[Feature: Viewing the City from Parks] Roundtable Discussion: The Meaning of Parks Continuing to Exist There

Today, I would like to learn from our experts on the theme of "Viewing the City Through Parks." Parks are used by many people; they are playgrounds for children and gathering places for the elderly. Recently, there seem to be cases where parks are intentionally left unfinished at the time of opening, leaving room for development by the local community.

To start our discussion: classic playground equipment like swings seems to be disappearing from parks, replaced by safer alternatives, and children's play styles appear to be changing accordingly. Mr. Fukasawa, as the representative of Kotobuki Co., Ltd., which manufactures benches, playground equipment, park maps, and signage, how have you seen the trends in park equipment evolve?

The history of urban parks dates back to the Dajokan Proclamation of the Meiji government. However, regarding the equipment itself, the Urban Park Act enacted in 1956 mandated the installation of the "Three Sacred Treasures" in children's parks: swings, slides, and sandboxes. Among these, I believe the sandbox remains a special presence due to its excellent versatility, as it doesn't limit the number of children who can play at once.

On the other hand, if we consider a set including horizontal bars instead of a sandbox as the "three standard items," I believe innovation occurred when the multi-purpose play structures commonly seen in parks today first appeared. These were initially developed in the U.S., and we imported them for a while before eventually manufacturing and evolving them ourselves. While the traditional "Three Sacred Treasures" had a fixed capacity per unit, multi-purpose structures are characterized by their efficiency, using capacity per square meter as an index. During the era of urban overcrowding and high child populations, the goal was to increase the number of children who could play on a single piece of equipment.

As for today, fitness equipment has appeared, and a new trend called "inclusive playgrounds" has emerged. In Tokyo, rather than "inclusive," they use the phrase "parks where everyone can play." We are in an era where playground equipment is expected to bridge divides so that it can be used by anyone.

For example, this means playing regardless of whether one has a handicap or the gap between rich and poor. In this way, current park equipment is moving from an era of increasing capacity to one of segmentation to meet various purposes. I perceive that we have entered an era where each individual park is trying to "sharpen its edge"—in other words, to express its own unique character.

The equipment in the children's park near my house was also replaced, and the appearance of the park has changed significantly since I was a child. So many changes are happening even with a single piece of equipment. Mr. Takeuchi, having been involved with various parks as a landscaping professional for the Tokyo Metropolitan Government until last year, how do you view these changes?

In metropolitan parks, we have renovated a great deal of playground equipment over the past few years. A characteristic of parks is that the same space can be used by different people depending on the time: the elderly gather in the morning, and children play boisterously during the day.

As Mr. Fukasawa mentioned, "swings, slides, and sandboxes" have been considered the Three Sacred Treasures in small parks. However, a newspaper article a few years ago suggested that the new Three Sacred Treasures are "cafes, barbecues, and convenience stores." But listening to the needs on the ground, I think they might be "Western-style toilets, gazebos (azumaya), and fitness equipment." Requests for these have been increasing recently, especially from the elderly.

Regarding Western-style toilets, there used to be many voices saying they disliked sitting on public toilet seats because they were dirty, so we always left at least one Japanese-style squat toilet stall. However, the number of elderly people who do not require squat toilets has increased, and recently we hear requests for all stalls to be Western-style with heated seats.

As for gazebos, because summers have become extremely hot lately, there is a strong need for places to shelter from intense sunlight or heavy rain. Not only the elderly but also users with children are requesting the installation of gazebos. Regarding fitness equipment, I initially wondered who would use it, but once installed, I found many users stretching their backs or doing things like bench presses. Even in Hibiya Park, you see people in suits hanging from horizontal bars during their lunch breaks; it's very popular.

I see various users when I pass by neighborhood parks, and as Mr. Takeuchi says, parks are used by many generations.

Mr. Ishikawa, in your work in landscape design, what points have you considered when designing parks?

When I was in the design department of a general contractor, I didn't have many opportunities to design urban parks, but I created several relatively small "provided parks" (publicly accessible parks attached to condominiums or commercial facilities). In designing these, what was important was that they "looked like a park." In other words, how to make it look like a park at a glance was a design challenge, so the emergence of multi-purpose play structures was welcome. Having just one of those makes it look like a park immediately.

