Right now Japan is going through a period of introspection (albeit mostly in a political context) in relation to what kind of society it wishes to be and how it might retain something of its labour strength in the face of dwindling population and productivity statistics. On Tuesday, debate began in earnest in the Lower House on proposed changes to immigration laws to expand the range of professions allowable in order to increase the number of foreign workers permitted to work in Japan.  Up until now, most professions involving foreign workers have been limited to those at the higher end of the income curve, most notably lawyers, traders, university professors and the like, with a separate program for foreign ‘students’ in industries that are more reliant on physical labour, notably fishing and farming (this program has, however, been somewhat controversial, for while it is ostensibly about teaching foreign students to acquire agriculture and technical skills, it has often been used as a simple means of finding staff without regard for adequate wages or good working conditions).  

Debate this week has mostly focused on the number of workers that will be allowed into the country. Under the proposal put forward by the government, the range of permitted professions will expand to 14 in number, with a first intake of between 3,300 to 4,700 workers starting in April 2019. By 2023 the government predicts that between 260,000 to 340,000 foreign workers will have been employed in Japan’s domestic industries. The problem here, however, is that according to the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare, Japan will have a shortfall in workers of around 1,300,000 to 1, 350,000 by 2023. The Ministry of Justice initially anticipated that Japan would need to admit 40,000 workers in the first year of the new program, which would then expand to 250,000, although these figures were never made public.

Hence the disparity in numbers will need to be met either by increasing the intake of foreign workers or changing regulations governing employment in Japan.  Opposition parties in Japan are demanding that the government reveal how it intends to overcome the worker gap, particularly if it wants to boost worker numbers. The government itself has said that it is examining the prospect of a greater intake, although details of its policy have yet to be made public.  

The issue of foreign labour in Japan is a contentious one for a number of reasons. Despite Japan benefiting from large influxes of immigrants from South America from the 1960s onwards, immigrants who were by and large of Japanese ancestry with some form of tangible link to the country, these immigrants still experienced difficulty in integrating with Japanese society. Japan, unlike other developed countries, does not have programs in place to deal with large scale immigration, and there aren’t enough NGOs available to cope with the needs of diverse immigrant communities. Japanese society itself is not in favour of an expanded immigration regime (although somewhat paradoxically a majority of Japanese also believe that immigrants help society by contributing their labour and skills).

Japan is coming to this issue somewhat late, given that declining productivity and the drop in the domestic working age population has been debated at length for over a decade. It is also competing against other countries around the region and world who have large scale immigration programs targeting manual labourers from developing countries, with some of these offering better working conditions and wages than can be found in Japan. 

It is to the credit of PM Abe that he has been at the forefront of this initiative, and that he is using his renewed authority within the LDP to push for increased immigration. This policy, which is primarily aimed at insuring against any sharp downturn in Japan’s productivity over the long term, could have added benefits for Japan’s renewed focus on regional leadership as well.  Since a majority of workers will be drawn from developing nations in the region, their acceptance will provide evidence of Japan’s desire to contribute to the well-being and technical progress of the region as a whole. While many challenges lie ahead, not least of which is getting a majority of Japanese society to accept the presence of larger numbers of foreign labourers in their midst, it opens the door to a potential resolution of Japan’s labour woes and a greater integration of Japan into the global labour market.   

In a long litany of posts in which I apologise for the lack of updates, this won’t be one of them. I’ve been busy. And I’ve been trying to juggle various responsibilities while thinking of a subject about which to write. Today, amidst news of the attempts by Tokyo Medical University to wind back the clock and reduce the number of women entering the university by doctoring (no pun intended) their entrance scores, this gem of a story came to my attention during the week and deserves a mention on this blog.

As most readers would know, Japan is scheduled to host the Olympics in two years’ time. While this fact itself has been reported almost to death, what has not received quite as much exposure has been articles talking of cost blowouts, potential fatalities from running a marathon in the middle of Japan’s summer, and the churn in ministers responsible for keeping the Olympic schedule on track. After the recent LDP leadership election and subsequent reshuffle in responsibilities, it has fallen upon the rather obscure figure of Sakurada Yoshitaka to assume the mantle of minister responsible for this logistical and PR behemoth.

On Monday Sakurada did not exactly cover himself in glory when he fronted the Upper House Budget Committee to answer questions about his portfolio.  The questions were, admittedly, pretty straight-forward; namely what was the vision for the Olympics, what were the key concepts involved in the Olympics, and how much were the Olympics likely to cost. The problem was that Sakurada was not able to answer these questions straight away, and on a few occasions proceedings had to be brought to a halt as Sakurada received some quick briefings on his portfolio by senior bureaucrats. On the following day, Sakurada fronted the media to explain his performance, claiming that because the opposition had failed to provide the government will a list of its questions beforehand (a unique aspect of the Diet system much commented on by other countries where parliamentary debate is less scripted) he had been unable to provide answers in a more ‘timely’ manner (the opposition claim that they did inform Sakurada’s staff ahead of time, which the LDP itself confirmed on Wednesday).

The problem was then exacerbated on Friday when Sakurada once again fronted the media, this time to withdraw his comments made to the Committee, saying that they were “somewhat different to the truth”, but against reiterating his claim that “if only the opposition had provided detailed questions ahead of time, then I could answer them in full”. 

Naturally the opposition parties have been zeroing in on this performance, for the absence of anything else with which to berate PM Abe they have to take what is available.  Questions were raised about Sakurada’s suitability to serve in cabinet, with past examples of his gaffes raised for good measure, most notably his comments while serving as Deputy Minister for Education in which he said any radioactive waste from the Dai-ichi nuclear plant should stay in Fukushima Prefecture “where nobody wants to live”, and when he described comfort women as “engaged in prostitution as a profession”.    

Sakurada is probably not going anywhere in the time being – after all the reshuffle was only two months ago, and there is still time for Sakurada to gain more knowledge of his portfolio. Moreover he is a factional ally of Nikai Toshihiro, Secretary General of the LDP, and Nikai wanted one of his men in cabinet in exchange for support during the LDP leadership election. So Sakurada will most likely survive this round of scrutiny, however he will be closely watched, and any subsequent gaffes could bring his ministerial career to an abrupt (but possibly welcome) halt. 

One of the things that you often encounter while working at the coalface of diplomacy is correspondence claiming to have an exclusive rights to technology that the writer, usually independently, has discovered and who wishes to sell to either the embassy or the government concerned.  The explanations for this technology can vary from detailed blueprints to sketches done, literally, on the back of a napkin.  It appears that this phenomenon is by no means recent, for it was during a routine search for information on the Australia-Japan relationship that I came across a rather unique piece of historical evidence of Australia’s entrepreneurial spirit and the desire to forge a link with Japan’s nascent naval fleet.

In December 1898, Japan’s consulate in Melbourne, which was an honorary position at the time, wrote a dispatch to Tokyo concerning letters received from one Thomas Carter of Scottsdale, Tasmania, pertaining to an invention that Carter claims to have created and was willing to sell to Japan. In the correspondence, honorary consul Alexander Marks (himself a former British trader who migrated to Melbourne from Yokohama in the late nineteenth century) explained that Mr Carter, a coal and chemical engineer, had approached the consulate with an offer to sell the plans for a “submerged torpedo boat” named “Annihilator”. In his explanation for making this offer, Mr Carter stated that in his view, Japan had been treated “unfairly” in its dealings with China compared to European powers, and so wanted Japan to manufacture equipment that would allow it to successfully resist attempts by these powers, particularly Russia, to impose “unjust concessions on China” (with the implication that these could later be imposed on Japan). 

To reinforce the validity of his offer, Mr Carter enclosed a letter written and signed by the mayor of Launceston and officers from the Tasmanian military forces attesting to Mr Carter’s plan and revealing that it was of “sufficient importance to command the attention of the British Naval Authorities”.  Mr Carter followed this up with another letter a month later, in which he claimed that one of the authors of the above letter had already written to the British Admiralty and urging them to “lose no time or opportunity of securing the exclusive right of the invention”.  As such, in Mr Carter’s view, he was being “pushed for time” on whether to go ahead and sell his patent to the Royal Navy or pursue his original plan of selling the invention to Imperial Japan.

Needless to say, Consul Marks took these claims with something more than a grain of salt, mentioning in his letter that “his (Carter’s) ideas are very extravagant like all inventors” but informing Tokyo of the matter and requesting its opinion on how to proceed.   

All these details were discussed in Tokyo in February the following year. In a cable from Naval Secretary Ito Shunkichi to Ministry of Foreign Affairs Secretary Takahira Kogorō, dated for 14th day of February 1899, the Imperial Navy stated that it “had no desire” to purchase the plans for a submersible vehicle, which pretty much brought an end to the entire matter. 

Although only a minor episode in the early interaction between both countries, it is an interesting window into diplomatic correspondence as it was conducted some 119 years ago, particularly between Australia’s various colonies and the recently unified nation of Japan. One can only imagine what might have resulted if Japan had gone ahead and purchased Mr Carter’s “Annihilator”, but perhaps it came to some good use in the service of the Royal Navy. 

In the early evening of the 30th of November (1867), Mitford writes that he and Ernest Satow set out for Osaka in order to make preparations for the opening of a port in the province of Hyōgo on the first day of the new year. That year would bring forth a new dynamism, and would bear witness to a series of never-to-be-repeated events in world history. Mitford writes that he and Satow arrived in Osaka on the 3rd of December, and found themselves in a town already at the centre of political upheaval.  He writes that the ambassador and diplomatic staff, along with a large number of their security staff, including around 50 members of the 9th Regiment, would need lodgings to receive them during their stay in the west.

Mitford writes that at the time, a large number of palisades, storehouses and toll gates were being constructed in an area selected for foreign residents.  However the construction itself was premature and so it would be necessary to wait until the ambassadors of various countries arrived to take up lodgings. One particular problem concerned the palisades, about which there were many opinions. They were regarded as an inappropriate indication of government intent vis-a-vis the promotion of interaction between East and West.   

Mitford writes that on the 7th of December, a number of officials under instruction from the Shogun met up with Mitford and Satow before they returned to Edo. According to the information they shared with the British diplomats, the resignation of the Shogun was no more than the implementation of an earlier plan and so was not that significant.  Neither Mitford nor Satow believed this.  They remained convinced that this (the resignation of the Shogun) was the result of the uncompromising attitude of the nobility.

On the 12th of December, Mitford and Satow headed to Hyōgo in order to see for themselves what preparations had been completed. Mitford writes that there was a lot of excitement in the air fuelled by expectations around the opening of the port.  The town of Kobe, which had been selected for foreign settlement, had been celebrating for several days, and people dressed in layers of red clothing had been accompanying the carts transporting soil up to the new settlement area.  Expectations were that this festival would be repeated in places throughout Hyōgo province. It was clear that the people of the province believed that foreign trade would contribute to their prosperity.     

When both diplomats returned to Osaka on the 13th of December, the town was abuzz with joy and excitement. Recently slips of paper on which the name of Ise Shrine was written had fallen, somewhat miraculously, like rain from the sky. Mitford explains that Ise Shrine was the largest Shintō shrine in existence and had continued its traditions for generations. He explains that a thousand or so people, in celebration at this event, donned vibrant clothing of red and blue, raised red lanterns, and danced about shouting “eejanaika, eejanaika! (Isn’t it grand?!)” as loudly as they could.  Every house had objects placed in front of them, namely multi-coloured candy, mandarins, silk purses, rope normally found out the front of shrines, and flowers.  Mitford writes that it was an extraordinary sight, and one that he was unlikely ever to see again.   For the two British diplomats, these events were like the old fables of Stonehenge. In the case of Japan, while it had traditions of great antiquity, somehow they still appeared to be alive. Mitford says that there is a famous quote which states “Respect for the past has the same importance for humanity as filial piety”. Mitford writes that in the depraved world he was living in, he was fond of quoting these words.

Mitford then writes that Westerners had lost much of the “spirit of Japan” shown by the Japanese, regarding this as noteworthy. He said the basis of this spirit lay in the legends of the Shintō faith. This was why the common peasant could express such joy at bits of paper falling out of the sky and danced as he liked in the manner of David before the Ark of the Covenant, knowing that this was imbued with a meaning drawn from the sacred traditions of old. The peasant believed the world should bow in admiration of acts based on such traditions, which were, in his eyes, ‘heroic’.  

