All But Invisible:
Haraku-chan's Story
January 2002
written by by Sakura B.   

Today, a third year, female student turns up at the junior high school teacher's room with a blackish-blue eye and eight small stitches over her left eyebrow. She slouches in the doorway with her wispy bangs covering her eyes. Her hands fidget at her sides. She is a slow student, a shy girl who never speaks but stays to herself. Her name is Haraku-chan. She is almost invisible expect for her face.

"Haraku-chan lacks love," a teacher whispers to me shaking her head.

Haraku lacks more than just love I think, staring at how her black eye has distorted her face into a tinnier, more fragile version than I have noticed before. When I ask, what happened, the kocho-sensei answers me that she fell down. Then he claps his hands together to emphasize how intense her fall was. But Haraku-chan's injuries are a little too substantial for just a fall, no matter how fierce. How, I press. When, I push. I don't know he mumbles then turns on his heels and runs off.

I march to the nurse office, hoping to hear the truth. I spot Haraku-chan resting by the sink. Her maroon bow tie is lost and her knee socks are a dull white. Two or three other students lounge on the couch in the corner. Their feet are propped on the desk and their faces are filled with healthy sleep. The nurse struggles to change Haraku-chan's bandage. When she finishes, she sighs and hands her an aspirin.

"What happened, Haraku-chan?" I ask and wait. But, there are no sounds.

"Nothing," the nurse finally mumbles through her teeth.

"What?" I say, pretending I don't understand what she has told me in Japanese.

Nothing the nurse replies again and again Haraku-chan lets nothing slip. We go around like this for a while until the nurse bows and leaves with Haraku-chan in hand. One of the students, who fakes sick, opens his eyes.

"She was beat," he mutters.

"Beat. What? Why?" I ask, thinking he jokes.

"I don't know. Maybe, she didn't run fast enough," he yawns and stretches his arms above his head.

"How do you know?" I ask, wondering what Haraku-chan is doing now and if this student is telling the truth.

"She lives in my neighborhood. I heard her screaming and stumbling around late, last night."

"What was she walking around outside for?"

"Her old man locked her out. Dead drunk, he beat her then shoved her out, I guess." I could hardly believe what he was saying. I wondered, like everyone else, if the kids who faked sick weren't really just juvenile delinquents.

"Did Haraku-chan tell the teachers what happened?"

"No."

"Do they know?"

"They know but they don't know," he whispers then closes his eyes and goes back to his nap.

Since the early 1990s, child abuse in Japan has received more attention than ever before. Symposia are held all over the country by professional organizations, grassroots volunteer group and municipalities. Literature can be found at the local town offices and staff doctors are on duty to council. Even daily articles on child abuse can be hit upon in almost every newspaper. Short, concise and sometimes with names, these stories expose the hideous details of child abuse. But usually, these articles are too late. The abuse was not caught early enough and the child has suffered a terrible death.

As the awareness of child abuse spreads the number of people reporting it has increased. Yet, according to police, there is significant number of unreported incidents. This lack of disclosure sometimes has dire consequences, like the dreadful death of a three-year-old boy from Saitama. His mother and grandparents starved him then took turns burning him with boiling water and cigarettes. He died from blows to his head.

Sociologists allege that there is the historical tradition of family secrecy and shame that makes Japanese people sensitive to reporting abuse. Hierarchical nature of the relationships among family members is inclined to be conflict-prone. People tend to avoid conflict to maintain harmony. The victim may feel an invisible pressure to maintain to family loyalty and not want to call attention to his or her problem. When information is leaked out, the communities either tries to do something through local government channels or as in the case of Haraku-chan look away as if nothing happened.

Much later when I ask that sleepy student again how it is tolerated by his community that a father can get wasted, beat his daughter senseless then lock her out of the house and no one lift a finger. How is that possible? How is that thinkable in rural Japan?

"They are by the selves. Loners. It is their family. That is how my neighborhood is. I can't explain it," he says and looks away.

"What will happen to her?"

"Wait. She'll have to wait. Then she can get out. Get married. Or she'll run away," he says then asks me if I want to see his homemade tattoo.

Later, I look out for Haraku-chan. Across the parking lot, with her shoulders hunched, she inches her way home. Her pink Hello Kitty scarf crosses around her neck and her eyes fasten to the road, not daring to look what might be coming at her next.

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