But.

When I looked at the computer screen, there was a comment in the Zoom chat. It was from Mr. K. It was a very sharp question about the product’s specifications. Or rather, it was a stomach-churning remark that pointed out a weakness in the design.

“Well, you just asked a question. It’s about the specifications. It’s actually a requirement for a future update…” I repeated Mr. K’s question and answered it. Mr. K on the other side of the Zoom had to have noticed that I was laughing a little.

I had never talked so happily about the weaknesses of our company’s products, even though I was desperate. The fact that he questioned not only how to use it but also the specifications means that he understood it deeply. It’s just that the ending was a little ironic.

“That’s how it feels, but does that answer your question?”
I asked Mr. K slowly, using my mouth widely. I wanted to express my gratitude, so I looked him in the eye at the end. Mr. K also looked at me and nodded vigorously. And then the OK mark.

The briefing ended, and the participants left the conference room in groups of three or five. I was seeing them off while putting away my belongings.

Mr. K passed in front of me and made a movement with both hands like a cutting board and a knife. He held his left palm in front of his chest and made it parallel to the floor. He lightly bounced his right hand sword on the back of the hand. “Thank you” in sign language. I quickly returned the same sign. This time I realized I was smiling broadly. He smelled good until the very end.

I’m sure Mr. K was being considerate. There were probably many things that were hard to understand, many shortcomings. So I couldn’t be overly happy. I shouldn’t get the wrong idea about that.

But still. I felt like I’d been given something special. It was me who needed to be updated.

On the way home, I loosened my tie. The winter breeze from the building that seeped into my neck comfortably cooled my heat.

By the way, there are no additional orders as of yet.

(End)