Mitford writes that as soon as he and Satow returned to Osaka, the same hoary old political arguments started up again. Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, Uwajima, and Aki had joined together to demand reforms. Other daimyo had indicated that they would join this movement, although there was still a lot of prevaricating going on. Mitford and Satow realized was that if the conspiracy currently underway in Kyoto failed in its purpose, then these daimyo would likely go back to attacking and killing foreigners as before. Mitford did not believe that this was because they disliked interacting with foreigners, for many were in favour of maintaining foreign relations, but because they wanted to cause friction between the Bakufu and the various treaty nations. The Bakufu, lacking the power to be able to discipline any culprits responsible for instigating such crimes, would then simply claim that it could not take responsibility for these incidents.    

Mitford believed that the assembly of leaders of the reform movement from the various western provinces in Osaka, itself located close to Kyoto, held great significance. One of those leaders was the famous Saigo Takamori of Satsuma, who thereafter would get caught up in a rebellion in that province and eventually commit ritual suicide (seppuku). Another prominent leader was the aforementioned Goto Zōjirō, the same one who explained to Mitford and Satow about the plan to assassinate them in Ōtsu. A letter from Yamauchi Yōdō also carried a nuance that suggested that the downfall of the Bakufu was a fait accompli. On the 20th, Mitford and Satow had their first meeting with Ito Shunsuke (Hirobumi). At the time he was a relatively minor figure, but in time he would become a politician and take hold of the highest seat of power in Japan. Ito told both British diplomats that it looked as though it would be difficult to avoid conflict, but it was being done in order to bring peace to the land. To achieve this, it would be necessary to seize some of the vast tracts of land currently held by the Tokugawa family. Ito believed that it would be better to extend the time between the arrival of the foreign delegations and the opening of the trade port. He was told, however, that this was out of the question. Ito then said that in order to placate the foreigners it would be best to open the port, but the reformers would continue in their plan to remake Japan’s political system. Mitford and Satow warned Ito that if in the course of implementing the reforms any foreigners were harmed, or if they were planning to reject any of the treaties, then Japan would pay an extremely high price for such actions.

Mitford writes that Ito understood the seriousness of these words, and promised to inform Satow of any activities planned in the cause of the reformers. On the 24th, Ambassador Parkes arrived in Osaka from Edo with a number of staff from the Embassy and lodged in a large manor house located on the reverse side of Osaka Castle and which was falling apart at the time Mitford wrote his memoirs. Mitford was acutely aware that if any conflict between the anti and pro Bakufu forces should break out, then the castle would become a magnet for fighting between the two sides. As such, it was not the safest location to be in, but it met all of the conditions necessary for lodgings. Mitford and Satow were still very much under close observation, and so it was not easy to contact representatives from the reformist side. Mitford writes that the Bakufu’s officials were diligent at their task, however Mitford and Satow were able to deceive them and make their way across the moat around the consul office in the dead of night and link up with friends waiting outside. With them as guides, they would wind their way through the streets to some residence, and there they would spend time chatting. By engaging in such activities, which reminded Mitford of naughty schoolboys making off with apples stolen from a neighbour’s yard, they were able to keep Ambassador Parkes informed of all the comings and goings at the time.

Mitford wrote that the 1st day of January 1868 marked the birth of a new system for Japan. For a number of months, the country had been in a state of unrest similar to a fever. He writes that there were plots, counter-plots, and conspiracies, one of which was touched on earlier, and it would take a few volumes to explain them all.  There was the resignation, or mock resignation, of the Shogun.  And in the vicinity of Kyoto, a military force was gradually growing in strength. The Lord of Chōshū had been forgiven by the Shogun for his transgressions, an act which had infuriated the Lord of Aizu who then resigned as the guardian of the royal palace in the capital.  As will soon become apparent, not all of this information was accurate. Mitford then writes that the cauldron (of the state) was ‘bubbling away’, but the overall peace had not been disturbed.  For the reformist daimyo, they insisted that their goal remained the same – to curb the random application of absolute power by the Shogun.     

Mitford writes that he and his fellow diplomats had a feeling that the dogs of war had been let loose. He explained that the Lord of Satsuma had abolished the old system of councilors, and a proposal had been submitted to create a system of government that resembled a constitutional government with federal ministers and a federal bureaucracy.  He also wrote that he and Satow saw this reform reflected in the advice that they had received from Goto Zōjirō. He wrote that there was strong opposition to the Satsuma plan, and there were many people concerned that this kind of ‘’progressive’ thinking would place the position of the Emperor in jeopardy.  Mitford writes that his (Bakufu) informants told him that the time for debate had ended, and that such actions (by the Lord of Satsuma) would lead to war.  These informants also told Mitford that they believed that the Shogun was doing everything in his power to ensure the continuation of a peaceful nation, even if that required sacrifices. Yet it also obvious to Mitford that the Shogun had already lost the authority to lead.

Events changed in the blink of an eye, and every day brought with it some new development. Rumours also flew about at a horrible speed, and while some were true, others distorted the truth and were complete fabrications.  Yet everything appeared to be moving in the same direction.

Mitford writes that on the 7th of January some officials from the Bakufu came to the British delegation in Osaka, where they delivered a message that the Shogun had departed Kyoto and was on his way to Osaka to speak with Ambassador Roche. This was no more than simple word of mouth, but in reality the position of Shogun had ceased to exist and so Yoshinobu had been forced to depart from Kyoto. The troops from Aizu province who had been guarding the nine gates of the Imperial Palace had been dismissed on the orders of the Emperor, and the capital, along with the person of the Emperor, had come under the protection of a coalition of daimyo. It was in this state of affairs that events came to a halt.

Mitford writes that he and Satow decided to venture out from the delegation building in order to judge for themselves what was happening. He noticed that patrols of soldiers had been placed along the main thoroughfares, with primitive cannon sited to fire on anyone who attempted to approach Osaka Castle.  Mitford writes that it was bitterly cold at the time, and many of the soldiers had wrapped their heads up in scarves. When compared with the poor state of their uniforms, they presented an odd appearance.

The troops from Aizu, when asked about the reasons for the departure of the Shogun from the capital, explained that they did not wish to become involved in any fighting in the vicinity of the Imperial Palace. This was, however, a one sided excuse. The army from Satsuma was certainly in favour of conflict and would attempt to resolve all issues by force, whereas the army from Tosa was more logical and its actions reflected that. Their goals were ultimately the same, though.   According to Goto Zōjirō’s study of parliamentary representation, since Japan was in the early throes of industrialization, revolution took place both suddenly and violently.

Mitford writes that by the afternoon, there was every indication that the Shogun’s retinue was approaching Osaka. He soon caught sight of some impressive-looking samurai wearing full sets of armour. They were extraordinarily formal in their actions, and brimmed with an aura of dedication unto death to the Shogun (it was later confirmed that this was indeed no mere show of bravado). Although they had been defeated in battle, hundreds of these Tokugawa soldiers had died a glorious death.  Soon after Mitford heard a bugle blow, and saw that the long lines of troops were headed for the castle.

Mitford then writes that he saw something utterly inconceivable. While a number of foot soldiers carried European rifles, there were a great many foot soldiers wearing traditional Japanese armour, armed with spears, bow and arrow, halberds of various description, short and long swords, and looked as though they had stepped out of one of those medieval pictures of battles from the Genpei War.  Their half-sleeve overcoats (jinbaori) were different to those of the messenger officials, with all of the colours indicative of Joseph’s dream coat. They wore terrifying masks of lacquered metal, with fierce looking beards and moustaches attached to them, and from the crown of their helmets black horsehair cascaded down to about waist height.  It was certainly enough to frighten any enemy, for they looked like monsters that had emerged from some nightmare. 

Mitford writes that soon after a column of horse-borne soldiers appeared. All of the Japanese around Mitford and Satow bowed low in deference, and so in line with tradition Mitford and Satow too bowed their heads. In the middle of the mounted retinue, Mitford spotted Lord Yoshinobu, supported by Lord Kuwana and his ally Lord Aizu. They appeared tired and downtrodden, with their heads covered with black cowls, neither looking left nor right, and for all intents trying to remain incognito.  A number of their vassals recognized Mitford and Satow and make some gestures of greeting. According to Mitford, he then saw something that was far more pitiful than anything else he had witnessed up to this point. In keeping with tradition, once the retinue reached the castle gates, all of the retainers save the Shogun dismounted from their horses. Yoshinobu, however, continued on horse through the gates and into the grounds of the castle. It was tragedy that had allowed the castle to fall into the hands of the Tokugawa, and now it was to leave their control.  It was the last time that the Shogun would enter this great, old castle.  And once again, fire would play its cruel role in the fate of the castle.

On the following day Ambassador Parkes endeavoured to arrange a meeting with the Shogun, however this was refused. However Mitford writes that once Parkes heard that Ambassador Roche had been granted an audience, he could not remain silent.  With Satow and Mitford in tow, Parkes demanded to be allowed to meet with the Shogun. The French envoy expressed displeasure at this, yet eventually both sides were granted the same courtesy. What they couldn’t escape was the exchange of criticism and angry words (between Parkes and Roche). The Shogun, or should that be the former Shogun, had lost all of his vitality.  The aristocrats that had met the British delegation in May with such vivaciousness and confidence now looked like completely different people.  The many difficulties, tragedies and humiliations that these men had suffered was plainly etched on their faces. They merely repeated the rather tired excuse that they had left Kyoto out of sense of patriotism and to avoid civil war in the vicinity of the sacred land of the Emperor. They planned on remaining in Osaka, however some told Mitford that they did not know whether they would be attacked there.

As for the state of affairs, they told Mitford that their main goal was to retain control of the Emperor, however Kyoto had been overrun by a group of outlaws against whom they had fought.  They did not exchange any opinions with the diplomats on the political situation (or who had control of the state). The two ambassadors praised the actions of the aristocrats, with Ambassador Roche offering faint praise while Ambassador Parkes spoke in more serious tones. It became clear that these aristocrats could not answer the many questions put to them, and let slip how tired and aggrieved they were. As such, the meeting came to a close without any garnering any further information.

Adventurous travel from Kaga to Osaka (a further continuation of AB Mitford's memoirs of Japan)

Mitford continued his autobiography by stating that after the delegation returned to Edo, he and others engaged in their everyday duties for a few weeks while cursing the heat and mosquitos. At the end of July both he and Ambassador Parkes then decided that they would journey to Ezo (Hokkaido). Mitford says that he travelled on board the HMS Salamis under the command of Sir Henry Keppel, while Ambassador Parkes travelled on the Basilisk under the command of a Captain Hewett. He said that the trip itself was pleasant, but what fascinated him the most was the opportunity to see members of the Ainu people for the first time.  The purpose of the trip to Ezo was to scout for commercial operations along Japan’s western seaboard, in particular any ports or harbours that would be able to support foreign trade.  He says that on the 7th of August Ernest Satow joined the Basilisk, and they were also met by the survey ship Serpent under the command of Captain Brock.  The three ships later dropped anchor in Nanao Bay on the Noto peninsula. He notes that the province of Kaga, in which Nanao Bay was located, was said to be controlled by the wealthiest aristocrats in all of Japan, the family of the Lord of Kaga. 

Mitford noted that Nanao Bay had a small island in it that covered part of the bay. He wrote that Ambassador Parkes said it was more preferable to coastal ports opened up in Niigata with its treacherous sandbanks and thus had value as a potential port for foreign trade. In order to initiate talks with Kaga province, two senior officials from the provincial capital of Kanazawa came to Nanao Bay for discussions. He said that this occurred a little later than planned, and that the meeting itself didn’t happen until the 9th of August (a Friday).  He wrote that Ambassador Parkes endeavoured to impress on the representative of Lord Kaga that it would create a very favourable impression if, like Satsuma, Tosa, and Uwajima, Kaga chose to engage in friendly relations with foreign nations. However this discussion did little to shift the representatives’ position.

The representatives explained that the reason for not opening up Nanao Bay to foreign trade was that if they did this, then the Shogun’s government would seize it and territory which had belonged to Kaga province since time immemorial would be lost. Both representatives repeated their objections many times over, and the more they resisted, the more resolved Ambassador Parkes became to try and win them over. His speech became ever more heated, demanding that if the representatives were going to be so unfriendly, then he would send two of his underlings, in other words Mitford and Satow, to Kanazawa to negotiate directly with the Lord of Kaga. And so a decision was made whereby Mitford and Satow would travel overland and meet up with Ambassador Parkes in Osaka. This proposal was reluctantly accepted by Mitford and Satow, and the meeting with the Kaga representatives thus (on the surface) concluded with the proper decorum.

When news of this meeting reached representatives of the Shogun who had accompanied Captain Brock in order to assist him on his surveying expedition, they flew into an agitated state, saying that such a thing (travelling overland) was completely out of the question.  The excuses they gave for this was that they could not guarantee Mitford and Satow’s safety if they went by land, and moreover they had responsibility for the British diplomats’ safety as representatives of the Shogun.  They also made it clear that the edict that they had received from the Shogun would not guarantee their passage through Kaga and Echizen. However these arguments did nothing to change Ambassador Parkes’ mind. 