At the time, I thought such things were important for park design, but after having my own child, I realized that children play everywhere, even in places that aren't playground equipment. It's actually the parents who feel relieved by the presence of equipment. To a child, there isn't much difference between a multi-purpose structure and a rusty horizontal bar. The fitness equipment that appeared later is also fascinating to watch when children take it over to play. They use it in ways you'd never expect.

The challenge for designers is how far we must express the design for the people we want to come to the park and for the users. For example, the recently discussed "exclusionary benches" are an example where the installer decides how they should be used. The design challenge is to find a balance between the usage desired by the client and the freedom of the user to choose how to use it.

Replacing the Three Sacred Treasures, I think the three "ultimate weapons" in recent parks are "Starbucks, decks, and lawns."

Is that the image of a space where one can lie down on the grass with a delicious drink and relax while looking at the greenery?

Yes. Talking with students, I realized that parks are similar in structure to beach huts. Parks are designed so that there is a deck in the middle of artificial objects like a Starbucks to allow for relaxation within the city, with nature beyond that. Beach huts are similar; people from the city change there, touch the sand and sea, and then return. They mediate between the city and nature.

So they play a role in switching the "stage," in a sense.

Exactly. A deck is something between the city and the nature symbolized by the lawn; it acts as a mediator for a place where one can touch nature without getting one's hands or feet dirty. From that perspective, a bench is also a small deck, or like an engawa (veranda), serving as a device that mediates between the Starbucks and the lawn.

Comparing it to an engawa is interesting. The appeal of a bench is not just as a resting place; once you sit down and start a conversation, it becomes another world. It's a place where various things can happen depending on how you perceive it.

Even with something as simple as a bench, where and how it is placed depending on the park is part of the site design. Mr. Fukasawa, how do you view the role of the bench?

Objects have a part that restricts human behavior, and I believe that is necessary. In the case of park benches, there is a debate over whether to place those with or without backrests. If you want people to sit comfortably, a backrest is better. However, because there are more parts, the cost is higher, and the seat height is about 1.5 times higher than those without backrests.

Still, in parks surrounded by housing, benches with backrests are more appropriate so that users' gazes do not drift toward the adjacent properties. In this way, park design sometimes involves blocking or guiding sightlines and controlling the behavior of users for the sake of landscape design.

I often say, "A bench is a sign." Mr. Ishikawa mentioned that a deck is an intermediate zone between nature and artificial space. To give a similar example, during the Great East Japan Earthquake, Kotobuki donated a large number of benches to temporary housing complexes. The inside of temporary housing is a private space, but the outside belongs to no one. They were partitioned off, and the community was fragmented. Such places emerged in many complexes immediately after the disaster.

We placed benches in those complexes. Of course, the purpose was to provide a place for elderly victims to rest, but at the same time, we wanted to create a landmark that said, "This is everyone's place."

It's fascinating that a bench in a public space carries both the functionality of "sitting" and the symbolism of "it's okay to sit here because it's everyone's place."

Benches now have higher symbolism than the traditional Three Sacred Treasures of playground equipment. Since the earthquake, Kotobuki has also focused on enhancing the disaster prevention functions of parks. Recently, we installed a power generation plant in a park in Shiga Prefecture. Although called a plant, it's an evolved version of a gazebo with solar panels on a large roof. It allows for charging and power supply, provides Wi-Fi, and can even emit mist in the summer.

In Tokyo, parks range from large to small, and I imagine their roles vary depending on their scale.

In the past, various provisions were set in the Urban Park Act, and functions were divided according to scale. However, today, residents differ by region, natural environments differ, and usage varies. I believe the reality is that local government officials are being creative and building unique parks in various locations.

I thought Mr. Fukasawa's gazebo with a plant is a facility well-suited for the coming post-COVID era. Even in non-disaster times, if there is a small roof in a park with a table, benches, and Wi-Fi, I would want to work outside too.

In Kohoku New Town in Yokohama, where I live, more people started going outside during the pandemic. Even on weekday afternoons, you see many fathers and sons playing catch. When I survey parks morning, noon, and night, first come the people with preschoolers in the morning. In the afternoon, elementary school students gather after classes. In the evening, a community of five or six elderly people gathers at the gazebo at a set time. There are also differences by location; on greenways, you see health-conscious middle-aged and older runners.

