On January 30, I uploaded footage capturing the entire forced eviction of day laborers and homeless workers carried out by the Osaka City government and have also embedded it here.
This outrageous act was committed by Osaka City in preparation for the “World Rose Convention,” which was being held to welcome members of the imperial family. The city forcibly and violently expelled workers who, due to poverty, were enduring harsh conditions while sleeping in the park, merely because their presence was deemed unsightly.
On the day of the eviction, far more protesters and supporters than anyone had anticipated rushed to the park upon hearing the news. Initially, it was expected that the eviction would take place swiftly, with little resistance. However, in reality, the protesters managed to push back two waves of attacks and held their ground for a staggering seven hours—something the city authorities had never expected.
Emphasis was placed on “non-violence and non-compliance,” and repeated warnings were given, urging participants not to resort to violence under any circumstances. I also want to highlight that among the city officials and security guards sent to carry out the eviction, some listened to the desperate pleas of the homeless workers with pained expressions, secretly nodding in understanding. Some were even seen shedding tears. As shown in the footage, the private security guards hired by Osaka City were essentially used as human shields for the city officials—it was truly pitiful.
On the day of the forced eviction, as expected, many conscientious citizens protested and resisted, leading to extensive media coverage. However, unfortunately, some reports were misleading.
(From “Kamapat Blog“)
The media heavily reported on the injuries sustained by city officials, but little attention was given to the fact that three supporters required emergency transport (one suffering a serious injury that required a month to heal) and many others sustained minor injuries. One person was also arrested amidst the violent repression. Furthermore, Osaka City preemptively dismantled and blocked tents that supporters had set up in other parks as alternative shelters for the evicted individuals, effectively stripping them of any refuge—akin to sinking a lifeboat. Much like how the city expelled TV cameras to suppress fair reporting, these acts of inhumanity remain largely unknown.
What truly happened during the eviction? Were the supporters violent? I strongly urge you to watch the video and judge for yourself.
Many people have already written reports about this incident in various places, and I hesitated to add another one. However, while contemplating whether to write, I missed the opportunity to document last year’s “11/11 Struggle” as well. Therefore, I want to take this moment to write down my own recollections before they fade.
My job requires me to work 14 to 18 hours from midday until the following morning. That day, after finishing my shift, I didn’t sleep and took the first train straight to the site.
The information I had at the time suggested that the park would be sealed off from midnight the night before, and anyone remaining inside could face arrest. The eviction was expected to begin at dawn and be completed before the city hall opened. I was also told that it would likely be difficult to approach the park even under the guise of a bystander and that the authorities would deploy an overwhelming number of personnel, making any meaningful resistance nearly impossible.
Hearing all of this, I have to admit—I was scared. But I told myself, “I’m afraid of being arrested, but if I don’t go, I’ll regret it.”
As someone with a family, I couldn’t afford to get arrested. Even on the train, despite having slept only three hours in the past 48 hours, my body was exhausted, but my nerves kept me wide awake. I had decided that while I couldn’t directly participate in the “resistance action” due to the high risk of arrest, I would at least be there to witness and document Osaka City’s inhumane actions through “monitoring action.”
The eviction was scheduled to take place at two locations: Osaka Castle Park and Utsubo Park. After checking the map and considering my options, I decided to head to Utsubo Park, as I could reach it faster. Based on prior information, I knew that if I didn’t get there quickly, the eviction might already be over.
My initial estimate was that around 30 people would still be in the park, and the eviction would be completed in less than 30 minutes. I assumed Osaka City thought the same. However, what I encountered on-site completely defied all prior expectations.
Around 6:45 AM, when I arrived at Utsubo Park, it was indeed fenced off and sealed. Police vehicles were packed around the perimeter, and plainclothes officers were pouring in.
As I cautiously approached the fence, I spotted homeless workers and their supporters sitting in the distance. I wondered if there was a way to reach them, but I knew that attempting to enter the park could lead to immediate arrest. Just then, a news camera crew passed by. I thought, “If I follow them, maybe I can get in.”
In the end, my plan worked. Though I clearly didn’t look like a reporter in my shabby clothes, there was one unblocked gate, and I managed to slip in unnoticed alongside the press. Shortly after, the entrance was sealed off again—I had barely made it inside.