Mitford wrote that Ambassador Parkes wanted to gain some knowledge of the western Japanese coastal region, a region into which no foreigner had ever stepped. To that end he urged Satow and Mitford to try and maintain relations with the provincial officials, although it was clear that Satow and Mitford were somewhat nervous about the whole enterprise. The reason for this is when Mitford and Satow went to give their farewells, Captains Keppel and Hewett told them that they were very worried about the dangers facing the two diplomats, and insisted that the reason the plan had been approved was because the British diplomats were unarmed. In response Mitford and Satow said that it was a question of duty, and while they would rather not obey Ambassador Parkes’ directive, they were not embarking on the journey on a whim.

Both Mitford and Satow made landfall in the afternoon, whereupon the Salamis departed in a haze of smoke followed by the Basilisk. Only the Serpent remained in port at anchor. Mitford says that he spent an evening on shore preparing for departure the next day. He says that the officials sent from the shogunate tried to get Mitford and Satow to abandon their trip, but they steadfastly refused to do so. He wrote that these officials were not only useless, they were an impediment. He writes that they were no more than the most junior officials, and they were no help at all in protecting Mitford and Satow. He said they functioned more like spies, intent on ensuring that Mitford and Satow were not able to form any bonds of friendship with the local people. 

Mitford said that he and Satow pointed out that these officials had a duty to remain on board the Serpent under the command of Captain Brock. Mitford also said that he and Satow agreed with the officials that if something bad were to happen to Satow and Mitford, then the officials would not be held responsible for this. He also said that the British delegation received a formal exchange agreement from officials of Kaga province, which stated that when Mitford and Satow were exchanged that they would be returned in the condition that they departed in, namely in one piece and unharmed. After receiving this agreement, Mitford and Satow returned to the Serpent.    

Mitford and Satow set out on the 10th of August, and said that the officials from Kaga province still hadn’t gotten over the shellacking they had received at the hands of Ambassador Parkes the next before, and so were in a bad mood which showed on their faces. Mitford wrote that ‘needless to say’, this meant that he and Satow did not depart lightheartedly. Mitford then wrote that it was not a characteristic of the Japanese to always have a dour look on their faces, and that Ernest Satow’s jovial nature meant the officials weren’t able to maintain their hostility for very long. Very soon these officials formed good relations with Mitford and Satow as their guides.  

Mitford writes that he and Satow prepared a gorgeous palanquin, while Satow’s Japanese servant, a person by the name of Noguchi, and Mitford’s Chinese servant Lin Fu, travelled in a more ordinary palanquin. He writes that around twenty retainers of the Maeda household, carrying dual swords and spears and with the clan flag, acted as security for the trip. He admits that he was not sure whether the escort was just for show or whether it was genuinely meant to protect the delegation. He does admit that it came in useful in clearing the roads of towns and villages and preventing any ruffians from attempting anything. He writes that the days were hot, and that after heading out of town the palanquin he was travelling in began to show its age. As he couldn’t take the discomfort anymore he decided to exit the palanquin and continue on towards the south west on foot. 

He says the scenery he experienced was beautiful, particularly the view of the mountains of Etchū, some of which rose up to around 10,000 feet in height.  He described being surrounded by the uniquely ‘deep green’ forests and woods of Japan, and asks whether any other country possesses such picturesque forests. He describes walking along a sandy beach, whose waters were as blue as the sky itself, and a scene reminiscent of those described in Japan’s ancient tales. Mitford then proceeds to regale readers with a few stories set on the coastal regions of Japan, including the origins of the Suma ‘lute’ (Biwa).

Mitford writes that the heat was oppressive at that time of year, and so he and his fellow travelers would rest at some small tea houses along the way, where they would satisfy their appetites on watermelon and apples. He writes that many of the taverns they visited were very comfortable and the people were kind and friendly.  He notes that the delegation had nothing to complain about from the reception they received from the people of Kaga.

Mitford also writes that the samurai of Kaga were not impetuous like those of Satsuma or Tosa, but neither were they astute strategists like the leaders of Chōshū. The Kaga samurai that Mitford met appeared to be quiet and reserved, and slightly oafish, but wealthy.  The Lord of Kaga, on the other hand, inclined towards being opportunistic, and not only possessed enormous wealth but ruled over some of the most important territory in the land. Mitford writes that the second day of travelling was blessed with tremendous weather, and after passing Takamatsu, the delegation arrived at Tsubata, a picturesque small fishing village on the coast featuring many lodging houses.  There they spent a night in an upper class ryokan, where they were treated to an excellent Japanese meal. At around 7:45 in the morning on Monday, the 12th of August, the delegation departed on the third day of their journey, this time heading for the capital of Kaga province, the town of Kanazawa.  Mitford writes that as they got closer to the capital their retinue continued to grow in size, while their guides became more and more concerned about whether they would be allowed to enter Kanazawa.

Mitford writes that he could make out the white walls of a castle hidden among a thicket of pine trees about a mile in front of the delegation. He explains that because the party had grown sick of being stared at in places such as Osaka, and because they were wearing rough-hewn travelling clothes, they were in no state to maintain the dignity of their status and so took to their travelling palanquins like reluctant brides.  Mitford writes that once again many spectators lined the roads, and at a beautiful rest station that had been prepared for them, plenty of people rushed to look at them. He writes that the spectators were all of different ages and from every social class.  He saw many young women among the spectators, and remarked that the women of Kaga were renowned for their ‘fine proportions’.  After arriving at their lodgings by following along a series of winding roads, they were met with some traditional Japanese hospitality, although on this occasion the reception was more splendid and carried out with great decorum.

Mitford writes that the main living room featured a velvet rug and some brilliantly lacquered red chairs that had been brought in for their use from a nearby temple. Of course, Mitford does admit that the hosts could not have known that Mitford and his travelling companions, having lived in Japan for some time, had gotten used to sitting on the floor. Soon after a messenger arrived from the Lord of Kaga, with word that the Lord of Kaga was worried about the health of the delegation as they had travelled through some oppressive heat, and explained that as the Lord of Kaga himself was feeling unwell he regretted not being able to meet the delegation in person but wanted to send his greetings. As representatives of Ambassador Parkes, the delegates responded by pledging eternal friendship with Japan, and Kaga province in particular.

The messenger then took on the role of host and brought in some delicious looking food, however because the seats that were brought in were very difficult to sit in, they were taken away and the messenger exchanged sake cups with the delegates in a more Japanese manner. Not long after, in case the delegates needed medical attention, a number of medical practitioners from the province were sent for to attend to the delegates. Mitford explains that in those days, traditional Chinese medicines were the norm, with moxibustion and acupuncture considered to be highly effective (although painful). However Mitford writes that neither he nor his companions were prepared for this kind of treatment. They apologised, and offered the explanation that none of them were in ill health. Discussions then turned to politics. Despite the substance of the talks being of the utmost secrecy, given that they were conducted in a manner in which anybody could listen in on them, there was no expectation that any secrets divulged would remain that way.

Mitford writes, however, that he and his companions were mistaken in their preconceptions. It seems that the shogunal government knew that the delegation was there to demand the opening of Nanao Bay to foreign trade and so the officials had no reason to keep anything hidden. What the officials of Kaga told the delegation were arguments that had been repeated since time immemorial. They were certainly well prepared to allow foreign trade, but could not agree to their bay becoming anything more than a place for offloading cargo. They knew that things would not end there, and so they endlessly repeated their major concern that should this come to pass, then the Shogun would seek to control it.

By the time the officials departed, they had developed a close affinity with the delegation, and Satow promised that he would do all he could to establish contact between Edo and Kanazawa. Kaga province was, as previously mentioned, one of the more receptive regions in Japan (to foreign contact), and so the visit was deemed a great success. Satow even considered bringing two retainers from Kaga province back to Edo with him to work as apprentices. Mitford then says that he had heard that two retainers from the province had already been sent as exchange students to England.

After the meeting ended, the delegation headed out for some sightseeing. However Kanazawa was a large town with many hills, punctuated by beautiful trees whose size was no exaggeration. There were around 50,000 residents in the town, which featured many fine shops selling spun silk, lacquerware, and fans. However these goods were not cheap.  Mitford writes that he finally found two or three pieces of lacquerware of great age, and was able to purchase them.  Those pieces were still in Mitford’s possession at the time he wrote his memoirs.

Mitford continues by writing that Kutani was located close to Kanazawa, and so the delegates made it a matter of course to buy two or three of the famous, unusual red coloured pottery. While in Kutani, they found a number of fabulous bookstores. He says the provincial officials that he and the others met were extremely polite and cordial in their demeanour. When evening came, the head official of Kutani requested that the delegation extend its stay and journey to nearby territories. Mitford writes that it was very hard to refuse such an invitation, and so they decided to acquiesce. The following morning, after engaging in some expensive shopping, a result of being unable to resist the temptation to spend a few more of their shillings, the delegation set out on horseback to their next lodgings, a small town called Kanaiwa located 4 miles from Kutani.  The saddles that were strapped to the horses were of a Western style, consisting of a fake leather made from paper, while the bridle was a shabby substitute that had to be seen to be believed. Since the smaller (Japanese) horses had not been shod they were, as per usual, very uncomfortable to ride on. However given (in Mitford’s opinion) that Japan was not a country that was particularly fond of horses, this was unavoidable.

For a journey of five miles, two rest spots had been established for the delegation, the first of which was at Kanaiwa.  After arriving at their destination, Mitford writes that there wasn’t much to look at, with no more than a beach that opened out onto the sea and a small river that flowed through the sand dunes. Mitford admits that he and his traveling companions were hard pressed to figure out why the affable Lord of Kaga had vigorously insisted on bringing them to such a place. The delegation then returned to Kanazawa before dark.  In the evening, two provincial officials visited the delegation where they engaged in general chit chat. When discussions once again turned to the possibility of Nanao Bay being opened up to foreign trade, the tone of discussions became serious, with the officials explaining that acts which would make it appear as though the province was engaging in secret trade was not ideal, and if the Bay was opened up to trade and anticipations were that large volumes of cargo would be exchanged then it would be best to first discuss this with the Bakufu. The delegation then requested that the Lord of Kaga send a document to Edo with such a proposal.

Mitford writes that the conversation then turned to politics in general. In the opinion of the officials, at present they (in principle) had to support the Bakufu but the Bakufu’s authority was extremely limited. The delegation and the officials discussed this topic late into the night, but what they were able to discern was that Kaga province at that time was not bound to follow any fixed policy. It was also obvious that Kaga did not possess any acquaintances with leadership qualities of the sort found in other provinces. Mitford writes that Satow translated into Japanese a letter of appreciation for the reception the delegation had received, and passed this along to the officials. The officials then gave their very polite farewells and departed.

In the morning of the following day, the 14th of August, the delegation departed from Kanazawa, with people asking when they would visit again and bidding them farewell. The delegation then went on their way.  They dropped by the medicinal store run by the father in law of the owner of their lodgings in Kanazawa, who recommended that they buy an excellent medicine known as Shisetsu made from saltpeter and musk and considered a cure-all.  As per usual there were many onlookers, however amid these were appeared to be a number of refined young couples.   Mitford writes that when the delegation arrived at their first rest stop and gazed back on the town that had so warmly welcomed them, the castle, that symbol of the last vestiges of feudalism, and its brilliant white keep were visible, as were the many residences of the townspeople that spread out from below the castle, punctuated by pine trees every now and then. It was a moving scene almost picturesque in its quality, and provided a fond memory of that time in history.  Indeed, Mitford writes that with the passage of time, that memory’s value has only grown, for time eventually makes everything beautiful.      

Mitford writes that the way back from Kaga was marked by many different events. In much the same manner as the time pleasantly spent in Kanazawa, the delegation was met with kindness and cordiality greater than they could have expected.   Mitford says that he was not able to disguise his astonishment at how wealthy (or abundant) this region of Japan was. He writes that the delegation passed through Matsutō, a town of 2,000 residents, and Komatsu, a town with 2,500 residents, but no matter where they went they were blessed to receive the same sort of hospitality they had experienced elsewhere in Kaga province.  He also writes that he never saw people so happy as those he met in Kaga province.

Mitford writes that on the 15th, the delegation arrived at the border with Echizen province, where they were met by some minor officials from that province (a point which angered the officials that had accompanied them from Kaga). The Kaga officials then had the Echizen officials complete a “letter of guarantee” to receive the delegation into their care. Mitford himself says that he would have liked to have seen this document, as he had suspicions as to what was actually written in it, probably something along the lines of “I hereby receive, without injury to their person, two officials from the Kingdom of Great Britain”. He writes that the Echizen officials made preparations to meet the delegation and had expended quite a bit of their finances in order to do so. However Mitford writes that it soon became evident that the delegates shouldn’t expect any real friendship from such officials.