When I see this kind of usage, I wonder what we as park creators can provide. In extreme terms, I think a wide space with a roof and a power source might be enough. Junior high students studying, office workers working—everyone is starting to do outside what they used to do inside. I feel that parks will be expected to be the vessels for such activities in the future.

During the first state of emergency last year, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government received complaints about crowding, so they put up "no entry" tape on all playground equipment in metropolitan parks and banned their use. However, Kohoku New Town in Yokohama did not ban them.

Is that due to a difference in local government policy?

The Tokyo Metropolitan Government made the decision for metropolitan parks, and even parks with designated managers banned the use of equipment. In the case of Yokohama, I don't know if it was city policy, but perhaps because Kohoku New Town has greenways, I didn't see children concentrating on playground equipment and creating crowds at all.

They were playing in their own ways—catching bugs in the greenery, fishing for crayfish by the water, or riding bicycles down gentle grassy slopes. It was quite an interesting sight.

We also conducted a survey on local government responses after the state of emergency. Out of 333 local governments nationwide that we have worked with, only 51 suspended the use of playground equipment. Other governments limited themselves to posting warning signs, so it seems that responses were surprisingly flexible at the local level.

Statistical evidence is important, but I was watching with interest what was actually happening in individual parks. In Chofu City, "no entry" tape was also applied to equipment. But actually, before that happened, when children could no longer go to school, neighborhood parks that hadn't been used much before became as lively as children's playgrounds. In many parks in Chofu, you could see scenes like the old housing complexes of the past; it was as if the parks were happy to be played in by children for the first time in a long while.

Then, the next thing was "you must not play in the park." Children were scolded by neighborhood elderly people to "stay home." I thought that was going too far, but then, dead-end streets in residential areas turned into children's playgrounds.

Asphalt surfaces became covered in graffiti like blackboards, and children overflowed into vacant lots designated for future city parks. When park use was banned, places that served as park substitutes appeared throughout the city.

That is very interesting.

Mr. Takeuchi mentioned earlier that park users change depending on the time of day and the era. I believe the primary condition for this "reusability" is that the park is simply "there."

There was a time when the number of users was used as an index to measure the value of a park. Unused parks were treated as if they had no value, and local government officials struggled to create "bustle." But from the citizens' perspective, the privilege of a park is that it doesn't have to be bustling. Even if it seems wasteful at first glance, I believe there is significant value in the park continuing to exist there. Even if it seems useless in daily life, securing open space within a city is a feat that only a park can perform.

The reason streets and vacant lots turned into playgrounds during the pandemic was that local families brought out picnic chairs and small tents. As soon as those were placed, a sense of "it's okay to play here" was born. The way a small device gives meaning to a place is similar to the symbolism of a bench.

For parks, users can just replace what is needed as necessary. I don't think we need to have much debate about whether the park itself is useful or not in the short term.

Hearing that reminds me of my own childhood. Of course there were parks in the city, but on the other hand, we also played in vacant lots where construction materials were kept, turning them into secret bases. A clear image of this is "Doraemon." Gian treats concrete pipes as a stage, and that place turns into a park.

That park is a landscape from the era of high economic growth when the whole city was a construction site.

It's a scene that wouldn't exist in today's parks, but children gather when they realize they can play there.

Nowadays, if you build a secret base in a vacant lot, someone will report you. A friend was called to school because their elementary school son pulled out materials in a park to build a secret base. The mother told him to do it at a place like a "play park," but the boy reportedly said, "Then it won't be a secret base anymore."

That kid has good instincts.

Indeed. But now there are no such places in the city. Moreover, neighbors don't scold the children directly; they immediately report them to the school or the city office, which makes everyone even more hesitant.

Many interesting points have been raised. Do any of you have examples of what makes a good park? For instance, in Ota Ward where I live, there is a park called "Kusappara Park" where residents intentionally chose not to put in playground equipment and instead adopted a system where they manage it themselves.

In a park in Futako-Tamagawa, residents reportedly started a park club before it was even finished and held workshops to think about maintenance and management methods after completion. Such cases are increasing lately. I was very surprised to see cosmos blooming in a flowerbed managed by local mothers, with a sign saying, "You may pick the flowers." I think the sense of "it's okay to be here" conveyed by that sign is wonderful.