Once inside, I was shocked. There weren’t just 30 people—far from it. Near the hastily built “Solidarity Hut” tent closest to the park’s main road entrance, there were at least 100 people. Scattered throughout the park, including in front of other tents, were supporters and homeless workers, bringing the total close to 200.
If these 200 people had actually engaged in “violent resistance,” it would have been absolute chaos. As someone with experience, I knew that. However, the fact that such an escalation did not happen made it clear that this was not a “violent” gathering—whether viewed positively or negatively.
Not knowing anyone at the scene, I was unsure what to do. I decided to blend in with the reporters in front of the Solidarity Hut and prepare my camera for “monitoring action.” Meanwhile, homeless workers and day laborers who had rushed in to support them were chanting slogans and rallying in front of the hut.
Then, a massive wave of security guards hired by Osaka City started advancing in perfect formation. More and more kept coming—endlessly! How many were there?
Additionally, behind the security guards, squads of Osaka City officials in white helmets, numbering around 30 to 50 per unit, were standing by in various locations. According to reports, the total number of personnel mobilized with taxpayer money to evict just a few homeless workers was between 600 and 650. On top of that, a large group of plainclothes detectives and riot police had also gathered. Within moments, the park was completely overrun by uniforms.
From here, I could clearly see the officials entering. From multiple entry points, they marched in neat rows, looking like an Olympic parade in a cheap, artificial setting. They kept coming and then suddenly stopped, all wearing clean uniforms, lined up like the Great Wall of China. (…omission…) I thought, “This is a stage.”
(Kyototto Publishing: Kyōhei Ogawa)
I took a deep breath and shouted, unexpectedly loud. Standing in front of the motionless “Great Wall” of officials, I decided to sing a song.
“Santa Lucia”
When it comes to belting out a song, Neapolitan folk songs are the best. (…omission…) The simplest form of resistance is to raise your voice. The actual words don’t matter—whether it’s ‘This is terrible!’ or ‘Stop!’ or anything else. I could sing, but in that moment, I couldn’t shout.
Ah, there it is—someone belting out “Santaaa Luuuuciaaa!!” at the top of their lungs! You can even hear it in my video. Honestly, I had no idea what the intent behind it was (laughs). But I could tell it was a form of protest.
In any case, I ran around trying to capture everything on camera. I thought, “As long as cameras are rolling, city officials and guards won’t go too far. And if they do, I’ll put it all online!” That was the least I could do—it became my mission.
The eviction began at 8 AM. I was in front of the Solidarity Hut when around 100 to 150 people pushed forward. The security guards surrounded the area to block movement, while city officials forcefully advanced.
At the time, I didn’t realize it, but across the park, each tent was also being forcibly cleared out by groups of about 100 people. Kyōhei Ogawa, who was at another tent, had already been evicted by this point—and ironically, ended up making it to work on time.
One thing that caught my attention was that the security guards hesitated to step on the artificial roses that the homeless workers had stayed up all night making.
These artificial roses were both a strong act of irony—symbolizing that they were being evicted because the “Rose Convention” deemed their presence unsightly—and a message of peace, stating, “We have no intention of fighting.”
If it had been riot police, they wouldn’t have hesitated at all. After all, in Sanrizuka, riot police trampled farmers’ fields, destroyed crops just before harvest, and scattered dried straw onto muddy rice paddies without a second thought.
Another thing that struck me was how many city officials were hiding behind the security guards—essentially using them as a “human shield” between themselves and the homeless workers.
Meanwhile, the city officials, standing safely behind the guards, kept pushing forward aggressively. They took turns going on breaks, smoking cigarettes, and eating snacks, while the security guards remained standing for hours, unable to drink or eat.
At one point, I saw a city official laughing and pointing at a handmade doll on the ground that supporters had made as a parody of the park department chief. He looked like he was about to step on it, but when he noticed me watching, he stopped (laughs). The Osaka city officials were acting quite disgracefully, while the security guards, in contrast, seemed pitiful.
After this first round of evictions, nearly everyone except those in front of the Solidarity Hut had been forced out of the park.
Meanwhile, the city’s eviction force, consisting of about 150 to 200 young men, launched an assault on the hut. They were met by fewer than 100 homeless workers and supporters, many of whom were women and elderly people.