Mitford writes that the Echizen officials wore smart clothing, of a sort that reminded Mitford of some of the youths depicted in the fable of the Jackdaw (i.e., infant crow) of Rheims (a poem by Richard Harris Barham, i.e Thomas Ingoldsby, a late eighteenth century – early nineteenth century English poet, concerning a crow that steals a ring from the cardinal of Rheims). The officials certainly did their best to help cool the delegation down using fans to ward of the midday heat, but did not show the delegation any further deference. Mitford writes that the capital of Echizen province, Fukui, featured excellent lodgings belonging to the Honganji sect. However Mitford writes that rather than gathering together people of good upbringing to meet them, the halls of the lodgings were filled with gawking spectators who looked upon the delegation as if they were gorillas.

At the time the Lord of Echizen was well known for having a strong aversion to interacting with foreigners, and it appears that such an attitude was reflected in the behavior of the commoners of Echizen province.  On the 17th the delegation crossed the Echizen border, and were glad to be able to farewell the hostile, curmudgeonly people of that province. Very soon they were met by an official send as a representative of Ii Kamon no Kami (Ii Naonori), who received the delegations official letter of guarantee. On the following day the delegation arrived at Nagahama, a location that Ambassador Parkes had visited in May. The effect of that earlier visit meant that the delegates were not looked upon as some sort of curiosity, and there were virtually no restrictions placed on their interaction with residents, something for which Mitford was particularly glad. 
  
18 members of the Betsu-te-gumi had arrived to meet the delegation in order to provide their security detail, the sum effect of which was to rob the journey of most of its enjoyments.  The reason for this was that any friendly interaction that the delegates might have with the local people would be monitored by these Bakufu officials, thus making such interaction out of the question.  At a ‘toll gate’ established at a place called Yanagi-ga-se, which was a fenced-off area on the border, the delegates learned of the odd system that oversaw these toll gates. Apparently any women who did not hold an access pass would not be able to pass through the toll gate. It was as if these women had no rights at all.  

On the 20th of August the delegation arrived at the town of Kusazu, and it was decided that the delegation would rest during the afternoon so that they could compile a report of their journey so far.  Mitford writes that he and Satow had managed to accumulate a large amount of information concerning politics and commerce. This might seem antiquated after the passage of half a century in which so many incidents had taken place, but at the time compiling reports was considered to be fascinating work and so a fair bit of time would be dedicated to putting them together. Mitford writes that he met a few samurai acquaintances of Satow, and after dinner and late into the night, they engaged in the usual discussion of politics.

However the discussions with the Bakufu officials proved dull, and so there was a tendency to discuss more frivolous things.  What was of particular interest, and which later proved to be fortuitous, was the discussion on the road the delegation would take the next day.  The delegation had decided that they would go via a small village on the edge of Lake Biwa, pass through the town of Ōtsu, and then head in the direction of Osaka. However the Japanese officials, after pointing out the difficulties that such a route would encompass, were resolved to prevent the delegation from heading to Ōtsu. It was plainly evident that the reason for this was because that road lay too close to the ‘sacred capital’ of Kyoto. Instead the officials offered to show the delegates the famous temple of Ishiyama-dera, which had previously been excluded even to Ambassador Parkes. 

Mitford says that he and Satow insisted on their plan, with Satow holding many reservations about the enthusiasm the officials displayed for partaking in sight-seeing and sought to discover their true intentions. The owner of the lodging house (another official) that the delegation were in then took them aside and said the following. “If you two are really interested in obtaining trade information, then you should go and look at the famous tea plantations at Uji. I can assure you that you will be more interested in that, for there is nothing to see in Ōtsu”.  However neither Mitford nor Satow would be dissuaded in their plan, and told the officials accompanying them that they would take the shortest route to Osaka via Ōtsu. They said that they knew what the officials were trying to do, and said that they knew that these officials had been sent to try and fool them. They then said that if the officials spoke honestly then Mitford and Satow might understand their reasoning, but as it was they had no choice but to refuse the officials’ advice.  After hearing this the officials appeared to be somewhat downhearted, but soon changed tactics and continued their assault.

Mitford was not to be outdone and changed tactics himself. He suggested to the officials that if they would clearly put down in writing their reasons for wanting to change the route, then he and Satow would go via Uji. However if they didn’t, then they would proceed via Ōtsu despite the dangers it might present.  The officials voiced some objections to this, but in the end agreed to do this and withdrew to a separate room to write the document. The document itself, which was over three pages in length, stated that the delegation's journey had not received permission from the Bakufu. In response Satow and Mitford claimed special privileges as diplomats, and they wanted to avoid the situation where any denial of this would lead to confusion. The letter that eventuated in response to this said that when Ambassador Parkes had travelled through Ōtsu in May this had been done at significant risk, and so this time around the Bakufu wanted the diplomats to consider going via Uji. It was a hard fought battle, but  the delegation was eventually persuaded to change their route.

Mitford writes that in relation to these late night negotiations in Kusazu, when one looks at the conclusion, he would like the reader to understand that although lengthy, he wrote no more than what was necessary to relay the details of the negotiations.  

Two days later, after arriving in Osaka, Satow’s servant Noguchi headed out on the town. After entering a tea house, he overheard a conversation by a group of samurai from Tosa province in the next booth over, who expressed their disappointment that they had missed an opportunity to kill two foreigners who had ‘defiled’ the land close to the ‘sacred capital’ the day before. Apparently samurai from the provinces of Tosa, Satsuma, and Chōshū had gathered together and formed a gang of around 400 in number and had been lying in wait for the delegation. If the delegation had insisted on following their original plan and taken the road through Ōtsu, then they would most certainly have been assassinated.  As such they had “managed to escape a certain fate by a hair’s breadth”.  Mitford writes that the funny thing about all this was that the Bakufu officials, by convincing the delegation to change their route through their tortuous objections, had saved the delegation’s lives but remained completely ignorant of this fact.

A few weeks’ later Mitford writes that he heard a conversation from Goto Zōjirō who backed up Noguchi’s story in full. Goto said that at the time he had been the officer on watch of the Lord of Tosa’s residence in Kyoto and got wind of the plan. He then did everything in his power to prevent it from happening. However the samurai who were planning to attack the delegation burned with a fierce hatred of foreigners and so had left the residence (to carry out their attack). Mitford writes that Goto’s name would hereafter appear more frequently in his memoirs, as he was one of Mitford’s good friends in Japan. In the following year, when a delegation of British diplomats was on its way to an audience with the Emperor, some of the diplomats had come under attack, and it was Goto who risked life and limb to rescue them.

On the 21st of August, Mitford writes that the delegation departed from Kusazu at around 5:45 in the morning after enduring an oppressively hot night.  Mitford writes that either because of the mosquitos or the negotiations that carried on late into the night, he had hardly slept a wink. He also says that for a day or two he had not eaten anything other than O-chazuke (a type of rice soup infused with tea), and so had not been able to eat his full. He goes on to explain that when the Japanese eat rice, they use a type of medicine said to encourage appetite which has a sharp, salty flavour much like brine but which the delegates found totally inedible.   Mitford further explained that during the journey he and Satow sometimes used boats to cross rivers, and walked certain sections, and from time to time stopped to admire the spectacular views of the vast plains area – the area where Kyoto and Fushimi were located, and which held special significance as the scene of civil war - and eventually arrived in Uji at about 4 in the afternoon. He writes that it was an exhausting day made worse by the oppressive heat.

Mitford then writes that in the evening of the previous day, the delegates had been led astray by the words of the Bakufu officials. They found that the famed Ishiyama-dera’s doors (the temple the Bakufu officials had promised was worth detouring from Ōtsu to see) were shut tight and no amount of knocking could prompt a response from those within.  Mitford writes that seven years later while journeying on a steam ship across the Pacific, he met a Japanese citizen who, by complete coincidence, had been in the area at the time and seen the delegation repeat over and over their futile knocking on the temple door.   

Mitford writes that as expected, he bought some of the famous Uji tea. The delegation then boarded a smartly decked out house boat at around 6 in the evening, and proceeded to watch the beautiful scenery drift by while resting on board. Soon afterwards Mitford fell asleep.

When he awoke at around 5:30 in the morning of the 22nd of August, he could see the magnificent keep of Osaka Castle, and made landfall at about 6am.  The delegation then made their way to an old temple in Nakadera-machi, which would serve as their lodging house. It was here that the delegation’s 11 day adventure tour came to an end.  It had certainly been extraordinarily interesting and suspenseful journey, with Mitford admitting that he had no idea what would happen during it.  When going to sleep at night he gave thanks that he had not met any misfortune, and upon waking up in the morning checked that he was in fact still alive. Throughout the nation there were fanatical bands of rōnin that despised foreigners, and Mitford writes that the good friends that they had made while in Kaga province would not have been able to protect them should they come under attack.  However the journey ended without incident, and the Ambassador successfully received all of information that he desired.

Unfortunately a tragedy preceded the delegation's arrived in Osaka. News that two sailors from the HMS Icarus had been butchered reached Ambassador Parkes at around 5pm (presumably on the same day). Apparently they had the misfortune to encounter a gang of hotheaded young samurai, and had been literally cut to pieces. The terrible fate that befell these two unfortunate fellows served as a vivid reminder of the very danger that could have befallen Mitford and Satow.

Mitford writes that as a result of repeated dialogue and conversations in relation to this incident, they realized that they had erred and the situation surrounding the assassination was more complicated than first thought.  At first, suspicion fell on samurai from Tosa province. This particular suspicion stemmed from the fact that the day after the assassination, a small sailing boat and steamer registered to Tosa province had departed from Nagasaki before daylight. Yet it was later determined that the perpetrators were from a completely different province and that thereafter they would receive punishment. By this time the main perpetrator had, however, already committed seppuku and died.  

It was through discussions held at the time that Mitford became well acquainted with Goto Zōjirō, and that his respect for Goto only grew in stature. As a representative of his province, he already possessed first-class capabilities, for which proof was in abundance. In discussions he had shown great forbearance in defending his position while explaining matters to Britain’s difficult and short-tempered ambassador. Goto was certainly one of three, possibly four people of ability who would go on to provide the impetus for the Meiji Restoration. Like the famous Saigo Takamori of Satsuma and leaders from other provinces, he would play a pivotal role in advocating for the formation of a parliamentary system, particularly the upper house, although this process would not take place for another 18 months. 

Mitford writes that one of the fortunate things about Japan was that the role of speaking in public was different to that of other countries. The role of members within the constitutional parliament was not, in fact, detailed in the constitution. As such, rather than being a solemn gathering, meetings of the parliament were more like debating society events at one of England’s private schools.  While members could voice their opinions, they could not propose legislation.  Mitford continues by saying that on the 31st of August (1867), he and Satow were invited by the Lord of Awa to visit his castle in Shikoku. Shikoku at the time was divided up into the four provinces of Awa, Tosa, Sanuki, and Iyo, which is why the Lord of Awa bore that name.  If the journey had originally gone as planned, then Mitford and Satow would have been able to learn about the nature of the other three provinces while exchanging cups of sake with the Lord of Awa while also gathering more details on other leaders within Shikoku. However luck was not with them. Ambassador Parkes, together with other members of the executive, decided that they would go to Awa themselves on board the Salamis and Basilisk, and so any plans of an expedition to Awa went out the window, to be replaced by no more than a form of courtesy visit.

Mitford writes that such visits were replete with old political clichés, with both sides refraining from telling the truth about their situation. As a consequence, discussions would be held for no purpose, which would produce a despondent mood occasionally alleviated by talking about the weather. Mitford writes, however, that the Lord of Awa was an extremely kind and proper gentleman, who prepared quite a spectacular performance for the visiting delegates which was performed to great effect by his retainers. The Lord of Awa himself spent his time in his private residence dressed in his elaborate pleated trousers (hakama), but contrary to the times did not wear an eboshi hat.

The first theatre performance was put on by a troupe of 3 people consisting of a lord, his messenger, and a member of the audience, and was particularly amusing.  The lord orders his messenger to copy his every action, which the messenger dutifully obeys by delivering his lines to the audience member in the same manner as the lord. When the lord grows angry at the messenger for doing this and lightly slaps him on the head, the messenger then directs this anger at the audience member and slaps him on the head.  This pantomime then escalates in ever increasing levels of horseplay, until the finale when the lord, fed up with the whole matter, kicks the messenger off stage.

