“Let’s dismantle the wall between people with disabilities and people without them.”
I am sure you have often heard people express this sentiment. Until my second year in junior high school, I was also convinced that the world would be a far better place if this could be achieved. But nowadays I feel that though this sentiment embodies an important truth it doesn’t go deep enough. A light-bulb moment in my third year at junior high school caused me to change my attitude.
In the summer of my third year of junior high school, I performed as a visually impaired drummer at the closing ceremony of the Tokyo Paralympics. People with all sorts of disabilities were gathered there. Those lacking limbs, wheelchair users, the hearing impaired, and so forth. At first, whenever I was about to meet someone at the venue, I wondered, “What kind of disability does he or she have? How can I interact with people whose disabilities are different from my own?” I kept thinking along these lines. This was because I had previously had few opportunities to meet people with hearing or physical disabilities.
But the people around me seemed to be getting along just fine. They enjoyed meals together as if it were the most natural thing in the world, discussed the challenges their particular disabilities entailed, and whatever the nature of their disabilities they readily formed friendships. My blindness was of no particular interest to them and they talked to me so openly. This delighted me. I realized that I had wrongly assumed that, because I understood visual disabilities, I understood all disabilities. And, moreover, that although I wanted the wall between the people with disabilities and those without to be eliminated, I had unconsciously built a wall in my mind that cut me off from people with disabilities other than my own. It was a light-bulb moment that made me feel ashamed of my previous self. I was moved by the broadmindedness and kindness of my fellow performers, who interacted so naturally with one another without making any distinctions, no matter what the other person’s disabilities might be.
It is true that to have a disability is to experience much hardship. But it is also true that if you make the effort and exercise your ingenuity, you will be surprised how much you can accomplish. If you view your disability as an aspect of your individuality and rise to the challenge, I believe you will discover that you have great inner strength. Besides, whether disabled or not, we are all human beings.
In fact, the closing ceremony of the Tokyo Paralympics incorporated many elements that could only be expressed by people with disabilities. Making the most of their characteristics, the performers gave their best performance. I felt from the bottom of my heart that, figuratively speaking, the day, indeed the moment, was like a cloudless blue sky, with all discrimination based on age, gender, disability, etc. eliminated.
I believe the walls that divide us, whether between people with disabilities and those without, between people with different disabilities, or between people without disabilities, have not existed since the beginning of time and do not occur naturally. We have built them. And if we built them, we can certainly tear them down. The elimination of these walls would not mean that everyone would live in the same way. But the world could be a very different and much better place if everyone made an effort to dismantle the walls of unconsciousness that are such formidable barriers between themselves and others. Take your time, consider what you can do, and then do the right thing. Join me in tackling these walls of unconsciousness.
“You have no choice but to go to a school for the visually impaired.”
This is what my homeroom teacher told to me when I was in the sixth grade of elementary school. I still cannot forget these words. I was hurt, depressed, and angry with my teacher, particularly so because I liked her and trusted her.
But what is trust? Are there people in your life whom you can trust? The dictionary defines “trust” as “the belief that someone is good and honest and will not harm you, or that something is safe and reliable or the belief that you can depend on someone or something.” In other words, it is a feeling of confidence in a person’s character, way of thinking, and values, and a desire to follow him or her.
When I was in the sixth grade at elementary school, I began wondering about my future. I could not decide whether to go to a local junior high school together with my friends from elementary school or to a school for the visually impaired that offered good support. I knew it was an important decision that would affect my future, but I couldn’t make up my mind. If I went to a school for the visually impaired, I would be able to receive assistance tailored to my strengths and weaknesses, and I would be learning in a supportive environment. This was very attractive to me. But I also had a strong desire to go to a local junior high school. It was not only because I didn’t want to be separated from my friends. Through my own efforts and with the support of those around me, I had overcome many difficulties attributable to my visual impairment. I thought the same recipe for success would prove effective at a local junior high school, enabling me to cope with the challenges. However much I racked my brains, I could not decide which school I should go to. The anxiety disrupted my sleep.
So I decided to consult my homeroom teacher, who was someone I trusted. Since she had been my homeroom teacher for three years, I thought she would be able to give me the best advice. But those words came out of her mouth. Why was I so shocked by what she said? With hindsight, I can only think it was because I had left an important decision about myself in her hands. Instead of taking care of myself, I had outsourced thinking and decision-making to someone else.
We are surrounded by those in whom we place our trust: family members, teachers, friends, older contemporaries and younger ones. This is wonderful. But one shouldn’t confuse trust with dependence. We tend to assume those whom we trust share our values and we leave decisions about ourselves to them. When they don’t respond or act as expected, we feel disappointed or angry. However, I think the essence of trust is acceptance of another person’s thoughts and values and willingness to follow them. Trust should not mean entrusting everything about yourself to someone and letting that person make decisions for you.
