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

“10 yen bread” costs 500 yen? Apparently 10 yen bread is so popular that people line up to buy it. My daughter saw it on Instagram and wants to try it.
But it’s expensive.

But I had a good excuse to take my daughter to Shibuya. I wanted to go to a workshop with her. It was called “Hand Language .” The venue was the Shibuya Koen-dori Gallery in Tokyo .

The workshop was very simple, and it was about communicating with strangers without using spoken language. We all looked at art works, expressed our impressions, and accepted someone’s expression. The idea was to enjoy this frustrating trial and error by applying the essence of sign language. What’s more, the instructor was a deaf actor. The style, which combined sign language and theater, gave me a sense of the unknown experience that parents and children would jump into.

When we arrived at the venue, the workshop started right away. There were about 15 participants. It was more lively than I expected. There were adults participating alone, students with friends. There were families like us, so I was relieved. My daughter was able to participate naturally thanks to the friendly and relaxed atmosphere.

The warm-up started with everyone placing their palms on the table. We imitated the finger play of Eno, an actor and instructor. With one index finger, we raised our hands straight up. We started to walk slowly with two fingers. We started to glide with three fingers, drawing a graceful skate line. As our movements got bigger and the distance between the participants got smaller, we felt a mysterious harmony like a scramble intersection. We added pinkies to make four fingers. Then, as if playing the piano, we searched for each other’s fingertips and tickled each other. My daughter was laughing out loud. The five fingers that had gained momentum became wings together, and the little birds flew off the table.

A conversation that was before it could become a conversation was at the end of the outstretched hands. The things floating in each of our heads may be different, but we can tell that we share something in common. A warm aftertaste remained on our palms and fingertips. I see. This is definitely an icebreaker.

Once the participants had calmed down, we moved to the Art Brut exhibition next door. Here, we were asked to express without words the appeal of the works that made an impression on us or that we liked.

These works were amazing. Their raw creative drive and intense originality made it more of an encounter than an appreciation. My daughter and I were instantly locked in. Because the wavelength of the works was so strong, we immediately saw things that matched the frequency of our hearts. It was like we were drawn to them. My daughter chose an object made from empty cans of Asahi Super Dry and Kirin Ichiban Shibori. The lights flickered, and the pieces of the cans reflected twice as much. It was a glittering other-dimensional feeling. It was an electric rake. By the way, the work next to it was titled “If I don’t drink it, who will?” It hit me hard.

I chose a detailed painting of a bird. It was probably a watercolor. The feathers and leaves were drawn in detail and looked realistic, but it also looked like an illustration with no three-dimensionality. The angles and lighting were unique, creating a space that would never exist in the real world. Beautiful and mysterious. The word “beautiful and mysterious” was added later, and I thought that a bird would be a good way to explain it without using spoken language. I thought it would be interesting to see how my daughter would express the electric rake.

And finally, the main program of this workshop. Participants introduce the works they have chosen or share their impressions. Without using spoken language. No spoken language. In other words, anything else can be used. Hands and arms, of course, facial expressions and gazes. Upper body and lower body. You can even lie down. You can use more than just your body; you can use space, such as pillars in the room or behind a door. Or you can make use of time, moving slowly or quickly. You could even use smell, or touch the other person.

Everyone made a speech as Eno nominated them. Some became cats. Some made troubled faces. Some started walking somewhere. Some swung their arms around. Some lay down. They each conveyed their own message through their body movements. They felt both the inconvenience of not being able to use spoken language, and the great possibilities that lay beyond that. We, too, felt frustrated as we listened, leaning forward and listening with our hearts.

This. This is it. The reason I wanted to come to this workshop. What I wanted to experience with my daughter.
Talking is not limited to sounds that come out of the mouth and reach the ears, or letters that are read and written. Communication is made up of a huge amount of other information. If we lose sight of this essence, we become trapped in interactions that are limited to sight and hearing. This in turn limits our understanding of human beings.

However, we are not aware of such things in our daily lives. This is especially true for my daughter, who has recently become adept at using digital devices. That is why we came to this workshop.

It was my turn. I did my best to become a bird. I pecked at bugs on the floor, laid eggs on chairs, and flapped my wings in the air above the conference room. Rather than an explanation or comment on the work, it was merely a clumsy gesture. It was probably only as good as a pigeon’s. I knew that. But the father did his best. When I glanced at my daughter after the presentation, she was smiling. It was the smile of someone laughing at a party trick.

Now, my daughter. It’s your turn. Use all the energy of a 6-year-old to try and make an electric rake.

Shake, shake, shake.

“Huh?”

Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake.

My daughter shook her head so hard it almost fell off. She was embarrassed and adamantly refused. “Seriously?”

She was born from such a bold father, right? “You can forget about the shame of the workshop,” right?
Eno-san gently stopped me as I tried to take my daughter’s hand. ” You don’t have to force it,” he said. If you think about it, that makes sense. It’s not like my daughter herself said she wanted to come. If it’s not going to happen, it’s not going to happen. That’s true. I’m sorry. Dad got carried away.

While I was feeling embarrassed about being such a bad parent, the workshop came to a close. We filled out a questionnaire. My daughter’s free comments were written in various ways. I decided not to peek. Still, I saw the sentence “It was fun,” and sighed with relief. Although the meaning of “fun” was probably different from what a parent would think. But it was okay as long as it was fun.

On my way home, while waiting in line for 10 yen bread at Don Quijote, something came to mind. It was something someone once told me. “I don’t think there’s any point in learning sign language from now on. Technology can solve the problem.” I told him that I had started imitating sign language with my daughter. The person I was talking to was quite famous in the welfare industry. He had his own brand, collaborated with local governments, and was involved in large-scale events. He was frequently featured in the media and was a person of the moment.

The hearing person’s view of history. I now know that it was a big mistake. Sign language is an independent language. No matter how much technology advances, or rather, because of its advancement, there are things that become more valuable. I think that is what we call culture.

While eating the 10 yen bread, I asked my daughter.
“Was it fun?” “Yeah, it was fun.” “What was it like?” she asked, flicking her right hand from the back of her left hand. “When I waved my hand to say thank you, the man said thank you back. That made me happy.” Yes. I’m sure that experience will help you soar someday. That’s what I believe, Dad. The 10 yen bread was quite tasty.