The difference in mindset was striking. The eviction force was a “mercenary army” relying on sheer numbers, while the homeless workers and their supporters were a “citizen militia” prepared to be arrested. For a while, both sides were locked in an even struggle. Then suddenly, a city-hired security guard, irritated, shoved a male supporter, who fell backward and hit the back of his head hard on the sharp edge of a concrete step. He appeared to suffer a concussion, unable to speak for a while as he lay collapsed in the middle of the chaotic crowd.
An ambulance was immediately called, but the security guards just stood there, blankly staring down at the injured man, unsure of what to do.
“Get the injured out!” “Open the blockade!” “Let the ambulance through!” People started shouting, but the guards remained motionless. Finally, the homeless workers’ frustration exploded. “Get out of the way!” Some people physically pushed through the guards to clear a path for the injured man.
In the end, the city relented and (finally) allowed the ambulance to enter the park. The injured person was carried away to the hospital.
Amid the chaos, an unspoken ceasefire naturally emerged. However, around 10 AM, the city restarted its eviction efforts, with their numbers increasing steadily.
A TV announcer standing near me shouted into the microphone, “They’re pouring in!” Yet, the desperate solidarity of the homeless workers and their supporters, whose very survival was at stake, held firm. At times, they even pushed back, breaking the formation of the security guards.
After hours of struggle, by late morning, the eviction forces were forced to retreat. The second eviction attempt had been completely thwarted.
At the scene, the homeless workers and their supporters surrounded the Solidarity Hut, while city officials and security guards encircled them. Beyond this, more citizens, including people like me engaged in “monitoring activities,” began to gather in increasing numbers.
By this time, the city’s ability to maintain control over the park was beginning to falter, and people were sneaking into the park from various points. The growing crowd merged with the mass media cameras, effectively “encircling” the city’s eviction forces in reverse.
With this “triple-layered” situation, the scene had reached a complete standoff. Among the media, many Western journalists were present. Musicians had also joined, playing powerful drum performances. Westerners seemed to particularly enjoy such performances, and many of the foreign reporters made sure to interview the musicians.
A few Western tourists were also present, looking around as if wondering, “What on earth is going on?” When they learned that the city was attempting to forcibly evict homeless individuals who lived in the park and that citizens were protesting in solidarity, they looked visibly shocked. Some glared angrily at the city officials, and one elderly woman even walked right up to the Solidarity Hut, appearing as if she was about to sit in protest herself.
The city’s eviction forces were growing increasingly isolated and trapped, surrounded by rising public outrage. To make matters worse for them, a light rain began to fall, dampening their morale even further as they stood in the rain for hours.
Around 11 AM, the homeless workers used a microphone to propose a “lunch break ceasefire” and simultaneously made a formal request: “We do not wish for this chaos. Stop the forced eviction, and let’s sit down at the negotiation table. Let’s resolve this through dialogue.”
Supporters were also reminded repeatedly, “Remain nonviolent. No matter how much we are provoked, do not retaliate.” At this very moment, unbeknownst to us, senior city officials were holding a press conference at City Hall. One of them reportedly stated, “The current situation is beyond what we had expected. We are currently reviewing how to proceed.”
Whether or not the homeless workers fully realized it, at this point, they had temporarily put Osaka City in a position where it was forced to react to them. The city never anticipated that the homeless community would receive this much public support (even I was surprised). The deadlock on the ground was a direct reflection of the city’s growing confusion. This was the moment when Osaka City should have halted the forced eviction and responded to the call for negotiations.
During this prolonged standoff, I took a brief moment to go to the restroom. What I found amusing was that inside, city officials, security guards, homeless individuals, and supporters were all patiently waiting in the same line, side by side. Everyone was well-behaved, with supporters and security guards even politely letting each other go first. It was a rare sight in Osaka, known for its rowdy reputation (laughs).
It was as if basic human needs had created a temporary truce. The area around the restrooms felt like a neutral zone, marked by an invisible Red Cross. This was a scene that could never have happened during the Sanrizuka protests against the riot police.
Around noon, as tensions continued, I noticed movement on the other side of the park, across the rose garden from the Solidarity Hut. Suddenly, I heard screams and shouts of outrage.
It was too far to see what was happening, so I grabbed my camera and ran. When I arrived, panting for breath, I saw around 40 city officials destroying a tent that had been quietly standing in the woods. A group of plainclothes public security officers were giving instructions to the city workers. About 20 supporters stood outside the fence, desperately shouting, “Stop it!” in voices that sounded like screams.