The next act could be described as an Oriental version of the comic Offenbach opera “The Two Blind Men”.  A certain wealthy man makes it clear that he wants to hire someone who from birth has been blind, deaf, and disabled. In response to this, he receives a visit from a man whose legs are disabled, another man who cannot speak, and a blind man. Mitford writes that these roles were particularly well performed by the Lord of Awa’s retainers. These three men are in fact inveterate gamblers, down on their luck, and so have disguised themselves as beggars. The wealthier man hires all three beggars, and assigns to each one to look after a warehouse each while he is away.  The three beggars, knowing each other’s true identity, then discuss going to the warehouse where the sake is stored to drink their fill, and then going to the warehouse where mountains of gold can be divided up between them.

As expected, once they go to the first warehouse they get absolutely plastered, so much so that when their employer returns they forget which disabilities they were supposed to have. Hence the man who supposedly cannot see suddenly can’t talk, the man who can’t walk suddenly can’t see, and the man who can’t speak suddenly can’t hear.  Mitford found the point in the act where their true identity as fraudsters was revealed to be very amusing.

After the plays finished everyone moved on to dinner, and the more Sake that was passed around the more lively everyone became.  Mitford writes that the Lord of Awa said that he was the son of the previous governor of the province and an ‘elder brother’ (in terms of social relationships in a hierarchical society) to Ambassador Parkes. He also claimed that his eldest son, Awaji no Kami, was good friends with Ernest Satow.  Mitford writes that on the following morning, he and the other delegates conducted an inspection of the provincial guard, who numbered around 500 but dressed in what could only be described as somewhat shabby Western clothes.  Some of the guard wore boots, while others didn’t.  Those wearing boots were terribly proud of themselves, like dandies walking about with wisteria canes while puffing away on amber leaf tobacco.    

That evening Mitford together with the Lord of Awa boarded the Salamis in order to head back to Edo. However in order to investigate the circumstances surrounding the assassination of the two sailors from the Icarus, it had been decided that Ambassador Parkes and Satow would head for Susaki in Tosa province.  Mitford writes that as explained earlier, the people of Tosa had been proven innocent of any complicity in the deaths of the sailors, but were uncompromising in their attitudes. Satow paid a visit to Yamauchi Yōdō (Toyoshige), who despite being retired in name by that time was still very much the ruler of the province. Yamauchi told Satow that if he knew of any Tosa samurai that had been involved in the assassination then he would swiftly punish them, but if they were innocent, then he would not change his mind regarding them no matter what the circumstances were. Goto (Zōjirō) then cautioned Ambassador Parkes that if he threw a tantrum at this point then he (Zōjirō) might take leave of reason (implying he might have to physically restrain Parkes). As a consequence, Parkes was apparently much more subdued.

Mitford writes that the Japanese take it as a matter of course to maintain one’s dignity, and while they might have a number of other faults, they were in essence gentlemen.  Making threats would not, by themselves, result in success. A person of the caliber of Ambassador Parkes had not learned this lesson, and so it proved a weak point at times like this.

Satow thereafter made his way to Nagasaki where he remained until the 7th of November, and so Mitford make his way back to Edo, to a small temple known as Monryōin (門良院), where he spent time living by himself.  In order to take precautions, Mitford writes that he scattered cockle shells on the paths leading through the garden so that if any uninvited guests suddenly turned up in the dead of night, their footsteps would serve as an alarm system. One evening at around 12 midnight, Mitford’s ‘fail-safe’ alarm system proved its worth, and he awoke to the sound of crunching footsteps. Mitford flew out of bed, and after lighting a lamp and candle, woke up his trusted servant Lin Fu and handed him a sword and pistol while Mitford himself grabbed his Spencer pistol. The two of them then made their way to the front entrance and waited. Whomever these rogues were, they soon caught sight of Mitford and Lin Fu’s armed figures and quickly fled. Mitford writes that he later found out that around 5 or 6 persons had made their way into the garden. The reason he knew this is because it had been raining hard the night before and the following morning he was able to discern tracks left by the culprits, some of whom had slipped on the grass on the small hill the temple was located on. They had thus left imprints of their backsides or left deep footprints after skidding to a halt. Mitford found the whole experience unnerving.

Mitford then writes that the house he was living in was located in an area that was well known for fighting among rival families (or gangs), and just like some of the laneways of old Edinburgh, it was located too close to the drinking houses of the ‘notorious’ Shinagawa district. These establishments sometimes served as ‘hideouts’ for gangs made up of violent xenophobes.

Mitford then proceeds to detail an incident that took place near his lodgings. One morning, after exiting his house in order to make his way to the British Embassy, the body of a slain samurai lay in a pool of blood in front of the entrance gate to his residence. A straw mat had been placed over the body, however it was obvious that it was missing its head. Apparently in the course of following some sort of strict precepts on revenge, an acquaintance of someone killed in an earlier fight by the victim now lying in front of Mitford’s gate had dragged the victim’s body there to display it in front of his friend’s grave (noting that Mitford was living in the grounds of a temple at the time).   

The Japanese of Edo, just before the Meiji Restoration and a mere 48 years before Mitford wrote his memoirs, looked upon such events as an everyday occurrence.   

While on the surface there didn’t appear to be any sort of major shift in politics occurring, underneath a silent revolution had begun and was growing in strength. The Shogun would ultimately resign from his position, although the truth was that his position had been abolished.  Nevertheless Yoshinobu continued to exercise his authority with all of its in-built contradictions and would go on to head the Tokugawa household. Rumour had it that the daimyo of Satsuma, Chōshū, and Tosa, after appointing themselves leaders, were preparing for armed insurrection. It was said that they had even established an anti-Bakufu camp in Osaka. 

Retainers from Tosa province said that when the Shogun resigned his authority in October (of 1867), they were doing no more than acting in accordance with a white paper produced by their province. They later showed this paper to Satow. Mitford writes that some of the more outstanding features of this paper was its outline of a bicameral system of government based on upper and lower houses, the creation of schools in major cities to teach science and more general knowledge, and the negotiation of new treaties with foreign countries. Messengers from the daimyo of the above provinces had then been sent to the British Embassy to entreat the diplomats on the process of forming a national parliament (or Diet). They were, in Mitford’s view, clearly prepared to do everything they could to be considered equal to the British.

An audience with the Shogun (a continuation of last week's post on memoirs from A.B Mitford)

Mitford states that the political situation in Japan underwent a profound change at the beginning of 1867. It was clear that some form of activity was going on in the background as factions competed for influence. The death of Shogun Tokugawa Iemochi on the 29th of August brought things to a head, and the seventh son of the Lord of Mito, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, was appointed to that position through the plotting of ministers from than province. Yoshinobu wasted no time in calling for the combined representatives of foreign lands to an audience with him in Osaka. Mitford states that Osaka at the time was a fairly non-descript town with a myriad of rivers and canals, and had previously been an important focal point of trade. He said that it was referred to as “The Venice of the East”, although in reality there was little to lend credence to that title apart from the abundance of water channels around the town. Mitford wrote that he and Satow were dispatched to Osaka by warship in the first week of February in order to make preparations for the reception ceremony and learn what protocols would be used.Mitford and Satow were accompanied on their journey to the West by a Captain Cardway from the 9th Regiment and a Danish Lieutenant by the name of Zalbitser (an approximation of the surname).  They landed at Hyogo, and then made their way to Osaka by horse.  In addition to a large number of guards provided for their security, a number of troops were placed at various points along the route. Every time they passed through a check point, these troops would follow behind them, so that by the time they reached their destination they had around 2 or 3 thousand followers.  Mitford said that this was ‘good evidence’ of how seriously the government took their safety. When they reached Osaka, they learned that the Emperor Kōmei had passed away on the 3rd of February from smallpox.  He had actually died on the 30th of January, yet for some inexplicable reason the date of death had been postponed by four days. Kōmei’s successor, the famous Emperor Mutsuhito (Meiji), was but a youth of fifteen at the time.

Those who knew the young Emperor had deep trust in his abilities, and predicted that an appropriate education and training would result in a person of extraordinary ability, and in that they were absolutely correct. Mitford was convinced that if the Emperor Kōmei had lived, given he was avidly opposed to any interaction with foreigners, the events of the next couple of months would have been completely different.

When they arrived in Osaka, they lodged at a small but comfortable temple located on the Teramachi way.  There they were welcomed and were treated with deference, which made their task easier as their every want and need was met. They also became something of a curiosity, and so the roads around their lodgings were packed with spectators, to the extent that they had trouble passing along the streets. Most of the major merchants in Osaka set up stalls in the roads around the temple and proceeded to sell fruit, confectionary, and cheap knickknacks, and Mitford noted that travelers in the early 20th century found this hard to believe.

Mitford admitted that the principal reason for the visit to Osaka was ostensibly to participate in an audience with the Shogun together with other foreign representatives, however Ambassador Parkes also believed it was a fantastic opportunity to gather information about the political situation in Kyoto.  He says that this trip was where he first met many of those leaders of various provinces who in the future would play such a large role in the formation of the modern Japanese state. 

Mitford mentioned that most Bakufu supporters in Kyoto were from Mito province, and were prepared to sacrifice themselves on behalf of the Shōgun. Their opponents were messengers from Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, and Uwajima, all of whom were resolved to bring about the removal of the shōgunate.  Mitford says that the English delegation was kept well informed of plot activity in Kyoto, although most of those who passed information to them had, by the time the memoirs were written, died.  While in Osaka, he met almost daily with Komatsu Tatewaki from Satsuma, Lord Ito from Chōshū, and the most impressive of the bunch, Goto Shōjiro from Tosa province. Each one of these men and others would play pivotal roles in the formation of the Meiji state. Mitford also says that he and others in the delegation had to take every precaution when they went to meet with these men. They would be accompanied by troops who were there ‘for their protection’. However the delegates managed to slip their guards and meet with province representatives on their own (this occurred at least twice).

Mitford said that one of the consequences of these meetings would have a profound effect on what would later occur in Japan’s history.  He said that the goal of the Lord of Satsuma, along with other daimyo, was not to overthrow the shōgunate but to prevent the misuse of its authority.  Satsuma wanted to restore the imperial household to its former glory, as it would contribute to stabilizing the nation. As such, Satsuma’s purpose was not to incite a revolution against the Shogun but to act for the benefit of the nation. The Lord of Satsuma had suggested that should the British ambassador come to Osaka and propose a new treaty directly with the Emperor, all of the daimyo would support the proposal. In order to realise this plan, it would be necessary for everyone to gather in Kyoto. Hence if the ambassador lent the daimyo just a fraction of his authority, the daimyo would take responsibility for everything that happened thereafter.  It was an audacious plan, and if it had occurred just a few months later, it would have been subject to ridicule. 

Mitford writes that while he was in Osaka he and others in the delegation took the opportunity to go shopping, and that he planned to purchase some famous goods and return with them to Yokohama. He mentions that lacquerware was popular, along with pipes of various shapes and sizes, fans, and textiles, all of which were difficult to resist purchasing. He says that wherever he and the other delegates walked, they would be followed by a large crowd. They were accompanied by a minor official with a wakizashi (short sword), who would make a noise like a bird (probably a crow) in order to clear a path for the delegates.  However the curiosity of the crowd was too great and they would continue to follow the delegates and wouldn’t be dispersed so easily.

Mitford then says that after returning to Edo from Osaka, a tragedy unfolded at the mission while they were away.  He says that many of their acquaintances (presumably among the foreign community) were never able to rid themselves of the fear that they would be attacked by some ‘rogues’ as they wandered along the streets of Edo. Many rogues had become more audacious in their provocations at foreigners, and would often make a display of unsheathing their swords and waiving them around, indicating that they could cut someone in half from their shoulder to their waist. The foreign population in Edo knew of this, and so were taught to shoot to kill anyone who approached them with a sword drawn even an inch out of its scabbard. Mitford writes that the interpreting students (presumably from England) at the mission were also frightened both day and night at the thought of meeting an unfortunate end. They would not venture out from the mission, and even though they were protected in the mission by members of the 9th Regiment and a great many other guards, pleaded with the ambassador to have an Armstrong cannon brought out from Britain and placed at the gate of the mission for its protection.  

One evening, one of these youths could no longer handle the strain. After having dinner with some of his friends, he returned to his room, from which two shots were heard. The first shot had apparently failed to hit its mark because the man was shaking so much, and the bullet from that shot was later found in the ceiling of his room.  The second shot, however, proved fatal. Mitford writes that suicide is certainly not a contagious disease, yet in the same week another two such incidents took place in Yokohama. Mitford says that it is difficult for people to understand the type of life he and others had to live during the early days of interaction with Japan, but notes that for four years he kept a loaded pistol on the desk that he used to write at. He also says that he would always have a Spencer revolver in one hand and a bayonet in the other when he returned to his bedroom at night and which would lie close by as he slept. He says the fact that anybody can now walk the streets of Kyoto and Edo (Tokyo) while twirling a cane just like they were walking along Regent Street or Piccadilly is a blessing that owes a debt of gratitude to the law that banned the wearing of swords.

