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Today was "Umi No Hi," (Day of the Sea) a newly enacted
holiday of about three years ago. It was kind of rainy and cloudy, so I
didn’t go to the ocean. I instead took a trip to Ueno Park, a large park in
the center of town, on my way to work. I had passed by here once with a
coworker and say something that peaked my interest, so I came back to
investigate.
The flowers were beautiful and the trees that lined the wide concrete path
hung low. Low enough that I had to bow my head in almost a forced reverence.
It is near the end of the afternoon and shadows are gathering momentum in
the quest to take over the park. There is a slight breeze as I make my way
to the shady areas. I am interested in the homeless people in this park. To
me they seemed to be the equivalent of the Beverly Hills of homeless people.
In the wooded areas of the park segregated from every other area, there are
small communities filled with people, with homeless people. They live in
make-shift-tents of blue tarps, folded and clipped to stay in
place and weighted down by rocks to keep them from blowing away. In my days
growing up in Los Angeles, I became used to seeing cardboard boxes, ragged
clothes and a lack of civility. Maybe it was just my bias, but that is what
I perceived. But this place was different. As I strolled around to get a
view of the place before I attacked, I saw people sweeping the dirt to clean
their plot of land from the leaves. There were small, crude ditches to
divert the rain from their shelter. I saw bicycles and small dresser drawers. I
saw a big clock hanging from a tree with the time on it, 4:32. There was an
electric thermos on a table outside of a tent. This looked more like camping
then it did a homeless community.
 I attempted to talk to a few of these fellows, as most
of them were male. I sat down on a bench next to a man who was covering his
belongings with a blue tarp. I tried to make polite conversation, but that
didn’t stop him from nipping and tucking, making sure every last corner was
covered before the rain set in. I got up and sat down next to a man who was
sitting all alone. I asked if I could sit next to him and he gave me a nod.
I tried to make conversation, but he wasn’t interested. I made the mistake
of asking if he lived here, and he said a defiant, proud and almost hurting,
"no." I said I was sorry and got up and left. I made my way into another
wooded area and sat down and pretended to read a book about Jesus Christ.
There was a man in a sweater and crew cut sitting next to me and he didn’t
move or saw anything. I am used to the stares that I get from people not
expecting a foreigner to be here or there, but he seemed completely unfazed.
I looked up and noticed the inscriptions on the overhang above me. This was
donated by the rotary and it urged everyone to, "look after their own kind."
Kind of ironic, as I mustered up more courage and talked to the man sitting
next to me. I said something about the weather and this nice man replied in
a shy voice.
 His name is Mr. Tanaka, and he had been here for about
6 months. He didn’t have a job, because he lost his at the beginning of the
year. He is from a neighboring Prefecture, Kanagawa, and said that he cant
really go home because his parents are dead and he is unable to face his
brothers. He is not even sure that they know his situation as being
homeless. We talked of Baseball and the differences between America and
Japan before I asked him what he does everyday. He sleeps on the concrete
bench next to us, except when it rains. He doesn’t have a place to sleep
with protection so he just puts up his umbrella and has to sit there and
wait it out. He usually doesn’t even get to sleep when it rains. Lonely
visions of a man in the middle of a storm wondering about his life flashed
through my head and feelings of sorrow came over me. I asked him about food
and he said that a group of 6-7 guys all share what sort of food they have.
As we were talking they were preparing the food. All his earthly possessions
added up to two blankets, an umbrella and a sack full of things. I met another man named Mr. Miura. He was another
typical case of people here. He had lost two jobs because the companies he
was working for, construction firms, had gone under in the last few years.
He was unable to afford his apartment, and despite finding work as a truck
driver, he was still not making enough money to afford a place to live. So,
he lived here. He and I talked about the economy and he voiced his opinions
on how the nation as a whole needs to change its attitudes about reform and
the Japanese economy. He didn’t seem bitter about what had happened to him,
except for the constant complaint about having to work from 5 AM to 7 PM. He
had no choice, it was his only shot at staying alive. He thought that no
matter who was Prime Minister, things weren’t going to change a whole
lot...the people need to demand for things to change first.
Miura and I were flanked by a small man who looked like
another type of man in this area...He was a man who had given up on work and
just lived any way he could. He was nicknamed "Gorby" because he looked like
the former USSR Premier Mikhael Gorbachev. He was balding and had big red
birthmark on his forehead. He came up to me and made me feel rather
self-conscious for coming around and asking questions about the homeless
people. He said that this place was by far better than other areas of town.
Listening to Gorby was hard because he only had two front teeth. But he
showed me that life could be led, however simply, out here. He retreated
before he gave me any words of wisdom. He crawled back to his little straw
mat under a tree. He put away his pot he had just used to cook with and went
to sleep at around 5:00 in the afternoon.
I walked around and observed some more. The young man
who denied living here was sleeping on the same bench I met him at. I saw
more tents, and plastic coverings made into outdoor, rectangle closets to
protect the clothes of those that go to work everyday, like Mr. Miura. I saw
a few people working to fix and old bicycle. But to get to the essence of it
all, I saw a community. I saw people who had fallen on hard times
economically but hadn’t lost their sense of being Japanese, or at least
their sense of community. Maybe they were more compassionate towards their
neighbor, like Mr. Tanaka because they too had to suffer. This is a great
lesson to me. Isn’t it ironic that those who have not, are often times the
ones that give us themselves most freely. Maybe they have found that they
are OK on just having the necessities of life. This may have been what Mr.
Miura meant when the people of Japan needed to change their outlook on life
before any reforms were to be made. Maybe a general sense of "taking care of
their own" like the donation from the Rotary Club said is what needs to have
happen to Japan, and the rest of the world. Before we get caught up in
globalization, we need to take a look at those inside our country and see
who is hurting and make sure they aren’t left behind.
It was already getting darker, as the park lights were already on and I
made my way back home. The shadows had completely taken over any light, as
most of the people had gone back home, allowing the homeless to take over
the park for another night. I followed the same path out as I had coming in,
avoiding the low branches of trees and bowing out of reverence...but not of
forced reverence, but out of reverence for the people who were living here.
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