Since Osaka City had failed to dismantle the Solidarity Hut’s resistance, they had clearly “considered their options” and decided to target the abandoned tents first—ones that had been left empty after the early morning evictions.
A TV reporter filming the scene narrated in a grave voice: “Right now, city officials are clearing away the tents of the homeless, treating them as ‘garbage.’ There is nothing left.” Indeed, the city workers were utterly ruthless in their destruction. They hammered apart the wooden flooring with crowbars, ripped apart the blue tarps that served as walls, and stomped on bedding with their dirty boots, piling everything up along with wood scraps and mud. The place that had been a home until yesterday was now reduced to a heap of waste. Nothing usable remained.
In response to this, Osaka City shamelessly announced: “We have removed and stored abandoned items so that they can be returned to their owners at any time.” When I later saw this statement from the city, I was filled with a boiling rage so intense that I felt my blood reverse course. I deeply regretted not screaming at them and protesting harder at that moment.
“Removed and stored”? “Returned to the owners”? Are you kidding me?! Do you really think it was that gentle? The city workers, under the orders of public security police, didn’t just remove things—they destroyed them with hatred, knowing full well that no one could stop them!
Osaka City should be honest and say, ‘We thoroughly destroyed the tents of these vagrants to ensure they can never use them again. That should teach them a lesson.’
Stripping away all their pretense of “storage” and “return,” this act of pure destruction and violence also revealed the city’s desperation and frustration. They had completely misjudged the level of public sympathy and support for the homeless, leaving them stuck in a stalemate they couldn’t escape.
While city officials took turns resting, smoking, and eating, the security guards—used as “human shields”—were nearing their physical and mental limits. I, too, was parched and starving. Since early morning, I had eaten nothing but a single convenience store rice ball and an energy drink to fight off sleep. Hunger wasn’t too bad, but the thirst was unbearable.
My self-imposed “water deprivation” at least meant I hadn’t needed to use the restroom much. But after filming the destruction of the tents, I found myself wandering around in a daze, searching for a drinking fountain. Though I still wasn’t sleepy—adrenaline kept me awake—after nearly 48 hours without rest, exhaustion was setting in. I could have asked to leave and likely would have been allowed out, but I wasn’t confident that I’d be able to sneak back into the park once outside. In the end, I gave up and told myself: “Complaining about this is pathetic compared to what the homeless workers endure!” Resolving to stay strong, I returned to the front of the Solidarity Hut.
When I returned to the Solidarity Hut, I found that homeless workers from Osaka Castle Park—where the city had “completed” its planned morning evictions and destruction—had joined us. Since there were too few supporters available to resist at Osaka Castle Park, the tents there had been quickly demolished. Looking back, I wondered if I should have gone there instead.
Additionally, news arrived that temporary tents, which had been set up at Ōgimachi Park by fellow homeless workers to provide shelter for those evicted today, had been destroyed in advance—without any official procedures or warnings. The city had torn them down as if it were merely a side task. It was nothing short of “sinking the lifeboats before torpedoing the main ship”—a truly inhumane act.
A day laborer, enraged over the destruction of the Osaka Castle Park tents, grabbed a microphone and began a fiery protest speech directed at the Osaka city workers. His voice shook with anger.
“Homeless workers and city workers are both laborers! Why won’t you stand in solidarity with us?”
“The dogs that lived with us in the park weren’t evicted. Are you saying we’re worth less than dogs?”
“Destroying a tent is the same as telling a homeless person to die! No one can accept that!”
“Can you go home today and proudly tell your children, ‘I tore down a homeless person’s tent and drove them out’? You can’t, can you? Then you shouldn’t be doing it!”
“The shelters have no privacy! The beds have no pillows! They’re full of lice! Are homeless people supposed to just accept that? Do you think we deserve nothing better just because we’re homeless? Isn’t that discrimination?”
“The city keeps building these shelters that no one wants! But the ones running them are making money. Shelter directors earn 10 million yen a year! Let me say it straight—you’re all profiting off the homeless! Seventy percent of the budget goes to facilities, while maybe—just maybe—thirty percent actually reaches us.”
“In 1975, Osaka City also tried to evict the homeless. But back then, your own labor union’s parks department opposed it and fought for us. Have you all changed? No! You still have workers’ souls! If you do, then turn around and leave! Let’s talk this out. We’re ready to negotiate instead of fighting!”
