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TOKYO
(IPS) - When her husband found out that Tetsuko had an ancestry
of 'burakumin' or 'hamlet people', he packed up and left, saying
he no longer wanted to be associated with her and their children.
''I
don't understand him. We were leading a very happy life together
while he was unaware of my past,'' she recalls. ''Why did his sentiments
toward me change suddenly when he learned that I was born of 'burakumin'
parents?''
A
woman had an abortion and divorced her husband upon learning that
he was a descendant of 'burakumin', former outcasts during Japan's
feudal era in the 17th to the 19th centuries.
In
yet another case, a four-month pregnant woman was pressured by her
boyfriend to have an abortion because his parents objected to their
marriage.
Although
he did not overtly allude to her 'buraku' background, she filed
a complaint with the human rights officials of Gumma prefecture
north-west of Tokyo.
Reluctant
to investigate, the human rights protection commissioner told her
not to worry because she would certainly meet another man. While
an inquiry was launched in the end, no ''proof'' of discrimination
was found, so the case goes on.
''Not
much progress has been achieved in these past few years and discrimination
against 'buraku' people is still alive,'' although the Meiji government
abolished the caste system in 1871, says Mieko Fujioka, secretary
of Tokyo-based the International Movement Against All Forms of Discrimination
and Racism (IMADR) and a member of the Burakumin Liberation League
(BLL).
The
plight of today's 3 million descendants of the 'burakumin' is a
reminder of a subject many here would rather ignore -- that discrimination
exists in Japan's so-called homogeneous society.
Indeed,
a study of the 'burakumin' has been submitted to the United Nations
Human Rights Commission, local news reports say.
While
much has changed over time, the social roots of such discrimination
are hard to remove completely.
''I
don't understand why the 'burakumin' are being discriminated against.
There is no reason for it,'' said one Japanese activist.
But
a company clerk in her mid-forties, asked about the 'burakumin',
said matter-of factly: ''They are not human people.''
Even
today, descendants of the 'burakumin' in some 6,000 communities
across the country, live with the stigma that plagued their ancestors,
who belonged to the lowest strata of Japanese society in ancient
times.
Centuries
ago, the 'burakumin' -- the last tier of society after the 'samurai'
or warrior class, farmers, artisans and merchants -- were butchers,
tanners and undertakers. These were occupations that were impure
under Shinto precepts and norms at the time.
The
outcasts remain segregated in their 'buraku' (hamlet) in those days,
often grouping in the same areas. Today, many still live in 'invisible'
communities -- areas where they have lived through generations --
although some have moved out.
In
the words, the descendants of the 'burakumin' cannot be distinguished
from other Japanese, which, activists say, makes the situation worse.
Children
of 'burakumin' have been bullied in school when word gets around
about their ancestry. Many have reported difficulties in getting
jobs despite their qualifications.
Many
remain involved in leather work today, others in agriculture and
in the winter have to take jobs as day labourers. But many are also
entrepreneurs, and one is reportedly president of a major enterprise.
The
plight of the 'burakumin', Fujioka says, will be among those raised
by IMADR at the World Conference Against Racism and Discrimination
in South Africa later this month, along with discrimination against
ethnic Koreans, women and minorities and Japan's wartime and colonial
atrocities.
The
origin of the 'burakumin' is believed to date back to the 10th century,
when they were disparagingly called 'hinin' (non persons) 'eta'
(full of filth) and 'yotsu' (four-legged ones).
Intermarriage
with ordinary citizens was forbidden. Nowadays, such unions are
often still taboo -- because of prejudice.
When
parents find out that their children are about to marry a member
of the outcasts, they try dissuading them or threaten to cut all
ties with them.
Some
marry, unaware that their partners are of 'burakumin' origin and
find out the difference this can still make in this day and age,
as Tetsuko did.
But
in Fujioka's case, the 'burakumin' background was not a big hindrance
except for the older folk. The parents of a previous boyfriend,
she relates, did not object to their relationship but ''feared the
opposition of my grandmother''.
As
a young girl in school however, she recalls that some children in
primary school did not play with her. ''They themselves did not
know why, except that their parents told them not to trust me.''
Others
say that companies have refused to hire them upon learning they
are of 'burakumin' descent.
When
applying for a job, their 'burakumin' past are often discovered
after they submit personal background certificates. Their residential
locations often make it possible to identify them as 'buraku' communities.
Such
associations are possible because unscrupulous people still sell
family registers, indicating the names and locations of former 'buraku'
communities, to private detectives eager to make money selling them
to companies.
Until
1860, those registers included information about individuals' social
classes in the feudal era.
The
Ministry of Justice has condemned the illegal practice of job discrimination.
Firms caught red-handed are warned and their business may be suspended
if they do no comply with the law.
Unfortunately,
''it is difficult to prove that disqualification is based on discrimination,''
Fujioka says.
Some
'burakumin' have tried to fight discrimination by relocating from
known 'buraku' communities to distant places where they can assimilate
into their new environment. Still, a BLL official remarked, they
harbour a fear of being 'discovered'.
Others
have publicly come forward with their backgrounds and success, such
as parliamentarian Ryu Matsumoto, of the ruling Liberal Democratic
Party. Some are successful in the business and entertainment worlds,
but are reluctant to openly state their background.
In
order to be 'safe', some parents opt not to reveal their 'buraku'
backgrounds to their children. Fujioka herself did not know that
she was of 'burakumin' ancestry until she was 18.
''I
was shocked that my mother wanted to hide it and I was angry with
her on that point. I never expected that I was a 'burakumin'. It
was a very complicated feeling but somehow I didn't quite realise
what it meant to me.''
A
1969 law, enacted to improve the livelihood of 'burakumin' expires
in 2002. This means that financial assistance for housing, jobs
and scholarships for 'buraku' children will be cut, a move that
worries many low-income 'burakumin'. (Inter Press Service)
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