On the Voiceless Line: Memories of 1969
I was breathing in a tribe town in 1969. Unpaved streets, wooden row houses. Just mentioning the name, I felt a cold stare from somewhere. The invisible line was certainly there.
The National Heisei Society's ideal of "human liberation" had narrowed with the passage of time to "demanding the rights of Buraku people," and our pride was something we could finally regain "after being confronted with our differences.
The Dowa countermeasure project improved the town, but the single word, "This is a Dowa district," branded me anew. Denunciation of discriminatory remarks also turned into a ritual to make people give in rather than to make them understand.
I saw the movement engulfed by ideology, the language of the student movement painting our own voices. I wanted to speak in my own words, not just the "right words.
I wanted freedom. In 1969, when the whole country was abuzz, my voice was small and wavering, but it was still there.
Even now, I am searching for the voice of a human being behind the name "Burakumin.
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