Another example is Isamu Noguchi's famous sculpture "Black Slide Mantra" in Odori Park, Sapporo. When I visited with my family, the work looked like a complete piece of art to an adult, so my wife and I stopped about 30 meters away. But the children walked up without hesitation and started playing on it as a slide. That was an experience that made me think. Adults see things through their meanings, but I realized there are various possibilities.

The point of those two examples is how one perceives the space and how the users decide the rules. Signs in parks usually list prohibitions, which makes one feel nervous, but seeing "Please do as you like" feels very fresh.

Parks don't have fixed common rules or usage; rather, they leave those to individual judgment. For example, some parks ban playing catch, but there is no law as a basis for that; it's just banned through on-site operation. Since it's ultimately at the discretion of the site, there should conversely be signs saying, "It's okay to play catch here."

I see, the beauty of a park is that it can be used with flexible judgment. When my children were small, I would watch the other users for a while to observe what the rules were. Then, for example, a child from a different grade would talk to us and let us play together. On those days, I would go home satisfied that we had a good time playing.

I believe every park has a human drama. For example, there is a group that does an activity called the "Piece of Love Movement," where they leave a watering can in a flowerbed to encourage people to water the plants.

To use an analogy, I think a park is like cheering for high school baseball. Some people cheer for national-level teams like Osaka Toin, while others are concerned about the results of their own child's high school. There is a drama like those in high school baseball in every single park, and Kotobuki's research is like high school baseball reporting, seeking out the dramas of parks across the country.

There is also an emotional feeling unique to each region, similar to how high school baseball isn't necessarily just about aiming to win at Koshien.

That's an interesting story. Speaking of stories held by parks, Professor Iwatari Shinji, who also contributed an essay to this special feature, wrote a book called "Hibiya Park: Learning from 100 Years of Pride" which depicts the history and life of Hibiya Park. As Mr. Fukasawa says, such stories and possibilities exist in every park.

Recent social media—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—are all centered on people. They don't have a place where information linked to a specific location is archived.

But what happened in this place? I believe parks have value as historical archives of a town, serving as stages where resident dramas occur.

I once saw research at a geography conference where collecting hashtags from tweets at a tourist spot showed who posted and how often for each location. Is your image that by layering such information chronologically, the history of a place and the dramas of the people related to it are accumulated?

Yes. I think such information needs to maintain a certain level of "officialness." We are also operating a location-based SNS in cooperation with the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism, but filtering hashtags alone includes negative posts or topics of limited interest, so the challenge remains of where to draw the line for regulations.

I have also been thinking about "place" recently. Specifically, how many people feel that a park is "their own." Until now, the value of a park was measured by conditions such as area per person, biodiversity, or how many degrees it lowers the temperature. But I feel that the number of people who relate to a park as their own is an important indicator.

Last year, when part of a large-scale park called Takaido Park opened, not many people gathered on the opening day, partly because it was raining during the pandemic. Similarly, about three years ago, a small waterway maintained and managed by the ward called "Everyone's Dream Waterway" opened in Zenpukuji Park. This was a project realized after proposing to the ward mayor that we wanted to create a river that elementary school students could enter. On the opening day, many elementary students and their mothers participated, and it was very lively and joyful.

Staff in the construction department work hard on every park project, but at the resident briefing for Takaido Park, we only heard complaints and requests like "What will happen to the boundary of my property?" or "I'm worried about crime if a park is built." I wondered what caused this difference.

I think we must gradually increase the number of people who feel that park-making is their own business, starting from the design and development stages. Comparing location and area, Takaido Park should have a higher contribution to the region, but the level of happiness felt by the surrounding people is completely different, even just looking at the moment of opening.

Those are very contrasting examples.

Listening to Mr. Fukasawa's story about the 'Fragment of Love Movement,' I felt that park creation needs mechanisms to raise awareness that one is personally involved in the park.

In Kiyose City's '(Tentative Name) Park with Flowers,' as in Futako-Tamagawa, we are having residents participate during the two-year period from land acquisition to completion, nurturing people who want to do specific things once the park is finished. I feel that such systems must be incorporated into future park creation.

I want to comfort the person in charge of Takaido Park, which had a lonely opening. This is because, if you think on a 100-year span, there is no way a park won't be useful.