As his speech continued, the city workers lowered their heads, their faces tense with visible discomfort. When the speaker gently said, “There are a lot of kind-looking people here. Some of you must want to leave, don’t you?” I saw some of the workers nod unconsciously.
According to an article in People’s News, outside the park, evicted homeless workers were engaging city workers in conversation at the barricaded entrance. When asked, “Which union are you from?” a city worker replied, “Jichirō. Everyone here is with Jichirō.” A supporter then said, “If this is what you’re doing, Jichirō’s reputation is going down the drain.” The city worker hung his head and muttered, “Yeah… you’re right.”
Around 12:30 PM, things finally started moving. It seemed Osaka City had made up its mind—to take the worst possible course of action. I suspected this was influenced by the Osaka Prefectural Police’s Public Security Bureau as well. From a distance, I could see the public security officers constantly consulting with city executives, giving them instructions.
A large number of city officials who had been stationed elsewhere were suddenly gathered in front of the Solidarity Hut. There was a noticeable difference in atmosphere between the workers who had been there earlier, who had listened to the homeless workers’ speeches, and those who had just arrived. The earlier group looked utterly dejected, their morale crushed. But the newcomers seemed tense and agitated.
I thought this was it—the final all-out eviction. I turned to a security guard standing nearby and said, “It’s almost over now. Let’s make sure we don’t get hurt.” The guard smiled and nodded, “Yes.” At that moment, I felt it—this person was also a worker, not part of the “authorities” like the riot police.
Why must workers be forced to fight each other like this? But today, everyone had fought so hard. We had truly made it this far. As I thought about it, tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away before the security guard could see.
But instead of launching an immediate attack, the city’s first move shocked us all. Their top priority was not evicting the homeless workers—it was removing the media, particularly the television crews!
City workers swarmed the journalists who had been surrounding them and systematically pulled them down from their step ladders, dragging them one by one out of the park or to distant locations away from the scene. Shouts of outrage erupted from the homeless workers and their supporters. My earlier sentimental mood was immediately replaced with rage. My hands shook as I continued filming.
It was exactly the same as what the authorities had done during forced evictions in Sanrizuka! Exactly the same as what the U.S. military was doing in Iraq! There was no way city officials had come up with this strategy on their own—it was clear that the public security police had trained them for this. The journalists, especially the cameramen, hesitated and tried to resist briefly, but in the end, they reluctantly backed down.
Supporters quickly formed a human shield to protect the remaining journalists inside the encirclement. But when I looked closely at the press armbands, I realized something ironic—the reporters we were desperately trying to protect were from Sankei Shimbun, a conservative newspaper notorious for publishing defamatory articles about homeless workers and their supporters. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. It was clear that Sankei reporters were being spared by the city and public security police, while others were being forcefully removed. And yet, these Sankei reporters, protected by the very people they had smeared, were smiling like they were enjoying the whole scene.
The city’s next move was to remove the “monitoring activists” who were standing outside the encirclement, watching and documenting the eviction. Teams of 10 to 20 city workers would surround each activist and forcibly drag them out of the park.
Unlike the journalists, the activists put up much stronger resistance. However, since the homeless workers had repeatedly announced over the microphone, “Do not fight back! Remain strictly nonviolent!” everyone adhered to that principle. As a result, despite struggling, they were ultimately lifted up and carried away one by one. Even those standing alone inside the encirclement were suddenly grabbed and dragged out the moment they let their guard down. The city’s strategy was clear—reduce the number of witnesses as much as possible before moving in for the final eviction.
Many of the monitoring activists holding cameras were women. The ones assigned to remove them were the city’s female security guards.
They wore black shoes, black stockings, black skirts, and black coats—completely dressed in black. Following orders from city officials, groups of these black-clad women would silently and expressionlessly surround a single female activist, then wordlessly drag her away.
It was terrifying. It felt like a scene straight out of a dystopian sci-fi novel. The foreign female tourist I had mentioned earlier—who had been watching over the homeless workers—was also dragged away by them. But impressively, she fought back harder than most of the journalists, trying to break free from the black-clad enforcers. Much respect to her!
The Solidarity Hut had been stripped bare. The media cameras had been pushed far away. Now, only about 50 people remained. At this moment, each of us faced a decision. We were surrounded by hundreds, possibly more, of city officials and security personnel. There was no chance of winning. If we stayed, we risked arrest. Would we leave voluntarily, or would we stand our ground?