Mitford writes that in May of 1867, Ambassador Parkes and he travelled to Osaka for their first audience with the Shogun. Osaka Castle was, as much as it was in Mitford’s day, and as long as you were looking at it from the outside, a large museum to the feudal age and the crowning glory of the last days of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.  Mitford then goes into a bit of historical detail regarding Hideyoshi, and expresses admiration for the way in which its stone walls had been constructed using massive stones piled on top of one another but without using any sort of adhesive.  He writes that the castle was surrounded by a moat, and protected on two sides by Yodogawa and Kashiwara-gawa. He noted that the stone walls were over 30 feet long and 20 feet high and were beautiful in their simplicity. He said the castle had been attacked by bow and arrow and firearms, but had withstood them all. He then goes into how Hideyori succeeded Hideyoshi, only to be eventually overthrown by Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Mitford writes that the audience with the Shogun took place within Osaka Castle.  It was an event that is likely never to be seen again. The position of Shogun was thereafter abolished and became another part of Japan’s distant past. When Mitford wrote his memoirs, the last Shogun, Yoshinobu, had died some months earlier, and the castle was no longer its former self.  He wrote that the outer walls were the same, but the interior palaces had been burned down by Bakufu forces in the aftermath of the battles of Toba and Fushimi. These underlings had returned to the castle after fighting for the Bakufu only to find that their leader had fled to Edo, and so harboured a deep resentment towards the Shogun thereafter. 

Mitford writes that this must have caused great angst among the retainers and allies of the Tokugawa household. However Mitford then reminds the reader that history does not follow set patterns, and that relying his own memory meant that he was writing things down as he recalled them, zigging and zagging backwards and forwards in time. He writes that the defeated Shogun returned to Edo safely to the castle of his ancestors. One of his younger retainers, Hori Kuranokami, in order to erase the dishonor to the Shogun’s name, suggested that Yoshinobu commit ritual suicide. In order to prove his sincerity, Hori announced that he would commit ritual suicide first.  Yoshinobu’s reaction was unexpected, however. He burst out laughing, saying that such a barbaric practice was outdated. Hori then reluctantly bowed and withdrew to an adjoining room. There he bared his chest down to his abdomen, and proceeded to die ‘like a warrior’ by cutting open his abdomen. Mitford says that Yoshinobu’s error was to assume that the ‘barbaric’ practice of ‘belly cutting’ was outdated. He says that even in the early 20th century, it was used as a way to retain one’s honour.

Mitford says that Saigo Takamori, whom he had known for a long time and was one of the leading figures from Satsuma, had died in such a manner during the rebellion of 1877.  He said another hero of the treaty ports area, his long-time friend Nogi Maresuke, had committed suicide two years earlier in 1913. Nogi was deeply affected by the death of his beloved lord Emperor Mutsuhito, and so together with his loyal wife, chose to follow the Emperor into eternity.  

Mitford then writes that he and Ambassador Parkes had three audiences with the Shogun. The first meeting was private, and as expected, proved to be the most interesting of the meetings. This was not only because it was a new experience, it was also because it allowed for a free exchange of opinions that would not have otherwise happened in a public ceremony. The Bakufu had a number of high officials who had been dispatched for the occasion, while the British delegation had 17 mounted troopers in splendid uniforms from the London Metropolitan Police Force, along with a squad of troops from the 9th Regiment for protection.  They were also protected by a number of Japanese guards. The entire retinue headed by horseback towards the castle. Mitford notes that every Japanese citizen they met along the way, whether of high or low status, got off their horses in deference to the delegation.

The delegation itself did not dismount from their horses until they reached the gates in front of a broad square attached to the inner palace. This building was the same as the outer walls and moats albeit smaller, and had its own moat. They were met by a number of high officials and then taken to a waiting room where they enjoyed tea and light refreshments. Mitford then quotes from a letter he wrote on the 6th of May 1867 which described the audience with the Shogun.  

The interior of the castle was much more gorgeous than any Japanese building he had seen up until that point. The walls were covered in gold-leaf, and featured depictions of trees, flowers, and birds all painted in exquisite detail by a painter of the Kanō school.  Mats weaved from rush reeds were affixed to right-angled hooks plated in gold, and on these large weavings were laid out decorated in orange, red and black silk, similar to a gypsy’s ribbon. The upper section of the room was decorated in the height of Japanese wood carving technology, of a type comparable to Grinling Gibbons (a 17th century British wood sculptor originally from the Netherlands and considered one of the greatest wood sculptors of his age), generously decorated in gold flake, and set within a deeply carved board. Each of these boards had been carved by a different master, and no two boards were alike.  The theme of each of these pictures varied, but were made to emphasize beauty, such as a strutting phoenix, cranes, a softly coloured but gorgeous collection of rhododendrons, bamboo whose leaves were being gently blown by a breeze, and an aged black pine tree. The pillars and sidings in the room were made of unfinished Japanese zelkova, fastened into place using gold plated pegs. The ceiling was divided into square shaped sections, each with its own carvings, and each of these was coloured in a deep gold lacquer. The sections between each square were also lacquered in gold or black. 

Mitford says that while the effect was certainly gorgeous, it wasn’t without its faults. That was because after 200 years the sharpness of the pictures had dulled somewhat.

While waiting in the first room, Mitford and the ambassador spent time with high officials doing what most people do to pass the time – talking about the weather.  After that they were escorted to the meeting room. This room had been laid out in a Western fashion, with 8 seats arranged around a table. At one end of the table was the chair for the Shogun, an impressive lacquered piece of furniture. They were met in that room by senior and junior retainers of the Shogun, where they received word that he would soon come to meet them. Some high sliding doors that divided up the Japanese room they were in silently slid left and right, and an atmosphere of excited tension filled the room, much like an audience waiting for a piano recital to begin. For one or two seconds the Shogun stood like a statue in the space between the sliding doors, presenting a figure of stiff formality. All of the Japanese in the room knelt in a deep bow, except for the senior and junior retainers who remained standing. They probably did this so as not to create any discrimination between themselves and the delegates and so were excused from the usual formalities. 

When the Shogun entered the room, he bowed, and then, to borrow a phrase from Tacitus “in the manner of the barbarians”, shook hands with Ambassador Parkes.  All of the delegates, namely Parkes, Lowcock, Satow, and Mitford himself, then sat on one side of the table while the other featured the Shogun and four of his retainers. The Shogun then majestically stood up and enquired about the health of Queen Victoria.  Ambassador Parkes himself then stood up and asked about the well-being of the Emperor and then proceeded to discuss a range of practical issues. While speaking with the Shogun in private, Yoshinobu revealed that he knew all about recent events that had occurred following the signing of the Elgin Treaty. He spoke plainly in relation to the ‘disturbances’ that the English delegates had recently experienced, and said that he was aggrieved by the many issues preventing the fulfilment of friendly relations between the people of his nation and the delegates. He also revealed his resolve to improve the existing system of government. Mitford writes that the Shogun possessed a personality that was well-suited to drawing people to him.  People would expect, on first meeting him, for him to be overly stiff and somewhat pensive, and given the amount of problems he was dealing with at the time that was to be expected. Yet he was also able, amongst all the formality, to speak and act freely.

Mitford writes that Tokugawa Yoshinobu was an individual who possessed many excellent traits. He was of short stature in comparison to Westerners, but around average for the Japanese of his day.  When he wore more traditional clothes, that difference was not really all that obvious. Mitford wrote that among all of the Japanese that he met during his time in Japan, Yoshinobu’s figure was the one that was the most impressive to Western eyes. He says that he had a bright, healthy olive complexion, with sparkling eyes. While his mouth was stiffly pensive, he had a kind expression when he smiled. He had a strong body, which was very masculine in appearance.  He also practiced horse riding regularly, and in all weather like a famous English huntsman. Forty years after their first meeting, Mitford said that the passage of time had hardly aged Yoshinobu.  His attractive gait had not diminished any, and while he might have had more wrinkles on his face, his character had not changed at all. One of the peculiarities of being born into a famous household is that everything is done according to tradition. Yet Yoshinobu, as an aristocrat, was exceptional. Mitford regretted the fact that Yoshinobu’s position in society was anachronistic, however.     

Mitford then writes that after engaging in friendly conversation for around an hour, Yoshinobu mentioned that he would like to see the guard that the delegation had brought with them, and which had been waiting in the central grounds of the castle. Yoshinobu appeared to be quite impressed by the sword and lance drill conducted by the mounted troops. Yet what impressed him most was the size of the horses they had brought with them, which were a type of Arabian breed they had imported to Japan from India and were quite grand.  Yoshinobu loved horses, and so spread the word that these foreign horses were, when compared to Japan’s own domestically bred horses, so much better in many ways. Japan’s own horses were, it must be said, of an ordinary type that can be found anywhere.

The Shogun then treated the delegation to a splendid dinner. He writes that at the time his diary was completed (in 1915), it was fairly standard to be treated to French cuisine at the residences of Japan’s elite. But the opportunity to dine with the Shogun and his retainers was, for the four delegates from Britain, like something out of a dream.  Yoshinobu functioned as the host, while his retainers made every effort to accommodate the delegates. Mitford also mentions that Yoshinobu, at some stage during proceedings, rose up from his seat in order to propose a toast to the health of Her Majesty the Queen of England. The diplomatic practice of making toasts was not something commonly known in Japan at the time, and it appeared to be an attempt by Yoshinobu to please his guests.  Parkes then returned the gesture by proposing a toast to the health of the Shogun.  After the dinner, the Shogun accompanied his guests to an interior room where they were given pipes and silk tobacco purses woven by the Shogun’s wives.

Mitford also writes that as the delegates were preparing to leave, they ventured down one of the hallways in the residence which was decorated with fabulous prints depicting many famous poets. When Yoshinobu saw how much the delegates appreciated the paintings, he ordered one of them to be removed from the wall and presented to Ambassador Parkes to take back with him to the British mission. Ambassador Parkes was initially reluctant to accept the picture, however Yoshinobu told him that “every time I will look at that spot, I will know that the picture that hung there now decorates the residence of the Ambassador of Britain, and that will bring me great joy”.  Mitford then exclaims “Can you conceive of any greater form of farewell than this?” 

Mitford wrote that the delegates remained in the castle until after 9pm. He said that the delegates were incredibly pleased at the way the meeting had gone, and that the retainers of the Shogun were also happy to have been granted the opportunity to meet with representatives from Britain for the first time.  Mitford later wrote that because of the Shogun’s natural curiosity and affability, there was a strong expectation that the opening of the port of Osaka, which was scheduled to take place in January the following year. He states that he was scheduled to be transferred out of Japan around that time, something that vexed him greatly. He believed that he would be missing out on the last politically important event in Japanese history. However fortunes changed and he ended up staying longer, and would have many other opportunities to experience ‘historically significant’ events.

Memoirs of AB Mitford, Principal Observations – taken from 英国外交官の見た幕末維新:リーズデイル卿回想録、A.Bミットフォード、長岡祥三訳、講談社、2017年9月11日発行

The above memoir concerns the personal experiences of the British diplomat Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford (1st Baron Redesdale), who in the Autumn of 1866 (Keiō 2) arrived in the port city of Yokohama to take up a position as a second secretary within the British legation. It was during that first encounter with Japan by Mitford that he came into contact with Ernest Satow, himself a British diplomat, and the two of them would remain life-long friends.  Mitford himself was born in February of 1837 (Tenpō 8), and was six years older that Satow (he was around 28 when he arrived in Japan).  

Mitford himself admitted that his reason for writing a memoir of his experiences in Japan stemmed from the fact that for many years he had not spoken to anyone about what he saw and heard during his residency in Japan, and that after the passage of 50 years many of those whom he knew in Japan, and who had played such a pivotal role in the opening of Japan to foreign influence and in the establishment of Japan as a modern state, were already starting to pass away.  So he endeavoured to write down, in as much detail as he could, his reminiscences of Japan.

Mitford held Ernest Satow in very high regard, and praised Satow as the principal reason why he was able to experience so much of the historical events that punctuated the early years of foreign diplomatic activity in Meiji Japan. 

Mitford arrived in Yokohama by ship in October of 1866, and spent four years at the forefront of Japan’s emergence into the modern world.  His arrival in early October coincided with a cold front over much of north-east Asia, so when his ship set out from Shanghai it met with some rough seas and both crew and passengers were very relieved when they finally dropped anchor just outside the port of Yokohama. At the time of his arrival the port city was being battered by heavy rain and strong winds, and at the customs house on the wharf water ran through the building as though it had been built on a river.  The customs officials themselves wore fairly non-descript clothing (kimono) with two swords at their hip, with lacquered caps and grass mantles.

