Yusuke Murakami: The "Polar Architect" Exploring the Origins of Human Living

Since I'm the only "Polar Architect" out there (laughs). I'm not an architect in the usual sense, nor am I a researcher. People sometimes ask, "Are you an adventurer?" but that's not it either.

If you're an adventurer, you go to sponsors under your own name to get funding. But in my case, whether it was the Antarctic expedition or being chosen for the "Mars Experimental Life," it didn't fundamentally need to be "Murakami"; it just needed to be a human being. I'm like a guinea pig representing Earth. That's why I've used "Polar Architect" as a pillar for when people ask, "What are you?" I think about the environment when various things happen in polar regions and human nature is laid bare.

That's right. Unlike an adventurer who just needs to endure, I'm thinking about what is necessary when considering living in a polar region. How can individuals from various countries live together as companions, and what becomes necessary? It might not take the form of a "house." I've experienced such things by actually living in polar regions.

It's really like the starting point. In the case of the Mars experimental life base, you're assigned a small private room, but when you're in such a cramped space, whether the door is closed or open becomes a message in itself.

I always left mine wide open, so if I occasionally closed it, everyone would get very worried (laughs). You come to understand very subtle things.

Yes. My graduation project at Meiji was a lunar base. Then I came to Professor Ikeda's lab at SFC, and my master's thesis was a system analysis of space station modules.

It's not that I had an interest in space or polar regions since I was a child. When I was studying at Meiji, many of my classmates were students pursuing cool architectural styles. But to me, that felt disconnected from people's lives.

Around that time, I came across an interview with John P. Allen about "Biosphere 2" (an artificial ecosystem inside a giant sealed space built in Arizona, USA) in an old magazine. It said that Biosphere 2 would eventually be a kind of model for when humans live in space. At that moment, I thought that by doing space-related work, I could get closer to the origins of living.

For me, space was strictly a method to get closer to those origins. But I didn't know the method at all. That's when I met Professor Ikeda at SFC.

But when I said I wanted to do space architecture, Professor Ikeda said, "That's interesting," and thought about the methods with me. This was huge for me. Studying at SFC, I realized that doing architecture in space is less about "what to build" and more about the production process—that is, "how to build it" is the biggest challenge.

At the time, there was a "Space Architecture Study Group," and they were discussing things like how much to stabilize specs in an environment without air. I started to feel that was wrong. For example, they would discuss how thick to make the armor, but I thought, "They aren't considering the feelings of the person wearing that thick armor 24/7." So, I felt I had to go to the site myself.

Yes. I relied on connections to go to the National Institute of Polar Research (NIPR). There was no slot for architectural research, and it was hard to get to Antarctica, but luckily I was able to join the expedition as observation personnel.

I was there for a year and a half, and various useless things were peeled away like an onion. I thought that whatever remained at the end could be used in space or anywhere. But once the useless parts were peeled away, I felt like the core was gone too. I thought, "Oh, there's nothing here."

When people's feelings and various things are exposed to the point where a single door affects their psychology, I started to think that what remains at the end isn't the core, but the very first brown layer of the onion that you always throw away.

In other words, everything is concentrated at the point where humans and the environment directly touch. I realized the contents didn't matter. So, after returning from Antarctica, I wanted to confirm that conviction and started going to various polar regions.

I lived in the former observatory of the Meteorological Agency at the summit of Mt. Fuji, and I was hired as an engineer for the base camp at 5,400 meters as a member of a Japanese climbing team to Mt. Everest.

It's said that by around 2030, the era will come when people go to Mars. Right now, we've only just reached the point where people stay on the space station for about three months to half a year, but even so, we've gradually learned that after living there for half a year, people cannot endure that environment.

Moreover, we've learned that the tougher and stronger a person looks, the harder it is for them to recover once their spirit breaks. We've started to notice that perhaps those who aren't like that are stronger. If people go to Mars and back, it becomes a three or four-year mission. So, it was decided to first create an environment similar to astronauts and conduct long-term simulated Mars experimental life.

To actually test this, the "Mars Society," a US non-profit run by Dr. Robert Zubrin, assumed Devon Island in the Arctic and a desert in Utah were "Mars on Earth" and built facilities with the size and feel of the intended bases. At the Utah base, about ten teams of six people each spend two weeks every year living experimentally in rotation. Researchers doing space studies at universities, people from space-related companies, and people from NASA also come.

I was chosen for a mission advertised as having the most diverse crew in the harshest environment as "Mars on Earth." Seven crew members were chosen from France, Russia, the US, Canada, Australia, India, and myself from Japan.