I find myself once again at a crossroads. After graduating from high school, what should I do? I have chosen to go to university but which one should I go to? A friend encouraged me to go to university in a prefecture different form the one where I grew up. We have been friends since childhood and she is one of the people that I trust most. I thought it would be fun to go to the same university as her because, in addition to understanding my visual impairment, she understands my preferences. However, when considering whether this was really the right decision for me, I couldn’t make up my mind. Since community revitalization and the local economy had long been interests of mine, I thought it would be best to study these themes at a nearby university. Moreover, I didn’t want to leave important decisions about myself to others.
These experiences brought home to me how important it is to make my own decisions on important matters, rather than leaving everything to others. On my journey through life, I am sure I will find myself at other crossroads. Each time I will have to make the final decision and take responsibility for it. In the future, I would like to make decisions on my own without outsourcing decision-making to others. Only you can plot your course through life. No one else can make those choices for you.
Are there people in your life whom you can trust? Are you farming out important decisions about yourself to those whom you trust? At the end of the day, you should trust yourself. Believe in yourself and advance boldly into the future.
I am visually impaired, having been diagnosed with glaucoma at birth. Despite visual impairment, I entered the local elementary school and walked to and from school, a distance of around one kilometer, every day with my friends. Back then, I could recognize passing cars and run about freely. To maintain my vision, I had undergone eye surgery more than 10 times before I graduated from elementary school. The surgery was scary, but each time my family encouraged me and I was able to persevere with hope. However, my eyesight continued to deteriorate despite all the operations. There were times when I lashed out at members of my family, even throwing things at them, exclaiming, “I wish I had never had surgery.”
These operations were performed at the University of Yamanashi Hospital. Since my grandmother lived in Yamanashi, she sometimes accompanied me to the hospital. Because my eyesight was so poor, having to find my way around the hospital made me feel anxious. Getting from one place to another in a busy hospital, with so many people going back and forth, was nerve-racking. My grandmother noticed my anxiety and gently said to me, “Sak-kun, get on my back.” She always carried me on her back around the hospital. I felt happy but also embarrassed to be carried by my grandmother. Whenever I visited my grandmother, after a while she would ask me, “Are your eyes okay? Let’s hope you won’t have to go to hospital again” She was always worrying about me. I had mixed feelings about her concern, on the one hand I was grateful, but on the other hand, I found it oppressive.
Whenever I visited my grandmother with my family and attempted to help with the preparation of meals or clearing up, she would always do my share of the chores, saying, “It’s not safe for you. You don’t need to do it. Just sit here.” Even when I wanted to help her, she would say, “That’s OK. There is no need for you to do that.”
Following junior high school, I attended Nagano Prefectural Matsumoto School for the Visually Impaired. Since my home is far away from Matsumoto, I decided to live in the student dormitory. At the dormitory, I tried to do everything by myself—cleaning, laundry, cooking, shopping, and so on. I wanted to be independent. At first, I made lots of mistakes. For example, I cleaned the bathroom but did not rinse the bathtub properly. When I vacuumed my room, I did not clean in the corners. But much worse than that, and this is something I will never forget, I damaged my favorite watch beyond repair by leaving it in a pocket when washing my clothes. Whenever things didn’t go to plan, I regretted my overprotective upbringing, saying, “It’s because my grandmother was excessively protective and did everything for me.”
When I eventually got the hang of how to look after myself, even though there were lapses, I wanted my grandmother to see the extent to which I was now capable of taking care of myself.
I had been playing blind soccer ever since I started junior high school. In the winter of my second year at junior high school, I reached a turning point in my life. I was selected to play for the Japan National Blind Soccer Youth Team. I wanted to share this exciting news with my grandmother and show her how delighted I was. I was eager to show her how I could run around the pitch chasing the ball. Whatever I was doing, whether practicing on tour, calling out to my teammates as we passed the ball back and forth, or, best of all, when I scored a goal, I always wondered what my grandmother would say if she were watching. And I believed that day would surely come in the not-too-distant future.
However, in the summer of my third year of junior high school, four months after I had been selected to play for the Japan National Blind Soccer Youth Team, I received a call at the boarding house. My grandmother had suddenly passed away in her sleep.
I regretted that I had done nothing for my grandmother while she was alive. There was no way I could absolve myself of the guilt I felt for having caused her so much worry and for how I had reacted with annoyance to her heartfelt expressions of concern for me.
On the day of the funeral, my mother mentioned that my grandmother had been so proud of me. She had even told the neighbors that I had traveled all over the country playing blind soccer.
On that day, in regard to the funeral, I wanted everyone to see that although I am visually impaired, I could do everything that people without disabilities could do. I took the initiative in preparing for the funeral and was a pallbearer.
Ever since, I have always tried to do everything that I can do without hesitation and I have been eager to show the world what I can do.
Now that I am a third-year student in high school, my next goal is to become a college student and live on my own. Alas, my grandmother is no longer with us. I so much wanted to show her how much I could do by myself. But my big goal is to show my family how I can live independently, thus reassuring them.
EN