For the first two to three days, until lodgings were prepared, Mitford stayed at the official residence of Minister (re: Ambassador) Harry Parkes. The residence itself was located near the coast, and was a one-storey building. Mitford wrote that on his first night at the residence, possibly as a reflection of the bad weather that accompanied his arrival, discussions at the dinner table were somewhat gloomy, focusing on the death of ‘Richardson’ (in the Namamugi Incident), the assassinations of Baldwin and Bird (by shishi in the streets of Yokohama), and the attack that occurred against the British legation during the residence of Ambassador Rutherford Alcock and Captain Neale by ‘rōnin’. Mitford wrote that his first nights in Japan were spent listening to the wind howling through the ambassadorial residence, rattling windows and doors, which made him grab a nearby pistol in fear that the residence was under attack. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to think this, and that the hallway of the residence was filled with diplomats bearing arms in anticipation of an assault by ‘rōnin’.

Mitford’s first night in Japan was also accompanied by an earthquake, which added to the fears of the diplomatic staff in the residence. However the danger soon passed, and the following days were blessed by good weather, so much so that he was able to see Mt Fuji capped in snow and in all of its glory. Mitford also spent the first few days in Japan walking around Yokohama, both in and outside the city, with Satow. As it was Autumn, the fields outside the city were brimming with ripened rice plants, along with the hills around the city being dotted with red and gold hues and deep green pine, cypress and bamboo forests at the foot of the hills.

Mitford points out that in 1866, with the political situation in Japan so uncertain, a rivalry broke out between Ambassador Parkes and the French Ambassador Leon Roche. He proceeds to describe the physical characteristics of Parkes, noting that he was a short man, with thinning hair, but of cheerful disposition. He notes he had a large head, with a broad face, so that his body and head “did not appear in proportion to one another”.  He also says Parkes was ‘fearless’ and never showed any sign of weariness, but was excitable and quick to anger. He then goes on to describe Parkes’ time in the East, noting he had been sent out to China at the age of 13 in 1841, had studied Chinese vociferously, and had performed the role of interpreter, embarking on dangerous journeys into the interior of China from time to time.  Parkes was appointed as ambassador to Japan when he was 38, and Mitford met him a year after he had assumed that position. Parkes apparently regretted the fact that his education had been abruptly interrupted in his youth, and so spent much of his life trying to make up for this by engaging in reading in his spare time (which was little, given Parkes was a very active character). Mitford believed that Parkes’ greatest short-coming as a diplomat was the fact that he could not speak French.

Mitford says that Parkes and Roche were deeply jealous of one another, noting that when war broke out between the Bakufu and regional daimyo, they were both backing “the wrong horse”. In Parkes’ case, he had the extraordinary fortune of having Ernest Satow in his employment. Satow had studied the traditions and folk history of Japan in detail, understood the position occupied by the Shogun, and knew that the Emperor was the original head of the nation. Not only this, he possessed fluency in Japanese, was intelligent and able to speak plainly, which enabled him to become an acquaintance to many of the most influential people in Japan. He was also young, which would be a great advantage to the ambassador in forging ties with the Japanese state.

One other person that Mitford praises for his deep knowledge of Japan was Thomas Glover (a merchant residing in Nagasaki, and who provided weaponry to the anti-Bakufu forces). Ambassador Parkes regarded Satow’s advice as exemplary, and his advocacy led weight to Satow’s suggestion that Britain back the daimyo forces absolutely. Roche, on the other hand, was firm in his support for the shogunate, and so continued to provide support to that institution despite the fact it was gradually growing ever weaker.  Parkes was particularly incensed when he found out that Roche had brought out from France army instructors to instruct the shogunal forces, and so resolved to bring British naval officers to Japan to educate the daimyo forces. Mitford therefore believed that the development of the Japanese army and navy came about because of the personal dislike between Parkes and Roche. 

Mitford says that Roche lent his hand to shipbuilding facilities, port facilities, and weapons manufacturing, which were all areas he expected France would have a monopoly. Yet the development of all of these elements depended on the shogunate remaining in power. Roche’s audacious plan led to fierce diplomatic debates, so much so that Ambassador Parkes regarded Roche with a lot of suspicion.   Mitford states that the Tokugawa were to be congratulated on being able to provide some 200 years of stability for Japan, but the rot within the institution of the shogunate started from the third Shogun Iemitsu onward. 

Mitford stated that after a week he was able to move into his own abode, made of plain wood and paper. He (with a great amount of sarcasm) stated that the house itself was ‘a little bigger than a doll’s house’, with a small garden with a number of small trees growing in it. Mitford lived in one of three connected residences, the others being occupied by Ernest Satow and Dr William Willis. The residence was in the foreigner’s quarter, somewhat separated from the city (or town) of Yokohama itself. Willis had some difficulties with his house, given that he was a large man, and his coming and going from such a small abode was a source of constant wonder to Mitford. As a house warming party, the three diplomats invited a number of members of the 9th Regiment and three or four ‘geisha’.  The food supplied was Japanese in origin, and the revelry lasted until midnight.

The Great Fire of Yokohama:

The time spent in the foreigner’s quarter was brief, as on the 26th of November Mitford said he was woken by a sharp gust of wind that blew through one of the doors of the residence. He jumped out of bed without time to dress (mainly because all of his furniture and luggage had only been brought into the residence the night before and remained unpacked). He had enough time to shave before a Chinese servant came in to tell him that a large fire had been spotted some 2/3rds of a mile away.  Mitford believed he had enough time to dress and then venture out to look at the fire, unaware of the sheer speed at which a fire could spread through a town built primarily of wood. 

After shaving and dressing, which consisted of his trousers and a thick overcoat, he went outside, only to discover that a fierce wind had intensified the fire which had spread to the neighbourhood around his residence. Mitford had a pet dog which he attempted to bring outside with him, however spooked by the noise and chaos of people running about, the dog ran back into the building. Mitford discovered the bones of the dog the following day in the ashes of a Western chest of drawers.  In the space of an hour, the neighbourhood that Mitford was in disappeared, with a fierce wind continuing to blow, causing the fire to jump from roof to roof and devouring everything in front of it, leaping hundreds of yards in an instant.

One of the curious things that Mitford noticed about the fire was that unlike fires in London, which were accompanied by sounds of wood cracking, popping and collapsing house frames, this fire just burned everything up, much like the wick of a candle. Houses that had been standing just moments before were reduced to ash in a matter of minutes with nothing but the red glow of heated roof tiles left behind. Such was the ferocity of the fire that no buildings, whether wooden or brick, survived unscathed, and the entire town would have been swallowed up if the wind hadn’t abated around midday. Mitford observed that if a fire such as that in Yokohama started in Edo, it would have raced off in all directions and reduced the city to ruins.

Mitford described a great many lives being lost in the fire, noting that close to his residence bodies had been laid out in rows and which were mostly unidentifiable.  He noted that most of the victims of the fire lived in the area that it started, the Gankirō (岩亀楼) district, famous for its houses of prostitution.  Some of the bodies discovered half burned had been pulled from a well, where a number of women had thrown themselves in a desperate attempt to escape the fire. Mitford was left with only the clothes he had managed to throw on (including his shoes and socks), however those whose homes survived the blaze showed generosity to those left without accommodation. Admiral Sir George King sent Mitford six shirts along with a letter that Mitford treasured for the rest of his life.

Rebuilding and relocating

Mitford writes that a few days before the fire, serious consideration was given by Ambassador Parkes to relocating the British mission to Edo, to the site of the original mission headed by Alcock and Neale on Goden-yama which overlooked the ‘notorious’ Shinagawa village. The location apparently had fine views, but it had been abandoned after being attacked and destroyed by ‘rōnin’. Mitford relates that Itō Hirofumi (whom he calls ‘Lord Itō) was one of the young rōnin allied to those who attacked the mission, and that the British mission was aware of his activities before he became a minister of the state. Itō was a good friend of Britain by the mid-1860s, and so when he was teased about his former life by the British diplomats he didn’t deny it but merely laughed.

Parkes was of the view that since Japan was a nation well disposed towards Britain, and that since Parkes had been sent as the representative of the British government despite not being the actual leader of his nation, the British mission had in all respects abandoned its right to property within Edo, which was in fact the seat of government. The situation was thus an ‘anomaly’ to what should otherwise be the proper state of affairs for diplomatic missions. Mitford agreed, and so the two of them set out for Edo in order to find a building that could function as a permanent site for a mission. 

The site they settled on consisted of two long, single storey buildings (which by the early 20th century were almost falling down), with one of the buildings set aside for official duties and the other for personal use. The site itself was located a little removed from Sengakuji, site of the graves of the 47 retainers. There was a guard house next to the gate entrance, into which would be placed soldiers from the 9th Norfolk Regiment, dispatched from Yokohama.   Mitford wrote that most Japanese he spoke to were surprised to learn that English troops had once protected Yokohama from their camp at Yamate, but this was the reality at the time of the opening of the foreign ports.

The British mission was also protected by a large number of guards, known as the “Betsu-te gumi”, most of whom were drawn from the ranks of lower class samurai and charged with the protection of the mission. However their principle task (according to the British diplomats) appeared to be to spy on the mission. Mitford reasoned that, under the Bakufu rule, no country in the world engaged in spying as much as Japan, and spying was considered to be more of an art than an occupation.  Officials were never allowed to operate by themselves, and would always be shadowed by a “metsuke”, with the same thing going for foreign diplomats.

He also describes a number of small, single storey houses that were built just below Sengakuji, and which he says were poorly constructed. They each featured a number of iron stoves, which were virtually useless as they would glow bright red if fires were lit inside them and fill the room with the smell of burning iron.  As such, it was better to endure the cold from the wind blowing in threw gaps in the windows and doors and down the long corridors than to light any fires. So for the first few nights, Mitford said that he and others tried to endure the cold as best they could, and went to bed early in an effort to try and stay warm, but to no avail. On the first night, Mitford was awakened by the sound of a bugle, and just like his experience in Yokohama jumped up out of bed pistol in hand expecting to have to repel intruders. On making enquiries, Mitford was informed that it was merely the guard making revelry, and so returned to bed to attempt to stay warm. 

Both Mitford and Satow felt that the small housing they were forced to reside in, under the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi, made it a little like being imprisoned. Hence both of them petitioned the ambassador to give them permission to move to a nearby temple.  The ambassador was all for it, however given their restricted movements, it would take an unusual approach to get the Japanese authorities to agree to the measure. Hence the first thing Mitford and Satow did was to rent a section of a nearly temple known as Monryō-in. It was a small temple located around 100 yards from the mission on top of a hill, and had spectacular views of Edo bay.  Mitford and Satow thus became the first foreigners to be permitted to live in an area outside of a designated zone.  When they went on afternoon walks, even when they went the nearby mission, they were not able to escape the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi. If they had been allowed to wander freely, they would have been able to interact more with the Japanese townspeople. Every now and then they would hear drunken bugle playing from the barracks attached to the  mission, but it was always a long way off so they didn’t give it much thought.

Years later Mitford paid a visit to the location of the temple, but found that nothing was left of the house that he and Satow lived in, and that the garden was overgrown with weeds and grass, which he said was “disappointing”. 

Mitford and Satow tried to live as frugally as possible, down to the smallest farthing. Instead of hiring an in-house cook and spending money on cooking ware and utensils, they had their meals brought to them from a nearby Japanese kitchen. These meals mostly consisted of rice and fish, occasionally supplemented with either chicken or duck meat.  On days when the weather wasn’t particularly good and fishermen weren’t able to fish, the kitchen owner would come around to apologise, bringing with him bamboo root and seaweed. Both Mitford and Satow would venture out together, although as Mitford was the senior, he was the one who had to write reports about their activities, but in actuality it was Satow who wrote the reports and offered advice. 

Japan, or more specifically western Japan, is currently recovering from the effects of an absolute deluge of water that mainly struck the prefectures of Hiroshima, Ehime, and Okayama over the weekend, with most of the damage to property and loss of life a result of flash flooding which led to river levees collapsing and innumerable landslides. To date, 158 people have been reported dead, with 72 missing and over 10,000 evacuated to temporary shelters. The SDF has been called out to help in recovery operations and to clear debris, along with emergency response organisations from the national and prefectural level.  To add to these woes, western Japan has just emerged from the ‘wet season’ (or tsuyu), meaning that average day temperatures in the disaster-affected zones are reaching in excess of 33 degrees Celsius. This, when combined with the high humidity that accompanies a typical Japanese summer, means that for both evacuees and rescuers alike, there is a risk of dehydration exacerbated by a lack of water supplies given that many water and gas lines have been ruptured (around 250,000 homes are without water in the most heavily affected prefectures). In towns and cities closer to the coastline this is less of a concern given that these areas are more populated, but for towns and villages further inland many of the roads leading into these areas have either been washed away or cut in two by rock and land slides, thus closing off the most convenient evacuation route and forcing residents to wait for helicopters to airlift them to safety. 