Until now, simulated Mars experiments conducted by NASA or Russia have all failed.

Human relationships broke down, everyone fought, or they said "I can't do this anymore" and left.

In that context, the international mission "Mars160," where I served as executive officer, was one of the first to succeed. One of the big reasons it worked was the presence of an Eastern person in the team.

For example, in English, if you ask a question, they answer yes or no; they can't be ambiguous. In the case of Japanese people, when asked a question, they often answer with "or." Communicating intentions with "or" is usually perceived negatively, but I think it's incredibly valuable in polar regions.

If you have to debate and always come up with a yes/no answer like in English, rules just keep increasing and you get tied down. I'm particularly laid-back, and I think that was helpful.

Yes. I've come to want to redefine architecture and living. I've lived in polar regions for over 1,000 days, and I'm finally starting to understand. In Buddhism, if you live for 1,000 days, you reach enlightenment. Well, I haven't reached enlightenment (laughs).

When going to space, there's a selection process, and until now, the people chosen were those who could endure, those who were positive, and those with expressive and speaking skills. In a way, this is very troublesome.

Exactly. Basically, the people chosen have a very high interest in certain matters. That means there are also many areas of indifference right next to that. If you look closely at the "indifference" held by people with strong wills, you can start to see where accidents will happen.

The important thing is how to come to terms with the indifference each person has. As countries and genders become more diverse, many areas emerge that I'm indifferent to but another person is very interested in.

Since you can't even have a discussion about areas of indifference, they don't surface until an accident occurs. That's exactly why the Space Shuttle had two major accidents.

When only strong people gather, they start cutting corners regarding life in general. Things like exploring and collecting samples as a mission are done by everyone because they result in a positive evaluation. On the other hand, things like cleaning and washing dishes are things someone must do when living together, but no one wants to do them. Or they don't notice that they aren't doing them.

Clearly, the burden shifts to specific people, and it splits completely into two. Within the crew, there was me and one other person who did the dishes, and no one else did. The other person besides me was very frustrated, saying the current state was the worst. But the remaining people said the team was in the best state because someone else was doing the dishes and they could focus on observations. Even the worlds they see are different.

Yes. What was good for me was that my first polar experience was in Antarctica. In the Antarctic wintering team, there were also people who weren't very positive, and a certain balance was maintained, so I learned a lot.

Maybe so (laughs). Until now, astronauts have been chosen as tough, strong people—evolved individuals, so to speak—but I think we should consider evolving as a group.

First, the decommissioned Antarctic research vessel "Shirase" is currently in Minami-Funabashi, and I want to rent it to conduct a simulated Mars experiment. My proposal is to treat this as a spacecraft going to Mars, conduct simulations here, and see what human life actually is.

No, it will be anchored and done in a state completely isolated from the outside. We'll treat the area in the hold where snowmobiles are kept as the outside of the spacecraft; for example, in a setting where there's a hole in the spacecraft and it needs repair, we'll work in that space wearing spacesuits.

Other simulated Mars experimental facilities were bases to prove that humanity is already prepared to go to space, but I want to make this a base to prove the opposite: "don't do it yet." In other words, I don't want to make going to space the goal; I want to think about human life from the perspective of space.

There, I want to build a process and methodology for human "resilience"—that is, how people recover after their spirits have "broken." We'll also build a control room in the same area. Between Earth and Mars, there's a communication delay of up to about 40 minutes, so if you say "hello," the reply arrives 40 minutes later. In such a communication environment, I want to clarify with what words and to what extent humans can recover.

Until now, I've just been observing life in various polar regions, but I want to explore what can be done to improve life in polar regions.

Recently, I often get consultations from students saying they want to do space architecture. At the root of their thinking is a desire to do something sci-fi. I don't deny that, but I want to say, "It's something different" from being responsible for human lives.

When I worked with Professor Ikeda at SFC, we thought about architecture and human life using space as an experimental ground. Taking a step back from space was very important. I don't think it's good for people to start doing architecture just because they want to go to space themselves.

I think it's bad if you don't have that perspective. Also, compared to when I was young, you can get positive information in advance through SNS and such, so young people today study a lot and their "I'll do it" attitude is great. But when they actually try it, they lack sufficient resolve and fear.

When I wanted to do space, I was diving into an unknown place like space, so I did it while being terrified. Today, there's a possibility that various technologies like 3D printers, AR, and VR will process away that "fear," so I want to properly convey the importance of "fearing correctly."

I don't think there are any in the world. In the end, doing this and that, it's hard to firmly establish something... SFC was the place that allowed me to do that (laughs).