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

His head sank and I couldn’t see.

In the morning, Tokyo Metro Shimbashi Station is flooded with commuters. “He is tall…” While I was admiring the man’s two-block haircut poking out of the muddy torrent, he disappeared as soon as he left the ticket gate.

“Where did you go?” He was crouching. I was far behind so I couldn’t see him. Of course. He was crouched against the wall, adjusting his shoelaces. He was holding his white cane between his neck and shoulder. Leather shoes and sneakers were speeding past him, right next to his face.

I’ve been commuting to Shimbashi for 24 years. I never get late even if I take a slightly longer route. To be precise, I’m always late regardless of the route. “Can I help you?” I called out, coming around to face him. “Oh, that would be a great help. Yes. I’d appreciate it.” He stood up, sweat dripping from his sideburns.

Looking up at me, I learned he wanted to go to Shiodome Station on the Oedo Line. The directions were simple. The distance was probably around 500m. Easy. Leave it to me.

“Could you please follow the tactile paving? I want to remember how to get there.” Oh, oh. I see. That’s what I’m saying. That’s difficult. First, the tactile paving leading up to Shiodome Station. It must end somewhere. In fact, I’ve never even noticed it. What should I do?

On the way there, I have to pass JR Shimbashi Station, one of the busiest stations in Japan, and Asakusa Line Shimbashi Station, which leaves me confused, “How many Shimbashi stations are there?” Incidentally, there are four stations named Shimbashi Station. Panic. I felt my commuter backpack getting heavier.

Anyway, I decided to go along with it. I put his big hand on my shoulder and we both set off towards the rush hour.

It was a sinking ship. There were so many people that I couldn’t even wave my white cane. In fact, even I, who can see, struggled to find the nearest tactile paving block.
“First, I need to find out where the tactile paving blocks are,” I said, already drifting from the start. I pushed my way through the crowd and just when I thought I’d managed to cling to one, I heard, “Ah, the tactile paving blocks end,”
and they’d already ended there. “Aren’t they stairs?”
He was right.

He explained to me while checking the steps with the tip of his white cane. There are two types of tactile paving blocks. “Guidance blocks” use lines to indicate the direction of travel. And “warning blocks” use dots to indicate “Stop! Be careful!” “There are warning blocks in front of stairs, and the path ends there. It’s a rule. You don’t see stairs with tactile paving blocks, do you?”　

The blocks in front of the stairs are a sign to stop and proceed carefully. If a visually impaired person stops just before the stairs, it’s to check for safety. “Well, not many people stop, though. It’s dangerous.” So it’s dangerous to go, and dangerous to stop.

He was able to glean a lot of information from each braille block. I didn’t know what would be his guidepost. From there, I decided to continue walking while giving him a running commentary on the surroundings.

“There’s a drugstore on your right.” “I can hear the sound of plastic bags.”

“Turn left here. If you go straight, you’ll reach the stairs on the ground.” “That’s why it feels a little muggy. I’ll be careful.”

“I saw a store on your right just now.” “The lovely smell is still following me.”

He walked, making full use of his hearing, touch, and smell. Perhaps he can perceive space in three dimensions much more than I, who rely heavily on my vision. What kind of world is that? Chatting with him enriched my imagination.

But there was no time for such words. The reality appeared before our eyes. Or rather, it attacked us.
“People are swarming in,” as salarymen filled our field of vision, walking towards us. We broke out into a sweat in fear. We were just passing the ticket gates of JR Shimbashi Station.

A significant proportion of JR users transfer to the subway, which means we end up running directly into them. Of course, the tactile paving is extended, but no one pays any attention to it. Everyone walks on it as if it were their own.

Well, walking like they own the place is fine. They’re walking while using their smartphones. They come towards us at the speed of a race walk, not even looking ahead, let alone at their feet.

Meanwhile, we, or rather he, get lost the moment we stray even 30cm from the tactile paving. So there’s no way to avoid them. All we can do is pray that they’ll avoid us. I wonder if cars driving the wrong way on the highway are really that scary? We’re not driving the wrong way, though!

Everyone changed course just before a head-on collision, as if we didn’t even exist. Surprised faces. Glaring faces. Astonished faces. “Tch!” “That’s dangerous!” some men and women shouted. Who was in danger? At first I was angry, but gradually my heart began to sink. Are we people who shouldn’t be walking here? What kind of segregation policy is this?

“My white cane has been broken many times,” he muttered, moving his hand from my shoulder to my elbow. My shirt was soaked. It wasn’t just from fear. It was the cold sweat I’d broken down from just the day before, having been walking while using my smartphone.

My mouth was dry, but just when I thought I’d made it through JR Shimbashi Station, I found myself facing the stairs again. “We’re almost to the stairs.” “Are we going down?” “Yes. ” He was right. “I just went up. You have to be especially careful going down.”

First of all, people going up are often looking down or straight ahead. But if they do that, they won’t notice the white cane coming down. If it suddenly appears right in front of your nose, will they be able to avoid it?

And then there’s the people going down. Even if they’re hit from behind while overtaking, they won’t be able to put their hands down and take a defensive stance. If that happens, they’ll just fall down. Or worse, face-first. “Okay, three steps left. 3, 2, 1.” I carefully slowed down and reached the bottom, and just behind me, I felt someone stop and hold on.

We made it through the stairs safely. If we’d made it this far, we’d got it. We kept going straight ahead and there was Shiodome Station. We could see the finish line. Maybe because Nippon Television was nearby, the song “Sarai” was playing in my head. 24 hours program, I don’t like it though

… Sarai, stop.

The tactile paving made a big detour. That’s right. It was Shimbashi Station on the Toei Asakusa Line.

This meant we had to cross the flow of commuters.
“There’s a right and a left turn here. Can we do it?” “Let’s go.” He looked determined. Why were we crossing this crowd? To a non-disabled person, we must be a huge nuisance. We might even look suspicious. But we weren’t. That was the only route we could take.

In this situation, I had to avoid a situation where I would run into them. I needed a different strategy than the one I had been on the defensive up until now. However, there was only so much I could do. “Excuse me! I’m turning right!”
“Excuse me! I’m turning left!” was the best I could do to stop them.

Even so, when I turned a corner on the tactile paving, someone’s foot flicked his white cane, clearly dodging me.
We had been ignored until then, but the moment we stood out, we became a target.

I finally arrived at Shiodome Station, feeling the harsh, bitter gazes piercing my entire body. “We’ve arrived! Shiodome Station is on the right.” “That was a very murderous atmosphere. Even Ueno wasn’t that bad.” I’m sure Ueno was very upset to be compared, but even I was surprised to find that the town I’d been visiting for nearly a quarter of a century was so exclusive. I had caught a glimpse of the discriminatory side of a close acquaintance. I had a creepy feeling that one day that same feeling could be directed towards me as well.

“Have you memorized the route?” “Hmm, I guess. I’ll try my best to get used to it.” Just how much absurdity has he become accustomed to in his daily life? “I’m fine here now. Thank you very much.” He bowed cheerfully and headed for the station.

There are 310,000 visually impaired people in Japan. If you include those with low vision, the number is 1.64 million, or 1.3% of the population. On the Ginza Line train mentioned earlier, that means there’s at least one visually impaired person in every carriage. In other words, he’s someone who is “a natural presence.” And yet, I’ve rarely seen a visually impaired person ride a crowded train like him.

His tall figure pushed his way through the crowd. I watched him for a while, amazed at how majestically he was.