Relief efforts have been organised for the affected regions, with PM Abe announcing that he would forego a visit to Europe this week in order to deal with the after-effects of the disaster. Both the LDP and opposition parties have established relief funds for victims of the disaster, with NGOs engaging in fund raising activities and volunteers offering to assist in clean-up and recovery efforts.

While the situation itself is gradually improving, there are literal dark clouds on the horizon. With the most recent rainfall happening right in the middle of summer, further heavy rainfall can be expected to occur over the next few months, particularly when Japan enters its ‘typhoon season’ (usually August through to early October).  This could exacerbate problems as high winds coupled with heavy rains might increase the level of damage to property and lead to further loss of life.

It is in situations like this that Japan’s expertise in disaster response becomes obvious, given the speed at which evacuation centres have been established, rescue efforts coordinated, and temporary facilities installed to provide the essentials for everyday living. What Japan might require for the future, however, is more disaster oriented equipment, such as larger transport aircraft (say, either C-17s or even C-5s) or more All Terrain Vehicles (ATVs). Apparently Japan only possesses a single ExtremV ATV (dubbed the ‘Red Salamander’), which is used by the Aichi Prefecture Okazaki City Fire Brigade. Clearly in areas affected by flooding or landslides, such versatile vehicles could be very effective in transporting rescue crews or evacuating stranded residents, however it does not appear that any further purchases have been organised on a national scale. With predictions that similar disasters may become a regular feature of summer in Japan, it would seem far wiser to begin budgeting for these and other rescue-oriented pieces of equipment than, say, the purchase of further Osprey aircraft (about which many Japanese regional governments still retain serious doubts vis-à-vis safety).   

History, as an old axiom goes, it written by the victors. Through either good fortune, careful planning, meticulous execution (in all meanings of that word) or some other advantage, certain persons are destined to be remembered for their merits while others stand condemned for their sins. Yet the wheel of history sometimes turns in favour of the ‘wicked’, and on occasion reputations can be raised up from the mire of infamy and cast into the light of redemption. Japanese history is no exception to this trend, and recent scholarship has brought about a reinterpretation of the motives and methods used by certain historical individuals in pursuit of their interests. This blog has explored one of those figures, Akechi Mitsuhide, whose name was synonymous with ‘traitor’ for having rebelled against and ultimately caused the death of Oda Nobunaga (who himself might be regarded as a historical ‘villain’), yet many others come to mind – from Fujiwara no Kaneie, to Taira no Masakado, Taira no Kiyomori, Nichiren, Hōjō Masako, Hōjō Takatoki, Kō no Moronao, Ashikaga Takauji, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, Ashikaga Yoshimasa (noticing a trend here?), Hino Tomiko, Saito Dōsan, Kennyo, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the list goes on.

The figures outlined above are notable for the fact that in some way or another they fought against and on occasion prevailed against the perceived wisdom and authority of their day, whether it be the Imperial court, other warrior houses, influential religions, or social mores. In insisting on their rights and views, they collided with other prominent historical figures of their day, and their misfortune was to be on the losing side when the historical record came to be written (or lost).
Take, for example, the case of Hino Tomiko.  Here was a woman born into an aristocratic family tied to the Ashikaga shōgunate, who was married to the 8th Ashikaga Shōgun Yoshimasa at the age of 16. In the early 1460s Tomiko gave birth to a number of girls, but was unable to have any sons. This state of affairs was obviously a concern for the continuation of the Ashikaga household, so much so that Yoshimasa’s brother, originally known by his Buddhist name Gijin (as he had taken the tonsure and retired from public life), was brought back from the monastery, given the name Ashikaga Yoshimi, and was expected to succeed Yoshimasa in the position of shōgun.

However fate can sometimes conspire to play cruel tricks on mere mortals. In 1465 Tomiko gave birth to a son, Yoshihisa, which set off a series of events that would eventually lead to the Ōnin War. You see, Yoshimi had a powerful supporter in the form of Hosokawa Katsumoto, who believed that Yoshimi’s claim to the position of shōgun superseded that of Yoshihisa and so Yoshimi should become the 9th Ashikaga shōgun and was prepared to back him in that claim.

Tomiko had other ideas, however. Having tried for years to have a son, and with one finally available, Tomiko declared that Yoshihisa, as the son of Yoshimasa, had more claim to the shōgunate than Yoshimi. In order to support her claim, she appealed to Hosokawa rival Yamana Sōzen as well as her own Hino aristocratic family. This led to a direct standoff between the Hosokawa and Yamana clans, which in turn branched out to affect relations between other warrior and aristocratic families not only in the capital but also in the provinces, leading in turn to an outbreak of violence between supporters of the Hosokawa and Yamana in Kyoto in 1465.   

This conflict, known as the Ōnin War, would last for approximately 11 years, during which much of Kyoto burnt to the ground, Katsumoto and Sōzen both died, and the power of the central aristocratic and military families waned as regional warlords rose to take their place. Tomiko would survive all of this, and would see Yoshihisa succeed as the 9th shōgun, albeit to a much weakened government and an unstable realm.  Nonetheless, in her capacity as the wife of one shōgun and the mother to another, for which she was normally referred to as the ‘Midai-dokoro’ (御台所), she wielded considerable power for a woman in an age when women were not expected to play a prominent role in political and societal affairs (it certainly helped that she may, or may not, have also been secretly corresponding with Emperor Go-Tsuchimikado and carrying on a relationship with him, thus increasing her authority among the organs of state in the capital).

This in part explains why Tomiko’s reputation underwent such a hammering by later generations of historical scholars. Other causes are related to the fact that in the aftermath of the Ōnin War, Tomiko, as the real source of authority, ordered the installation of toll gates at the seven entrances to Kyoto in order to collect funds for the rebuilding of the Imperial palace – the ‘Dairi’ (内裏) – as well as to celebrate the end of hostilities and the return of peace to the capital. It does appear, however, that the collection of tolls was used to increase Tomiko’s personal fortune, a situation that created resentment and resulted in 1480 in the outbreak of a tokusei ikki (a form of protest which demanded the forgiving of debts and other financial burdens) during which the toll gates were destroyed. Not to be thwarted, Tomiko ordered the toll gates to be re-established at the city entrances, thereby making her a target of anger from not only commoners but also members of the aristocracy.
For a state still recovering from the effects of war and famine, and given the precarious state of the Ashikaga shōgunate at this period in time, it does seem foolish of Tomiko to have provoked popular anger by imposing financial hardship on the residents of the capital (Tomiko was also linked to the decision by Yoshimasa to embark on the construction of the ‘Hana no Gosho’ (Ginkakuji) during the great famine of Chōroku-Kanshō from 1459 to 1461, a move for which Yoshimasa was harshly criticized and admonished by Emperor Go-Hanazono).   On the other hand, the Imperial palace was restored, although it would be another 30 years before any festivals were held in the capital.

It does seem that historical memory has conspired to ensure that Hino Tomiko’s memory remains forever tied to villainy, for her selfishness, her greed, and her indifference to the suffering of the people. Yet for around 40 years she managed to thrive in a society in a state of chaos, at the focal point of political and military power, dominating the shōgunate in a manner never to be repeated by any of the male successors to that position. Her rapacious nature may have been one born of necessity, given that the relative power of the shōgunate was waning in the face of challenges from other military houses which forced her to be ruthless. Yet she was loyal to those who served her interests, and her fortune enabled the Ashikaga shōgunate to continue into the sixteenth century until its eventual demise in the 1570-80s.  As stated at the outset, history is written by the victors, and Tomiko’s misfortune was to be a powerful woman in an era where the instruments of state, overwhelmingly dominated by men, were falling apart. Her like would not be seen again until the emergence of Yodo-dono (also known as Cha-cha, concubine of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and mother of Toyotomi Hideyori) in the late sixteenth century, whose reputation would be the subject of slander in the same manner as Tomiko.  

I’ve been assiduously trying to avoid writing about this topic for the past two weeks, however the amount of hullabaloo about it in Japan’s domestic media has made me feel that I should jot down my two cents about what really should have been a non-event. Recently, during an American football game between Nihon University and Kwansei Gakuin University, a defensive player for Nihon made what has been described as an “egregious” or “malicious” tackle on the quarterback of the opposing side, ostensibly putting that quarterback out of action for three weeks (although he subsequently returned to play a week later). After the game, the Kwansei Gakuin coaching staff lodged a protest with the Japan American Football Association, pointing out that the quarterback had already thrown the ball and was effectively not involved in the play when he was tackled by the Nihon player from behind, causing the quarterback to tear a knee ligament. Kwansei’s coaching staff thus demanded an apology from Nihon University and the suspension of the player and the Nihon University football team for the remainder of the season.

Then things become murky. Nihon University’s coaching staff, mainly consisting of former head coach Uchida Masahito and coach Inoue Tsutomu, initially denied that they had instructed the player to deliberately perform a dangerous tackle on the opposing quarterback. This did little to placate the coaching staff of Kwansei or the father of the injured quarterback, who held their own press conference in which they voiced their anger at how Nihon University was treating the matter. They were particularly incensed by former coach Uchida’s comments made to sections of the media following the game, in which he said that “if you don’t do that, you won’t win”, thereby admitting some involvement in the decision to make the tackle.  Pressure continued to build on the Nihon University coaching staff, so much so that Uchida was eventually forced to resign from his position not only as a coach but also as a member of the university’s executive committee.   

Yet the matter did not end there. Kwansei Gakuin pointed to a section of a letter received from Nihon University which ostensibly apologised for the incident, but stated that the problem had occurred because there was “a gap in understanding between the directions issued by the coaching staff and the manner in which the player received them”, thereby hoisting the blame for the tackle onto the Nihon player. The injured player’s father also made a reappearance in the media, stating that his son had submitted an aggravated assault complaint against Nihon University with the Osaka Prefectural Police and that he wanted to know whether the Nihon coaching staff had issued a directive for their player to make the dangerous tackle.

The Nihon player then held his own press conference in Tokyo (such was the level of interest in the story from across Japan, as a video of the tackle had been posted to Youtube and had subsequently been picked up by the major news networks), where he apologised to Kwansei Gakuin’s team, the injured player, and revealed that he had been directed by the coaching staff of Nihon to make the tackle after being warned that if he didn’t he would be left out of any subsequent matches.  One day later, Uchida and Inoue fronted the media once more, in which they denied giving any directions to deliberately injure the opposing quarterback, although during the same press conference Inoue did admit that he told the Nihon player to ‘crush the opposing quarterback’. Inoue added a proviso to this, however, saying that his expression had been ‘misinterpreted’ by the Nihon player.   

To cut a long story short, the Kansai Students American Football Association eventually met on the 30th of May, where Uchida and Inoue both had their qualifications as coaches revoked and Nihon University found its football team suspended for the remainder of the season, along with an obligation to reform its internal practices to ensure no repeat of the incident.

Japanese university team clubs generally conform to the ethos of fair play and responsible conduct, and so the this entire episode served as a focal point for (somewhat obsessive) commentary about the perceived decline in morals within Japanese society and a ‘win-at-all-costs’ mentality by which reputation means nothing and victory must come no matter what. It was also used to demonstrate that despite the passing of 70 or more years, Japanese society still possesses a mindset that puts obedience to hierarchy above all else even though it may be against one’s own best interests and/or morals (a topic that segues nicely into the scandals currently plaguing the Abe government). 

That might be reading too much into it, however. What is clear is that the coaching staff of Nihon gave their 19 or 20 something year old player an ultimatum that, given previous comments he presumably received regarding his performance, left him with little choice but to conclude that if he didn’t take out the opposing quarterback he’d be off the team. In hindsight that conclusion appears ironic, but for a young university football player desperate to show his talents and remain on the team, the decision was clear-cut.  Of course, the player could have chosen to just tackle the quarterback in a more conventional style, such as after the snap, but maybe he felt that this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his coaches.

If there is any fault to be found here, it is in the way Nihon University dealt with the problem. Instead of issuing a blanket apology to Kwansei Gakuin, investigating the incident from all sides, and suspending the coaching staff while the investigation was underway, Nihon preferred to remain silent, then contrite, and then attempted to blame the player for the incident. It was cowardice on the part of Nihon to avoid taking responsibility for its actions, although in the current political climate, perhaps that’s only to be expected.