But in reality, leaving was no longer an option for anyone still there. Some clenched their teeth in determination. Others, linked arm-in-arm, exchanged glances and nodded with quiet smiles. Everyone had an incredible look on their faces—the look of true human dignity. Seeing this, tears welled up in my eyes again.
I realized there was no middle ground left for me either. If I remained inside the encirclement, I would inevitably face the upcoming final attack and become part of the resistance. If I tried to stay outside and monitor, I would be immediately surrounded and expelled from the park.
At this point, could I really just walk away? “I would regret it forever. In that case, there’s only one choice.” I had already made arrangements with a few online friends in case “something happened.” My family and workplace would manage somehow. I decided to rely on them and let them bear some of the burden.
At that moment, a woman picked up a microphone and began singing the May Day Song.
Listen, workers of the world, the May Day call resounds.
Marching forward, step by step, towards a future we create.
Abandon your servitude, awaken to your worth.
One day of striking work exposes society’s deceit.
At the head of our marching ranks, the red flag waves high.
Defend it, workers of May Day! Defend it, workers of May Day!
Everyone quietly sang along. And in true Osaka fashion, right after, we burst into a loud chorus of “Rokko Oroshi“—the Hanshin Tigers’ fight song. And, of course, this one was much louder because everyone knew the lyrics better (laughs).
And then, before we knew it, the final attack began! The security guards charged at us all at once, shouting as they rushed forward. Unlike the previous attacks, there was no hesitation. This was their third time—no doubt they had reached their limits too. I could understand their frustration, but still…
A security guard shoved me hard, pushing me back against the crowd. From there, everything became a blur. I was struggling just to stay on my feet. I tried not to be pushed back, but there were simply too many of them. I had no idea what was happening beyond my own desperate resistance.
At some point, I lost my balance and fell. Falling in this kind of chaos was extremely dangerous. I frantically tried to get back up, and just as I struggled to rise, someone grabbed the back of my clothes and pulled me to my feet. It was an elderly homeless worker, his eyes filled with tears as he stared into the faces of the city officials, desperately pleading with them. Later, I found out from People’s News that he was one of the people whose tent had been destroyed that day.
It was only at this moment that I realized there were not only a large number of city workers in front of the tent but also a staggering number behind it. As the final frame was about to collapse, I saw someone clinging desperately to it. I instinctively grabbed the frame, trying to prevent them from getting injured, though in the end, I doubt I was of much help.
Seeing me do this, the city workers must have assumed I was also trying to interfere with the demolition. Suddenly, a sharp, pounding pain struck my left leg—twice. Someone was kicking me. The only people on my left side were city workers, so it had to be one of them. But in the chaos, I had no chance to see their face.
Many others were injured. I heard someone shout, “There’s a serious injury, pull back!” But no matter how much we shouted, the city forces did not stop their attack. Enraged voices screamed, “Fall back!” but they continued pushing. Later, I learned that one of the injured had suffered a broken leg.
One city worker was shouting, “It’s dangerous! Be careful, you’ll get hurt!” as he tried to pull supporters away. I clenched my teeth against the pain of the kicks I had taken and thought, “How dare you say that?!” But looking back, I realize he had only been trying to separate people—not actively destroying the tent. Maybe he was conflicted too.
Eventually, the final defense collapsed. The tent was completely destroyed. A homeless worker shouted, “Everyone, to prevent further injuries, let’s pull back!” We quickly formed a line, ensuring we wouldn’t be separated, and slipped out through a gap in the security guard formation.
The guards were visibly startled by our sheer determination. We marched through the park in a demonstration. As we approached a distant exit, the city workers who had been blocking the gate hurriedly opened it for us. To them, “outside the park” was no longer their concern.
We continued demonstrating along the park’s perimeter. At another entrance, we reunited with those who had been evicted earlier, swelling our numbers. Then, in one swift move, we charged back into the park for a second demonstration.
But this time, the real riot police were blocking the road. We moved into a nearby children’s park, only to hear that, in the chaos, public security police had suddenly arrested one of our participants.
At the children’s park, about 200 people had gathered, including those who had been evicted earlier and others from Osaka Castle Park. Some had already gone home, so this was an unexpectedly large number for everyone involved.
Looking at my watch, it was already 2 PM. Many had thought, “We will be evicted in no time,” or “Even if we take the first train, we might not make it in time to stop the eviction.” But look at what happened! The eviction team started arriving at 7 AM, and yet we resisted for seven hours straight—six hours after the actual eviction process began.