Thank you. On that day, in the rain, a mother holding a baby told me, 'I've been looking forward to this,' which was a saving grace.

In Mr. Ishikawa's talk, there was mention of a 'feeling that it's okay to play' or a 'feeling that it's okay to be here,' and I think this sensation is very important. I served as a supervisor when developing the inclusive playground at Kinuta Park, and as Mr. Fukasawa mentioned earlier, we didn't call it 'inclusive' but named it 'Everyone's Plaza' and actively publicized the concept that any child is welcome to come and play.

As a result, a survey response from a guardian of a child with disabilities said, 'I was so happy to be told "it's okay to go."' It is important to show that 'it's okay' in some form.

Conversely, if you show 'it's okay' too much, it becomes a strong signifier and can become oppressive to people who don't want to participate. How to communicate that is a rather subtle point.

Previously, someone came to consult me about how to sell a vast piece of private land in Tokyo, and at that time, I spoke about how we are in an era of 'community first.' The point is how much a community has grown there before deciding what kind of thing to build on that land.

For example, even if it is sold and an apartment building is built, something like a pocket park will be necessary. At that time, the value of the land should change depending on whether a good relationship has been established with the local people. I think the perspective of how many people you can involve in a single park is important.

Currently, we are promoting our own app that shows the number of followers for parks. Fujisawa City is enthusiastically cooperating, and it's a system where you can see how active a park is and how much it contributes to the area by visualizing the number of followers and usage status for each park in each region.

For example, the number of followers for Hibiya Park is dozens of times that of a general neighborhood park, but the spread of the app is not about trying to bridge such gaps; I want everyone to know the value of being involved in park use and the local context. It's no longer an era where people gather just by building a good park; I feel a growing sense that the need for mechanisms where users actively participate is sinking in.

Listening to everyone's stories, it feels like listening to a lecture on urban planning. Stories about how to increase the number of people who can be involved in the city as stakeholders appear in urban planning textbooks, but parks are now becoming exactly that kind of place for practice.

However, I also think we are in an era that is neither top-down nor can be strictly called bottom-up. When setting development policies for large-scale parks or conducting land acquisition, you can't just tell residents to do as they please. I think this sense of balance—involving them within certain limits—is important.

To guarantee that sense, we are currently working on making playground equipment movable assets. Once installed, playground equipment must remain there for 20 years. Our products have a 30-year warranty, so they must be placed for another 10 years, but we are trying a test case to make them movable with simple construction, and last year we worked with the Tokyo Metropolitan Government.

I thought parks could have a bit more flexibility. While leaving the major guidelines to the local government, I think the sense of balance is important: to what extent is it possible to have park development that can be changed improvisationally within the culture, color, and daily observations of the residents?

I think the balance between the major policy for the city as a whole and the individual needs of users needs to be adjusted over time. In an era where everyone has a device with location information, if things that were previously invisible can be visualized and measured, we will be able to make things more efficient than ever based on the stay time and popularity of public facilities.

However, if we push that too far, I think we'll be in trouble when an unexpected situation occurs. Optimizing could mean becoming unable to respond to situations that weren't considered at the design stage. I think we are learning this now in this era of frequent disasters.

That's why I think there is value in the fact that a park, once built, cannot be moved for 30 years. I think it's important for a city to leave the parts that change rapidly to the private sector, while having a certain number of places like parks that move very slowly.

It's like a position as an anchor to prevent the degree of freedom in public space from swinging too far.

Exactly. I think a park is, first and foremost, an "institution."

In both my research and on-site work, I have thought about parks and green spaces by dividing them into three scales: the city level, the district level, and the site level.

At the city level, natural conditions vary, so the placement of parks needs to correspond to them. Current urban planning for parks in Tokyo is based on the Tokyo Green Space Plan from about 80 years ago, and the policy of securing green space along small and medium-sized rivers has continued uninterrupted.

Concrete examples of this are Inokashira Park, Zenpukuji Park, and the green belts on the Musashino Plateau. Takaido Park is also part of a plan that attempted to develop the green space between the Tamagawa Josui and the Kanda River into a belt-like shape in suburban areas like Suginami Ward.

