Minaduchi

[Japan] A man lost his partner of 30 years last month. Two men. Thirty years. He wanted to grieve as family. He asked for bereavement leave. They refused. They can't marry, so the law calls them strangers. Leave is only for "family." The day after the funeral, he went to work and worked with a blank face. A husband and wife get it without question. He got nothing. The only difference: they can't marry. For that, even grief was denied. When your love dies, you don't even get to stop.

[Japan] Same-sex marriage — late at night, a thought drifts in: if we were a man and a woman, we'd have married long ago. We met, fell in love, built a life together. No different from any other love. The only difference is our gender. And for that one thing alone, our love can't reach "marriage." Still, I won't give up. Goodnight.

[Japan] I said goodbye to him at the airport. He's my partner — and a foreigner. Japan couldn't let him stay. Ten years, one home. We were family in every way. But we can't marry here, so he was never granted a spouse visa. Now we say "good morning" through a screen, to him, a time zone away. If we were a man and a woman, one form, and he'd still be beside me. The only difference: we can't marry. And it tore our family apart. Your country let couples stay. Mine sent him home.

[Japan] To those who oppose same-sex marriage as "against Japanese tradition": it's actually the opposite. Edo-period Japan was remarkably tolerant of same-sex love — among samurai, among monks, it was ordinary. The intolerance came later, with Meiji-era Western values. If you want to talk "tradition," the real tradition is tolerance.

[Japan] In Japan, a mother can be forced to give up custody of her own child. She only wants to raise her child with the woman she loves. They can't marry here. So her partner adopts the child to also be a legal parent. Then custody goes to the adopting partner. The birth mother loses it. A married man and woman keep custody together. The only difference: they can marry. Her child, or her love. The law makes her choose. You already won this fight. Japan still makes mothers choose.

[Japan] My partner and I raised our girl for seven years. Two men, one daughter. She calls me "Papa." Lunches, bedtimes, the sick nights. All me. But the law won't call me her father. In Japan, same-sex couples can't both be legal parents. Only he is. If he dies first, I have no right to keep our own child. At school: "Which one's the dad?" And I go quiet. Still, I braid her hair and take her hand. On paper, I'm a stranger to her. To her, I'm Papa — whatever the law says.

[Japan] Two pairs of shoes, always by our door. Thirty years, in a country with no marriage equality. Lately, his heels have worn down on one side. His back has begun to bend with age. He can't stoop to set out his own shoes now, so lining them up became my job. The mail carrier knows. The neighbors know. A family lives behind this door. The only one who doesn't know is the law. Still, two pairs wait there every morning — for as long as I'm here to set them down.

[Japan] I've worked funerals for years. Today's was for a man who loved another man for 30 years. His partner wept harder than anyone. But no one there called him family. At the front sat the family: a nephew who hadn't visited in a decade. His partner sat in the back, as "a friend." Everything the man left goes to blood relatives. After 30 years, his partner inherits nothing. In your country, this story changed the law. Here, he's still a stranger at his partner's grave.

[Japan] In countries with marriage equality, couples are saying "good morning" to each other right now, like it's nothing. Here, that ordinary moment still isn't allowed by law for same-sex couples. Japan is the only G7 nation without it; about 40 countries already have it. That ordinary morning will come here too — soon, I'm sure of it.

[Japan] "Be patient. Someday it'll change." That's what I'm always told here. Japan is the only G7 country without marriage equality, and we've waited years for that "someday." Five of six high court rulings have called the ban unconstitutional. The Supreme Court is deciding now. Still — "someday." Your country was once told to wait, too, and learned that "wait" can mean "never." If you couldn't marry the one you love, how many more "somedays" could you wait?

[Japan] Same-sex marriage — honestly, I'm exhausted. Years of speaking up, and I still can't marry the person I love. But then I look at them, asleep beside me, and I just can't give up. I want to build a family with this person. That's why I'll write again tomorrow.

[Japan] The only G7 country without marriage equality, he and I have loved each other for 30 years. Every night, he takes his bath first. While he does, I make the tea. Two cups, side by side on the shelf. Lately, the spots on his hands have spread. Each night, I lay out his medicine. Yet on paper, after all this time, we are still strangers to each other. Still, tonight there are two cups. Tomorrow, I'll set out two again. The law won't call us a family. But these two cups already are.

Support for same-sex marriage in Japan is now about 70% — and among people aged 18 to 29, it's around 80%. Opposition lingers mainly among older generations. Time is firmly on our side; as generations turn over, the outcome is already decided. So we won't give up.

[Japan] In a country without marriage equality: a city office. "But Japan has partnership certificates," people say. The clerk who hands them out knows the truth. The couple who received one wept, holding hands. No one dared say it aloud. This paper holds no legal power. No inheritance. No tax break. No survivor's pension. Move to the next city, and it stops working. What was handed over wasn't a promise. It was a paper that asks — not one that binds.

[Japan] In a country without marriage equality — my frustration. In public, a man said aloud: "LGBTQ people are just sick, right?" A friend said, "No, that's wrong." But he said it again. Twice. The WHO delisted it as an illness 36 years ago. 1 in 10 people are LGBTQ. Even that friend could be one of us. If anyone there heard those words, the pain would be beyond imagining. Think what you want. That's your freedom. But saying it in public is another matter. Someone beside you is one of us.

[Japan] After a day of ugly words for defending marriage equality, I come home, and he says, "Welcome back." It has been this way for thirty years. He knows what I face out there, yet he never says a word about it. Only, on days like that, somehow, the miso soup at dinner feels a little warmer. This quiet life is what I am fighting to protect. The law still calls the two of us "strangers." Until it calls us "family," I will keep going.

[Japan] They call me "disgusting." Still, I won't stop speaking up for marriage equality. Here is why. It's not anger. It's not stubbornness. Somewhere in this country, there are people hiding who they are, just to survive. At school. At work. Even in front of family. Until the day they can stand tall and say "I married the one I love" — let the ugly words come. I'll take them all. So today, I keep posting, calmly as ever. Until this country changes, I will not stop.

[Japan] ~70% of the public supports same-sex marriage—even a majority of LDP voters do. Yet it's stalled because the ruling LDP, the largest party, won't move. Japan's the only G7 nation without it, and the party ignores even its own supporters. Can it really claim to represent the people?

[Japan] Same-sex marriage: all 6 lawsuits now sit before the Supreme Court's 15-justice Grand Bench. Five of six high courts already ruled the ban unconstitutional; only Tokyo's didn't. This month ~36,000 signatures were handed to the Court. The tide is turning.