Between Light and Rubble: Press and Documentary Memory 1969

Between Light and Rubble: Press and Documentary Memory 1969

That year, 1969. Something was making a creaking sound inside me. All of Japan was about to change, and at the same time, something important was about to be let go of. In Osaka, preparations for the World Exposition were in full swing, the roar of bullet trains echoed in the sky, and the whole country was buoyed by the words "growth" and "development. Meanwhile, the automatic extension of the Security Treaty was imminent, and students were setting up barricades at universities, with Molotov cocktails and helmets becoming a part of the everyday scenery.

I could not separate the "Expo" from the "Security Treaty. The Expo had the appearance of a festival of technology and peace, but behind the scenes Japan was trying to renew its military alliance with the U.S. war machine. On the surface, "progress and harmony for mankind"; behind the scenes, dropping bombs on the jungles of Vietnam. I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of discomfort at the social atmosphere that seemed to swallow both of them as a matter of course.

What struck me as particularly disturbing was how insensitive everyone had become to this twist. Not only the government and business world, but also the press, academics, and even cultural figures "read the air" and said nothing. I was not angry at the silence. I just thought it was time to ask a question. Is this really the right thing to do?

Why is this country, which is so excited about the World Expo, so insensitive to the reality of the Vietnam War? Why is it so uncritical of the U.S. intentions? I walked the streets with my friends from the "Beheiren" (Japan Federation of Trade Unions). Sometimes an elderly man would stand alone in the front and say, "This is not a demonstration, it is a funeral. People are dying in Vietnam. That scene has stayed with me.

Both the Security Treaty and the Expo, though in different forms, symbolized the direction of the nation. However, to my mind, both of them lacked real "human beings. The Expo is not about people, but about technology and structures. The Security Treaty does not consider human security, but rather tries to fix the framework of the nation. I wanted to object to both of them. I thought there was a different future.

Next year, that is, 1970. If millions of people visit Expo '70 in Osaka, and the Security Treaty is quietly renewed behind the Expo, can we really call that "progress for Japan"? To me, it looks as if two threads pulled in opposite directions are just about to break apart. Someone must look at the rift, record it, and reexamine it.

This feeling was reinforced by a series of events that occurred one after another in 1969. First came the Yasuda Auditorium incident at the University of Tokyo in January, when we saw footage of riot police storming the building through the television. Tear gas bombs flew into the auditorium occupied by students, and documents flew through the air from the destroyed doors. This was no mere riot, but a moment of head-on confrontation between the state and students over "what is a university" and "who owns knowledge.

This was followed by the Zenkyoto movement that spread throughout the country. In Kyoto, Osaka, and Nagoya, students continued to debate inside and outside the barricades. They were not shouting for revolution. Rather, they were asking the sincere question, "How should we live in this society? In their words, I saw the place where I used to stand.

In Chiba, the struggle against the construction of Narita Airport was intensifying. The farmers were standing up in desperation to protect their land and their livelihoods, and were fighting the state. The glamour of the "city of the future" depicted in Osaka and the angry voices echoing in Dongbu. I could not look away from this asymmetrical landscape.

Turning to the world, Apollo 11 landed on the moon in July of the same year. This was said to be a great achievement for mankind to finally reach beyond the Earth, but to me, the sound of the Vietnam War, which was still going on at the foot of the Apollo 11 spacecraft, was more like the echo of reality. Science aiming for the moon and war on the ground. The gap between the two seemed to me to be testing the ethics of the world as a whole.

What I was trying to say was not "which side is right. Rather, I wanted to ask, "Where are we looking, and where are we silent? How unaware can we be of this? This became the core of my choice of expression.

In 1969, the press did not simply report the facts, but questioned from the bottom up what it means to "see" and "whose point of view is being recorded. I stood at the edge of the chasm and continued to ask these questions. No matter how many glamorous decorations the world put on, I would continue to listen carefully to the pain of the reality that pulsated beneath them. For me, this was news reporting, documentary, and thought.