Recently, there are cases where urban planning park zones are deleted because buildings have been erected and development is difficult, but buildings are demolished in 50 or 60 years. Right now, things built during the 1964 Tokyo Olympics or the period of high economic growth are reaching the time for demolition and renewal due to aging. There are examples where the Metropolitan Expressway was built where a river was designated, which is now being reconsidered, or where part of a site is being redeveloped as green space in conjunction with the rebuilding of a hotel built within a planned park area. In this way, when you view parks and green spaces at the city level, there are places that must be secured with a 100-year plan.

On the other hand, at the district level, we think on the scale of redevelopment target areas, and at the site level, like provided parks, the thinking on how to determine the layout of buildings, nature, and green space upon redevelopment becomes important.

The systems for socially controlling these three scales are also gradually changing to a bottom-up type, and authority for urban planning systems is being transferred to basic local governments such as wards and cities. In the future, through DX and other means, the connection between site-level movements among citizens and the city level may be visualized, making it clear that one is also contributing to city-making. By doing so, I hope that systems and mechanisms that allow people to engage as their own personal matter will gradually be established.

The perspective of switching spatial scales is exactly the perspective of geography.

From the standpoint of promoting location-based social networking, I also want to increase opportunities to communicate the design intent of parks to citizens. Some local government officials say that the contents of the development plan are on the website, but users rarely access it, and users mostly don't know the reason why there is a fountain in the park.

Information about why a park is there in the first place is very valuable, and I feel that organizing information for a long-term perspective will be necessary.

This is just a random thought, but now that where you are can be easily viewed on a map, I thought there could be a design that uses technology to let you feel that you are committed to a 100-year urban plan.

At the site level, it's hard to tell, but you make it so people can understand that it makes sense on a 100-year span, as seen in maps and history. If you make it easy to understand at the urban planning level, even if you sometimes find a fountain in a park annoying, you might be able to accept it, thinking it's okay for it to stay there because it's been there since you were a child.

On the other hand, in real space, I feel it's okay to have more things that are nonsensical or uninterpretable.

Doesn't the design of playground equipment also not necessarily have to meet modern needs? I think it would be interesting if Kotobuki created a category like "Other" on the last few pages of their catalog, with pages of incomprehensible furniture where you can't even tell if it's for sitting or playing, or what its purpose is (laughs). If it were me, I'd want to choose something like that.

That's an important margin, isn't it? An example is the signage of a complex commercial facility in Roppongi. In that facility, various places and stores are arranged on a vast site, so if you encourage movement according to purpose, the circularity doesn't function very well. Therefore, it is intentionally built so that people walk around.

That kind of room for debate, or room for users to individually interpret and communicate, is also important. For example, if a director explained all the intentions of a film, it wouldn't be as exciting. The film industry thrives because critics watch and interpret them, and I hope parks can be viewed from that perspective as well.

There are parts that are controlled and parts that are not, and that leads to unexpected developments, or new ways of use are found in the margins, and people around them read deeply into it to create a world.

I think people who design parks do so wishing for it to become a good place. I don't know if such "margins" manifest immediately or are found in unexpected ways after decades, but I thought the interest lies in the combination of parts that are firmly set with intent and things that are not controlled.

Designing margins as an institution is difficult, but I think it's important.

What we find fun are places with a bit of a "happening" in a good sense, protruding slightly rather than being over-programmed, so this talk applies to many things beyond just parks.

The word "urban anchor" also appeared, and parks also play the role of disaster prevention bases during disasters. I think their importance is increasing, especially with the frequent occurrence of natural disasters, but what are your thoughts, Mr. Takeuchi?

In Tokyo, the role as a disaster prevention park has been emphasized since the time of the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake. Currently, Kan-nana (Circular Route 7) is envisioned as an emergency transport route for disaster prevention, and the parks secured in a green belt shape outside it serve as disaster prevention bases.

The system is to transport goods using Kan-nana from parks on the west side if the east side is affected, and from parks on the east side if the west side is affected. Each park has "kamado benches" (benches that become stoves in a disaster) and is equipped with disaster toilets, and they are also planned to be usable as bases for the Self-Defense Forces. The old green belt plan is still being utilized in this way, and in that sense, the existence of long-term planned green spaces is truly important.