The city of Osaka had planned to finish everything by noon. In a television interview, an official who appeared to be in charge of the operation stated with a stern (or perhaps dejected?) face, “This was an unexpected situation.”
After repeating protest chants for a while, we decided to march toward Osaka City Hall to continue our protest. At this point, I cautiously rolled up my pant leg and saw that my left leg was in pretty bad shape. Well, it’s nothing compared to the more serious injuries others suffered, but it still looked quite severe. A foreign woman, who seemed to be from a Nordic country, approached me and, in broken Japanese, asked with concern, “Daijoubu? (Are you okay?) Who did this?”
After that, we started walking toward City Hall in small groups. I joined them because I couldn’t just go home like this. Since I didn’t know anyone there, I simply followed along. But even so, I shouted protest chants with all my strength. Did our voices reach Mayor Seki, known as the “Mini Koizumi”?
An email from a reader recently mentioned the following: “A close aide to the mayor of Osaka said earlier this week, ‘Mayor Seki is also paying attention to this issue.’ As long as there is justified resistance, even those in power—if they have any conscience left—will be forced to feel a sense of guilt.” Are they really feeling guilty? If so, that would be good. But above all, I hope they never do something like this again.
At the entrance of City Hall, city officials were forming a picket line. Many of them looked genuinely troubled, with furrowed brows and worried expressions. I could sense that some of them were thinking, “I really don’t want to be doing this.”
Toward the end of the protest, someone announced, “We will now move to Ōgimachi Park.” The evicted individuals were supposed to take temporary shelter at tents set up in Ōgimachi Park. However, Osaka City had already destroyed that temporary shelter in advance.
People began moving to Ōgimachi Park, some by train, others in cars with their friends or acquaintances. I, on the other hand, was left standing alone. I hesitated for a moment, but I was completely exhausted by this point, so I decided to go home.
By the time I got home, it was already evening. I collapsed onto my bed, still wearing my clothes, and slept until the following afternoon. But I am truly fortunate—I have a home where I can sleep in peace. The people who were evicted that day, however, are now scattered, separated from each other.
Despite this, the homeless residents of Utsubo Park managed to stay in touch and issued a statement after the eviction. It turns out they had formed a self-governing association while living in the park. In their statement, they expressed gratitude to the local residents who had allowed them to stay in the park and offered warm support. They also wrote, “We are sorry for causing a disturbance.” Reading this brought me to tears once again.
We deeply appreciate the support we have received from the local community and the shopping district. People have given us food, aluminum cans, and old newspapers. One person even brought us clothes, saying, “These belonged to my late husband—please wear them.” (People like this never sought attention for their kindness, but they understood us and supported us.) We still feel the warmth and compassion that remains in Japanese society. Thank you.
（From the Utsubo Park Self-Governance Association Statement）
The cherry blossoms in Utsubo Park are beautiful. And the people who gather to view them sit in neat rows, drinking, enjoying delicious food, and sharing meals with us, the homeless, with kindness and generosity. Under the cherry blossoms, it felt as if we were all part of the same moment, blending together as one. But now, even the cherry trees are fenced off, shutting people out.
At the very least, I want to remember this day for the rest of my life and hold it in my heart.
◇ Without an Umbrella, Without a Destination (KamaPat Blog)
◇ Photos of the Utsubo Eviction (KamaPat Blog)
◇ 30th (Kyototto Publishing Blog)
◇ Efforts to Stop Forced Evictions at Utsubo and Osaka Castle (Nichinichi Kore Tansei)
◇ On the Issue of Homelessness (Attenborough)
◇ Gestapo Interrogators and Osaka City Officials (Tsubuyaki Techo)
◇ [Miscellaneous][Precarious Employment][Disability Welfare][Dignified Death] Several Points (A Small-Scale Daily Life of a Helper)
◇ What is the Purpose of Public Parks? Reflections on the Homeless Eviction Issue (Yamaga News – Blog of Shikaji Yamanaka)
◇ Book Review: “Introduction to Homelessness” (Birth of Blues)
◇ Watching Administrative Evictions – On the Banality of Evil (P-navi Info)
◇ The Difference Between “Facilities” and Places to Live (P-navi Info)
◇ Kansai TV: “Why Don’t They Leave the Park?” (P-navi Info)