Fuki Kushida: action is life. (Japanese feminist-pacifist)

Tokyo. I got off the train along with hundreds of people, but upon leaving the stairs I had my first pleasant surprise: the quarter of Nishi Oghikubo, on the west side of Tokyo, is busy, but not frenetic. Low wooden houses, narrow little streets with small family businesses selling wooden and cloth shoes, aprons, hand-painted oriental dresses in typical dark colors, thousands of little objects for use in small spaces. I arrived fifteen minutes early for my appointment with Fuki Kushida, the mythical feminist-pacifist, because, not knowing the area, I thought I'd walk around a bit first to find the "conferteria" near the office of the Fuji bank (the address of which I had been given).

A taxi blocked the street. Turning to the left I see a little photography shop, and in a side glance whom did I see agilely leaving the taxi? It was Fuki Kushida quickly entering a bar. I followed but just missed her. The bar man told me to go up to the second floor. A second pleasant surprise: the interview would take place in a little salon without noise from inside or outside. I entered, and Fuki came to me with her communicative smile, grasping my two hands and saying, "Finally, we are able to talk for an hour. I haven't forgotten your face, but write your name in large letters so I won't forget it again." Fuki is 94 years old, her life is almost a legend, and it is a joy to hear her tell it. "For 47 years I was asleep, and for 47 years I have been alive. I was born 94 years ago in the Meji era, which reopened the Japanese borders after two centuries of closure to any outside interference. I have had the opportunity to study. I went to the university for two years, but because I had five sisters, tradition dictated that I had to support my sisters as soon as possible, so I had to break off my studies to marry. My husband, Tamizoe Kushida, was a Marxist economist. He died when I was 35 and our two children were adolescents. I was indifferent to problems because I was very happy in myhouse. For 17 years I had forgotten the rest of the world. I regained my vision, something that was difficult then and still is now in Japan, by addressing the crime of discrimination against those with little money. We had not saved, and we had to sell my husband's books while I looked for work. The only job I could find was as a kimono peddler, but it was difficult to eat and for the children to study. Eventually, I woke up." She paused a moment and I asked if she knew the story of Nora. "I found reading Ibsen to be most useful," she commented. "Also, in the evening I was very tired and read lots."

"What brought a change to my life was the women's movement. I had also wanted it; I remember that when my grandmother said "you seem to want to be a man," I got angry. And today, after half a century in the movement, I repeat: I would like to be sure of being a woman in the next life, so I can continue in the movement for women's liberation. In Japan, the people are not sovereign and the Japanese have not conquered democracy. It is partly the fault of the movement: We must think globally, pay constant attention to international problems, but not forget to act locally, for ourselves. If we lack an understanding of our own problems, we are not in a position to struggle for change. It is necessary to struggle both with ourselves and with the outside. This is possible when one works with a group of women." She interrupts to pour the green tea without sugar and to hunt for a photograph. "I told you how I joined the women's movement. During the Second World War, I lived near Sake Tsuboi, the writer of Twenty-Four Eyes, a classic of Japanese feminism. At Tsuboi's house I encountered another feminist writer, Yuriko Miyamoto, the wife of Kenji, head of the Japanese Communist party. They persuaded me to join the movement. I didn't feel qualified. She insisted, ...