After the Great East Japan Earthquake, what is required for disaster prevention has also changed. We receive many inquiries not only about facility specs, such as installing power generation equipment, but also about how to use facilities and evacuation routes during a disaster. I also feel that residents' disaster prevention awareness is rising.

There is a house in my neighborhood that often has barbecues, and they were a very reassuring presence when the area lost power during the Great East Japan Earthquake. Having opportunities to gather in the neighborhood on a daily basis makes it strong in times of emergency. While it's important to have disaster prevention bases prepared and to conduct evacuation drills, I thought that making a park a place for a festival even once a year would also enhance the local disaster prevention capability.

About five years ago, when I participated in a panel discussion at the UN World Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction, someone who was handling recovery responses at the site of the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake said something similar. The power for local people to manage in an emergency is born from everyday relationships.

After all, since the Great East Japan Earthquake, securing power is a major concern in emergencies. I mentioned the example of installing power plants in parks earlier, but charging smartphones in an emergency is a dire issue. Things that aren't life-threatening tend to be thought of as secondary, but whether or not digital devices can be used accounts for a large proportion of maintaining one's humanity as a modern person.

I believe there is a role for manufacturers to play in approaching this area.

Finally, I would like to ask for a few words from each of you about the future of parks in the city, based on your respective involvements.

What I realized from today's talk is that the scales of the drawings we look at while involved in parks are all different. Even so, it's interesting that we can somehow understand each other while feeling things out. Parks appear in various scales within the city, each with a different form and meaning. I thought this was the interesting part of the discussion about parks.

I still believe that a park is ultimately an institution, and I want it to continue to be an institution. I felt this way when I was involved in the redevelopment of Nakano Central Park. It was a plan where university buildings and commercial facilities were built to surround a central park on a vast site of about 1.5 hectares, with various shops and cafes.

While thinking about how to make it a lively place, I was drawing various plans like making it a sports park or creating a fountain plaza. But a park essentially doesn't have to do anything. The commercial facilities will handle the customer attraction. The park just needs to be a lawn, and that's enough. I think "not having to do anything" is something that can only happen in a facility protected by an institution. I think it's important for parks to maintain a stance in the city that is unshaken by short-term values or meanings.

When I think about the future of parks now, I am reminded of Kiyoshi Inoshita, who was in charge of park administration during the Tokyo City era. He is a great predecessor whom I respect, and he wrote an essay saying, "In 100 years, parks will disappear," and that 100 years later is 2028.

What "disappearing" means is that people will come to live in a state where nature is normally protected. Mr. Inoshita was someone who created everything from children's playgrounds to cemeteries—literally "from the cradle to the grave"—and there is no one, from babies to the elderly, who is not involved with parks. It starts with a baby's park debut, playing on equipment, doing sports as a youth, running as a middle-aged person, and ending in a cemetery at the last. It's something that warmly embraces life itself rather than just being a facility.

When I think about what's important, it's that open spaces continue to exist forever, contributing to the happiness of people of various ages. It's okay for some buildings to be built, but buildings are not permanent; I believe the role of a park is to be based on people living within greenery.

It's interesting to see the composition where Mr. Takeuchi, with long administrative experience, emphasizes flexibility, while I, from a private sector background, emphasize stubbornness (laughs).

Following this flow, I should also emphasize stubbornness, and I actually think so. Compared to the past when people were bound by society or land, we can now choose our communities, and that degree of freedom is increasing. What is the role of parks in that? I think they are "living things" that create a new type of community, derived from not excluding other users, while steering toward maintaining a certain flexibility.

What I imagine then is not "park" as a common noun, but "a park" with the indefinite article. Thinking about parks as a whole makes it too abstract, but by having people imagine it as a place where they belong and create a good community, I think a park can fulfill its role.

In the past, "creating a community" was a big story with a somewhat uniform image, but today, communities are becoming increasingly diverse. When "you" try to create a community in a good way, I think the center of that is the place called a park.

Therein lies a kind of stubbornness, or a role as a sort of anchor, and I feel that the fact that you cannot deny other users creates involvement with people you didn't intend to interact with.

Today has been a very fulfilling session, giving us opportunities to think about many things, such as stories of change over a long-term span regarding parks, stories of various scales large and small, and communities and connections with people.

Thank you very much for your time today despite your busy schedules.